When Zhuang Shaoqin arrived at Liji Village, people had been going missing there in succession, and the number was growing ever larger. Bold and supremely skilled, he went straight to Changgang Mountain. Changgang Mountain was utterly still, the sound of wind passing through it mournful and forlorn.

Zhuang Shaoqin opened his Celestial Eye, yet could only see a hazy pale yellow radiance. He produced his sky-climbing grappling hook and hooked it onto a Chinese fir tree about as thick as an adult’s calf, then instructed his two disciples: “I’ll go down to have a look. You two be careful.”

Zhuang Haotian was a little worried: “Master, the situation below is unknown — rushing headlong into danger, I fear…”

Zhuang Shaoqin paid no heed to this, already probing the precipice on the right side of the cliff face. Zhuang Haoyu was also a little eager to try: “Master, this disciple will go with you!”

Zhuang Shaoqin shook his head: “The two of you stay here and keep watch. Every half an hour, I will signal with a whistling arrow to confirm I am safe. If I fail to do so — cough — you two are to return to Qingxu Temple first and notify Daozong.” The two were about to say more, but Zhuang Shaoqin was already climbing down the rope. “Stop fussing.”

The vegetation between the sheer cliffs was dense and lush. He made his way down along the cliff face, remaining vigilant of every movement around him. Yet aside from the sound of the wind, there seemed to be no other disturbance. After half an hour, he fired off one whistling arrow — and yet the depths below still showed no bottom. Proficient as he was in Daoist arts, he immediately sensed that a barrier formation lay beneath the cliff, blocking outsiders from entering.

Could it truly be that some divine beast was sealed here? A hint of excitement rose in him. Since the founding of civilization, the great prosperity of the human path had long since driven the divine beasts that once roamed freely to survive only in legend. To have the fortune of laying eyes on one would be a blessing of a lifetime.

He circled halfway around the cliff edge, but in the end, the length of his sky-climbing grappling hook was simply insufficient, and he was unable to locate the formation’s eye. Unable to gauge the depth and nature of the barrier, he truly did not dare venture any further down — ancient formations were full of strange variations, and some formations opened directly into the Void Abyss. Bold as he was, he still could not afford to take lightly a formation of unknown origin.

Yet he was equally unwilling to simply climb back up empty-handed. He made his way around the cliff face, and in the northwest corner noticed what appeared to be one of the formation’s corner nodes beginning to weaken — through the thick mist, a vast stretch of misty white was dimly visible. He produced the long-distance retrieval hook at his waist and cast it down repeatedly, hauling it back up each time. When he finally inspected his catch, he found the hook was coated in a pale yellowish sticky fluid — something that resembled… resembled egg white.

Rather perplexed, he sniffed the substance, then looked down once more into the depths. In the end, he could do nothing but turn back empty-handed.

Ye Tian had thoroughly upended the Liu household on the last visit — all over the matter of Grand Secretary Liu wanting to marry his daughter off to Rong Chen Zi — so when she arrived at the Liu residence this time, the Grand Secretary received her with a curious mixture of reverence and wariness, truly not daring to offend her. Ye Tian had no patience for idle pleasantries with him and went directly to find Liu Qinfang.

Liu Qinfang’s expression appeared normal, but her skin had become smooth and delicate, her cheeks rosy and tender — like a freshly ripened red apple. She had previously been little more than a young girl who had not yet fully grown into herself, yet now, as though overnight, she had become bewitching and captivating.

Ye Tian’s brow furrowed. She ordered the little Daoist disciple Qing Ling, who had come with her, to look into whether any other young children in the vicinity had gone missing. This investigation yielded something truly alarming — within the span of just four or five days, infants from another four households had gone missing without a trace.

Ye Tian was bold by nature. She immediately arranged to move in with Liu Qinfang, and instructed Liu Qinfang that from that point on, the two of them would go everywhere together, inseparable at every step.

Liu Qinfang looked momentarily dazed, but with the entire Liu household present and watching, she had no choice but to nod her consent.

Yet the very next day, news came from the Liu residence — Ye Tian had vanished. At the time, Liu Qinfang had been with her mother, Madam Liu, keeping her company in conversation. Ye Tian had scattered some Song-Treading Stone powder around the perimeter of the Liu residence and had the household staff prepare hot water for a bath.

