Chapter 114
Days of relentless storms and torrential rains filled the air with humidity, leaving no trace of sunshine.
Huang Abao is a farmer from Huang Family Village in the Black Pine Mountains. The villagers are mere mortals, relying on agriculture and hunting for sustenance, and live in extreme poverty.
Half a month ago, his mother fell ill. Initially, faint black stripes appeared on her arm, which gradually darkened and spread until they covered her entire body.
In the world of cultivation, spiritual energy is abundant, making diseases rare among mortals. Most minor ailments heal on their own. Huang Abao's mother thought she had eaten something bad. Reluctant to spend money, she finally agreed to see the village doctor after her son and daughter-in-law's urging. She took two doses of a cheap folk remedy, to no avail. Two nights ago, she collapsed at the table while getting a drink and never got up again. When faint black spots appeared on his wife and daughter's hands, Huang Abao realized something was terribly wrong.
The village doctor declared himself unable to treat the illness and pointed them toward Medicine King Clinic in Tongyang City.
Medicine King Clinics are branches of Medicine King Valley, renowned for their high medical expertise and fair pricing. They even occasionally offer charitable services for the impoverished.
Ah Cai, Abao's wife, removed her silver bracelets, stayed behind to take care of her comatose mother-in-law, and sent Huang Abao off to Tongyang City for medical help, carrying their daughter and all their valuables.
Covering 300 miles from Black Pine Mountain to Tongyang City, Huang Abao walked day and night for three days straight. With his feet covered in layers of blood blisters and so swollen he could barely fit into his shoes, he finally arrived at the Medicine King Clinic, physically drained. He knelt before the young physician, holding his increasingly sick daughter.
The young physician was surnamed Cheng and was a recent ambitious graduate of Medicine King Valley.
Dr. Cheng promptly took on this pitiable case. After an initial diagnosis indicating an infection from something unclean, he tried various treatments like Detoxification Pills and Purgative Powders, but none worked. With the girl's symptoms worsening, he decided to return with them to Huang Family Village to assess the situation.
Upon arriving at noon, the usually bustling Huang Family Village was eerily quiet. Even the typically noisy chickens and dogs were nowhere to be found.
Bloodstains and bodies littered the village.
Feeling uneasy, Dr. Cheng inquired, "Are there bandits around here?"
As soon as he spoke, he realized the improbability; Huang Family Village was too poor to be worth looting.
Panicked, Huang Abao left his daughter in Dr. Cheng's care and rushed back to his home. Pushing open the door, he discovered his mother's body, hacked to death, scissors still in her hand. Heartbroken and in disbelief, he searched for his wife and found his chickens and pigs dead. His ordinarily gentle wife was trembling in a dark corner, holding a blood-stained kitchen knife.
Her body was covered in black spots, and her eyes seemed a little red.
Huang Abao hurriedly asked, "Ah Cai, what happened?"
"Mother suddenly went mad; she tried to kill me," his wife's voice quivered in the darkness, as if she was holding something back. "She wanted to kill me, so I..."
The relationship between Huang Abao's wife and mother had always been harmonious; arguments were rare. Abao walked over in disbelief, intending to pull his wife out of the darkness for a closer inquiry.
Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder as his wife, bearing a sinister smile, ruthlessly hacked him with the kitchen knife.
"Ah Cai?" Huang Abao had grown up with his wife and had never seen her like this. Ignoring the pain, he tried to stop her from striking again, "Have you lost your mind?"
There was no emotion in his wife's eyes, her movements were stiff, like a puppet being controlled.
His diminutive wife now possessed terrifying strength, and Huang Abao couldn't manage to hold back the knife in her hand.
Suddenly, a flash of fire streaked through the air. Dr. Cheng hurled a fire talisman at Ah Cai, but she felt no pain, continuing her frenzied attack on her beloved husband. Left with no other choice, Dr. Cheng unsheathed his precious sword, severing the hand Ah Cai used to wield her knife, then hurled his blade to pin her against the wall.
Huang Abao sat on the ground, dumbstruck.
It was then that Dr. Cheng noticed black spots covering Huang Abao's arm, and his eyes began to glaze over.
A sharp pain surged through his shoulder; the little girl on his back had bitten down hard, tearing away a chunk of flesh. Wincing in pain, Dr. Cheng dropped the girl, who then crawled back towards him with unnerving movements, seeking to bite again.
Sensing impending peril, Dr. Cheng reached for a protective talisman, only to find, to his horror, that faint black spots had appeared on his own hands.
...
After examining the corpses in Huang Family Village, Dr. Cheng locked himself in an empty room using a seal. He documented the daily changes in his condition, noting that the mysterious, contagious illness first presented mild symptoms that were easy to overlook. Eventually, the victims developed black spots and lost consciousness, awakening as mindless, bloodthirsty puppets. They would slaughter all living beings indiscriminately before dying within three to five days. The final symptom upon death was...
Before losing consciousness, he dispatched a messenger bird carrying his findings and his hopes to Medicine King Valley.
With a physician's compassionate heart, he hoped his colleagues could discover the cause and save countless lives.
A neophyte filled with lofty aspirations, he could not fulfill his mission.
This was his final research, his swan song.
For there was no way out for him now.
...
At the Peak of Immortality, nightfall.
The God-Emperor had promised a hefty reward, allowing Tian Gong Tower to spare no expense in crafting what Medicine King Immortal required. The master of the tower, intrigued by the well-funded project, led his disciples through sleepless nights until they finally produced the artifact—a fully sealed cage made of ghost-whale bones, complete with a small observation window fashioned from meteorite crystal.
