Chapter 40: The Mountain Deity

A three-room stone house—this was Fang Yue’s dwelling in Fangqiao Village, left to him by his late parents.

At that moment, Fang Yue was practicing martial arts in the courtyard. Ever since he had integrated the inner techniques of the “Jade Essence Method,” his movements flowed in harmony with the internal energy coursing through him. With every punch he threw, his qi surged, setting his fists whistling through the air with the sound of rushing wind. His breathing too had become rhythmic and measured; as his training deepened, each exhalation was marked by a faint, pale stream of breath visible at his nostrils—a sign that his inner energy had reached its peak.

After finishing a full set of forms, his body felt thoroughly loosened, every pore open and relaxed, suffused with an incomparable sense of comfort.

“My strength is passable for now,” he mused, “but when it comes to dealing with those bizarre, uncanny spirits, it’s still not quite enough. I can barely protect myself at best. I need more merit points to further elevate my Enlightenment Fist. I also need to collect more martial arts manuals, to synthesize their knowledge and use it as nourishment for my growth.”

Standing in place, Fang Yue adjusted his breath, his mind turning over these thoughts.

Inside the house.

“Reveal,” Fang Yue intoned silently.

The tarnished bronze mirror before him shimmered. A tangle of naked, squirming flesh appeared—one man, the Daoist priest Tian Yangzi, and two women whose identities Fang Yue did not recognize. He swept his gaze over the scene, taking it all in within the span of a single second, then severed the connection before Tian Yangzi could sense anything awry.

“Reveal.”

The bronze mirror shimmered again. This time, the tangle involved the female disciple of Tian Yangzi and two unfamiliar men. Fang Yue was taken aback—this master and apprentice were truly remarkable. But he only glanced for a second, breaking the connection before Wang Zhizhi could become aware of his gaze.

In truth, given Fang Yue’s current abilities, even if the master and disciple sensed something, they could not pinpoint the presence of an observer, much less retaliate through the mirror. What pained Fang Yue was the expenditure of his merit points.

“The master and disciple are still in the county town and have not come after me,” he breathed a sigh of relief. Though Fangqiao Village was remote, he had not dared to let down his guard after fleeing here, always fearing that Tian Yangzi and his disciple might pursue him. Thus, every day—morning, noon, and night—he would use his divine vision to spy on their whereabouts, three times daily to ensure he knew the movements of these two sorcerers. Even though each session lasted less than a second, the cost in merit points added up quickly, draining his meager reserves and causing him no small amount of distress.

All the merit points he managed to earn each day were spent on this, leaving him unable to save any for himself. Still, compared to the price of his own life, this was a small loss.

“From the looks of it, they don’t consider me important. To them, I’m just another ordinary person, not worth their attention. If I escaped, so be it—they’ll just look for a new target.”

From the glimpses he had caught over the past two days, Fang Yue had begun to piece together the reason for the sudden curse placed upon him.

“Scholar, something terrible has happened! Deng Yurong from Botou Village next door has brought a matchmaker to propose marriage at Widow Li’s house. You should go and see for yourself!”

A dark-skinned youth of about fourteen or fifteen rushed into Fang Yue’s courtyard. Fang Yue frowned at the news. He had only just returned from the county two days prior and was still unfamiliar with many of the village’s affairs, but he had heard that Widow Li’s husband, Fang Baikuan, had recently died in a tragic accident. The mourning period was still ongoing and the ancestral altar still stood in the house.

Fang Yue had paid his respects upon his return and offered words of comfort to both Widow Li and Fang Baikuan’s elderly mother. For someone to turn up now, with the body barely cold, accompanied by a matchmaker to propose marriage—this was nothing short of troublemaking and ill intent.

“Uncle Baikuan once beat that Deng Yurong within an inch of his life, and then was killed by wild beasts from the mountain. I heard that two other men from Botou Village also offended Deng Yurong, and both were mauled by wild beasts—one lost a leg, the other an arm, both crippled for life.

So everyone’s saying Deng Yurong is the reincarnation of the mountain god who lives behind us; if you offend him, the wild beasts will come for you.”

As Fang Yue and the youth hurried toward Widow Li’s house, the boy—quite the chatterbox—kept up a steady stream of talk.

