Chapter Two: A Chilling Intent to Kill

When they returned to Zhao Hu’s home, Zhao Hu’s father, Zhao Changfeng, saw the wound on Ji Mo’s forehead and his face instantly darkened. “What happened? How did Xiao Mo get hurt on her forehead?” The debt owed to Ji Mo’s family was great—after Ji Mo’s parents had passed away, Zhao Changfeng and his wife had taken her into their home and treated her even better than their own child. Now, seeing Ji Mo injured, anger flashed across Zhao Changfeng’s face.

“Dad, don’t glare at me. I don’t know either. When I found Xiao Mo at the Mountain God Temple, she was still unconscious,” Zhao Hu stammered, shrinking his neck in fear of his father as he hurried to explain.

“You found Xiao Mo? Zhao Hu, quickly take her to have some food, I kept the rice and dishes warm in the pot. Wait, what happened to Xiao Mo’s forehead?” Aunt Jiang, who had been busy inside, came out when she heard voices, chattering away. But as soon as she saw the wound on Ji Mo’s forehead, she rounded on Zhao Hu and glared at him.

With both his parents glaring at him, Zhao Hu’s face twisted into a miserable pout as he tried to think of an explanation. Just then, Ji Mo’s voice rang out. “Uncle Zhao, Aunt Jiang, I bumped my forehead by accident. It has nothing to do with Brother Zhao Hu.”

“Xiao Mo, you—you can speak?” Aunt Jiang froze, the ladle in her hand clattering to the floor unnoticed as she rushed over, her face alight with joy and disbelief.

“Yes. I tripped near the Mountain God Temple at the back of the mountain today, and after I woke up, my memories came back,” Ji Mo replied.

“Xiao Mo, good child, this must truly be the Mountain God’s blessing! No wonder you’ve visited the temple so often these last few years; perhaps it was fate guiding you. The Mountain God has finally granted you clarity. Now, your parents…” Aunt Jiang choked up, pulling Ji Mo into her arms.

Aunt Jiang, thank you. Thank you and your family for caring for me all these years. I will live well! Ji Mo’s nose stung, and she wrapped her arms around Aunt Jiang’s waist, returning the embrace, her heart silently full of gratitude.

“Ahem, Su’e, don’t let the children see you weeping like this. Take her inside and clean up her wound,” Zhao Changfeng’s own eyes were slightly reddened, but as a man, he could not let himself be too emotional. He cleared his throat, interrupting Aunt Jiang’s outpouring.

“Yes, come, Xiao Mo, let’s go inside and clean that up,” Aunt Jiang said, embarrassed, wiping her eyes as she released Ji Mo and led her indoors by the hand.

“In three days, the Moonwatch Sect will open its gates to select new disciples. Xiao Mo regaining her senses at this time is truly heaven’s will. Zhao Hu, with your talent, even if you lack a spiritual root and cannot become a spiritual cultivator, entering their outer court’s body-tempering hall shouldn’t be a problem. If only Xiao Mo could enter the sect as well,” Zhao Changfeng said, watching the two head inside, worry flickering in his eyes.

“Dad, don’t worry. Xiao Mo has always been smarter than most children. Maybe she has a spiritual root and can become a spiritual cultivator,” Zhao Hu replied, far more optimistic than his father.

Their world was a realm of cultivation called the Azure Profound Cultivation World, made up of countless kingdoms and sects. The cultivation system here was divided into body cultivators and spiritual cultivators. Spiritual cultivators, those born with spiritual roots, focused on refining the soul, while body cultivators sought to transcend the mortal flesh through physical tempering.

In terms of status and rank, the gap between the two was immense. Body cultivators, at the same level, were far stronger in combat than their spiritual counterparts, and their numbers were far greater. However, spiritual cultivators advanced much more quickly, their breakthroughs coming with ease compared to the arduous progress of body cultivators, which grew ever harder with each stage. Nearly all the pinnacle figures in the Azure Profound Cultivation World were spiritual cultivators, which spoke volumes about the gulf between the two paths.

Zhao Changfeng’s village was only one among many in Qingshan Town, Xianfeng County, under the Yunhai Dynasty. Though they could not fully grasp the specific divisions of power in the cultivation world, they knew well enough that spiritual cultivators held a status body cultivators could never match. Yet to become a spiritual cultivator, one needed to be born with a spiritual root—a gift that could not be gained through effort.