Song Qingshi inspected it and was exceedingly pleased. He exhausted his vocabulary in showering praises on the tower's master.
Then, he placed the prepared demon of filth inside the cage and injected it with toxins.
The demon of filth died as expected.
Song Qingshi, accompanied by physicians from Medicine King Valley, spread mats outside the cage, observing the corpse's changes day and night. After roughly fifteen days, the demon of filth's body slowly disintegrated into black mist, reassembling in the cage's corner as a new demon of filth, banging its claws against the cage.
The physicians were stunned, frantically jotting down notes and discussing this incomprehensible transformation.
After much contemplation, Song Qingshi cautiously posited, "The Law of Conservation of Energy."
Energy is neither created nor destroyed; it merely transforms from one form to another, or transfers from one object to another, all while maintaining its total quantity.
The demon of filth is comprised of demonic energy, a form of energy itself.
Therefore, upon the demon of filth's extermination, its energy would manifest somewhere else, reincarnating as a new demon of filth. This makes it impossible to completely eliminate.
This is a suspicion he has harbored for a long time, and now he has found the evidence to prove it.
Yet, where did the original demon of filth come from?
With Yue Wuhuan's assistance, Song Qingshi delved into the historical records of the Dark Era, as well as the genesis of the demon of filth.
Yue Wuhuan queried, "Could it be resentment that gave rise to the demon of filth after the wars at the Peak of Immortality?"
Shaking his head, Song Qingshi responded, "Resentment is an emotional construct, not subject to the Law of Conservation of Energy. There are other demonic entities in the cultivation world born of resentment, like vengeful spirits or fragmented souls, but they do not regenerate upon destruction. They are not demons of filth."
Hesitantly, Yue Wuhuan asked, "Could the demon of filth actually be human?"
Song Qingshi fell silent.
This was an answer both were reluctant to confront, yet it was also the closest to the truth.
"During the age of Mo Yuan, amidst the demon-suppression battles, we witnessed many humans transforming into demonic entities. At that time, everyone believed it was because they had demonic lineage," Yue Wuhuan struggled to articulate. "Perhaps, the demon-suppression battles never truly ended. Demonic forces may still exist, secretly embedded within human forms, provoking the most venomous of desires. Thus, the cultivation world is rife with cruelty, ruthlessness, and shamelessness."
With the massacre at the Peak of Immortality eliminating many such morally corrupt individuals, the demonic energy lost its vessels, turning into the endlessly regenerating demons of filth.
Wasn't An Long also possessed by demonic energy due to his intense desires, being ceaselessly remodeled, sinking deeper until he could no longer escape?
In a soft voice, Yue Wuhuan asked, "Is it my fault?"
Assertively, Song Qingshi replied, "No."
Torrential rain streamed in, irritating Yue Wuhuan. He moved to close the window and saw the sky filled with flashes of lightning. Thunder roared in the distance, and thousands of soul lamps flickered in the storm, producing a cacophony that unsettled him. Annoyed, he blurted out, "I despise this filthy world. I wish it would all just crumble to pieces."
Song Qingshi consoled, "Don't give up; it might improve."
Yue Wuhuan scoffed, "I couldn't care less."
Hesitant, Song Qingshi said, "As the God-Emperor of the Peak of Immortality, perhaps...you have the power to save this world."
"It doesn't deserve it," Yue Wuhuan declared without hesitation. "This world has never shown me a shred of pity—only degradation, humiliation, suffering, and hate. Why should I show it mercy? If I could ever find the puppeteer who pulls the strings of fate, I'd slice them to bits and torment them for eternity."
After thinking for a long time, Song Qingshi cautiously asked, "Why does it torment you instead of killing you outright?"
Yue Wuhuan closed his eyes in agony, unwilling to answer.
Song Qingshi whispered, "You've already guessed, haven't you? While we don't know who's behind all this, or why it's you they've targeted, what they want is your hatred. Hatred binds you, keeps you from ascending..."
Yue Wuhuan let out a bitter laugh. "What good would knowing do?"
Time and again, he was degraded, tormented, lost the ones he loved, driven to madness, and died in utter agony—never finding a good end in a thousand cycles of reincarnation.
Even if he had guessed the intentions of the unseen hand behind it all, he couldn't control his own heart.
Who wouldn't harbor hatred in the face of such experiences?
His hatred was bone-deep, keeping him awake through countless nights.
...
Suddenly, countless bolts of lightning wildly struck a single spot, the Earth Dragon turned, and the mountain peaks began to tremble.
Amid the quaking, the runes on the abyss walls crumbled away. The lightning struck haphazardly but consistently, eventually breaking the magic circle. The chains that restrained the monster loosened. With red, vertical pupils wide open, it extended its sharp claws and struggled mightily to break free from its cage.
Sensing the impending disaster, Yue Wuhuan sent his avatar to repair the boundary, while his true form rushed towards the endless abyss.
But it was too late.
The tremors intensified, the lightning grew wilder, rocks tumbled down, and with its restraints weakened, the monster ripped its chains apart. With its red eyes wide open and devoid of reason, it lunged at Yue Wuhuan's avatar.
The avatar shattered, turning into countless red specks that disappeared.
Finally breaking free from its cage, the monster soared into the pitch-black sky. In its mind, consumed by thoughts of slaughter, only two words remained:
"Qingshi..."