The "evil god", who had planned to come and enjoy the delicacies in the latter half of the night, sensed that the temple had been destroyed and was furious. He came to settle the score, but when he parted the clouds, he saw the collapsed houses and devastated village, and couldn't help but be stunned for a moment.

The village was silent as a morgue, with no human voices.

Only a young man in white robes sat on the altar where sacrificial fires still burned, quietly wiping his sword with his "holy water".

The demon emerged from the black mist in the form of a strong and martial man, his demonic aura raging, invisible to ordinary people but immediately recognizable to those of the Daoist sect.

Seeing the visitor's attire and appearance, the demon looked around, confirmed there were no other Daoist priests, then let out a strange laugh: "Oh, Fengling has declined to such an extent that they send a wet-behind-the-ears boy to save people?"

The young man no longer had the respectful humility he showed in front of the villagers: "Sorry, I'm not here to save people."

He sat in place, performed a fluid sword flourish, and smiled at the blood sect demon cultivator before him: "I'm here to kill."

The demon cultivator was unimpressed. He shouted "Arrogant!" and pushed out a palm strike carrying poisonous blood mist, then coldly smiled.

With his cultivation, facing a weakling of this age, using an extra move would be superfluous.

The demon cultivator had encountered many Daoist youths and had a good grasp of their strength. The palm strike he unleashed, wrapped in toxic blood mist, would at the very least shatter half the boy's bones even if it didn't kill him with poison.

However, the crimson blood mist moved unexpectedly.

Two beams of blue-purple light intertwined in the mist, swirling like a vortex, twisting and absorbing the blood mist. Like a hundred rivers entering the sea, it actually became something the young man controlled. The red mist accompanied his body and coiled around his sword, strange and marvelous.

The villagers hiding in the ruins and temple were dumbfounded.

The demon cultivator was both shocked and alarmed. Not daring to be negligent, he drew his sword and rode the Qi, carrying killing intent by the thousands, and attacked the young man on the altar!

Facing the frost blade thrusting straight at him, the young man slightly tilted his head and raised the tip of his eyebrow.

With a clang, the sword bodies collided.

The demon cultivator's eyes widened in disbelief.

The young man turned out to be a practitioner of fast swordsmanship. His sword flew like a star, leaving only afterimages like snow. In just a few moments, their blades had clashed more than a dozen times with a clang, making his wrist go numb.

Fast swordsmanship was not rare. However, when circulating his demon core, the demon cultivator's spiritual power inevitably leaked out. The leaking spiritual power was actually all diverted and dissipated by the young man, like water meeting water, merging into the young man's own pair of swords he wielded, making his swords both fast and heavy, as if the sky was about to collapse and mountains about to crumble.

The demon cultivator realized he had misjudged his opponent's strength. When he wanted to disengage and retreat, it was already too late.

"Do you know why I named my swordsmanship 'Guixu'?" The young man chased to the front of the mist after the demon cultivator feinted and tried to escape by merging into the black fog. He smiled lightly, "It's taken from the meaning of 'all ravines return to ruins'."

Unlike his casual tone, the sword he unleashed was devastatingly fierce. The light broke through the ground, entered the clouds, and sliced through the black mist.

As fresh blood bloomed, the young man flicked the blood drops off his sword and sheathed it as he turned around.

The two swords closed together, becoming an ordinary-looking green sword, which he placed in its scabbard.

The black mist dissipated, leaving only the headless corpse of the demon on the ground.

The villagers joyfully emerged, praising the young man as a hero and cursing the demon cultivator for causing great harm. They had all been deceived. Fortunately, the little Daoist priest, the little immortal, had saved everyone from the disaster.

The young man frankly accepted the praise, then reminded them: "What about the children?"

The villagers came to their senses and rushed into the temple. They smashed the locks and rescued the children who had been used as sacrifices inside.

The children had long been frightened into a daze. Seeing the unfamiliar faces crying and calling them their darlings, they remained numb, not understanding the meaning behind these people's tears.

The temple keeper had already been beaten to death, so there was no way to identify the children's belongings. Those with special birthmarks or signs were taken back by their families. Those without could only be roughly recognized by age and taken back by each family.

As for whether they were mistaken, probably only Heaven knows.

The young man stood by the temple, a smile on his lips, watching coldly.

The village elder, over sixty years old, walked over trembling and bowed to the young man, thanking him for eliminating a disaster for the village. He even said they would establish a shrine for the young man's eternal life in the temple and burn incense day and night.

Amid the villagers' profuse thanks, the young man left his name and supported his sword as he descended the mountain.

With his back to the villagers, a joyful and cunning evil light flashed in his eyes.

The young man had used just one fire to thoroughly kill the god that had occupied the village for many years, inside and out, on that night.

He walked lightly to halfway down the mountain before remembering something. He exclaimed "Oh no" and turned back to where the children were hidden.

The child he had knocked out was no longer there. Judging from the footprints, the child had returned up the mountain. But "One" was still there.

He obediently played with the ants attracted by the scent of the candy wrappers using his feet. Hearing footsteps, he raised his head and stared fixedly at the approaching person, his heart filled with joy, but not knowing how to express it, he could only keep a cold face.

The youth untied him and asked, "Do you have any family in the mountains?"

"One" didn't speak.

The youth muttered to himself, "Never mind, having or not having makes little difference. Do you want to go home?"

"One" remained silent.

The youth had a good temper. Despite the repeated awkward silences, he was still able to carry on the conversation by himself. "I heard from the people at the foot of the mountain that the regular sacrifices on the mountain are children who have turned nine years old. Are you nine this year?"

"One" didn't deny it.

"...Nine years old." The youth seemed to recall something, a hint of melancholy in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a carefree smile.

He reached out his hand to him, "You and I are quite fated. Are you willing to come with me?"

"One" cautiously extended his fingertip, lightly touching the lines on his palm, before placing his index finger in his hand.

The youth laughed again, pulling the child up in one motion and carrying him on his back.

A red sun broke through the peaks, the world clear and bright, as if gilded.

The youth walked briskly on the mountain path, singing loudly, "The duke would cross the river, the duke did cross the river! Falling into the river and dying, what can be done for the duke!" He was every bit a beautiful and crazed little madman.

However, very quickly, the youth lost his domineering air.

He sat at the inn table, engaged in a staring contest with "One" across from him.

"Do you have a name?"

"One" looked at him.

"Can you read?"

"One" still looked at him.

"...Can you really not speak? Not because you're scared?"

The child understood this sentence. He lightly "ah"-ed, cleared his throat, and sang a section of a hymn the temple priest had taught them.

This long hymn was indeed lyrically magnificent, but unfortunately completely useless.

After a series of tests, the youth determined that apart from eating, drinking, sitting and lying down, in all other aspects, this child was no different from a small beast raised in the wild, completely ignorant of human affairs, writing and literature.

"Hmm..." The youth furrowed his brows, "How can you not know anything at all."

"One" showed no sense of guilt, unaware of what trouble he had caused the youth, but seeing him frown, he became unhappy. He reached across the table and lightly rubbed his brow.

...Smiling, he looked good.