Half an hour later she had still not emerged. Grand Secretary Liu sent someone to call for her several times, with no response. It was only after a full hour that Grand Secretary Liu panicked and ordered the door broken down. Inside, the furnishings were neatly arranged — Ye Tian’s fresh change of clothes hung on the clothing rack, the water in the basin had gone cold, but there were no water marks on the nearby floor. The entire room showed not a single sign of struggle.

Ye Tian’s background was formidable, and behind her stood a Senior Brother who served as the nation’s State Preceptor. Grand Secretary Liu had no wish to be caught up in this trouble and immediately sent someone to notify Rong Chen Zi and Zhuang Shaoqin.

Rong Chen Zi and his two fellow disciples had grown up together since childhood, bound by ties as close as blood. Now that Ye Tian had gone missing, not only Rong Chen Zi — even Zhuang Shaoqin’s face had drained of color.

Zhuang Shaoqin arrived at the Liu residence within two hours of receiving the news. Though Rong Chen Zi was gravely wounded, with his junior sister missing, his heart burned with desperate urgency — how could he possibly rest? He forced himself upright and began dressing, but his injuries were truly too severe, and that very day he began coughing up blood.

Qingxu Temple fell into a flurry of commotion. Zhuang Shaoqin, upon hearing that Grand Secretary Liu had sent word directly to Rong Chen Zi, immediately turned pale with anger, yet also sent a message back to Qingxu Temple saying that Ye Tian had only stepped away for a moment and had already been found — all in order to reassure Rong Chen Zi.

The Liu residence was in an uproar. Zhuang Shaoqin recognized the gravity of the situation and wasted no time, immediately notifying Xingzhi Zhenren of Jiuding Palace and relaying the full sequence of events. When Xingzhi Zhenren heard that even Ye Tian had been ensnared without the slightest sound or warning, he too was quietly shocked, and at once selected a capable group of disciples to accompany him as they all made haste to the scene.

Grand Secretary Liu, seeing so many great figures of the Daoist orders arrive, finally felt somewhat at ease. Fortunately, the Liu residence had ample space, and he arranged lodgings for the Daoist masters in the Chunhui Garden.

Liu Qinfang’s behavior appeared normal, but her complexion had grown even more luminous and radiant, her entire bearing glowing with a captivating vitality.

Zhuang Shaoqin took her pulse and found no abnormality whatsoever. His heart was even more anxious than Xingzhi Zhenren’s — Rong Chen Zi was perceptive and thoughtful; sooner or later he would find out about Ye Tian’s disappearance. Already severely injured as he was, if he were to worry and grieve excessively, it would only cause further harm to his body.

That night, Xingzhi Zhenren secretly dispatched disciples to keep watch in the homes with infants, and sent another group to question the families of the missing children again, hoping to uncover some lead.

The succession of missing infant cases had driven the entire Lingxia Town to bolt its doors and shutter its windows before the sky had even fully darkened. Rumors gradually began to spread — some claimed demons were devouring people, others said that the dead had risen; there were many different versions. As a result, the streets were utterly deserted.

The Liu residence, too, was unusually quiet. What truly weighed on Grand Secretary Liu’s mind was this — his second son’s concubine was nearly at the time of her confinement.

The early days of the eleventh month already carried a chill in the night air. Behind the Chunhui Hall’s courtyard stood an ancient well, beside which grew an apricot tree of considerable age. Zhuang Shaoqin now stood beneath the apricot tree — blue robes, black hair, his bearing upright and composed. Behind him, the autumn wind swept up the yellow leaves, lending the entire courtyard a note of desolate solitude. When Liu Qinfang approached, her expression was apprehensive; it was a long while before she haltingly asked: “State Preceptor… you have asked this young woman here — what is the matter?”

Zhuang Shaoqin’s expression was cool and detached: “Nothing in particular. I simply wished to ask whether all these successive incidents have anything to do with you.”

Liu Qinfang put on a look of surprise: “I would not have expected even the State Preceptor to think so, but what would a mere young woman like me want with premature infants?”

