Enthusiastic passersby pulled him along and advised Liu Qiao’e for a long time before slowly dispersing.
By the time the two returned to the inn, dusk had fallen, and the evening breeze blew hot while new cicadas chirped faintly.
Just before entering the door, Mu Daoying called out to Liu Qiao’e.
Liu Qiao’e frowned. “What now—huh?”
In the young man’s fair palm rested a plump bamboo-woven rabbit.
Liu Qiao’e’s impatient words caught in her throat.
Mu Daoying said, “Old Mother asked me to weave this just now.”
Liu Qiao’e opened her mouth, then pursed her lips and stared at the rabbit again and again.
Seeing her strange expression, Mu Daoying thought she disliked it and hesitated, lacking confidence. “…Sorry, it’s a bit crude.” He pursed the corner of his mouth and was about to withdraw his hand when Liu Qiao’e suddenly snatched the rabbit away.
“You give it to me and now want it back?” Liu Qiao’e said irritably.
Mu Daoying carefully observed her expression again and saw a hint of reproach in her eyes, so he figured she must like it.
He breathed a sigh of relief uncertainly, bid Liu Qiao’e farewell, and returned to his room.
After the day’s events, Mu Daoying felt utterly exhausted. He called for hot water, washed up hastily, and lay back on the bed.
The skin Liu Qiao’e had struck was red and swollen, hot and painful.
He closed his eyes and recalled Zhao Yange’s words, letting out a self-mocking smile from the bottom of his heart.
Yongzhang had indeed overthought it. Mu Daoying felt slightly reassured and let his consciousness sink into the sweet darkness of dreams.
At midnight.
Mu Daoying was suddenly jolted awake by a strange singing voice.
The singing was uniform, as if directed by someone. Judging by the sound, it came from the center of the street.
Mu Daoying got off the bed, pushed open the window, and peered toward the street center.
He witnessed a bizarre scene. The bustling long street of the daytime was now shrouded in pale white night fog.
One by one, shadowy figures gathered from all directions—men and women, from white-haired elderly to children with their hair in tufts.
The diligent, peaceful residents of Fogveil City, who had worked hard during the day, now converged on the street center like wandering night spirits.
Each held a candle, their faces showing fanaticism as their mouths moved, shouting in unison, “Flesh rots and skin decays, only bones remain! Perfect virtue escapes suffering, reborn in peace!”
The candlelight gradually merged into a fire dragon. They shouted as they eagerly surged eastward.
Mu Daoying was stunned by the scene before him. While he puzzled over it, a familiar voice sounded behind him.
“Another one of the Demonic Sect’s tricks.”
By now, he could recognize the speaker without turning around.
“Demonic Sect?” He unconsciously frowned and murmured the words in repetition.
Liu Qiao’e sneered coldly and grabbed his hand. “Come with me.”
Mu Daoying froze, and before he could resist, she pulled him flying out of the inn all the way to the street center.
At first, Mu Daoying worried that the citizens might notice these two uninvited guests.
But the citizens had clearly fallen into a fanatical illusion and merely kept surging along with the crowd.
The two followed the flow out of the city.
Unexpectedly, they spotted familiar faces in the crowd.
“Old Mother? Ning Xia?” Zhao Yange, Song Miaoling, and the others walked over in surprise.
“You heard the singing too?” Song Miaoling said. “Elder Lai took some people to guard the inn. We came out to check the disturbance.”
The group walked and talked until they reached the outskirts, where their path was suddenly blocked.
Mu Daoying halted and looked up.
There, a massive mound of corpses stood silently under the firelight.
Layer upon layer of bodies were piled up in the outskirts, with wisps of flames burning at the top of the corpse mound.
Mu Daoying had read about “mounds of corpses” in history books: “In ancient times, after killing thieves and winning battles, they displayed the corpses and built mounds of corpses as places to store them.” This was the first time he had seen one with his own eyes in reality.
