Chapter Fifty-Eight: A Demon Among Us

The carriage halted at Black Wolf Ridge, and Shangguan Chuanyun awoke from his meditation, hearing Commander Wu’s voice.

“Fourth Young Master, we’ve arrived at Black Wolf Ridge. Should we rest here for the night?”

Commander Wu noticed that dusk was approaching; everyone was more or less injured. If they pressed onward and ran into unexpected trouble, their current state would make them nothing but a burden. Without rest, the road ahead would be impossible to traverse.

Shangguan Chuanyun surveyed his battered and weary companions. Aside from himself, who was unscathed, everyone else bore wounds. Even Lou Jin’s pack of dogs had lost seven or eight, and the survivors were barely clinging to life; those who could be saved had been, the rest were left to die and be buried later.

After a moment’s thought, Shangguan Chuanyun replied, “Very well. Let’s proceed up Black Wolf Ridge, find a place to settle, recover from our wounds, and rest for a few days before moving on.”

At his command, the carriage resumed its journey along the rugged mountain path.

Black Wolf Ridge was once a vital road, connecting the north and south of Great Liang—a strategic route where, since the reign of the Eastern Emperor, human forces had been stationed to advance or retreat as needed, guarding against the demon clans.

But as the demon clans waned, it simply became a road. Any detour from here to the main official route would mean a journey of five hundred miles, making this a shortcut—though it had fallen into disuse after wolves and demons took over.

The abandoned official road was overgrown with shrubs, winding upward. The foreign-bred horses were large and sturdy, so there was no need to clear a path; they simply trampled the brush flat, saving much trouble and without slowing their pace.

Still, the howls of wolves echoed nearby—likely the remaining packs that lingered here. To guard against mishap, Shangguan Chuanyun stood atop the carriage, ever watchful of their surroundings. Everyone else was wounded and fatigued after a tense day; only he remained whole, his spiritual energy replenished after a brief recovery.

Night fell, and the exotic horses finally drew the carriage to a mountain god temple. Though somewhat dilapidated, it was still intact, surrounded by wild trees and grasses. The temple itself was sizable, with a large courtyard.

No tracks marked the area, suggesting the wolves did not inhabit it. Using his aura-seeing technique, Shangguan Chuanyun observed a faint divine glow atop the mountain temple, as if it might vanish at any moment. He mused,

“Could the mountain god still be alive? But this glow seems like the residual light of a magical artifact, without the incense aura of a true deity. Most likely, the mountain god perished long ago.”

Commander Wu, sensing Shangguan Chuanyun’s hesitation, asked, “Fourth Young Master, is anything amiss?”

Shangguan Chuanyun glanced around. Though they could press on by moonlight, it was unlikely they’d find another place to rest further ahead. He answered,

“Let’s stay here.”

Jia Cheng drove the carriage over the tall brush, and Commander Wu kicked open a makeshift gate of tied sticks. With no gatehouse to obstruct them, the carriage rolled directly into the courtyard.

Commander Wu assigned men to scout the area, while Shangguan Chuanyun strode to the temple and pushed open its doors, a cloud of dust billowing forth.

Inside, a seven-foot deity statue stood at the altar: fierce-faced and tusked, wielding a steel trident, a square seal hung around its neck, though its divine glow had faded.

On the offering table sat a broken incense burner.

Shangguan Chuanyun could tell at a glance that the temple had been in ruin for at least a decade. The seal on the statue’s neck was the source of the residual divine glow; it seemed the mountain god had fled.

In the posthumous divine path, most mountain gods were conferred by the emperor or the people upon meritorious individuals, while some were spirits who, through enlightenment and chance, became mountain gods.

Though cultivators could easily switch to the divine path, none would willingly relinquish freedom to be bound to a place.

The posthumous divine path imposed many restrictions: leaving their domain greatly diminished their power, and the risk of oblivion was real. The mountain god here had either escaped or perished—but certainly not died within these walls, for if so, the seal would be utterly dim, devoid of any lingering divine light.

The group settled in several rooms at the rear of the temple, remnants of the former temple staff—seven or eight in total, suggesting the mountain god’s temple had once flourished.

Shangguan Chuanyun watched his companions tidy the courtyard and wandered the grounds, appraising the surroundings. Although the mountain was wild and barren, it had pockets of spiritual vitality; the dragon vein came from the northwest and departed toward the southwest, imparting the effect of a latent dragon.

If someone could harness this place well, a hidden dragon would emerge.

The temple’s location was precisely where the dragon’s head soared. Shangguan Chuanyun thought to himself,

“Brilliant—the founder of this temple was truly wise. No wonder every era favored building something atop mountains.”

Establishing temples on mountain tops, conferring mountain gods, or erecting structures served two purposes: suppressing the dragon veins and overseeing the populace.

