Chapter 87: Where Are You Going?

As soon as the Jia family was about to collapse, the whole of Lingnan County became overrun with monsters. At this moment, even the four great sects were like clay Bodhisattvas crossing the river—they could barely save themselves, let alone spare the effort to deal with these matters. The officials, for their part, maintained an ambiguous stance, always keeping to the position of detached observers. At most, they would act to preserve the dignity of the authorities, intervening only to protect the county seat. As for the villages beyond, they simply disregarded them.

On the road back to Shouchun, Ning Xiu had witnessed too many tragedies. Countless villages had been massacred, their inhabitants meeting wretched fates; it was rare even to find an intact corpse. At times, he wondered if he had descended into hell.

There was no doubt—these atrocities were committed by the evil spirits of the Nether Alliance.

...

In Yuanjia Village, the great square in front of the ancestral hall was packed with villagers.

All the villagers had been gathered there.

“Hao’er, tell everyone what’s happening,” said the village chief, a white-haired old man, addressing his son.

As soon as he spoke, nearly every villager turned their gaze to the young man standing at the center of the square.

The young man’s name was Yuan Hao, the son of the village chief. In the eyes of the villagers, Yuan Hao was someone who had made something of himself, having found employment with one of the great sects in the county capital. Normally, he would only return home for the major festivals, so his sudden appearance on an ordinary day was already cause for curiosity. Now, with everyone summoned in such a grand fashion, their curiosity was only heightened.

Yuan Hao surveyed the villagers, then spoke in a grave voice: “You’ve all probably heard the news of villages being massacred lately. Our own Yuanjia Village is likely to be the next target.”

His words instantly changed the expressions of everyone present.

“Then... what should we do? Should we report it to the authorities?”

“Hmph, the government’s useless. Every year they take our money, promising to get rid of bandits, and every year nothing happens.”

“If we can’t rely on the government, who can we rely on?”

“Nephew, aren’t you some sort of leader in the... whatever society it is? Why don’t you bring more people back with you?”

...

The villagers all spoke at once, voices overlapping in heated debate.

In their minds, these massacres were the work of local bandits, because that’s what the official notices said.

Yuan Hao looked at these ignorant villagers with some exasperation, sighing inwardly—sometimes, ignorance truly is bliss.

They had no idea that what awaited them was not bandits, but man-eating fiends who left not even bones behind!

He would have brought more men back if he could, but the truth was that every higher-up in the Bamboo Grove Society was in a state of panic—every man for himself in the face of disaster. The entire organization had fallen into disarray; who could spare a thought for other people’s troubles? In fact, if it weren’t for his family being here, Yuan Hao wouldn’t have returned at all. His original plan was to simply take his family and leave, but his stubborn old father insisted on this course of action.

Still, many of these villagers had watched him grow up. Their ignorance wasn’t their fault. Yuan Hao forced himself to be patient and raised his voice: “Everyone, listen to me! Please, listen!”

He projected his words with inner strength, silencing the crowd at once.

“This time, it’s not ordinary bandits coming. You all know the authorities are unreliable. My brothers in the society are all busy with other urgent matters and can’t help us either. So what we need to do now is pack our things and go take shelter in the nearby county town.”

Yuan Hao deliberately avoided telling them the true nature of the threat. These villagers had lived too long in a world woven of lies—if he told them outright that ghosts and monsters were coming to devour them, they wouldn’t be able to accept it.

It was better to be direct, as long as the result was the same.

Sure enough, when the villagers heard Yuan Hao’s words, the atmosphere grew even more tense.

“Nephew, if these bandits are just here to rob, perhaps we could pay them off. Given your connections, maybe they’d show us some mercy,” a middle-aged man suggested.

In his mind, Yuan Hao was a man of the underworld too; perhaps, if they offered enough money, the bandits could be appeased.

His reasoning was not entirely wrong. If it truly were just bandits, the mere name of the Bamboo Grove Society would be enough to send them away—there would be no need to pay anything. In fact, the society not coming to trouble them was already a great favor.

But the situation was different now.

Yuan Hao shot the man a glare and said sternly, “I’m not joking with you. So many villages have already been slaughtered—do you really think handing over some money will solve anything?”

“Is it truly unavoidable? Must we leave?” an elderly villager quavered.

They could leave, but their life’s savings, their homes and land, could not be taken with them.

For these people, such things were the fruit of a lifetime’s toil—if they left, they’d lose everything.

“This time, we must do as Hao’er says—everyone go home and pack,” the village chief sighed, addressing the crowd.

Yuan Hao saw the hesitation on the villagers’ faces and felt a surge of frustration. Still, he had said all he could; this was the limit of what he could do.

“Father, let’s go!” Yuan Hao said, taking his father by the hand and preparing to leave.

In his view, every moment spent lingering in the village increased the danger.

But he was still a step too late.

Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream rang out across the square.

A severed, bloody head flew from the crowd, landed in the center of the square, rolled a few times, and came to rest at Yuan Hao’s feet.

The middle-aged man who had just spoken about not wanting to leave turned ashen, his legs trembling uncontrollably, then gave way and he collapsed to the ground.

Nor was he alone—many villagers were struck dumb with terror.

Screams filled the air; the square descended into chaos.

Yuan Hao’s expression darkened as he gripped his father’s hand tightly. “We’re leaving!” he barked.

He had calculated that, based on the pattern and speed of the fiends’ attacks, it would be several days before they reached this village. Little did he know they would arrive so soon.

As he watched familiar faces fall before his eyes, Yuan Hao’s left hand clenched into a fist. Against these fiends, his third-rank martial strength was useless. There was nothing he could do but swallow his fury and get his father out alive.

All around, villagers scattered in panic.

Seven or eight fiends, still lacking sentience, attacked anything that moved, treating the villagers as nothing more than food.

Severed limbs and broken bodies flew through the air; cries and wails echoed everywhere.

Crimson blood gushed like a spring, staining the square in an instant.

Clutching his blade in one hand and carrying his father on his back, Yuan Hao barely managed to fight his way out of the village.

Suddenly, a voice called out from behind him.

“Where do you think you’re going?”