He could not help but be moved, his heart sinking. Who could be so cruel as to build this mound of corpses?
“It was the Bone Devouring Sect.” Liu Qiao’e’s face was dim and hard to discern in the firelight.
Mu Daoying had naturally heard of the Bone Devouring Sect. He subconsciously glanced at the corpse mound again and then noticed the trick.
Every corpse was soft like a large sack, as if stripped of bones—clearly the work of the Bone Devouring Sect.
The Bone Devouring Sect originally belonged to the Flesh Body sub-sect among the Eight Demonic Sects. Many years ago, the Flesh Body sub-sect split into three: Flesh Devouring, Blood Devouring, and Bone Devouring.
The Flesh Body sub-sect believed that human flesh, blood, and bones contained spiritual power, and devouring them could advance one’s cultivation. The Bone Devouring Sect’s magic tools were mostly made from human bones.
Song Miaoling also felt horrified. “I’ve heard that in recent years, the Demonic Sect has been preaching their doctrines everywhere, saying that the heavenly cycle has turned and the end times are coming. I never imagined Fogveil City had been infiltrated to this extent!”
“No wonder Ling Yuanzi chose to come here.” Di Chong sneered coldly.
Zhao Yange frowned. Di Chong kept speaking rudely, and he worried a bit for Mu Daoying.
Mu Daoying’s expression remained unchanged, extremely calm and composed.
“We’re already here.” Liu Qiao’e spoke up. “Let’s check around first.”
As they talked, a dark-faced man had climbed the corpse mound and stood at the top, raising his arms to shout to the crowd.
The group scouted around but found nothing unusual.
Though the scene was shocking, there were no traces of the Demonic Sect on site. It seemed to be a spontaneous sacrificial ritual.
But at that moment, Mu Daoying seemed to spot an extremely familiar figure.
The figure was not tall, somewhat short and stout, but it was someone he had seen day and night, even countless times in his dreams.
He froze for a moment, his heartbeat unconsciously quickening, heat surging in his chest.
His master?
He instinctively chased after the figure for a few steps.
Someone placed a hand on his shoulder, and Di Chong’s soft, feminine cold voice rang out. “Daoist Mu, what did you see?”
Mu Daoying stiffened and brushed off his hand!
Di Chong followed his gaze, and his expression changed as he drew his sword. “It’s Ling Yuanzi!!”
His shout startled the other Immortal Alliance disciples, who rushed over. “Ling Yuan? Where?”
But Di Chong had already urged his sword light forward, charging ahead!
Mu Daoying didn’t hesitate and also activated his sword light to pursue closely!
The short, stout figure in the crowd seemed startled, glanced around, and fled as a streak of light.
But with the crowd so dense, he apparently feared injuring people and didn’t push his escape light to the limit.
In that instant, Mu Daoying confirmed it was undoubtedly his master and believed his master had no ties to the Demonic Sect—his personality had always been extremely kind.
Di Chong ignored all that. His escape light surged violently, slicing nearby citizens, sending them tumbling to the ground.
He reached Ling Yuan first. His sword light rose through the air, thrusting straight at Ling Yuan’s vital point!
Ling Yuan had no choice but to stop and block. With a wave of his large sleeve, the peerlessly sharp sword light dissolved miraculously into nothing.
Di Chong’s expression changed drastically, and he urged his sword light three times in succession.
Mu Daoying finally arrived but hadn’t acted when several Immortal Alliance disciples blocked his path.
His face cooled slightly as he raised his eyes in displeasure.
The Immortal Alliance disciples said, “Daoist, don’t move. One move, and things get complicated.”
Mu Daoying could only purse his lips tightly and watch the battle intently.
Song Miaoling and Liu Qiao’e arrived at that moment.
Song Miaoling’s weapon was a judge’s brush. The brush flew out, dotting several times and weaving ink traces that trapped Ling Yuan firmly amid the strokes.
Liu Qiao’e released a white lotus from the top of her head. The lotus opened and closed, then turned into scattering petal blades.