Zhuang Shaoqin produced a short blade from inside his boot, unhurriedly running his fingers along the edge in leisurely strokes, his manner indifferent: “To prove your innocence is actually quite simple. Qingxu Temple was once infiltrated by a Three-Eyed Snake impersonating Senior Brother, but according to this poor Daoist’s disciple, beneath the human form lies the body of a snake.” He looked toward Liu Qinfang, his gaze keen and piercing. “I need only open up your body, and I will know whether you are human or snake.”

Liu Qinfang’s expression changed drastically: “But if my body is opened up, how could I possibly survive?”

Zhuang Shaoqin gave a cold laugh: “That is not something I should concern myself with.”

His gaze was grim and ominous. Liu Qinfang stepped back again and again: “You who have left the secular world — you ought to be saving those in suffering and delivering them from hardship. How can you take innocent lives without cause?”

Zhuang Shaoqin gave a cold laugh: “If killing one can save a thousand, how is that not saving those in suffering and delivering them from hardship?”

Liu Qinfang had not anticipated such a response from him. Her eyes flickered with shifting uncertainty. Zhuang Shaoqin said no more, and lunged forward, swinging the blade straight toward her heart. Liu Qinfang vaulted back with a leap — her movement utterly beyond the agility of any human. Zhuang Shaoqin let out a cold snort: “And you still dare claim it isn’t you!”

He showed no further mercy with his strikes. At once the two of them were locked in a fierce struggle. Liu Qinfang seemed desperate to break free, doing nothing but retreat and flee. Zhuang Shaoqin drove a blade through her back, and blood soaked half her body. She fled at full speed toward the outer edge of Chunhui Hall, crying out for help as she ran.

Zhuang Shaoqin suddenly leapt, seized hold of her ankle, and in a flash of blade light, sliced off one of her feet. Liu Qinfang let out a wail of anguish, then with sudden agility twisted around — as though her waist held not a single bone. The fury in her eyes burned like raging fire. Rage surged and roiled within her. She suddenly wrenched open that small cherry mouth. The tender, smooth skin she had so carefully cultivated split apart, bloody cracks spreading across her entire body.

Grand Secretary Liu and the others, hearing her cries for help, came running — and at the sight before them, went weak in the knees, sitting down on the ground and unable to move for a long time. Zhuang Shaoqin did not hesitate further. The short blade in his hand swept across in a clean cut at the waist, and the human form lay strewn across the ground, flesh and blood scattered everywhere.

A Three-Eyed Snake — green-bodied with dark markings, no thicker than an adult’s wrist — slowly uncoiled itself from amid the scattered flesh and blood. A pair of white horns, barely two inches long, had already grown on its head. Though small in stature, its intelligence was clearly far greater than that of the Three-Eyed Snake that had broken into Qingxu Temple to impersonate Rong Chen Zi.

The sinister eye at its center slowly opened. Zhuang Shaoqin’s expression darkened in alarm: “Everyone — do not look at its eye!”

Yet how could the reflexes of ordinary mortals possibly be faster than this creature? A servant nearby let out a faint sound and crumpled — their soul already absorbed away. Grand Secretary Liu and the others, coming to their senses, hurriedly covered their eyes and dared not look at it. Both their legs shook like sieves, and some of the more timid ones had already wet themselves.

Though there were dozens of people nearby, a deathly silence had fallen over everything.

Zhuang Shaoqin’s palms were drenched in cold sweat. He drew talismans for demon-suppression, ghost-repelling, and devil-subduing — but all of them proved ineffective. In the blink of an eye, the creature slithered beneath the courtyard wall. With no other option, Zhuang Shaoqin hurled a ball of talisman flame at it, but the Three-Eyed Snake’s central sinister eye fixed its gaze upon him — and in the instant his concentration wavered, it shot through the wall and vanished.

Zhuang Shaoqin bit through the tip of his tongue and gave furious chase, landing a blade strike on the snake’s tail. His waist blade was forged of cold iron, capable of cutting gold and breaking jade. Yet even with such a powerful strike, it only turned up a few tiny scales on the snake’s body. Zhuang Shaoqin’s heart lurched in shock — the snake’s tail whipped around and coiled itself about his waist.

