Upon entering Female Village, Lang Jiuchuan noticed something different — as though that maple tree had been a threshold separating this enclosed world from everything beyond, and crossing it allowed even her mind to breathe a little more freely.

Even Shen Qinghe and the others felt as though they could take a proper breath again.

The deeper they walked into the heart of the village, the more they heard the bright, lilting laughter distinctive to young women. Following the sound, they saw three girls before a wooden house, kicking a colorful shuttlecock. When they saw strangers approach, they stopped and stared with wide, clear eyes.

Among the guards, there were men who had not yet taken a wife. Faced with girls who showed not a shred of maiden’s shyness — who instead gazed back at them with frank, unabashed scrutiny — these men felt heat creep to the tips of their ears for reasons they could not quite explain.

Shen Qinghe gave a pointed, deliberate cough and let his gaze drift meaningfully over them. The several men immediately averted their eyes toward Lang Jiuchuan — only to find that she was staring far more intently than any of them, and had already started offering commentary.

“A female village indeed — these girls are genuinely lovely. Both pure and spirited, and with a touch of wildness too. Truly captivating.”

The crowd: …

Do you even hear yourself? You’re a girl too!

Lang Jiuchuan added another line: “Dying beneath the peony blossom is still a kind of romance. I suppose that is roughly what they mean.”

The crowd caught the implication immediately. Their legs pressed together reflexively, and not one of them dared look at those girls again — as though the girls were bewitching ghosts waiting to collect their souls.

Lang Jiuchuan also noticed a dilapidated wooden house. A woman in dark red stood in the doorway, a child in her arms, staring at them with a fixed, hollow gaze.

In the shadowed corner by the door, an old man sat hunched over, still as death itself.

Lang Jiuchuan heard the clinking of chains. She looked west — from within a curtain of black mist, a soul-collecting envoy in black robes drifted toward the old man. The envoy flung the chain out and it looped around him.

Dong.

The old man crumpled to the ground. On the envoy’s chain, a soul had already been secured. The envoy turned to leave — then, as though sensing a gaze, glanced back with eyes cold as ice and met Lang Jiuchuan’s stare.

The envoy: !

Recognition crossed the envoy’s face and its expression shifted instantly. With a swift motion, it dragged the old man’s soul and vanished back into the dark mist.

Lang Jiuchuan blinked, then sighed. “Truly — when a person is gone, the tea grows cold. When a ghost departs, even fellow ghosts show no feeling. Saw me plain as day and couldn’t even offer a greeting.”

Shen Qinghe walked beside her and caught the murmur. “What did you say?”

“Nothing.” Lang Jiuchuan looked again at the hollow-eyed woman. When the sound of the old man falling reached her, the woman had gone rigid, staring for a long moment — then her face released, as if something had finally been set free, and she called out loudly from the doorway.

She was speaking the village’s local dialect, and Lang Jiuchuan could not make it out — but when the doors of nearby houses began to open, one after another, and people came out toward the spot, she guessed well enough at its meaning.

Lang Jiuchuan did not linger over other people’s affairs and followed Shen Qinghe further along the path.

Ahead, Elder Ke had apparently heard the commotion as well. He came walking down toward them with a blank expression, and when he reached them, fixed Lang Jiuchuan with a cold stare.

Lang Jiuchuan gave him a smile. “Someone has died.”

Elder Ke gripped the bone flute in his sleeve and looked to Shen Qinghe instead. “The Mountain God temple — my lord has visited before. This old man will not trouble himself to guide you. But do remember not to cause trouble within the sacred shrine. Otherwise…”

He allowed a cryptic smile to surface without completing the warning, then walked past them.

“With the situation still unclear, why provoke him?” Shen Qinghe said, with a note of resignation.

“If I don’t provoke him, how will he make a move?” Lang Jiuchuan replied.

Shen Qinghe’s heart tightened. “Is he the one you described — someone walking a corrupt path? Is he the one commanding the malevolent forces?”

