Chapter 21: Anomalies in the Vicinity

I cursed at that beast.

I paid no mind to my aching wrists; though I couldn’t take off the bindings, they didn’t hinder my movement.

Clutching the sickle tightly, I ran down the mountain.

I had to admit, after strenuous exertion since morning without a drop of water, my strength was waning.

But for now, this would have to do.

Once I reached the village, I planned to ask Mad Zhao for some protective charms—it would be wise to arm myself.

The descent went smoothly.

I kept worrying that others from Second Aunt’s household might be pursuing me, but no one appeared. I had no clue where they had gone.

Not even a single white weasel was in sight.

Their absence brought me an unexpected sense of peace.

Finally, I arrived at the foot of the mountain.

Following the path, I could return to the village easily.

This place felt much safer. I sighed deeply—what a mess this all was!

Just climbing a mountain had led to so much trouble.

When I stepped into the village, something felt off.

Though my home was on the village’s edge and the village chief’s house stood at the center, by this hour, smoke should be rising from every chimney as families prepared their meals.

But today was different.

The village was eerily quiet, devoid of the usual sounds of children playing.

At first glance, it seemed fine.

Yet something was very wrong. The village had no entertainment of its own; at night, families usually had little else to do but be with their spouses.

This was why there were always many newborns each year.

Surveying the strange stillness, a sense of unease settled in my heart.

Others might dismiss such feelings as mere anxiety, insignificant.

But as the village guardian,

if I sensed this, it meant someone was going to die...

There was no time to ponder life or death now; I had to push aside my unease and quicken my pace toward the courtyard wall of my home.

All these years,

that low wall had never been repaired.

Given my height, I could simply brace my hands and climb over.

I rarely used the front gate.

My father always scolded me for it, but my grandfather, believing I was a prodigy, indulged me and would laugh, saying he enjoyed watching me vault the wall.

Every time it happened,

my father’s refrain would be: “Such reckless behavior!”

Inside the courtyard, it was still unnervingly quiet. I frowned slightly.

What on earth was going on?

Had something happened in the village?

Just as I was about to enter the house, I noticed the chicken coop in the corner of the yard was empty—only scattered feathers and blood stained the ground.

It was exactly like the time my grandfather hosted the earth immortal.

Could the earth immortal have returned?

Inside the house, no one was present.

I called out to the empty rooms.

“Mom? Dad?”

“Grandfather?”

But no one answered.

It was already mid-afternoon.

I had no choice but to start preparing.

I went to my grandfather’s room and took some yellow paper ingots, along with his copper coin sword—though whether it still worked, I wasn’t sure.

He had always been a half-hearted practitioner.

Some of his items were effective; others were mere imitations, little more than ornaments.

Finally, I took some cinnabar.

I tore the yellow paper into strips.

Then, from beneath my pillow, I retrieved the book the female corpse had given me.

A small section contained instructions on drawing talismans.

I had little interest back then,

so now I had to scramble and learn on the fly.

The creature we faced was a type of walking corpse, so an appropriate countermeasure was necessary.

I found the method for drawing a corpse-sealing talisman.

Following the diagrams,

I began to circulate my energy.

Gradually, it flowed down to my dantian.

Then, stroke by stroke, I drew the talisman.

The sensation was not unlike constipation.

Strangely, whether due to the energy or something else,

after drawing just one talisman, sweat began to pour from my forehead.

I faintly felt my strength waning.

I forced myself to draw a second.

Upon finishing, I collapsed heavily onto the floor, landing without any cushioning.

Pain was the last thing on my mind.

Gasping for breath, I wiped the sweat from my brow.

“No matter how urgent, I have to eat something. If I keep this up, climb the mountain again, and the female corpse doesn’t survive, I’ll be the first to die...”

I muttered to myself.

Then, mustering my strength, I rose and headed to the stove.

I rummaged through what was left.

Only last night’s cold bread and some leftover pickled vegetables remained.

It was clear no one had lit a fire all day.

But I was starving.

I didn’t care if the food was cold or warm—I grabbed it and devoured it ravenously.

When it became too much to swallow, I ate some pickles to ease the discomfort.

The taste was awful.

Barely satiated, I scooped a ladle of water from the jar.

“Gulp, gulp!”

After drinking, I felt my strength return somewhat.

Then I retreated to my room.

I might encounter that white weasel—which was called so but was actually a yellow weasel.

Yellow weasels were native spirits of the Northeast.

Judging by its state, even if it hadn’t become a wild immortal, it was close.

Why it helped me, I didn’t know.

But in case it was a case of predator against predator,

I needed to stay cautious.

So I prepared to draw a dispelling talisman to feel secure enough to climb the mountain again.

After half an hour, gasping for breath, I finally finished.

If anyone knew, they might think I was up to some shameful business alone at home.

Wiping away sweat again,

I packed all the prepared items into a cloth bag and took the copper coin sword with me.

Since my home sat on the outskirts, I needed to find some help at the village center.

There was no one else I could turn to.

Because of the strange experiences I had as a child, the villagers regarded me as a freak.

They avoided me whenever we met.

They even told their children not to play with me, which meant I missed out on a lot of childhood fun but gained time to study the book the female corpse gave me.

Yet, even the loneliest person finds a kindred spirit.

Er Pang from the east end of the village was on good terms with me.

He was also somewhat simple-minded.

I, too, had been a fool once.

Fools tend to band together.

Though, calling Er Pang a fool wasn’t quite right—he was just a bit slow-witted.

That’s a local saying meaning someone who thinks simply, is straightforward, stubborn, and obstinate.

He only believed in absolute principles.

It was this “simpleton” nature that made him indifferent to how others viewed me and willing to be my friend.

I needed someone this time.

I had no choice but to seek him out.

Er Pang’s family was wealthy—one of the village’s prominent households.

He often brought me delicacies from the city I had never seen before.

The village remained silent as a tomb.

I could understand the quiet near my home, but why was the village center so still?

As I approached Er Pang’s house,

I heard strange howls coming from behind the big red gate.

“Howl—”

It sounded like a wild beast.

I froze in place.

Since when had wild beasts entered the village?

Wild animals generally avoided villages and people; they stuck to their own territories unless provoked.

Indeed, the Qingqiu Mountain was home to many wild beasts.

But in all these years, there had never been a single attack on the village.

What was happening now?

As I hesitated,

I heard Er Pang shout, “Hey! What demon dares cause trouble before the Dragon King’s third prince!”

Another beast’s roar followed!

Then came Er Pang’s terrified scream!

“Oh my goodness! Why are you biting people? Help! This thing is biting me—the third prince!”