Chapter 615: Chapter 615

Outside, the rain grew heavier. A leak in the roof allowed water to drip down. One droplet landed right on Qin Sang’s shoulder.

Mute Girl hurriedly reached out to shield him from the leak, helped him shift to a drier spot, then took a charred piece of wood from the fire pit and wrote on the ground. "When you first saw me, there was no disgust in your eyes."

Then, she looked up at Qin Sang. Under the firelight, her gaze shone with a clear and striking brightness.

Qin Sang watched as Mute Girl wrote. Her calligraphy was delicate and refined. Her grandmother had taught her how to read when she was still alive, and afterward, Mute Girl had often practiced alone in her spare time to keep her company in memory.

Qin Sang had never studied the language of this region, yet he recognized every character. It was identical to the written script used in the Small Cold Domain!

Even more strangely, he could fully understand the spoken language of the Thousand-Household Village locals. The only difference lay in the accent, which was just slightly distinct from that of the Small Cold Domain.

It was akin to the difference between standard Mandarin and regional dialects in his past life.

This realization startled Qin Sang.

In my previous life, even tiny regions had thousands of distinct languages. Yet in the vast and boundless immortal cultivation world, only one language seems to dominate? Am I still within the territory of the Small Cold Domain, and have not escaped from Dongyang Bo’s grasp?

Qin Sang, who had begun to relax somewhat, tensed up again. He sternly reminded Mute Girl not to let anyone else see him, lest word spread and his presence be exposed.

Up to now, the only ones who knew about the one-armed man were Mute Girl and the elderly witch doctor.

The locals of the Thousand-Household Village referred to this place as Xijiang.

Qin Sang searched his memory for the geomantic map of the Small Cold Domain but couldn’t recall any region named Xijiang. If he considered the directional reference, the western side of the domain bordered the territory of Heavenly Demon Hill, which was ruled by demonic beasts. All mortals there had long been relocated.

The Tianxing Alliance maintained a tight and unified front. There was no such place known as Xijiang.

He also had never heard of a region where people worshipped a Witch God.

But then, mortals had limited knowledge. To truly figure out where this place was, he’d need to encounter a fellow immortal cultivator.

"When you first saw me, there was no disgust in your eyes."

Qin Sang sighed inwardly.

Though he had never asked directly, after spending days together and overhearing fragments of gossip from others, he had pieced together Mute Girl’s story.

She was just a few days away from turning sixteen.

She had been born and raised in the same village. Her father had once been the bravest and most skilled warrior of the Thousand-Household Village. He was renowned across the region and slated to become the next village chief.

And yet, from the day she was born, Mute Girl had never spent a single night in those bright and spacious stilt houses at the village’s center. She had lived alone in the dilapidated hut on the mountain’s backside ever since.

It had all begun with the title "Calamity."

On the day of her birth, her father had led a hunting party into the mountains. However, he had been ambushed by a savage beast, resulting in near-total annihilation. Her mother passed away just three days after giving birth to her, following her husband into death.

On top of that, the large birthmark on Mute Girl’s face made her appear ominous. Rumors spread through the village that she was the reincarnation of an evil spirit, one that had already cursed her parents to death and would go on to doom the entire village. They branded her "Calamity" and demanded she be drowned in the river.

Her only remaining family—her grandmother, referred to locally as "Granny"—took her away from the village and settled at the back of the mountain, shielding her from harm.

But her misfortunes didn’t end there. By age three, it became apparent that she couldn’t speak; she had been born mute. At seven, tragedy struck again. Her grandmother died suddenly and died right in front of her.

From that point on, the title "Calamity" stuck permanently. Everyone called her Mute Girl. No one even remembered her real name.

Though no one else had died because of her in the past ten years, the villagers still refused to let her return. Since she was seven, she had lived completely alone on the mountainside.

It was unimaginable. How could a seven-year-old child survive on her own?

Thankfully, the mountain housing the Thousand-Household Village had no wild beasts, and the village arranged for regular patrols by boat along the riverbanks. The rear of the mountain was relatively safe. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ novel•fire.net

Moreover, the village elders were not entirely heartless. Out of respect for her father and grandmother, they occasionally offered her food or supplies. In particular, the witch doctor, who had once shared a bond with her grandmother, treated her especially well.

Yet even he dared not go against the collective will of the villagers by taking her back in.

Despite enduring all these trials, Mute Girl bore no resentment. Her eyes remained clear and untainted.

She never succumbed to despair. She grew resilient and self-reliant. By the time she was twelve, she could already support herself through weaving and labor, refusing further aid.

Qin Sang, having dealt with all sorts of people, could see that beneath Mute Girl’s composure remained a part of her that was still pure and innocent. She longed to be accepted, to have friends. That was why, even when scorned and mocked by the other girls, she still tried to befriend them.

The message she wrote on the ground was a reflection of her heart.

In Qin Sang, she had seen a glimmer of hope for acceptance.

Qin Sang looked into Mute Girl’s eyes, filled with hope and trust, and couldn’t bring himself to say anything more.

She had no idea that, despite his youthful appearance, he was already a cultivator over a hundred years old. He was someone who had faced countless true evil spirits. How could he possibly be afraid of a mere birthmark?

Qin Sang had long moved past the age of judging people by appearances.

No matter how beautiful a face might be, could it surpass the true forms of Chenyan or Granny Jing?

And no matter how ugly one looked, could it ever compare to the ugliness hidden within some human hearts?

In his eyes, Mute Girl was far more beautiful than those with outwardly charming faces. A girl like her deserved the blessings of heaven.

"Everything will get better," Qin Sang said gently.

The mortal herbs were of no use to his injuries. Still, unwilling to reject Mute Girl’s good intentions, Qin Sang drank the medicine anyway.

After he finished the decoction, Mute Girl helped him to the inner room to rest. Then she returned to the firelight and resumed weaving bamboo wares. She wanted to finish as many as she could before the upcoming Witch God Festival.

Through the thin curtain, Qin Sang saw her slender silhouette seated beside the fire, diligently working.

A moment later, he withdrew his gaze and closed his eyes to meditate.

The rain fell throughout the night. As dawn approached, it began to ease, leaving only the faint patter of lingering drizzle.

As Qin Sang lay in bed seemingly asleep, his eyes suddenly snapped open. A trace of joy flickered in them. He had expected it would take two more days, but his recovery had progressed faster than anticipated. Now, a sliver of his spiritual consciousness had returned.

"I should just barely be able to open the Thousand-Jin Ring!"

Qin Sang carefully guided that sliver of spiritual consciousness to touch the Thousand-Jin Ring. At last, it responded. He quickly retrieved several items from within before his spiritual consciousness was fully depleted again.

A stabbing pain pierced his head.

Grimacing, Qin Sang groped for a jade bottle. Inside were pills specifically for restoring spiritual consciousness. He hastily uncorked it, popped a few into his mouth, and immediately felt the pain lessen.

He meditated for another hour, restoring another sliver of spiritual consciousness, then opened the Corpse Puppet Pouch and summoned the fully metamorphosed flying yaksha.

Only then did his heart finally settle.

The flying yaksha’s appearance had completely changed. It now looked like the most ferocious of evil spirits, its skin jet black and gleaming with a metallic sheen, as if cast from black iron, exuding terrifying power.

This was the true flying yaksha!