The assault from the Immortal Alliance was relentless. In a flash, blood appeared on Ling Yuan.
But Song Miaoling and Di Chong didn’t get off easy either.
Ling Yuan had once been an elder of Jade Clarity Temple, no pushover. Disciples kept getting injured and withdrawing.
Seeing this, Di Chong grew even more furious, his sword strokes increasingly fierce and reckless, clearly abandoning “capture alive.”
Song Miaoling had no choice; to protect her fellow disciples, her judge’s brush went for the kill.
Among them, Liu Qiao’e had the highest cultivation, but everyone around her was a liability. She held the line alone, her pressure doubling.
At this point, capturing him alive was a pipe dream.
Liu Qiao’e’s face was extremely stern. She flung out the Blood Rakshasa from her sleeve, biting Ling Yuan until he was covered in wounds!
The sword tip plunged into his chest, grazing the heart! Ling Yuan staggered back a step and spat out a large mouthful of blood!
Di Chong seized the opening and sent his sword light toward Ling Yuan’s back!
At the same time, Song Miaoling and the other Immortal Alliance disciples attacked from all sides with blades, spears, swords, and halberds—every weapon imaginable—nearly turning Ling Yuan into a pincushion.
Seeing his master injured, Mu Daoying’s heart ached with grief. His filial devotion nearly made him lash out at the Immortal Alliance disciples beside him—
Suddenly!
Ling Yuan seemed to know continuing like this meant death. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached into his sleeve.
A faint yellow glimmer shot from his sleeve. In an instant, it expanded rapidly, split apart, and engulfed everyone in blinding light, turning the surroundings as bright as day.
Someone cried out, “Soul-Returning Lamp!”
“Don’t let him escape!”
In the daze, Mu Daoying’s lips moved slightly. He finally couldn’t hold back and called out, “Master.”
His voice was low and soft, like a wanderer’s deep sigh.
The light gradually faded, leaving only scattered glimmers floating and soon extinguishing.
Mu Daoying reached out to lightly touch the specks of light, his expression dazed, feeling as if seeing his master had been a dream.
“Ning Xia, Ning Xia.” Zhao Yange’s call brought him back. “Are you alright?”
Mu Daoying shook his head gently, his mood low and utterly weary.
“Yongzhang, I… When we get back to the inn, I have something to tell you.”
Zhao Yange paused, vaguely guessing what Mu Daoying wanted to say, but seeing his exhaustion, he didn’t press.
Mu Daoying was extremely dependent on this master. Witnessing him nearly besieged and killed must have been hard.
Even he had nearly lost control moments ago.
The Immortal Alliance had caused a huge commotion here, and the citizens scattered in panic.
The dark-faced man who had stood at the top of the corpse mound tried to flee but slipped in his haste and fell from the peak. He let out a miserable scream as blood poured from his mouth and nose, and he stopped breathing in an instant.
Mu Daoying had no interest in how the Immortal Alliance would handle the aftermath. He simply walked slowly to a nearby tree, sat down, and closed his eyes to rest.
He had a gentle, refined appearance, with soft black hair draping down. With lowered lashes, he seemed serene. But his heart was far from as calm and emotionless as he appeared.
Mu Daoying’s fingertips in his sleeve quietly clenched as he silently recalled the moment the Soul-Returning Lamp’s light had surged.
He clearly remembered arriving at Jade Clarity Temple on Little Cold Mountain as a young child, far from his parents and family, unaccustomed to everything.
His master had patiently cared for him and taught him.
Over time, the young boy developed an affection and dependence on his master nearly like that for family.
He clung greatly to Ling Yuan, but Ling Yuan was busy with sect affairs and trips to the Purple Micro Palace for meetings, unable to always accompany him. As a child, he feared the dark, the quiet, and the tightly shut room.
So his master specially created a sound transmission secret art for the two of them.
This technique was for master and disciple only; no one else could hear their private words.