35. The urge to kill could no longer be restrained.

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“I never expected that amidst these Hundred Thousand Mountains, there would be a Daoist temple. How peculiar,” Song Qiuyue remarked. She wore a pale blue ruqun, a multicolored sash fluttering at her waist. Her eyebrows were bright, her teeth white, and her features, though gentle, bore a trace of heroic spirit. At eighteen or nineteen, she was in the prime of her youth.

“This place must be inhabited. The footprints on the ground are still fresh,” observed one of the cultivators, glancing down at the ground. The tracks were a jumble, left by seven or eight people.

“Let’s go up and have a look. If there’s anyone here, we can ask if they saw that golden light last night.”

The previous night, a golden sun had risen over the Hundred Thousand Mountains. Although it vanished in an instant, countless sinister entities had sensed it. So too had the deities.

Song Qiuyue had been meditating in a wooden temple at the time. The deities, like madmen, had urged her to seek out the source of that golden light, to obtain it at any cost. Yet when she asked why, they had no answer—only an insatiable desire for whatever it was that shone with that light.

“If we find that thing, everyone will be credited with great merit.”

“How could we not give it our all!” The cultivators were visibly excited. For them, mere household servants, a great merit was the stuff of dreams. It would not only advance their cultivation but might even allow them to shed their servile status and rise further.

Yet beneath their outward excitement lay resignation. The deities had given only a general direction, not a precise location. Who could possibly find that thing? They were merely fulfilling appearances.

“Let’s go!” Song Qiuyue laughed softly, ascending the steps with the leisurely grace of a noblewoman out for a stroll. Her unhurried manner left the cultivators behind her unwilling to urge her onward. Each followed in silence, wary of overstepping.

After all, this was the niece of Song Tiangang, the Prefect of Xu Prefecture—a lady of distinguished lineage, her cultivation already past the Nascent Soul stage. An eighteen or nineteen-year-old female cultivator at the Nascent Soul level, and a noblewoman to boot—such status permitted her to do as she pleased. Even if she ordered them to capture a few demons, they would have no choice but to obey.

Fortunately, this time they were only half-heartedly searching for the source of the golden light. Whether they found it or not was of little consequence; the true task was to scout locations for migration.

Migration was not Song Qiuyue’s responsibility. Once a suitable place was found, she would return to Xu Prefecture City, and others would handle the rest. Ordinarily, such a trivial task would not fall to her, but she had volunteered—not for prestige, but because her parents had died young and she had been raised as a daughter by Song Tiangang.

Song Tiangang, as Prefect, was perpetually busy and had little time for her; her care fell to his various concubines. Among them, the Twelfth Lady had shown her great kindness.

Now, the Twelfth Lady had perished in the Hundred Thousand Mountains. Song Qiuyue knew well the likely outcome—her body never to be found—but she still wished to look for herself. If, by chance, she encountered the demon responsible, she would destroy it and thus offer some closure.

As for actually finding the culprit... The Hundred Thousand Mountains were vast and filled with monsters.

A noble family is like a great tree, offering shade and shelter. But to cling to such a tree, appearances must be maintained, even if substance is lacking. Otherwise, as an orphan, Song Qiuyue might one day become a marginal figure in the Song household. All her so-called nobility would amount to little more than clean shoes spared from the mud.

Jade Qiong Mountain was not tall, nor was it particularly beautiful, nor its waters pure. At this season, most trees were stripped bare, making the mountain seem all the more desolate.

“This place is called the Pure Immortal Temple?” Song Qiuyue glanced at the temple gate and shook her head with a smile. On the path of cultivation, the Nascent Soul stage was already the limit; beyond that, one could only ascend to divinity. Yet here was a temple named ‘Pure Immortal’—as if even immortals needed purification, or as if the temple purged immortality itself. Utterly senseless.

Passing through the gate and walking another hundred or so steps, the space ahead opened up. Song Qiuyue and the cultivators saw Chen Huangpi, Granny Tang, and the others. With just a glance, Song Qiuyue lost interest. An elderly woman at the Golden Core stage, and an eight- or nine-year-old Daoist boy—neither was worthy of her attention.

“Go and ask them,” Song Qiuyue gestured for the servants to inquire.

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She herself began to examine the Pure Immortal Temple with interest. Its architecture was ancient, with blue bricks and green tiles, and every plant and blade of grass was carefully tended. Yet the scent of incense was faint, so faint it seemed the deities worshipped here were on the verge of perishing. The place was not large, but neither was it cramped. Someone lived here, which meant it was at least a safe refuge—perhaps suitable for migrants.

As for the current residents of the temple, Song Qiuyue paid them no mind.

A cultivator approached Granny Tang and asked, “Are you in charge of this temple?”

“Esteemed one, I am merely a guest here, not the host,” Granny Tang replied, her manner cautious. These cultivators gave her a bad feeling. Each was at least at the Nascent Soul stage, like the Twelfth Lady’s household. Their attire matched as well. She knew she had to tread carefully.

“May I ask your honored name?” she continued.

“You may call me Zhao Hai,” the cultivator replied coolly. “I see you possess some cultivation. Last night there was a great golden light—did you see what caused it?”

Granny Tang had been utterly exhausted the previous night and had slept straight through until dawn. In unfamiliar territory, she should have been more vigilant, especially at the Pure Immortal Temple, but she had simply lost the will—knowing that, with her own meager cultivation and the mountain god’s current state, she would have no defense if anything happened. So she had slept deeply.