The earliest media was, in fact, the temple. The court distributed the divine path, revised rituals, guided public thought, and understood the people's needs.

This mountain god temple clearly served to suppress the mountain’s veins and monitor passing merchants.

Otherwise, why would a mountain god temple require seven or eight staff?

In previous dynasties, temple attendants were a type of official, managed by the Imperial Astronomer, tasked with monitoring demons and any threats to the nation's fortune. Only in this dynasty were they deemed unnecessary, believing that demons no longer existed, and the Confucians disdained talk of the supernatural. Thus, the department was abolished.

Though Shangguan Chuanyun appeared to be idly wandering, he was actually surveying the area: with only four guards including Commander Wu, two stewards busy elsewhere, Lou Jin’s dog pack barely alive, and the rest all wounded—several still lying about.

He noticed a patch of distant grass, sensing something strange—a faint glow flickered in the grass. Shangguan Chuanyun called out,

“Who’s there? Show yourself.”

The grass merely rustled in the autumn breeze. Even in the dark, Shangguan Chuanyun could see clearly, yet found nothing amiss.

He drew his sword and strode into the grass, executing the “Sweep the Grass to Startle the Snake” technique. Still, nothing stirred. He remained vigilant; if the guards were numerous and alert, he wouldn’t need to personally investigate. Only in such a depleted, exhausted state did it fall to him.

“Sweep the Grass to Startle the Snake” was a move from the Nine Sword Techniques, the essence of the Snake-Slaying Sword, integrated by predecessors as a protective style—legend had it the sword could cleave dragons.

Yet despite using it, nothing responded in the grass. He had clearly seen a living aura, but now it was gone; likely, the entity had already escaped. Its escape technique was remarkably advanced, he thought. This night would not be peaceful; he must prepare defenses.

That night, everyone rested. Shangguan Chuanyun intended to help stand watch, but his companions refused, so he relented.

He set up warning barriers around the mountain god temple, then prepared to retire. On a whim, he took the seal hanging from the mountain god statue’s neck before returning to his room.

At the hour of the ox, Commander Wu’s turn to keep watch arrived. He stepped out, fully armed, to check the hidden sentry posts—only to find them deserted.

At the post, only a half-drawn sword remained. Alarmed, he quickly took cover against a wall, alert to his surroundings.

The sword sprang forth, guarding him.

“What’s happening?”

Jia Cheng, hearing the sound of drawn steel, called out from inside,

“There’s…”

But before Commander Wu could finish his reply, his voice was cut off. Jia Cheng sensed trouble and shouted,

“Enemy attack!”

The remaining two guards and Jia Liang rushed out of their rooms, checked the sentry post, and found Commander Wu unconscious. In the pitch-black night, with their most capable commander incapacitated and nighttime unsuitable for combat, they carried him back inside.

In Shangguan Chuanyun’s room, Lou Jin’s dog whimpered, trying to rise.

Shangguan Chuanyun soothed it, then donned his sword and strapped on his sword case.

Something felt off—there were no dog barks. Dogs were far more sensitive than humans; even wounded, a dozen could still run, with seven or eight deployed outside.

Though he was monitoring with his spiritual sense, he saw only a figure abducting the guards, unable to react in time.

It appeared the assailant did not intend outright murder—likely seeking to negotiate. Then he saw Commander Wu go out and get knocked out just as he was about to summon his flying sword.

The malice wasn’t directed at him, so he couldn’t track it; the dogs outside had likely been knocked out as well.

Shangguan Chuanyun pushed open the door and stepped outside, setting a barrier in his room before gathering everyone in the temple’s main hall.

He examined Commander Wu’s injuries. His flying sword trembled as he found a mass of demon energy sealing Wu’s crown acupoint. Nothing too serious—removing it would suffice. But the sword quivered violently, revealing something was wrong; flying swords were most sensitive to thoughts and emotions.

This technique was no ordinary one—it was laced with malice. Shangguan Chuanyun probed with his spiritual sense and discovered a strange aura within the demon energy, slowly creeping downward.

He said,

“What a vicious method.”

He was angry—the demon’s intentions were truly sinister.

“What’s wrong, Young Master?”

Everyone looked anxiously at Shangguan Chuanyun.

He replied,

“Commander Wu’s crown acupoint has been sealed by demon energy, and a strange aura is spreading downward.”

A guard, close as a brother to Commander Wu, asked urgently,

“What will happen?”

Shangguan Chuanyun thought for a moment before answering,

“This aura may not show immediate effects, but over time, it will subtly alter his temperament, making him cold and indifferent—and eventually, he will become a puppet of whoever controls this energy.”

Jia Cheng shivered at the thought; nothing is more frightening than losing oneself and becoming another’s puppet. Better to die than suffer such a fate. He asked,

“Is Commander Wu still savable?”