The figure was clearly a withered, frail old man. His clothes hung loosely on his frame, and the exposed arms were like bare bones. It was a mystery how he remained alive, let alone how he was still moving.
With skin clinging to his bones and sparse hair, the old man kept his back to them, preventing the disciples from seeing his face. Some suspected he might be a demonic cultivator, but as the scent of decay wafted from him, it became certain he was a mere mortal—one so close to his end that they wouldn’t even need to lift a finger against him.
He stood in the fields amidst rice stalks bearing only empty husks. The old man caressed the stalks, mumbling something indistinguishable under his breath.
“Not a single grain of rice left…”
Rustle… rustle…
He seemed to be searching for rice in the field. His movements were agonizingly slow; it took a long time before he finally let go of the stalk in his hand.
“Gone… everything is gone…”
The old man shuffled slowly toward the edge of the field. The rice paddy should have been a wetland, but it was now bone-dry. Though it was the season for harvest, the people who had planted these seeds had abandoned the reaping, just as they had abandoned any hope of future sowing.
Even if the crops grew, even if they were harvested, it was all futile.
The red moon in the sky looked down upon them with pity.
After what felt like an eternity, the old man reached the edge. Exhausted, he leaned helplessly against the ridge of the field, huddling so small that he seemed shorter than the two-foot-high embankment.
He let go of the rice stalk weakly, but his hand uncontrollably tore up a clump of grass roots and soil.
They didn’t know how long the old man had been starving, nor why he remained alive like a walking corpse instead of succumbing to death.
Clutching the dirt, he slowly brought it to his mouth. He seemed lucid, as if he could smell the fragrance of green grass and earth—as if a bowl of soft, delicious rice had appeared before his eyes, causing sweet saliva to pool in his mouth.
Crunch, crunch.
The sound of chewing jolted everyone awake. Unconsciously, the palms of those gripping their swords grew cold, and a primal fear welled up in their hearts.
Among these newly joined inner sect disciples, there were those from impoverished backgrounds. However, they had already been blessed with too much luck—the luck to encounter the Haiqian Sect and survive within it. Even as the lowest-ranked outer disciples, they no longer had to experience the agony of a starving belly.
Most of them hadn’t entered the sect or embarked on the path of cultivation for the sake of some ethereal, distant immortality. Though they had moments of drifting into fantasy, the passing years had taught them exactly what they were worth.
For many, it was simply for the sake of a meal.
They were lucky, after all.
Looking at the old man made everyone’s skin crawl, yet they dared not step forward to disturb him.
“Let’s go,” Ruo Zhiwei said flatly, her words allowing them a momentary sigh of relief.
But that relief didn’t last. Within two steps, the group reached the village entrance. Soon, the doors of the crude thatched huts swung open one by one, and dark, skeletal figures—resembling malevolent ghosts—protruded from within.
It was as if Nüwa had used the same mold when creating them: she had used branches to build simple clay skeletons, but by the time she finished the others, she had grown tired. Looking at these remaining skeletal frames, she had simply tossed them into the mud, leaving them covered in nothing but a terrifying, burdensome layer of skin and flesh.
They were human. Their eyes were hollow, their skin parched, and their mouths hung wide open. When they moved, they made a grating sound that set one’s teeth on edge… they had gone too long without speaking, and too long since they had forgotten what a human was supposed to look like.
Despite knowing these were mortals, the cultivators raised their swords, watching them with wary eyes.
The villagers were dazed. They stared vacantly at the outsiders, their jaws clicking rhythmically, yet they failed to produce a human sound, only making the surrounding air feel increasingly restless and uneasy.
Eventually, someone raised a sword and gathered the courage to walk toward a villager.
Just as violence was about to erupt, a strange scent suddenly appeared. It caused the villagers to turn their heads in unison toward the deepest part of the village.
That scent was like an invisible thread, pulling these dry, humanoid figures who had lost their wits and hovered on the brink of life and death. They ignored the predatory outsiders, staring blankly toward the house at the very end. Barefoot, they stepped out of their homes and walked toward it with one accord.
The disciples glanced back at their companions and followed.
The thatched huts were scattered sparsely across the village—about a dozen in total. That particular house looked no different from the others, save for a simple fence surrounding the yard.
In the yard sat a large pot over a fire. The constant “thud, thud” of a blunt knife rang out; clearly, someone in the house was preparing ingredients.
The person inside was dressed as a simple peasant woman. Though she was also sallow and thin from hunger, she was at least less terrifying than the others.
On a rack beside her hung several small animals caught from hunting. They had been cleaned, their fur scraped off, their bellies sliced open, and their internal organs removed. From a distance, they looked like plump field rats caught from the meadows.
They hung quietly on the rack, their appearance alone enough to make one salivate.
“What’s the rush? Wait until the meat is cooked before you eat.”
Someone couldn’t wait and reached out to grab a piece, but fortunately, their movements were slow, and the woman swatted them away with a ladle.
The water in the pot was already boiling. Lacking other vegetables for flavor, the woman took out her cherished spices and tossed tray after tray of meat into the pot. Soon, a thick layer of yellow fat floated on the surface of the soup.
While the woman was busy tending to the pot, the hidden Haiqian Sect disciples circled to the back of the yard. There, they discovered the water vat she used to process the food. It was filled with bright red bloody water. Beside it stood a cage, quietly housing several hairless, faceless little beasts.
Inside the cave.
Lu Xiangyu crouched in front of the person, looking up. The two were close—close enough that Lu Xiangyu could see Song Shenshi’s serene and beautiful face in the darkness. Her expression was gentle, yet she possessed the cold, detached air of a deity—one that could only be placed in a ruined temple, remaining indifferent to the suffering of the world.
