Northward

Zhou Yan reached a town by noon, spotting it beside the main road.

At the town entrance stood a carriage and horse market, with mules and horses tied in a row. The smell of fodder mixed with livestock stench, noticeable from far away.

He untied the bundle from his back and went inside to look around. The owner was in his forties and came up to ask what sort of horse he wanted.

"Something that can carry a man and travel far will do," Zhou Yan said.

The owner led him to inspect the horses. He first pointed out a chestnut horse, saying it had good endurance, then indicated a black horse, saying it had a steady temperament.

Zhou Yan examined them one by one and shook his head. Finally, he stopped before a blue-gray horse.

It was neither tall nor particularly striking in color, the most inconspicuous among the herd. Yet there was a spark of intelligence in its eyes.

"This one."

The owner paused, then smiled. "You have a good eye, sir."

With that, the owner named a price. Zhou Yan took a banknote from his clothes, handed it over, and led the horse away.

The northern journey was long. He had no idea how far he would have to walk on his own two legs, and a horse would make things much faster.

He bought dried provisions and fodder in town, then sat at a roadside tea stall for the time it took to drink half a cup of tea.

Two traveling merchants at the stall spoke in low voices. They said the northern border troops had fallen back, and several settlements had been emptied.

Zhou Yan listened for a few moments with his bowl in hand, then set down two copper coins.

After leaving town, he tied his bundle and wrapped saber behind the saddle and swung himself onto the horse.

That evening, he paid a few copper coins to stay overnight with a farming family by the road.

The master of the house was an old man in his fifties, boiling water before the stove. Without turning around, he asked, "You're heading north?"

"Yes. North." Zhou Yan nodded.

"Fewer and fewer people are going north these days." The old man lifted the kettle. "Everyone's heading south now. The only ones coming back are refugees. Young man, have you really thought this through?"

Zhou Yan smiled and exchanged a few polite words. As he listened to the old man speak of the refugees in the north, his brow furrowed.

It seemed the demon calamity in the north was even worse than he had imagined.

That night, Zhou Yan practiced in the open space behind the courtyard.

He had not neglected the Edge-Breaking Saber Technique either, swinging the blade dozens of times.

[Martial Dao Limit-Breaking System]

[Host: Zhou Yan]

[Realm: Early Meridian-Opening Stage]

[Mountain-Settling Stance: Limit-Breaking]

[Mountain-Breaking Fist: Limit-Breaking]

[Mountain-Suppressing Fist: Limit-Breaking]

[Edge-Breaking Saber Technique: Beginner 54/300]

After finishing, he sheathed his saber and sat on the stone steps, catching his breath.

Of all his techniques, the Edge-Breaking Saber Technique lagged behind the most. He had practiced fist arts for three years, while his saber skills had only just begun. He was uncertain whether he should use his fists or his saber to kill demons.

When he faced the Fox Demon, his fists had not even broken its skin. Now that he had opened his meridians, he did not know whether the Mountain-Breaking Fist would still work against demons. He would have to find one and test it.

Before dawn the next day, he left several more copper coins on the windowsill for the family, then led his horse away.

The farther he traveled along the main road, the more desolate it became.

For the first few days, the sights along the road still resembled Qingyun County.

Villages stood one after another, smoke rose from chimneys, people worked in the fields, and donkey carts and horse carriages traveled north and south. Riding on horseback, he almost felt as if he had never left Qingyun County.

After several more days, the fields beside the road began to thin out. The wind came from the north, growing drier by the day and rasping against his face like a file.

More than ten days later, he could travel half a day on the main road without encountering a single passerby.

Occasionally, a merchant caravan passed by. Their wagons were covered in oilcloth, the drivers cracked their whips loudly, and the bells around the horses' necks jingled all the way as they hurried south as though fleeing for their lives.

One noon, he saw three or five soldiers in tattered armor crouching by the roadside, clutching long spears with their heads hanging low. Several plates of their armor were missing.

Zhou Yan reined in his horse and asked for directions. The lead soldier waved a hand. "Don't ask. We can't find the road either."

After saying that, they supported one another and staggered southward.

Several days later, when his horse reached the foot of a stretch of earthen hills, seven or eight people sprang out from beside the road.

Zhou Yan reined in his horse.

These people were in even worse shape than the refugees on the road.

Their clothes were ragged, their bodies emaciated beyond recognition. They held all manner of weapons: hoes, wooden clubs, and chipped woodcutting knives.

