54: Xiao Qian (Part Two)

Within the ruined main hall of the Lanruo Temple, a man awoke to vague sounds echoing through the darkness. Rising cautiously, he peered outside and saw a woman approaching, her steps slow and deliberate beneath the moonlight.

…

Yifan sat upright on the rooftop of the Daoist temple, a wine jug in hand, drinking alone under the moon. Suddenly, his ears caught a faint, piercing scream. His expression shifted, and he looked toward the direction of Lanruo Temple. “This is bad—some demon is making mischief.”

With that, he sprang up, leaping off the temple roof. His feet touched upon rocks and tree branches, and in an instant, he vanished into the night.

Upon reaching the outskirts of Lanruo Temple and surveying the surroundings, he found only utter silence. As he stepped further in, a heavy stench of blood assaulted his senses. Inside the main hall, he discovered over a dozen desiccated corpses sprawled on the ground, each with a gaping wound in the chest, their faces twisted in terror.

Glancing around, he observed no signs of struggle—no swords drawn, no scattered belongings, the campfires still burning bright. Clearly, these people had died too suddenly to mount any defense.

A chill crept into Yifan’s expression. Inhaling deeply, he detected, amid the thick scent of blood, a faint trace of demonic energy and a lingering, icy aura—clear evidence of a ghostly presence.

Suddenly, a terrified scream sounded not far off. Yifan shifted instantly, darting out of the hall and landing atop the roof. Not far away, he spotted a small, dilapidated hut, a faint light flickering within.

The scream had come from that hut. Yifan stepped lightly, gliding over to the door. The moment he landed, he was met with a surge of demonic energy. Without hesitation, he pushed open the door.

Inside, in the center of the shabby room, stood a bathing tub. A young, beautiful woman bathed within, her demeanor calm and graceful. Not far from her, a man lay motionless on the ground, his body rigid, beside him another shriveled corpse curled up.

At the sound of the door opening, the woman looked up in shock, clutching her chest. “Who… who are you?”

“Demon, do you dare to play tricks before a Daoist such as I?”

Yifan snorted coldly and stepped forward, flinging a ‘Minor Evil-Banishing Talisman’ from his palm. The talisman flashed across the space, aiming straight for the woman.

Her expression shifted, but she only giggled. “You can’t even wait for me to finish my bath? Have you been lonely in these mountains so long you’re desperate to make love to me?”

With a flick of her slender jade hand, the bathwater surged up, twisting into a dragon that collided with the talisman. There was a sharp explosion, and droplets of water rained through the room.

Yifan’s face darkened. This woman’s magic was formidable—not an ordinary ghost, she must have cultivated for at least a century. Although not his equal, she would not be easily subdued.

When had such a powerful female spirit appeared in these mountains?

The woman now pouted, feigning annoyance. “Look what you’ve done—there’s no water left. How am I supposed to finish my bath?”

---

“At this point, do you still think you can keep up appearances? Do you really believe you can escape my grasp?” Yifan’s voice was cold as he flipped his palm, summoning a ‘Thunder Palm’ that brought thunder crashing down from thin air. The woman’s expression changed as she flicked her hand; the nearby man suddenly leapt up to meet the lightning.

A thunderous boom resounded. The man was instantly reduced to a charred, shattered corpse, the room filling with the acrid stench of burning flesh.

“Hey, Daoist, you’ve killed someone!” the woman exclaimed, distressed. “I was saving him as a treat for Grandmother, and now you’ve destroyed my gift.”

“That won’t do—you owe me a living human. If not, you’ll have to come back with me.”

“Ridiculous! Such sharp tongue and wickedness—you deserve death.”

Yifan cared little for the fate of these mortals, but her words still angered him. He gripped several more Minor Evil-Banishing Talismans and lunged forward.

“You’re no fun, Daoist. So bloodthirsty, always calling me a demon. I suspect your own path is closer to demonhood than Dao. Since we walk the same road, why fight amongst ourselves?”

She snatched a robe, leapt from the tub, and landed lightly in a corner. “I’m done playing with you. Remember my name: Nie Xiaoqian.”

With that, she darted at the wall and disappeared without a trace.

Yifan paused—Nie Xiaoqian? He didn’t have time to dwell on the thought. He vaulted through the broken skylight, catching sight of a graceful figure flitting away in the distance. At once, he hurled another Thunder Palm. Lightning struck the ground, leaving a gaping crater, but the woman was unharmed. She paused atop a heap of rubble, made a mischievous face at him, and vanished with a few swift movements.

Yifan did not pursue, instead landing thoughtfully on the ground.

If that woman truly was Nie Xiaoqian, then the “Grandmother” she mentioned must be the tree demon. But hadn’t the tree demon already been suppressed by the monks of Lanruo Temple, sealed away with their own relics?

Moreover, the fragment of her spirit that escaped had been wounded by Yan Chixia. It would take at least a dozen years to recover, let alone cause trouble again.

…

Deep in the heart of the mountains, within a domain shrouded by trees and swirling with ominous energy, a brightly-lit pavilion stood. Dozens of women gathered below, at the head of whom sat an old crone, flanked by two pallid children.

“Let’s hear it—what have you all gathered lately?” the crone asked, her face cold.

The women lowered their heads. One among the leaders spoke up, “Grandmother, ever since that Daoist arrived, we’ve lost many sisters. Even capturing mortals has become a fearful task. We’ve gained little.”

A chorus of complaints arose.

The old woman snorted. “If my true body had not been suppressed, leaving only a remnant spirit to heal in this grove of deadwood, I’d have dealt with that wretched Daoist myself long ago.”

Suddenly, a child ran in from outside. “Grandmother, a young lady has arrived, sent by the Black Mountain Patriarch.”

“Oh?” The old woman brightened and rose. “Quick, invite her in.”

Soon, a beautiful woman entered. She bowed before the crone. “Xiaoqian pays her respects to Grandmother and wishes you boundless power and peerless sorcery.”

The old woman laughed. “So, you are Nie Xiaoqian? Just as Black Mountain described—lovely and charming, enough to move anyone’s heart. Even he wishes to take you as a concubine.”

The woman covered her mouth with a gentle laugh. “Grandmother flatters me. I am but a withered willow among blooming flowers, paling beside the sisters here.”

The other women laughed, the tension in the room melting away. The old woman beamed. “Black Mountain and I have an agreement: once my true body is freed, I will join his ranks. We are family now—no need for such courtesy.”

“Indeed, Grandmother. Black Mountain Patriarch sent me to help you escape your bonds.”

The woman’s gaze met the old crone’s. “He also said that if I assist in freeing you, he will return my soul urn.”

The crone’s expression grew cold. “Yes, your soul urn is in my keeping, as Black Mountain entrusted it. Serve me well, and once I am freed, your freedom is assured.”

Assured by this promise, the woman giggled. “On my way here, I stopped by Lanruo Temple. I found a group of mortals and fed on their vital energy for you. There was one survivor, but a Daoist killed him.”

At her words, silence fell. The others lowered their eyes, their expressions complex, while the old woman’s face darkened. She snorted. “Leave the Daoist for now—no need to provoke further trouble. Freeing my true body is our priority. Once I am released, I’ll make that little Daoist wish he were dead.”