Body tempering, on the other hand, was something anyone could attempt. For ordinary people, it represented hope: the chance to enter a sect and change one’s fate through hard work alone.

In such an environment, the zeal for body tempering among commoners was easy to imagine. Cultivators not only commanded unrivaled status and honor, but also wielded wondrous powers and enjoyed long lives. Prestige, longevity, and unfathomable power—any one of these would be endlessly alluring to ordinary folk. Combined, their appeal was nearly fatal. Thus, in the Azure Profound Cultivation World, everyone longed to one day become a cultivator through their own efforts.

The people of Zhao Village were no exception. Here, all children, boys and girls alike, began body tempering at the age of six. The techniques they practiced were common foundational methods: the Iron Bone Bronze Skin Tempering Technique and the Bright Sky Fist. The former was a physical cultivation art with twelve layers; Zhao Hu, only ten years old, had already reached the peak of the fifth layer. Among all the children in Zhao Village under sixteen, only Zhao Qin was higher, at the sixth layer—but he was two years older than Zhao Hu.

According to the Moonwatch Sect’s standards for recruiting body-tempering disciples, there were two groups: the first group was children aged eight to sixteen. Those aged eight to ten needed to reach the third layer to meet the basic requirement; those aged eleven to sixteen needed to reach the fifth. At present, five children in Zhao Village met these standards, with Zhao Hu and Zhao Qin being the most outstanding. The second group consisted of those with spiritual bodies, but in the centuries of Zhao Village’s history, not one person with a spiritual root had ever been found.

With the sect’s opening day just three days away, Zhao Changfeng was not too worried about Zhao Hu—his talent would almost certainly secure him a place as an outer court body cultivator. But with Ji Mo, his heart was anxious. She had lost three years to confusion and missed the prime time for body tempering. If she lacked a spiritual root as well...

Ji Mo herself was unaware of Zhao Changfeng’s worries—and even if she knew, she would not have minded. In her eight-year-old heart, the idea of cultivating immortality held far less appeal than it did for most. Perhaps it was her parents’ influence, but she thought it would be perfectly fine to live as an ordinary person. If she could master some medical skills, like her parents, and spend her days treating people, she could earn respect and live a peaceful, carefree life. Why insist on cultivating to become an immortal? The world of cultivation was fraught with danger and cruelty—what was there to yearn for?

The wound on Ji Mo’s forehead was not serious; after Aunt Jiang cleaned it, she saw it had already scabbed over and would heal completely in a few days. Relieved, Aunt Jiang set out Ji Mo’s meal. As Ji Mo looked at the food before her, her stomach roared with hunger. She quickly grabbed her chopsticks and buried her head in the bowl. In no time at all, she had devoured every last morsel of the three dishes and one soup, along with three large bowls of rice—fully three times what she would normally eat.

“Ji Mo, slow down, don’t make yourself sick,” Aunt Jiang exclaimed, startled by the sight of her eating so ravenously. She came over to feel Ji Mo’s forehead and stomach, afraid she might have eaten herself ill.

“It’s nothing, Aunt Jiang. I just felt especially hungry, so I ate a bit more than usual,” Ji Mo replied, shoveling the last bite into her mouth with a satisfied burp.

“This child! Go out for a walk and help your digestion. Don’t eat yourself into trouble,” Aunt Jiang said, shaking her head fondly. She tidied away the dishes and went about her chores.

Ji Mo stuck out her tongue and darted out of the kitchen. Outside, neither Zhao Hu nor Zhao Changfeng were in sight, but she paid them no mind. Rolling her shoulders, she wandered off—and, before she knew it, she had arrived once more at the Mountain God Temple behind the village.

How did I end up here again? Ji Mo stood in front of the temple, momentarily puzzled. She hadn’t meant to come here, yet it felt as if some invisible force was drawing her, compelling her feet forward.

Well, since I’m here, I’ll take a look inside. In these three years of confusion, I’ve visited this temple countless times, yet I can’t remember what it looks like inside. Shaking off her strange feelings, Ji Mo stepped toward the entrance.

Just as her foot was about to cross the threshold, a figure dressed in black appeared behind her without a sound. Raising a palm as large as a fan, the stranger brought it down hard upon the crown of her head…