The tail drew tighter and tighter. Though it was only as thick as a wrist, it very nearly snapped Zhuang Shaoqin in half. He swung his blade and hacked at it several times; the snake’s body finally broke the skin slightly and began to seep blood. Zhuang Shaoqin’s heart was filled with a terror beyond all expression — since he had taken to the path, he had almost never met his match. All his life he had thought his cultivation had reached formidable depths, yet who could have known that in this boundless world, there would be no end to the wonders — and dangers — one might encounter.

Just as it seemed he could not break free, a furious shout rang out from outside, and a flying sword came slicing through the air, crashing down with tremendous force toward the snake’s head. The Three-Eyed Snake, startled, abruptly released Zhuang Shaoqin, leapt a distance of over two zhang in a single bound, and swiftly vanished into the undergrowth.

Xingzhi Zhenren came rushing into the courtyard from outside. This Daozong figure of usual solemn dignity and commanding presence now looked deeply shaken: “It truly is that demon serpent that uses human bodies as eggs?”

Zhuang Shaoqin wiped the sweat from his brow: “Indeed. And this one appears to be far more powerful than the last — it does not swallow the body whole, but is capable of absorbing souls.”

Grand Secretary Liu’s legs were still too weak to rise. Xingzhi Zhenren looked over the household servant lying on the ground and confirmed that the physical body bore no wound whatsoever — yet the soul had already departed. The person now had no breath remaining at all.

He looked up and met Zhuang Shaoqin’s gaze. Both of them understood — it was possible that a great catastrophe was already close at hand.

“Its hide has extraordinary toughness — even my Star-Concealing Blade could not pierce through it, and ordinary weapons will surely be unable to cause it the slightest harm.” Zhuang Shaoqin was still breathing hard. “We currently know almost nothing about these creatures — not how they reproduce, nor how to distinguish whether they are human or snake. If this thing were to spread, the consequences would be unthinkable.”

Xingzhi Zhenren’s brow furrowed so deeply it gathered into folds: “State Preceptor, this poor Daoist knows that you are unwilling to disturb Friend Rong Chen Zi, but the situation is urgent and we have no other choice.”

Zhuang Shaoqin considered in silence: “I fear that even telling my Senior Brother may not be of much help—”

Just then, Zhuang Haotian at his side suddenly interjected: “Master, the last time the various Senior Brothers and Sisters encountered the Three-Eyed Snake, it is said that He Bang — the clam demon — dealt with it using only two arrows. Your disciple thinks that perhaps not every one of them is as formidable as the one we encountered today?”

A light came into Zhuang Shaoqin’s eyes. He murmured to himself: “Right — how could I have forgotten about that beautiful He Bang…” He licked his lips. “Only, given the current circumstances, how does one get her to lend a hand?”

“Master, your disciple actually thinks that in truth this matter is quite simple. The reason He Bang draws close to Senior Uncle is none other than for the sake of immortal flesh. If we were to…”

The corners of Zhuang Shaoqin’s lips curved upward. He reached out and gave his disciple’s shoulder a pat: “Well said.”

The next day, a letter was delivered to the Sea Emperor’s Palace — five thousand words, flowing and eloquent, written with extraordinary literary flair by Zhuang Shaoqin. Regrettably, once the letter was sent off, there was no response whatsoever. Zhuang Shaoqin realized that He Bang certainly would not trust Daozong, and had no choice but to ride his sword back to Qingxu Temple to discuss matters with Rong Chen Zi.

Upon hearing news of He Bang, Rong Chen Zi was silent for a long while. Zhuang Shaoqin reflected on the contents of his letter, feeling there was nothing amiss about it, and could not help but ask cautiously: “Senior Brother — seeing that she has sent no reply for so long… is it because the Three-Eyed Snake truly is a thorny matter, or because she still does not trust Daozong?”

Rong Chen Zi had only glanced once at the draft of the letter, and said nothing. It was Qingxuan who finally saw through to the heart of the matter. He carefully ventured: “Martial Uncle… your disciple believes… it may be because… your letter is written entirely in classical Chinese — she cannot read it…”