The leader was in his forties, with an old scar slashed across his face. Raising a woodcutting knife, he said hoarsely, "Leave the food and money. Leave the horse too. Then you can go."

Zhou Yan swept his gaze over them. They were merely starving refugees. They were so hungry they could barely stand, and several had calves trembling violently.

"You've thought this through, robbing me?" A cold glint flashed in Zhou Yan's eyes.

"We have." The leader gritted his teeth and motioned for the others to surround him. "We can't survive. Either way, we're dead."

Two young men charged first. One swung a club, while the other thrust a hoe.

Zhou Yan did not even dismount. He leaned aside to evade the club, then grabbed its tip and yanked backward. The young man was dragged face-first onto the ground.

When the hoe stabbed toward him, he kicked out. The handle snapped in two, and its wielder flew backward into the dirt slope, unable to get up for a long while.

Everyone else froze.

The leader's woodcutting knife fell to the ground. His legs gave out, and he dropped to his knees. "You're a Martial Adept? Spare us, sir..."

Zhou Yan looked at him. These people could barely walk, yet they still dared block the road and rob travelers. They must have been driven mad by hunger.

He took several pieces of dried food from the bag on his horse and tossed them to the ground. "Take the food. If you dare block the road again, I won't leave a single one of you alive."

The group stared at the food, not daring to move.

Only after Zhou Yan had gone more than ten steps did he hear frantic scrambling behind him.

More than ten days later, the weather grew colder and colder, and the villages began to empty one by one.

The weeds in the fields had grown half a person tall. Several burned-out houses stood beside the road, their blackened beams slanting amid piles of ash. Skeletal wild dogs lay nearby, digging through things.

There were fewer trees as well, only scattered ones whose leaves had curled beneath the biting cold wind.

The bark had been stripped clean from the roadside trees, leaving rows of pale trunks standing bare.

A bundle of straw was planted outside one household's courtyard gate. Beneath it sat a woman with a half-grown child in her arms. Her eyes were numb, and she did not even raise her head when people passed.

Farther ahead lay a freshly raised mound of earth beside the road, without a marker. Wild dogs were gathered around it, digging.

A hunter-looking man with a bow on his back walked south toward him, a fresh wound on his face.

Zhou Yan reined in his horse and asked about the road ahead. The man waved a hand. "Don't go. Demons have cut off all the roads. I only escaped by luck."

After traveling for another half day, he saw several mangled corpses in a roadside ditch.

They lay scattered in every direction, their clothes still on them, bloated from being soaked by rain.

Several crows perched along the edge of the ditch, eating the rotting flesh.

It was simply hell on earth!

On the twentieth-something day, a group of refugees approached him along the main road.

They dragged their families with them, carrying large and small bundles. The old leaned on sticks, the young lay on adults' backs, and every face was gray with dirt, every pair of eyes vacant.

One woman held a swaddled infant in her arms, her gaze blank. Every few steps, she lowered her head to look at it. The child in her arms had not made a sound from beginning to end.

Zhou Yan reined in his horse, dismounted, and asked, "Elder, what happened ahead?"

An old man stopped and looked him up and down. "You still want to head north?"

"Don't go." The old man waved a hand. "The villages in the north were massacred by demons."

"What kind of demon?"

"Pig Demons." As the old man spoke the words, it seemed as though his throat were stuffed with cotton. "Pig heads, human bodies. Standing up, they're two heads taller than a man. They eat people without even spitting out the bones. More than a dozen people escaped from our village, but only this group remains."

"How many were there?" Zhou Yan's brow furrowed. At last, he had found traces of demons.

"When they came, there was a dark mass of them. Seven or eight. They blocked the village entrance, and no one could get out." The old man's voice went hoarse. "There were over a hundred people in the village. Only these made it out."

The old man continued, his voice trembling. "Those things crept into the village in the middle of the night. First, they blocked the entrance. Then they smashed down doors one house at a time. My son grabbed a hoe and rushed out, but one swing of a club struck his waist and folded him in two. My daughter-in-law carried my grandson into the cellar, and they never came out. The next day, I dug open the cellar entrance. There were only a few bones left inside, and half a shoe."

"The authorities did nothing?"

"The authorities?" The old man gave a bitter smile. "They can barely look after themselves. Who would care about people like us?"

The old man added, "Young man, listen to my advice. Turn back. Come south with us, and you might still survive."

