Dark, ominous clouds swirled in the night sky, the heavens dark and heavy as if pressing down to the ground. Raindrops, descending from the vast expanse, were carried by a howling, biting wind, sweeping across the desolate earth.
In this wilderness, there was no sign of village or settlement, only an ancient road stretching endlessly from afar, solitary and forlorn. The low, rumbling thunder echoed in the dark clouds, and the rain began to pour more fiercely.
The world was somber; in the wilderness, aside from the sounds of wind and rain, everything was pitch black. Only a solitary light flickered beside the ancient road, a small beacon of light in the darkness.
This was a lonely hut, owned by a man surnamed He, a hardworking middle-aged man in his early forties. Originally from the town of Xiaochi, about a day’s journey away, he had built this humble abode on the side of the road, providing weary travelers with a place to rest and a warm cup of tea, earning a meager living.
At that moment, Mr. He sat behind the counter of his shop, listening intently to the howling wind and rain outside. His brows furrowed, and he sighed softly. In such weather, it seemed unlikely that any more travelers would venture out.
His humble hut stood between the town of Xiaochi and the mighty mountain Kongsang to the west. The ancient road outside was a well-trodden path for merchants and travelers, leading to the great city of Changhe in the east. So, there were always travelers passing through.
But on this stormy night, within this lonely hut, several guests still remained, silently sitting in the dim, flickering light, sheltering from the tempest outside.
“Pop.”
The oil lamp in front of Mr. He emitted a faint crackle, rousing him from his drowsiness. The howling wind and rain intensified, almost like a wailing sob, indicating that the night was far from over, and the guests were unlikely to leave anytime soon.
He thought to himself, looking at the guests in his shop. The modest hut held only five tables. Three of them were occupied: one by a lone man in a dark corner, barely illuminated by the light, his face obscured; another by a distinguished elderly man and a young, beautiful maiden, with a bamboo stick beside the elder, a banner hanging from it reading “Divine Guidance,” suggesting he was a traveling fortune-teller; and the last table was occupied by a group of four merchants, with a pile of goods in the corner, one of them muttering curses under his breath.
“Alright, stop complaining,” one of the older men among the merchants scolded. Turning to Mr. He, he smiled apologetically, “Mr. He, we’re sorry to keep you up so late on such a stormy night.”
Mr. He smiled and shook his head, “It’s no trouble. I often stay up late. But, why did you choose to travel today when the weather was so bad?”
The elder paused, then exchanged a look with his companions, “We knew the weather was bad, but we have our reasons. It’s not easy to make a living out here.”
Mr. He nodded, “I see. What’s been happening?”
The elder sighed, “Ten years ago, the once-disbanded Cult of Evil reappeared, even clashing with the righteous disciples of Azure Ethereal Vapors. Since then, the Cult has grown stronger, and the land is in chaos. Bandits and thieves are rampant, and we must be constantly vigilant.”
Mr. He listened in silence, then suddenly, a voice came from the dark corner, “So, you blame the Cult for all the chaos and banditry?”
The elder was taken aback, and the fortune-teller and the young maiden turned to look. The maiden, with her bright eyes and sweet smile, spoke, “Sir, your face is thin and lined, but your destiny is still unbroken. You’ve had many struggles, but your life has been safe. However, a small scar on your forehead may bring a great crisis in your old age. It would be wise to speak less and avoid trouble.”
The elder hesitated, then bowed, “Thank you, young lady.”
The room fell silent again, and the mysterious man in the corner also kept quiet.
But the long night was hard to bear. After a while, the merchants began to chat, eventually talking about the battle between the righteous and the Cult ten years ago at Azure Ethereal Conclave.
These ordinary folk, who had never seen the battle, relished the stories. The young men’s voices grew louder, and others were drawn in.
“…During the battle, the Elder Duanxuan, with a mere touch, summoned thunder and lightning, pushing back the Cult. The sound could be heard for miles!”
