Why is the Demon Venerable Like That? - Chapter 21

Ling Chuandu was awoken by a tingling, strange sensation. He looked down at his palms; the wood splinters from his fingertips and palms had not been cleaned and were nearly fusing with his flesh, yet a duvet was securely and neatly covering him.

Ling Chuandu made a judgment: this was the work of a servant who did not know how to take care of people. But could there really be a servant with so little awareness?

“Hiss—” Ling Chuandu’s brow furrowed involuntarily as something stirred inside his brain, circling around of its own accord before sweeping away.

The maid beside him reacted instinctively, immediately preparing to rush out to announce that the Young Master had woken up. Ling Chuandu stopped her and asked, “Where is Lu Yuan?”

The maid halted abruptly. “The Princess Consort said he went to Jiezhao Temple to pray for your blessing.”

“When did he go?” Ling Chuandu supported his forehead; his ink-black hair obscured his expression.

The maid recalled for a moment and replied, “Probably before the You hour yesterday. The manor was too chaotic at the time; I only caught a fleeting glimpse of the Princess Consort, and I haven’t seen him since.”

Ling Chuandu slowly lowered his hand. He turned his face, his peerlessly handsome features wearing a complex expression. “Yesterday?”

“Yes, now that you mention it… oh my, the Princess Consort did not return last night!” The maid exclaimed in shock. Yesterday, the whole group had been in disarray, and many people had gone to the Lu residence to handle the aftermath; not a single person had noticed the Princess Consort was missing.

She was about to rush out to send someone to Jiezhao Temple to look for him, but upon seeing Ling Chuandu’s movement, she was startled out of her wits. “Young Master! Young Master, do not move around! You…”

Ling Chuandu efficiently knocked the maid unconscious while she was not paying attention, moved her to the bed, and lowered the curtains.

Before the You hour yesterday… it was now the Bu hour; a full day had passed.

Ling Chuandu’s complexion turned terribly grim. He knew, of course, that Lu Yuan certainly had not gone to pray for any blessings.

…I fear he has been trapped there by something.

The pain in his shoulder was already negligible. He crudely tore off the bandages, leaving only faint red marks where Lu Mingzhu had fiercely struck him. It should not have healed so quickly. After he left the Lu residence yesterday, something had happened that he was unaware of.

Lu Yuan… He silently repeated the name. His face, hidden beneath his long hair, was as cold as frost. Ling Chuandu leaped up, vaulting over the glazed roof tiles.

In the distance, black clouds pressed down on the city, and West Chong Mountain had already been engulfed in a black miasma. Birds in the mountains rose in alarm, diving toward the city.

Seeing this, a deep crease formed between Ling Chuandu’s brows. What exactly did a Foundation Establishment stage Lu Yuan do at Jiezhao Temple!

His heart suddenly became filled with trepidation. Ling Chuandu did not even know why he felt afraid; he dared not stop.

Jiezhao Temple was filled with an impending sense of doom. The moment Ling Chuandu stepped through the mountain gate, he felt the same scent as he had at the Lu residence. It was just more subtle and cautious, like a massive undercurrent hidden beneath a calm lake.

The feeling of foreboding reached its peak in an instant. Ling Chuandu’s chest felt stifled; he raised his hand to touch his chest in a daze. Fear had turned into a vine, wrapping around his slowly beating heart, squeezing it until he could not breathe.

Why am I so afraid… What does Lu Yuan’s life or death have to do with me?

He comforted himself, wandering aimlessly and alone through Jiezhao Temple. His dim shadow fell behind him like a trailing ghost.

One side hall after another, one monk’s room after another; there was not a single human shadow.

The evening bell rang out sharply, not with its usual calm and lingering toll, but like the beating of drums before a battle, ringing until one’s head spun and one’s heart surged.

There is someone at the bell tower!

Ling Chuandu’s pale face flushed with blood; he raced toward the bell tower without hesitation. A three-story bell tower with a hip-and-gable roof came into view, covered in blue tiles. A large bell hung on the top floor, and someone was violently waving their arms, swinging the bell pestle to strike the bronze bell. Under the heavy blow, the deep, resonant sound was deafening.

When Ling Chuandu arrived, his heart plummeted.

It was not Lu Yuan, but a little novice monk. His face was panicked, and his yellow monk’s robe was visibly stained with blood.

“What happened here?”

Hearing a voice, the novice was astonished. “Donor, why are you still here! Were you not notified to go to the Scripture Pavilion!” He did not stop his actions as he spoke. “I am sorry, I cannot take you there right now. Do you know the way?”

