On the 25th day of the twelfth lunar month in the second year of the Kaiyuan calendar, Zhao Xunan trudged through snow-covered fields, leaving Zhili behind and entering the Western Mountain Circuit.
Days of heavy snow and the approaching Lunar New Year had left the mountain trails desolate. He'd traveled over ten li without spotting a single soul—save for the occasional post station or village, which provided meager supplies for his spotted horse, Zahua. Without these stops, the horse would've perished long ago.
"Sir, it's rare to see travelers this deep into winter," the post station attendant remarked, tending to Zahua's hooves.
"Military orders demand haste. I must reach the northwest in a few months—better to start early," Zhao Xunan replied, seated on a rickety bamboo chair as the attendant fitted Zahua with new, red-hot horseshoes.
The day was still bright when Zhao Xunan decided to press on. He'd intended to reach the next post station but took a wrong turn in the mountains, chasing a vague sense of adventure. By dusk, he'd strayed far from the trails, his "relaxing stroll" turning into a trek through untamed wilderness.
Yet the detour wasn't entirely fruitless. Using his cultivation to project his consciousness, he scoured the area and found a thirty-year-old mountain ginseng. With this prize, his interest piqued, he ventured deeper into the fading woods. Only when the sky dimmed did he realize how far he'd wandered.
But the gain outweighed the risk. Over the past few days, he'd foraged eight or nine rare herbs, refining his cultivation to the point where his consciousness now reached twenty zhang in all directions—a pleasant surprise.
As night fell, Zhao Xunan prepared to turn back. His consciousness, however, caught a faint but potent scent of spiritual herbs. A rare treasure, he thought, pushing through thorny undergrowth.
Ten zhang later, he burst into a clearing. Before him stood a dilapidated thatched hut. His consciousness sharpened—inside lay the source of the herbal scent.
He knocked gently. No reply.
Assuming it was a hunter's cabin, he turned to leave. But a weak cry stopped him: "Help… help…"
Zhao Xunan's heart raced. He twisted the rusted lock and shoved open the door. A cloying, unnatural fragrance assaulted his senses.
Inside, the hut was cramped. A heated kang (brick bed) dominated the space. On it lay a naked woman in her twenties, shivering and sobbing. Her wrists and ankles were nailed to the kang with iron spikes. Worse, her body was covered in milky-white mushrooms, the largest—a bowl-sized specimen on her abdomen—emitting the strange scent.
The "treasure" his consciousness had detected was this grotesque fungus.
"Save me," the woman whispered, tears streaming.
Zhao Xunan stepped closer, his jaw tightening. The woman's back was riddled with thick, black菌丝 (mycelium), burrowing into the kang. Blood oozed from the wounds. He had no idea how to save her.
"Master… you're just in time!"
A voice called from outside. Zhao Xunan tensed, stepping out. An old Taoist in a bulky cotton robe stood there, a longsword at his belt. At the sight of Zhao Xunan—clad in simple robes but radiating an icy aura—the old man's smile faltered.
"Ah, a distinguished guest!" the Taoist forced a grin, retreating with a flourish of his sword. "This humble abode is yours. That woman and her mushrooms… they're yours to take!"
Zhao Xunan drew his Tianji sword, advancing slowly. "What's the story here?"
"The yin spirit mushroom—rare, precious, lifespan-extending!" the Taoist cackled. "I nurtured it for years. But fate brought you here, so I offer it freely!"
His eyes darted to Zhao Xunan's Tianji, sensing its fiery, almost malevolent energy. A powerful cultivator… but why kill me?
"You 'nurtured' her?" Zhao Xunan pressed, gesturing to the woman.
The Taoist's smile vanished. "A random village girl—rare yin-type spiritual root. Perfect for growing the mushroom. Take her, take the mushroom… I'll not hinder you!"
He spun and fled.
Zhao Xunan lunged, slamming him to the ground with a single strike. "Why kill her?"
"She's just a vessel!" the Taoist spat, bloodied. "Once the mushroom matures, she dies anyway!"
Zhao Xunan's heart sank. He knew the truth now—this was no accident. The woman was a sacrifice.
"Left-path heretic!" he growled, raising Tianji.
The Taoist paled. "You… you're one of us? Why kill a fellow cultivator?"
"Left-path scum deserve death!"
Zhao Xunan's blade pierced the Taoist's back. With a gurgle, the man shriveled into a dry husk, his cultivation drained.
Disgusted, Zhao Xunan incinerated the remains with a fire spell. Left-path filth… even in death, they reek.
As the ashes scattered, a tremor shook the ground. Deep beneath the mountains, in a lava-filled chamber, a colossal stone statue of the Dao Ancestor shattered, plummeting into the molten pool.
A group of left-path cultivators froze.
"The Dao Ancestor's lineage is extinct!" an old man in a peach-red robe exclaimed. "That weakling… killed!"
The crowd murmured. The old man scoffed. "No wonder the orthodox sects look down on us—cowards, all!"
A figure emerged from the lava: a black-armored man, flanked by a devoted attendant.
"Master!" the attendant cried, prostrating himself.
Duantai Wudu, leader of the Left Path's Magma Hall, climbed from the pool. "Summon all left-path cultivators. Offer a bounty: 1,000 red spirits for the killer, 1,000 yellow spirits for his soul, 1,000 white spirits for his corpse."
He plucked a thread of causality from the shattered statue and submerged himself in the lava again.
"To hell with him," the attendant muttered. "A nobody—why waste resources?"
Duantai's voice boomed from the depths: "Even a failed disciple of the Dao Ancestor is worth more than you, you sycophant!"
Zhao Xunan returned to the hut as night fell. The woman's hopeful gaze met his, then crumpled into despair when she saw his face.
"Please… I didn't do anything wrong. Why does Heaven punish me?" she sobbed.
Zhao Xunan's throat tightened. Memories of Ping'er's death flashed through his mind.
"I'm sorry… I can't save you," he whispered.
"But the monster who did this is dead!" he added, lifting Tianji. "I can end your suffering. Let me send you to the next life—to a better life."
The woman wailed, clinging to him. "Don't kill me… find a healer… please!"
Zhao Xunan hesitated, then fed her the mountain ginseng to sustain her. "Wait here. I'll find a doctor. I'll pay any price."
He rushed down the mountain. By dawn, a posse of attendants, doctors, constables, and even a Dao Palace priest arrived.
The woman was carried out, still wrapped in blankets. Zhao Xunan watched as they worked, his heart heavy.
Save a life, gain merit. But I don't care about merit. I just want her to live.
That night, as he waited, he wondered: Would this deed bring trouble?
But trouble or not, he'd do it again. To turn a blind eye… that would've broken his Dao heart.