(The quick accumulation of 12,250 votes warrants an early bonus chapter release! The usual rules apply; please continue to support with collections and recommendations!)
“Martial Aunt, will that monster be very powerful?” At the Man people's bonfire feast that evening, Miss Wu tiptoed over, clutching the little fox, her nose slightly upturned. A trace of worry flickered in her bright, shimmering eyes. “No need to fret.” He wasn't actually going to fight or kill anyone; he was merely following Elder Yun's orders to concede. Surely this monster wouldn't be utterly merciless to its own kin?
Since Feng Zikang was heading to the monster's lair, Miss Wu and the fox would temporarily stay behind in the Dong settlement to prevent any mishaps where they might become a burden. Thus, they had to part ways, with Feng Zikang going alone. This separation naturally caused the young maiden’s heart to flutter with concern. Miss Wu stammered for a long moment, then suddenly became shy, retrieving an embroidered sachet from her waist and handing it to him. “Martial Uncle, I know you don’t believe in these things, but this bag holds a Buddha charm for peace that my mother prayed for at the Grand Minister Temple… I wish you a safe return in three days!” The blazing bonfire, combined with the strong liquor brewed by the Man people, cast a slight flush across her cheeks. Fearing her true feelings might be exposed, she found an excuse and forced a smile,
“If Martial Uncle doesn’t come back, I suppose I’ll just have to become a Man barbarian woman here in Cold Mountain Dong!” Feng Zikang laughed heartily, “Don't worry, I will definitely take you back.”
He gently opened the sachet. Inside rested a tiny jade Bodhisattva, its eyes faintly shining with a subtle spiritual energy that could repel evil and calm the mind. However, such effects were only useful for mortals; for a cultivator like him, they were virtually meaningless. Still, he saw no reason to dismiss her sincere kindness and accepted it with thanks. Little Cold Mountain was shrouded in a dense mist of cold smoke and vapor, only parting during major festivals. Conveniently, the Dragon Boat Festival fell in exactly three days. Feng Zikang volunteered to take two young boys and girls up the mountain to slay demons and vanquish evil. In truth, he had no intention of forcing his way through the Cold Smoke and Vapor Barrier. Given how mysteriously potent this divine ability was, and since Elder Yun hadn't given him any token, there was no need to court danger. Using the opportunity to escort the children up the mountain to deliver the message should be relatively risk-free, after which he could sneak back to whisk away Miss Wu and the little fox to safety. As for the monster’s eating habits, he would try to reason with it; if not, so be it.
Three days later. The Dragon Boat Festival was meant to be a joyous occasion—families making and eating zongzi. Even in the remote borderlands of the Southern Barbarians, this custom persisted. Yet, all the Man people wore expressions of utter grief.
Their loved ones were torn apart by death; experiencing the sorrow of a rabbit dying made the fox mourn. How could they not grieve? This monster was truly malicious. If one had to send their own children away to be eaten on New Year's Eve, how could anyone possibly celebrate the New Year? These Man people, who had suffered for hundreds of years, were truly pitiable. If Mo Li were here, perhaps he would fight desperately for them? Feng Zikang suddenly recalled this stubborn descendant of the Mohist school, wondering where in the Southern Barbarians he might be now, and whether he was safe. Feng Zikang glanced at the two pitiful children beside him—hideously ugly, tightly bound, and trembling like sieves. He smiled wryly, waved a hand over their eyelids, sending them into a deep sleep, then lifted them and tossed them onto the cloud chariot. He leaped onto the driver's seat, gently cracked the whip, uttered a command, and the celestial horses whinnied joyfully, spreading their wings as they soared upward. The kneeling Man crowd bowed repeatedly, their hearts filled with fervent hope. The sunlight was brilliant today, and the white mist normally enveloping Little Cold Mountain had completely vanished, revealing the path into the mountain. Feng Zikang did not rush; he cautiously observed his surroundings, driving the chariot slowly into the mountain depths. Inside the wooden box gifted by the Chieftain, there was indeed a fragment of a Divine Demon relic—an image of a strange, demonic creature whose aura was identical to the other two fragments. With this, Feng Zikang now possessed three Divine Demon fragments, and the image of the ancient scroll in his mind had become noticeably clearer.
Yet, he still had no idea what purpose these fragments served, only a deep intuition that they were crucially important. The chariot traveled into the mountain, where sheer cliffs bracketed a narrow channel, resembling a woman’s cleavage. It was deep and profound, the light of day vanishing entirely in the depths.
Looking down, one could only vaguely discern a winding staircase, slick with green moss, snaking upward like a pale serpent. It seemed this was the very path the Man people carried the sacrificial children upon. This narrow trail was steep and perilous; legend held that if the carriers stumbled even once, the children would plummet to their absolute oblivion. Vipers, scorpions, rats, insects, and bats crawled and flitted everywhere. White bones and skulls were scattered along the mountain path, with black snakes coiled upon them, writhing in and out of the eye sockets and nostrils—a truly chilling sight. At the apex of this "One Line Gorge" was a stone platform, about ten feet wide. Ordinarily, the Man people would deposit the sacrificial children here, settle them upon the platform, and hastily retreat, not daring to advance another step. But as Feng Zikang passed through the narrow gorge, the area ahead opened up suddenly. A sheet of sapphire lake water rippled in the mountain valley, shimmering under the sunlight, perfectly clear to the bottom. Luminous stones of five different colors adorned the banks, while white fish swam gracefully amidst them, making the scene resemble a Heavenly Lake. A colossal, verdant ancient tree,
its branches gnarled and twisted, stood beside the lake, spreading its canopy like a parasol. Below it was a bamboo hut thatched with white reeds, surrounded by a fence of thorny wood forming a small courtyard. This hardly resembled the dwelling of a man-eating monster;
it looked more like the retreat of an immortal sage. Feng Zikang finally recalled the initial impression Elder Yun had described when commissioning the message—this scenery was indeed much more fitting! He cautiously landed the cloud chariot just before the bamboo hut.
“Feng Zikang, disciple of the Longhu Mountain Military School, arrives under instruction from Elder Yun of the Good Deeds Hall to deliver a message!”
“Is the Master at home?”
The bamboo hut remained utterly silent. Feng Zikang called out several times with no reply. Puzzled, he took a few steps forward and gently knocked on the wooden door. “Tap, tap-tap!” The owner inside did not answer, but the wooden door creaked open on its own, revealing a branch of bright red apricot blossoms, their petals glistening with moisture. As Feng Zikang stepped inside, the fragrance of apricot blossoms immediately filled his senses. Mingled within were the fresh scents of zongzi leaves and a faint aroma of medicinal wine—evidence, naturally, of zongzi and realgar wine. “This monster is quite refined…”
Feng Zikang noticed a bundle of green calamus hanging upside down on the hut's door frame. This creature was observing the Dragon Boat Festival with due ceremony—the calamus to repel insects, and the hut stocked with fragrant meat dumplings and realgar wine, mimicking the customs of ordinary Southern households.
But a cold thought struck him: what was the filling inside those dumplings? Feng Zikang shivered involuntarily. “Is the Master home?” Feng Zikang approached the front of the bamboo hut and asked loudly once more, but still received no response. He had no choice but to step forward and push the door open.
Inside, the furnishings were simple: only a soft couch, and on the windowsill, a vase holding apricot blossoms that looked freshly picked that morning, still damp with dew. Beside the couch, two small jade braziers were gently warming wine in one and heating the zongzi in the other, both emitting soft bubbling sounds. This monster was actually not home!