Chapter Nineteen: Meeting the Old Man Again

After a few bouts of manic laughter, his expression suddenly turned cold and indifferent, carrying a strange and unsettling air. He glanced at Qian Xiaozhen once more, then turned and walked deeper into the village. I noticed a look of terror in Qian Xiaozhen’s eyes—perhaps this enemy was simply too powerful. He was, without question, the most formidable opponent I had ever encountered.

Still shaken, I watched his retreating figure, forcing myself to stand despite the pain, and asked Qian Xiaozhen, “Can you still walk?”

She touched her abdomen and, finding the pain had eased, replied, “Yes, I’m fine. He... held back.”

I knew that young man was strong, but I hadn’t expected such overwhelming strength. Even with restraint, he had left Qian Xiaozhen and me battered and humiliated. My nerves frayed, cold sweat already beading down my back.

“If we can’t beat him, we might as well visit that temple,” I suggested.

Qian Xiaozhen had no objections. After resting by the roadside for a moment, we made our way toward the temple. My right arm had been twisted and broken, forcing me to put my weapon away for the time being, but oddly, I could feel my bones slowly knitting themselves back together—an occurrence that no longer surprised me, since the same thing had happened back at the school.

We turned several corners in the village before finally seeing the temple again. But now, the place was deserted. I gripped my weapon tightly in my left hand and peered into the temple. Seeing no one, I signaled for Qian Xiaozhen to follow me inside.

Earlier that morning, I hadn’t paid the temple much attention, but now, approaching it, I noticed a thin, almost spiritual membrane enveloping its exterior. It didn’t quite feel like ordinary spiritual energy; it seemed to be something else entirely, marked with countless scars and traces, as though the place had once been the site of fierce battles.

Summoning my courage, I stepped inside. The moment I did, an overwhelming cacophony of shrieks, cries, and the sounds of slaughter assaulted my senses. A malignant energy surged through me, filling my body with a seemingly infinite power, and before I knew it, I was laughing uncontrollably.

Just as I was losing control, someone yanked me back out of the temple. It was Qian Xiaozhen, who had remained outside.

“My master once told me that our world is not the only realm—there is also the Demon World, the Ghost World, the Underworld, the Monster Realm... I suspect this membrane outside is the work of a powerful demon,” she said.

A demon of great power?

“Could it have been that old man?” I asked, referring to Hongshan.

“I think so. First, he’s the only person in this village who can speak. Second, his attire is just like those from the Demon World. Most importantly, his name is Hongshan.”

In short, Qian Xiaozhen believed that Hongshan was a denizen of the Demon World, and that the membrane surrounding the temple was one of his spells.

“Then we need to find Hongshan first,” I concluded.

Qian Xiaozhen nodded and asked, “Do you know where he lives?”

I felt embarrassed. I had no idea where to find him.

“We can just catch a villager and ask. Hongshan seems to hold some status here—the villagers should know,” I suggested.

With that, I headed toward the nearest house to the temple. I scaled the wall with ease, checked that it was safe, and beckoned for Qian Xiaozhen to follow. Peering through the only small window, I saw a sturdy young man sleeping on a kang bed.

I signaled to Qian Xiaozhen, and the two of us slipped inside as quietly as rabbits. The young man woke with a start and reached for a weapon, but Qian Xiaozhen’s short sword was already at his throat.

I asked warily, “Can you understand me?”

Tears welled in his eyes, and he looked on the verge of sobbing, clearly afraid for his life.

“Do you know where the old man in the black robe lives?” I pressed.

He nodded vigorously, like a pounding pestle.

I hauled him to his feet while Qian Xiaozhen quickly tied his hands with a rope. Keeping my blade at his back, I ordered, “Take us to the old man’s house.” I jabbed him lightly with the flat of the blade for emphasis.

Though the young man appeared burly, he was easily cowed by fear—I could see his legs trembling.

“Hurry, or you die here,” I threatened.

Driven by a will to live, he began to walk ahead. I had no time to admire the countryside along the way; my focus never wavered from the young man, wary of any sudden moves.

After nearly twenty minutes, we reached a wooden cabin on the village’s outskirts.

“This is the old man’s house,” the young man confirmed with a frantic nod, terrified I might kill him on a whim.

I exchanged a glance with Qian Xiaozhen, who understood at once. I struck the young man at the base of his skull, knocking him out, and propped him against a nearby tree.

Turning my attention to the wooden cabin, I noticed it was nestled against the mountain, with a small pond dug in the courtyard—a scene imbued with a touch of immortality.

Out of respect, I knocked on the door and called, “Is Senior Hong at home?”

“Enter!” came a deep, resonant voice—it could only be Hongshan.

Gently, I pushed open the door and saw a small stone table in the courtyard, surrounded by a few wooden stools. Qian Xiaozhen and I walked to the door and stepped inside.

The house was sparse, containing only a kitchen and a bedroom. Peeking through a crack, I saw the old man sitting with his back to us, seemingly drinking tea.

“Come in!” he barked suddenly, startling me. Since we had come this far, there was no turning back.

Inside, the place was even barer than outside; aside from a bed, a few low stools, and a table, there was nothing.

The old man had removed his black robe and wore only simple gray clothes.

“Sit,” he said.

Without further ado, Qian Xiaozhen and I sat across from him.

“What do you want?” The old man set down his wooden teacup, his gaze sharp and piercing.

From here on, the release schedule will be about two chapters in the afternoon and one in the evening. A new book relies on everyone’s support and encouragement; I thank you all. Some have said this is nothing but plagiarism—alas... I know some plotlines resemble those of another novel, but that’s the nature of this genre. The subsequent story will diverge greatly, and I hope you’ll continue to comment and vote. Writing this novel has been challenging, but my greatest obstacle is my own laziness.

There is little more to say. In the days to come, I wish all my readers health and happiness.

Thank you all.