“He doesn’t have that kind of ability.” Commanding them was too generous a word — but he was not free of involvement with the corruption, and was far from innocent.

The group continued toward the Mountain God temple. Then, without warning, someone appeared directly in their path — an elderly woman, somewhere between sixty and seventy, nearly toothless, her white hair a wild tangle, dressed in thin, ragged clothing.

“A great sin. All of it sin,” she said, gnawing at her finger with a crooked smile, swaying slightly as she looked at them. “It was the people of Red Maple Village who sinned, and that is why all the men died. The Mountain God will rage. Every one of you will die. Will die…”

As she muttered on, her eyes filled with sudden terror, and she clutched her head and screamed: “It was not my fault — it was them! Red Lotus! Red Lotus…”

Lang Jiuchuan and Shen Qinghe exchanged a glance. She stepped forward and asked gently, “Who is Red Lotus?”

“Red Lotus — beautiful,” the old woman wailed, then threw herself down and began rolling on the ground. “It has nothing to do with me. It was not me.”

Shen Qinghe’s fingers tapped rhythmically against his belt, his mind turning swiftly.

“Grandmother, how did you get out here?” A young girl came running over and cast a wary look at the strangers before her, then took hold of the old woman rolling on the ground. “Grandmother, come back inside. It’s cold.”

“Food, food.”

“All right, all right — A’Duo will cook sweet potatoes for you.” The girl soothed her gently, then glanced back at Shen Qinghe and the others, pressing her lips together. Her voice dropped very low. “You should go quickly. It will be dark soon.”

Dark?

It was barely past midday. The afternoon watch had only just begun. How could it be dark so soon?

They raised their eyes to the sky — and went still. Something was wrong. Just moments ago the light had been perfectly clear, and now it had grown somewhat dim. And the cold had sharpened suddenly — frost had formed at the tips of their eyebrows.

Lang Jiuchuan’s eyes went cold as ice.

It was not the sky turning dark. It was the corrupt energy — spreading above the village, reaching to blot out the sky and swallow the light.

Lang Jiuchuan turned her wrist, and the Panguan brush materialized in her palm. She gestured for the others to step forward and quickly traced a line of spirit script on each of their foreheads.

Everyone shivered — then felt a clearing, like fog burning off from the mind. When they looked at her hand again, there was nothing there. Had they imagined it?

“What is it?” Shen Qinghe was the calmest among them, only rubbing a hand over his forearm.

Lang Jiuchuan, whose complexion had gone pale from expending her cultivation, said, “We have entered its territory — which is the same as walking into the mouth of a beast. One moment of inattention and it will consume you. Don’t push your luck. But my lord need have no fear — I will see to it that you are protected.”

Shen Qinghe touched the ribs of his chest and had a feeling that what she was intent on protecting was the proud spine she carried in her words.

At that very moment, a magnificent tiger’s roar split the air — thunderous and stunning, enough to make every person there stiffen.

“There’s a great beast here?” Luo Tian stepped to Lang Jiuchuan’s side, scanning their surroundings with alert eyes, his hand never leaving the curved blade at his waist.

Elder Ke, who had been attending to the matter of the deceased villager, also heard that tiger’s roar. He stepped outside, brow creasing, a faint unease rising in his chest. His lips pressed into a tight line.

Lang Jiuchuan summoned Jiangche from within her spirit consciousness. He had been gone long enough — surely he had finished his reconnaissance by now?

At that moment, Jiangche was in the valley gorge below, devouring the ferocious, murderous energy that pervaded it. He gave a satisfied belch, then heard Lang Jiuchuan’s summons. With a leisurely lick of his paw, he cast a contemptuous glance at the thick layer of white bones at the bottom of the cliff, and sprang into motion — his spiritual form scaling the mountain wall as fluidly as if it were physical, until he found the entrance to a cave.

A vast surge of demonic energy came crashing toward him.

Not good — an ambush.

“Wretched woman, come quickly to my aid. Mountain God temple.” Jiangche let out another tiger’s roar, and a great killing force burst from his spiritual form, striking directly against the demonic energy.