Spirit Monster of the Desolate Mountain

The old Daoist priest was already at the end of his rope, with little time left to live!

— This was Mo Chuan's first sensation after taking over the old Daoist's body.

Within this skin, he couldn't feel the slightest bit of vital energy.

The withered husk couldn't nourish his soul; instead, it was devouring his essence, like a parched riverbed that couldn't hold a drop of rainwater.

Only a deluge could restore even a little moisture.

Even though Mo Chuan had received the blessings of several incense offerings, he was still powerless to nourish this body on the verge of death.

Fortunately, the path of incense offerings was like a sweet spring from a snowy mountain, favoring a steady trickle, and all things were possible.

"I can last a few more days. For now, I'll just possess it and see what happens!"

Mo Chuan pondered in his heart.

It was indeed fortunate.

He had realized he was possessing a body and was contemplating methods to reshape his physical form when, unexpectedly, he stumbled upon a suitable husk today.

It could be considered an early practice.

Speaking of which, this dying body was actually quite good.

If the blood and qi were too strong, it would easily damage the soul.

If it were a sick body, possessing it would be akin to harming the person's soul, ultimately going against heavenly principles.

"Rumble—"

After the lightning, thunder rumbled outside, and the rain poured down.

"Is anyone there? We are passing through this area and were caught in a sudden mountain storm. May we borrow this sacred place to shelter from the rain?"

Just then, a voice called out from outside.

Mo Chuan was about to reply when, with a "clang!", a rough banging on the door echoed.

Amidst the rushing moisture, someone had already barged in.

Mo Chuan glanced over. It was likely due to the backlight and the old Daoist Yan Zhen's failing eyesight, but he couldn't see the intruders clearly.

"This is just a deserted temple. Brother Pan, hurry inside, hurry inside!"

"If it's a deserted temple, why does it have a door?" Brother Pan's voice was hesitant.

"Come in first! Look at you, you're soaked to the bone."

As they spoke, a flurry of hurried footsteps entered.

Counting carefully, there were six figures in total, four men and two women, filling the thatched hut tightly.

"It really is a temple! Who is this deity statue?"

"Hush, don't speak ill of gods or spirits."

"Hey, there's incense here too!"

"There's someone over there!"

After entering, the group chattered amongst themselves. As they looked around, they finally discovered Mo Chuan lying on the straw mat.

"I am Pan Xingsi, a scholar from Qingshui County. Today, I was touring Huayin Mountain with friends and didn't expect the mountain rain to come so suddenly. We were in a hurry to escape the rain and accidentally intruded. We hope the Daoist priest will forgive us!"

One of them approached, cupped his fists, and bowed. Judging by the voice, it was the same person who had called out from outside earlier.

Mo Chuan rolled his throat and waved his hand:

"This is a humble thatched hut. Please make yourselves comfortable. This poor Daoist is unwell and cannot offer proper hospitality."

Pan Xingsi cupped his fists again: "Thank you for your understanding, Daoist priest!"

While the two were conversing, the others had already begun dusting the rain off themselves.

Some were even directing their servants to start a fire to dry their clothes.

Mo Chuan lay on the straw mat, his vision blurry. After observing for a while, he finally made out some details.

Among the four men and two women, two were servants.

Of the remaining two men, "Young Master Qiao" was clearly the most respected. The two women were also distant female relatives from the Qiao family.

Pan Xingsi, who had been consistently polite, had likely earned the right to accompany them by virtue of his scholar's title.

"Daoist priest, please have some tea!"

Before long, Pan Xingsi brought over a cup of tea, which Young Master Qiao had ordered his servant to brew.

Originally, they had planned to enjoy the scenery, appreciating elegance and reciting poetry.

Now, all they could do was brew it to ward off the cold.

"You're too kind."

Mo Chuan sat up and accepted it generously.

His current body needed energy replenishment, whether through food or drink.

"I believe your temple has a rather long history. Are you cultivating in seclusion here, Daoist priest?"

"Just begging for survival in the wilderness!"

"So you're hiding from the court's taxes and labor!"

Young Master Qiao said this from not far away, clearly having been eavesdropping.

"If you're hiding from taxes and labor, why build a statue of a deity?" a female companion beside him asked, looking confused.