Now, at Zhao Hai’s question, she sensed trouble. She had seen Chen Huangpi turn the brass oil lamp into a dog and knew how extraordinary the lamp was. With her wisdom, it was easy to guess that the golden light came either from the lamp or from Chen Huangpi or his enigmatic master. Either way, it was not her place to comment.

So she replied, “There was indeed a golden light last night, but I do not know whence it came. In all my decades in the Hundred Thousand Mountains, I have never seen such a marvel. Have you come here for that, esteemed one?”

Zhao Hai’s face darkened as he shouted, “How dare you deceive us! The golden light clearly appeared right here. If you do not tell the truth, be warned—I’ll have your skin for it!” As he spoke, his aura surged, fierce as a raging blaze.

Granny Tang grunted in pain. The Nascent Soul cultivator’s pressure nearly made her cough blood.

“My cultivation is shallow. How would I dare deceive you?” she protested. “I truly do not know what caused the golden light. Please have mercy, esteemed one.”

Already stooped, she bent even lower under the weight of his aura.

Zhao Hai’s face grew more sullen. Just then, another cultivator secretly transmitted, “She’s telling the truth.”

Among cultivators, there were ways of detecting lies. Soul-searching was the most direct, but ever since the world changed and those who walked a divergent path lost that ability, they had developed lie-detecting techniques instead—not as effective, but sufficient.

Granny Tang, though she lived deep in the mountains, had ventured out in her youth and knew the tricks of cultivators. She knew how to respond.

Zhao Hai frowned. “We’ve followed the direction of the golden light and found only this temple. Could it have come from farther in?”

Beyond this point lay the deepest, most uncanny parts of the Hundred Thousand Mountains. Although the Prefect had ordered them to bring a hundred deities, they were only the vanguard, with sixty deities. Once a suitable site was found, the other forty would come with the main migration group. Sixty deities were already formidable—enough to destroy most common monsters on the outskirts. For anything stranger, they could still protect themselves. But venturing deeper... that would surely anger the gods.

“Miss, do the deities have any instructions?” Zhao Hai asked, bowing low in deference.

“The deities have given no further guidance, but the direction is correct,” Song Qiuyue replied lightly, signaling Zhao Hai to withdraw his pressure, which he did at once.

“Thank you, my lady,” Granny Tang managed a strained bow, swallowing a mouthful of blood with relief.

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Song Qiuyue paid Granny Tang no more heed. She had always preferred beauty; old, hunchbacked cultivators like Granny Tang, especially those of only Golden Core rank, repulsed her. To speak even a word more to such a person was nauseating.

“You, come here,” Song Qiuyue said, pointing to Chen Huangpi.

“Me?” he asked.

“Yes, you. Step forward.”

“Oh, okay.” Chen Huangpi walked up and stood before her. Up close, he was hardly attractive—not bewitching and alluring like the Twelfth Lady.

Song Qiuyue took a step back, her tone cool. “Judging by your clothes, you’re the Daoist of this Pure Immortal Temple, aren’t you?”

“I’m not from the Pure Immortal Temple,” Chen Huangpi replied, shaking his head. “The temple is mine. Well, not now, but it will be. My master said so.”

“Oh? You have a master?” Song Qiuyue was a little surprised, only now realizing that Chen Huangpi was also a cultivator. His aura was odd—part body-refining, part qi-refining, and yet like a Foundation Establishment cultivator, though something about him was... off. In a word: strange. And he had a master? Could he be some hidden recluse who had taken refuge in the mountains? But if so, why choose such a wretched place?

Chen Huangpi looked at her, puzzled. “If I don’t have a master, where would I have come from?”

At that, Song Qiuyue lost interest. Clearly, he was a simpleton.

“Obviously, your parents gave birth to you.”

“No, that’s not it.” Chen Huangpi shook his head. “I have no parents, only my master.”

At this, Song Qiuyue snorted with derision. “No parents? Then you’re an orphan.”

“I’m not an orphan.”

“No parents means you’re an orphan.”

“Well, fine, I’m an orphan. So do you have parents?” Chen Huangpi asked.

The question stunned Song Qiuyue. Every cultivator present turned grim and glared at Chen Huangpi with murderous intent.

Granny Tang, sensing trouble, hurried to explain, “Please don’t be angry, my lady. This young lad is simple and honest, with no ill intent—he just speaks his mind. Please be forgiving...”

“Hah...” Song Qiuyue suddenly laughed, her voice melodious as a mountain spring, charming and refreshing.

“How amusing. How very amusing.”

“I lost my parents young and was raised by my uncle as his own daughter. He cherishes me and forbids anyone from mentioning the matter in my presence. You’re the first who’s dared.” With a gentle smile, Song Qiuyue walked over to Chen Huangpi and studied him closely, as if trying to see into his very soul.

Girls matured faster than boys, and Song Qiuyue towered over Chen Huangpi by two heads. At this close distance, Chen Huangpi could see her flawless skin, her graceful neck, and the way the ruqun swelled at her chest and narrowed sharply at her waist.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” Song Qiuyue asked with a wanton smile.

“Yes,” Chen Huangpi replied with difficulty, feeling thoroughly ill at ease. His heart raced, his face flushed, and his mouth went dry. Pressing a hand to his chest, he bowed his head.

“Look at me,” Song Qiuyue commanded.

Instead, Chen Huangpi took a few steps back. “Don’t come any closer.”

“Why not?” she asked, her smile growing even more unrestrained—and beneath it, a hint of killing intent.

Chen Huangpi raised his head and answered earnestly, “Because I can hardly suppress my urge to kill any longer.”