“You really believe Deng Yurong is the mountain god reborn?”

“Of course! That’s what everyone says.”

Fang Yue felt something was amiss. Botou Village was just next door; he knew a bit about Deng Yurong. The man was a lazy, good-for-nothing scoundrel. How could he possibly command wild beasts from the mountains?

“Widow Li, it’s not that I’m greedy for a matchmaker’s fee, but someone has to speak some sense to you. Your husband’s gone, and you’re left with your blind old mother-in-law—no children, a lifetime of lonely widowhood ahead. How will you manage? I say, Deng Yurong’s a hardworking, honest, and caring man. If you remarry him, you’ll have someone to depend on. You’re both on your second marriage—no one loses out.”

Madam Wang, the matchmaker, was a plump woman whose face squeezed into a mass of cheerful wrinkles, resembling a blooming old chrysanthemum. She made her living by talking circles around people—turning black to white, white to black, the dead to living and the living to dead.

Deng Yurong, for all his idleness and thievery, was notorious for petty theft and loafing about town, despised by both town and village alike. Yet in Madam Wang’s telling, he became a hardworking, honest, and caring man. As for the claim that he was loving—what a mockery. His previous wife had been so abused and beaten by him that she drowned herself in the sea, her body swelling and washing ashore.

Madam Wang’s festive demeanor at a house in mourning made her all the more detestable.

Li Zhilian, born to a fisherman's family, had skin touched by the sun yet still retained a striking beauty, which only made her more the object of covetous glances. Draped in mourning, she looked all the more delicate and pitiful.

Facing Madam Wang’s proposal, her expression grew cold and she curtly dismissed them: “My husband’s mourning period is not yet over. You are not welcome here. Please leave at once.”

Deng Yurong sneered, “Why are you so stubborn? Your husband’s dead and gone—what’s left to miss? Let me tell you, things aren’t as they used to be. Master Qian from town has taken a liking to me and wants to hire me as a bodyguard. Master Qian is the richest man in town—his wealth could feed generations. If you marry me, you’ll want for nothing. Why waste your youth here, playing nursemaid to a blind old woman?”

As he spoke, Deng Yurong’s beady, flylike eyes roamed greedily over Li Zhilian, his lechery plain to see. He looked old before his time, his teeth yellowed, and his gaze on her was nothing short of obscene.

Madam Wang chimed in, “That’s right—if you go with him, you’ll never go hungry again. And everyone’s saying Yurong is the reincarnated mountain god. Stick with him, and when you grow old, you might even become a mountain goddess yourself!” She gave a cackling laugh.

Li Zhilian bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. The mention of the “mountain god” stung bitterly. Just days before, Deng Yurong had tried to molest her. Her husband, Fang Baikuan, had caught wind of it and beaten Deng Yurong half to death. Usually a coward, Deng Yurong had suddenly grown bold, swearing vengeance.

Three days ago, Fang Baikuan and several young men from the village had gone hunting, hoping to bring back fresh game. Disaster struck when, out of nowhere, wild beasts charged from the forest—not attacking anyone else, but singling out Fang Baikuan. In the chaos, before anyone could react, the beasts tore him apart. He died on the way back, his body mangled beyond recognition.

Li Zhilian had fainted at the sight of her husband’s mutilated corpse. When she awoke, she steeled herself to arrange the funeral.

Fang Baikuan’s father had died young, his mother raising him alone. With no siblings, the burden of the funeral fell to Li Zhilian, aided only by a few clansmen from the village.

After such a calamity, Deng Yurong had gloated, spreading the word that this was what happened to those who crossed him. Two others in town who had offended him were likewise attacked in the night by crazed wild beasts—one left crippled, the other maimed.

Superstitious villagers soon began to whisper that Deng Yurong was the reincarnation of the mountain god—how else to explain his power over the beasts? Master Qian, the town’s wealthiest man, had decided to hire him as a bodyguard precisely because of these rumors.

Deng Yurong made no effort to deny being the mountain god reborn, but if anyone accused him outright of siccing beasts on people, he would flatly deny it—he wasn’t so foolish as to admit to murder. Instead, he let the rumor of divine punishment do the work, keeping everyone in fear.