"Daoist priests are exempt from taxes, so shouldn't he build a statue to make it look more convincing? Look at this statue; it's built in a bizarre and grotesque way. How does it resemble a deity at all?"

Young Master Qiao pointed at the statue with a smug look, believing he had seen through the old Daoist priest's little scheme.

Mo Chuan glanced at the mud statue in the main hall of the thatched hut and thought, There are truly people everywhere who are foul-mouthed and deserve a beating.

"Young Master Qiao, your words are mistaken! The Heavenly Might of the court is vast, and its plans are flawless. How could it tolerate such a situation? As far as I know, only those holding a Daoist certificate issued by the court are legitimate Daoist disciples. Daoist priest, am I correct?" Pan Xingsi said.

"More or less," Mo Chuan replied.

"May I ask if you have a Daoist certificate, Daoist priest?" Young Master Qiao stood up.

Mo Chuan was startled, finally snapping back to attention. He sighed inwardly, realizing he had underestimated the wisdom of the ancients.

So, one plays the good cop and the other the bad cop, testing my identity?

That makes sense. Who would dare live alone in the desolate mountains?

"Hee hee..."

Suddenly, a burst of giggling came from outside the thatched hut. The sound was sharp like a fox's, sending chills down their spines.

"Scholars' minds are truly filthy. Not only are they ungrateful for sheltering in my hut, but they also repay kindness with suspicion? Utterly disgusting! Old geezer, aren't you going to act?"

After the laughter, a chillingly urgent voice followed.

Instantly, the entire room fell into dead silence.

Pan Xingsi and Young Master Qiao exchanged glances, their faces filled with horror.

Ever since the magistrate of Qingshui County had his head cut off and died, their families had sent them to rural estates to escape the disaster.

Today, they had set out on a whim, intending to find a beautiful spot on the edge of the wilderness for some poetic verses.

Unexpectedly, they got lost after only a few steps.

They had been wandering around until they arrived here.

When the mountain rain came down heavily, and a thatched hut appeared ahead, how could they not be suspicious?

They never expected their fears to come true.

Mo Chuan was also filled with surprise at this.

What is going on?

Could it be that this old Daoist priest is colluding with spirit monsters in the wilderness to conduct some kind of illicit business?

"Hee hee hee... Such tender, soft two-legged sheep. Old geezer, if you don't enjoy them, I will!"

Amidst everyone's uneasy suspicion, layers of eerie laughter suddenly echoed from within the thatched hut!

Pan Xingsi and the others were instantly terrified and huddled together. The two female companions turned deathly pale and cried out:

"Let's go, let's go!"

As they cried out, one of the female companions, in a panic, fled the hut.

"Don't go! If the villains are guarding the door, won't we be walking right into a trap?" Pan Xingsi quickly tried to stop her.

But it was too late.

As soon as the female companion rushed out of the thatched hut, she let out a scream.

The torrential rain, like a curtain, obscured the scene of the crime, leaving only the terrifying sound of crunching and chewing.

"Mmmph—"

The remaining female companion covered her mouth in terror.

"This—" "Qiao Shu!"

Pan Xingsi and Young Master Qiao were even more aghast, their previous refined demeanor completely gone.

Mo Chuan's heart sank.

The sound of chewing indicated it wasn't a malevolent ghost, but a spirit monster devouring people. This was not good for him.

The old Daoist priest who performed spirit channeling had told him that at the same level of cultivation, spirit monsters were stronger than ghosts.

The reason was simple: spirit monsters were formed from all things in heaven and earth. They had natural bodies; they could coalesce into form and disperse into energy.

After death, they could also cultivate the ghost path.

Ghosts often harmed people by disrupting their minds and possessing them using spells.

This tactic was ineffective against spirit monsters unless their cultivation had reached a certain level, allowing them to solidify their forms.

In other words, Mo Chuan's strongest technique—the Headless Ghost—might not be able to deal with this man-eating spirit monster.

"Hee hee... This tender, soft flesh tastes really good! Old geezer, if you don't make a move, don't blame me later!"

Laughter came from outside the door again.

The people inside turned even paler, all cowering on the west side of the thatched hut, away from Mo Chuan.