The wind whined like the wailing of ghosts.
The little maid was timid to begin with. Hearing those sounds, she shuddered all over, her almond-shaped eyes brimming with fear.
Even so, she stubbornly stood before the mountain gate, gazing into the distance, waiting for a long, long time.
Only when her little face had turned deathly pale and dawn was approaching did she reluctantly leave.
She carried a basket on her back, filled with all sorts of medicinal herbs. Some stopped bleeding, while others simply healed wounds...
Every stalk had been gathered on Back Mountain through countless hardships.
When Ling'er was little, her family had been poor, and her mother had often carried her on her back while gathering herbs in the mountains.
Over time, she had learned to recognize quite a few herbs.
Over the past two days, she had heard people in the sect say that the Demon Venerable had led his men into battle, and that it was very dangerous.
So she had knelt in prayer day and night, asking Lady Houtu to protect the Demon Venerable, hoping he would remain safe and sound.
She was only a little maid, and a very stupid one at that. She could not accompany the Demon Venerable into battle or be of much help to him.
So she had thought of gathering some herbs to treat his wounds.
Although she knew perfectly well that a cultivator as powerful as the Demon Venerable possessed countless miraculous medicines and mighty divine arts, and that the herbs she gathered might very well be utterly useless.
They would only sit in her little basket...
For a long, long time...
Just like her, a little maid, lowly and insignificant, like dust, or like that wild roadside flower the Demon Venerable had given her, without anyone