Zhou Yan shook his head. "Thank you, elder. I have business in the north."

The old man looked at him, shook his head, and stopped trying to persuade him.

Zhou Yan took half a piece of dried food from his bundle and handed it to the old man. The old man accepted it, tears in his eyes as he thanked him repeatedly, then broke it into pieces and shared it with those around him.

A child in the crowd kept staring at him.

The child looked seven or eight years old, thin as skin and bones. He hid behind his mother, showing only half his face.

His eyes were black and bright as he stared at the dried food in Zhou Yan's hand, swallowing hard.

Zhou Yan handed over the rest of the food as well. The child did not dare take it and looked up at his mother.

The woman smiled and nodded. Only then did the child reach out and accept it, swallowing it in several large bites.

The woman gave a soft laugh, and the child offered Zhou Yan a timid smile, crumbs still clinging to the corner of his mouth.

Zhou Yan looked at the child once more, mounted his horse, and squeezed its sides.

After traveling far away, he looked back. The refugees resembled a line of ants, inching south along the main road.

A light rain began falling at dusk, and he ultimately failed to reach the next town.

The village beside the main road was deathly quiet, without the slightest human sound.

The north wind came in gusts. The old locust tree at the village entrance had withered on one side, its branches scraping against each other with rattling creaks.

He walked through the village. There were more than twenty households, all empty.

In the end, Zhou Yan chose a courtyard that was still relatively intact.

Several bags of grain were piled in one corner. Something had torn open the bags, scattering wheat kernels across the ground.

The lower half of the main room's door was missing, its broken edge uneven, as though something had gnawed it away.

Hoofprints marked the muddy ground, each twice the size of a human foot, stretching one after another from the village entrance to the far end.

He tied his horse to a tree in the courtyard, fed it a handful of fodder, and drew half a bucket of water from the well for it to drink.

The bedding on the kang was still there. When he lifted a corner, half a child's cloth shoe was revealed. Its sole had been worn thin, with a hole at the toe.

He covered the bedding again, untied the cloth around his saber, laid the weapon beside his pillow, and lay down fully clothed.

The rain stopped, and the moon leaked through a gap in the clouds.

He could not sleep. Memories of his previous life surfaced again. He had lived for more than twenty years in that life. No matter how ordinary those days had been, people had still been people, and lives had still been lives.

He had seen news of natural disasters and human tragedies. With a swipe of his finger, it was gone, and he had always felt it was far from him.

He had suffered in this life and killed people as well. He did not consider himself a good man.

But penning people up and slaughtering them like livestock was something he had never seen in either life.

He turned over and forced those thoughts down. He would keep searching tomorrow. Killing demons and joining the Demon-Slaying Hall as quickly as possible was what mattered.

In the middle of the night, the horse woke first.

Zhou Yan's eyes snapped open. He heard the horse snorting in the courtyard, its hooves pawing anxiously at the ground.

There was movement at the eastern end of the village. Footsteps struck the stone paving with dull thuds, one after another, drawing closer.

Mixed in was the intermittent sound of a child crying.

He grabbed his saber and moved to the window.

Under the moonlight, a tall creature was rummaging through the houses one by one.

It had a pig's head and a human body, carrying a thick wooden club over its shoulder. A tuft of black bristles on its back trembled in the moonlight. It kicked open one door, stretched its head inside to sniff, then kicked down another door, lifted pot lids, searched cabinets, and picked out the things in each house one by one before throwing them into the courtyard. Yet it made little noise, as though it were searching for something.

The creature suddenly stopped, raised its head, and sniffed at the air. Moonlight shone on its face, making its two tusks gleam white and sinister.

The crying was coming from the northern side of the village. Zhou Yan could tell.

The creature was searching the east side now. It had not reached the north side yet.

The horse in the courtyard pawed once more. The sound was not loud, but it was especially piercing in the dead-silent night.

Zhou Yan glanced back. The horse had its ears raised, staring toward the eastern end of the village.

The creature seemed to hear something. Its movements paused as it turned its head this way.

Zhou Yan pressed against the wall, lowering his body further. His fingers rubbed twice over the saber hilt.

A demon!

Other than the Fox Demon, this Pig Demon was the first demon he would fight!

The crying sounded again, clearer this time, mixed with two faint cries of "Mother."

Zhou Yan's hand stopped on the door bolt. It was a child!