It was early spring. A cool breeze carried the earthy scent of wild grass across the peaceful town of Lac Huong, nestled at the foot of Mount Phu Van.
On the open square of the village temple, people gathered in droves. Makeshift bamboo stalls lined the path, steam rising from pots of sticky rice cakes and boiled corn. It was the time of the Blessing Festival, a tradition said to date back to the era of ancient kings—though now, most joined more out of custom than belief.
Under an ancient banyan tree hundreds of years old, incense coiled into the air as the village shaman danced in rhythmic circles, chanting the ancestral blessings. The beat of drums echoed through the square.
Then suddenly—
"Spirits of the five directions, gather at the sacred peak... Heaven's wards repel the lingering dead…"
The chant was unfamiliar—not from the shaman.
A young man stood under the banyan tree. His robes were ragged, his long hair unkempt. In one hand, he held a bundle of glowing yellow talismans, in the other, a chipped bamboo staff.
People turned. Whispers began.
"It's Minh the madman again…""On a festival day, no less!""What's he saying? Doesn't sound like any local spell…"
His eyes gleamed unnaturally, glowing faintly like smoldering coals. No one knew: the man before them was no longer the 'crazy Minh' from Lac Huong.
He was Lang Tieu—a mid-stage Core Formation cultivator, the last inheritor of Heaven's Heart Valley, who had just escaped death in battle against the Demon Lord and fell through the collapsing space between worlds…
He looked up at the sky.No heavenly tribulation. No spiritual energy. Only cooking smoke, the distant hum of motorbikes, and… dozens of villagers staring at him like he was possessed.
A woman in a red áo dài rushed over, clearly panicked.
"Minh! You ran away from the hospital again? Do you know how worried I was?!"
He turned toward her, ready to ask "Who are you?"—But froze.
That face.
"Tiểu Lục..." he whispered.
The girl stiffened.The wind picked up. Her hair fluttered gently, but her eyes burned with a storm of fury and trembling.
"You don't get to call me that," she said coldly.
Over two centuries ago, in Heaven's Heart Valley—She had been his humble tea servant, whom he cast out for secretly studying forbidden arts.Ten years later, she returned as a demon cultivator, facing him blade to blade on the battlefield.Before her soul shattered, she looked into his eyes and whispered:
"If I ever get another life… I want to live as a mortal, far from the path of cultivation."
And now—She stood here.And he… the man who once drove her to that path of blood and fire.
A crowd had started to form.
"Call the police!" shouted an elderly village official."He's disrupting the ritual! Arrest him!""That's black magic he's holding!" another shouted.
But Lang Tieu stood still, like a stone amidst crashing waves. The bamboo staff trembled faintly in his grasp.
He muttered under his breath:
"The laws of this world are weak… but the evil still lingers. No spiritual energy, yet something foul stirs…"
He closed his eyes.
"If no one will pass on the Dao, I shall pass it. If no one will slay demons, I shall wield the blade. If she is here… then I shall stay."
Just then—A chilling screech echoed from the far end of the temple.
A shadow darted past the crowd—quick, shapeless.No one noticed.
No one… except him.
"An oán linh…" he whispered.
His eyes sharpened. A cold killing intent surged within.
"I arrived just in time."
[To be continued...]