Squeak, squeak…
This cave was not entirely safe. Before long, a swarm of small beasts found them. Lu Xiangyu, already nursing injuries, had no desire to exert herself in a massive struggle, while Song Shenshi simply gave up on the spot, choosing to “lie flat.”
In any case, these weak little creatures couldn’t harm Song Shenshi. Only Lu Xiangyu was troubled. Seeing more and more of the beasts dropping down, she initially tried to drive them away, but eventually, the exertion pulled at her wounds. She retreated further inside, discovering that these mindless creatures dared not approach; they merely circled the cave entrance. Realizing they were afraid of Song Shenshi, she sidled up to the female lead once more to “stick” to her.
The two had argued earlier, and the atmosphere in the cave was slightly awkward. However, Lu Xiangyu had always been thick-skinned. She sat to the side, idly playing with her hair while observing Song Shenshi.
Though this woman was incredibly frustrating, there was no denying her beauty. It was as if Nüwa had kneaded countless ugly things just to hone her craft to perfection, eventually producing this most exquisite piece of art.
When Song Shenshi wasn’t speaking, her beauty was truly soothing to behold. Secretly, Lu Xiangyu forgave her in her heart.
“Senior Sister…” Bored and restless, she leaned in cloyingly, her face nearly touching Song Shenshi’s as she whispered a question.
Because the light was so dim, this was the only way to see the other’s features clearly.
“I don’t understand… why did you save me just now?”
She stared intently at Song Shenshi, unwilling to miss any subtle nuance of her beauty.
If Song Shenshi neither killed nor saved anyone—if she only bullied demon cultivators who had no human rights—then why had she spared her in the beginning? Why use three restrictions to suppress the malice in her heart?
Wouldn’t it have been better to let her die and re-enter the cycle of reincarnation?
The face of the woman pretending to meditate furrowed its beautiful brows slightly. Then, her eyelids slowly lifted a fraction, and her lips parted.
Her voice was gentle and melodious, like a spiritual spring pouring from a celestial palace—endless, carrying an ethereal and moving divine quality.
She said, “If I did not save you, I would be watching you die before my eyes. I cannot do that yet.”
The profound sincerity in those words caused Lu Xiangyu, who had been staring so intently, to daze for a moment. The rims of her ears grew uncomfortably warm.
Anyone would find their heart fluttering at such a thing…
As Lu Xiangyu pulled back, she began to laugh wantonly.
“Senior Sister, don’t make fun of me.”
Upon reflection, she realized Song Shenshi truly had no need to intervene.
Everything had started because of Song Shenshi’s whim to spare Lu Xiangyu—who should have been killed. On the way back to the sect, Lu Xiangyu’s interference had changed a minor detail of the original plot, leading to the tragic death of Yu Ming, a relatively unimportant supporting character.
However, she had overlooked the relationship between Elder Yu Ji and Yu Ming. The elder had been greatly provoked, leading to this excursion to Mount Wangyue—an event that did not exist in the original book.
Here, the female lead’s actions were not controlled by the plot, and naturally, Lu Xiangyu could not see through them.
“Senior Sister… what exactly are you trying to do?” she sighed softly.
“…” Hearing this, Song Shenshi turned her calm gaze toward her.
A smile spread across the corners of Lu Xiangyu’s mouth.
“Even if you don’t trust me, I can no longer leave you.” She adopted an air of submissive tenderness, looking almost more pitiful than the frolicking beasts outside.
“I am merely curious: what exactly are you all?” the other woman asked.
Song Shenshi no longer hid her intentions. She reached out and beckoned; a hairless little beast fell into her palm. To Lu Xiangyu’s astonishment, the creature immediately began to tremble violently in Song Shenshi’s hand. Even as a fellow demon cultivator, Lu Xiangyu couldn’t quite empathize with that level of terror.
On its eyeless, bald head, its mouth-parts were tightly shut, retracted to their smallest size. Its only offensive organ was tucked deep inside its mouth, not daring to make a sound as its entire body twitched neurally.
Seeing this, Song Shenshi did not immediately snap its neck. Instead, she wore an expression of mercy often seen on Buddhist statues. She placed the beast quietly on her lap, like a rare, loving mother, gently stroking the creature’s back.
“…What kind of circumstances led you to make such a choice?” she asked in a low voice.
“…” Lu Xiangyu knew then that Song Shenshi had seen through it as well. That demon cultivator had escaped from the brink of death, killed Senior Brother Yu Ming and the others, and crossed the formation to slaughter the people of Jiaoyan Village.
Yet, they turned out to be these soft, pathetic little beasts. They seemed to have nothing to do with the word “demon”; they were thin-skinned and fleshy, looking more like delicious ingredients commonly found in the wild.
Lu Xiangyu shook her head. “I haven’t seen many situations like this either.”
Hearing this, Song Shenshi didn’t seem entirely disappointed. She acted as if she adored this randomly caught beast, watching it with eyes full of tenderness.
Lu Xiangyu stared at her in a daze from the side.
Song Shenshi didn’t care about the strange gaze. Instead, she seemed immersed in a wondrous atmosphere. With a faint smile and a compassionate expression, she looked upon not just the bustling, mediocre mortal world, but also the demons struggling amidst flesh and bone.
This look reminded Lu Xiangyu of a line from the original book, set far in the future:
—It was as if one day, a god truly lowered their head; not to look at the spiritual plants in a vase, but at the common grass and trees beneath their feet.
The young woman’s smile was faint, like a deity of the world.