“Rubbish!” the fortune-teller, Monday Immortal, scoffed, “If Duanxuan was so powerful, why did so many die, including two of the Seven Peaks’ leaders? The Cult’s leaders are no pushovers!”
Everyone was speechless, and the young maiden, Xiao Huan, frowned, “Grandpa, I just told people to be quiet, and now you’re talking too much!”
Monday Immortal chuckled, “Little Huan, don’t worry. My fate is to live a long, peaceful life. I’m fine, don’t fret.”
Xiao Huan almost choked on her tea, glaring at him, but he was unperturbed. This traveling duo, Monday Immortal and Xiao Huan, had been wandering the world together for years. Now, Monday Immortal, emboldened, began to regale the group with tales of the battle at Azure Ethereal Conclave, much to Xiao Huan’s chagrin.
As Monday Immortal spoke, even Mr. He joined the group, mesmerized by his vivid storytelling.
Suddenly, a gasp came from the dark corner, “So, do you know what happened to the young disciple Zhang Xiaofan, the one who supposedly defected from Azure Ethereal Vapors?”
Monday Immortal frowned, “I don’t know. The battle was chaotic, and Zhang Xiaofan was captured by the Cult. No one knows what became of him.”
The room murmured, and Mr. He sighed, “What happened to that young man?”
“He’s… changed,” the mysterious man in the corner said, his voice tinged with sorrow.
Monday Immortal turned, “Do you know something?”
The man paused, “I do, but even if you met him, you wouldn’t recognize him.”
Xiao Huan frowned, “What happened to him?”
The man didn’t answer, retreating into the shadows.
Outside, the storm raged, the wind and rain more vicious than ever.
***
Kongsang Mountain, Bat Cave.
Eight hundred years ago, the Cult of Evil flourished under the leadership of Black Heart Ancestor, who commanded the entire sect. But now, the place was desolate, and the Dead Spirit Abyss, hidden deep within, was besieged by enemies.
The few remaining members of the Blood Refining Hall gathered by the massive stone engraved with “Dead Spirit Abyss.” They were cornered, their numbers dwindling to less than ten, including Elder Nian, Liu Hao, and the Wild Dog Taoist. All were injured and terrified, surrounded by dozens of black-clad figures, each with a skull emblem on their chest.
Elder Nian, trying to stay calm, spoke, “Fellow Ghost King Sect members, we are a small faction, and we have never offended the Ghost King Sect. Why are you attacking us?”
A cold laugh came from the black-clad leader, “Elder Nian, the situation is clear. The Ghost King Sect is growing, and you’ve been wavering. Are you mocking the Ghost King?”
Elder Nian’s face paled, “The Ghost King is a great leader. Join us, or face the consequences.”
Sweat poured down Elder Nian’s face. He knew they couldn’t defeat the Ghost King Sect, but the legacy of his ancestors weighed heavily on him.
The black-clad leader sneered, “You’re lucky it’s me, but the one leading this attack is none other than the Ghost King Sect’s Deputy Leader, Ghost Li. If he comes, your end will be swift.”
The air filled with a thick, blood-like stench, and the footsteps echoed, slowly approaching. The black-clad figures parted, revealing a figure with a menacing aura, carrying a black staff, the infamous ‘Soul Eater.’
Elder Nian finally gave in, handing over the Black Heart Token, “Our 800-year legacy ends here…”
“No!” the Wild Dog Taoist yelled, “Elder Nian, you made a vow to the Black Heart Ancestor. How can you betray us?”
Elder Nian, ashamed, “Wild Dog, it’s over. Join us, or face death.”
The Wild Dog Taoist, shaking, “No, I won’t betray the Blood Refining Hall. Kill me, but I won’t join you.”
The figure, Ghost Li, with his blood-red eyes, gazed at the Wild Dog Taoist, who stood defiantly, awaiting his fate.
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