Ling Chuandu softened his voice, a dull, phantom pain returning to his fingertips. “Have you…”

Have you seen Lu Yuan?

He swallowed the words. With so many pilgrims present, the chances of this little monk having seen Lu Yuan were minimal.

An owl’s cry sounded from not far away. The novice’s face drained of all blood, and he muttered, “Oh no! Something has happened to Donor Lu.”

Ling Chuandu caught what the little monk said and asked, without much hope, “Are you talking about Lu Yuan?”

The novice looked at him in surprise. “Exactly. What relation are you to Donor Lu?”

“I am…” Ling Chuandu was nearly struck speechless.

That face, nearly identical to Lu Lingyue’s, filled his mind completely. Suddenly, the vine around his heart tightened. As if possessed, he replied, “I am his husband.”

The novice looked at him disapprovingly. “Do not let your wife come alone next time. Her health does not seem good; what would she do if she encountered danger?” He then sighed with the maturity of an old man. “It is no use saying this now. Everyone in Jiezhao Temple is struggling to survive; quickly, go find him.”

“He is in the side hall where Abbot Liaowu resides!” The novice said urgently, pointing the way. “Go quickly! If you are late, the path will be hard to traverse!”

As Ling Chuandu hurried toward the side hall, he understood what the novice meant about the path being difficult.

On the ridge tiles of the ancient monk’s quarters, several figures were perched. They were bird-like but not birds, possessing grayish-white feathers and prominent beaks, but their size was definitely not that of an owl. It seemed to have sensed Ling Chuandu’s presence and abruptly turned its face toward him.

It was a human face, yet with avian beaks and reversed joints. Beneath the brown, radial feathers of the owl, one could still faintly recognize the appearance it had as a human. In the dim light, it revealed wings as cold as iron.

The man and the owl-man stared at each other for a moment; Ling Chuandu was sickened by its appearance and showed an expression of disgust. Sensing the newcomer’s revulsion, the owl-man immediately let out a shrill cry and dove toward Ling Chuandu.

At that moment, the relentless bell tolling from the direction of the novice sounded again. The owl-men were startled into a panic, their screeching suppressed in their throats as they flapped their wings, trying to cover their ears.

Ling Chuandu had no interest in watching this group of confused monsters. When he had heard the owl cries earlier, the novice said that the side hall where Lu Yuan was located had met with trouble; they must have been surrounded and attacked by these monsters.

Following the route indicated by the little monk, Ling Chuandu avoided most of the places where the monsters were lurking and reached the side hall.

The interior of the side hall was a sea of scarlet. Dozens of half-human, half-owl monsters lay densely on the ground; the place resembled a slaughterhouse. It emitted a foul, fishy stench that made one want to retch.

Lu Yuan was standing by the Buddhist niche near the window. Fine blood splatters had splashed onto his face, making him look strangely like a vengeful ghost, mingled with his own hot blood. Yet, his features were relaxed and his mind focused. Despite being in a wretched state, his eyes burned as bright as torches.

Lu Yuan was holding onto a Buddhist statue; his fingers were sliding downward helplessly, lacking strength, leaving a greasy, thick trail of blood.

Seeing Ling Chuandu, Lu Yuan only said softly, “You have come.”

Ling Chuandu did not know what kind of expression he was wearing. He simply stiffly supported Lu Yuan, his demeanor as cold and stern as always. After surveying the area with trepidation, he finally asked, “Are you alright?”

Lu Yuan struggled to open his eyes; blood scabs had glued his eyelids shut, making it difficult for him to see Ling Chuandu clearly.

He replied helplessly, “Your expression looks as if you were hoping I was not.”

Seeing that the other still had the heart to joke, Ling Chuandu felt his heart lighten. But as he glanced down, he saw Lu Yuan’s neck, and the tension he had just let go of surged back up. He wanted to say something, but held back.

A striking black line, like a crude and ugly tattoo, extended from somewhere invisible beneath Lu Yuan’s collar to his jawline. Ling Chuandu tracked the nearly dried-up spiritual power within Lu Yuan’s shell, knowing that the only reason he was still standing was by a single breath of effort.

When that breath dissipates, will he become a black, hollow cavity without flesh, just like Lu Mingzhu?

Ling Chuandu’s hand, supporting Lu Yuan, was loosely cupped, causing no pain, but his other hand had bulging veins. He endured it for a moment before asking, “Are you going to die?”

Lu Yuan was caught off guard by Ling Chuandu’s words. After all these years, his junior brother was not only stubborn, but his ability to speak was still as heartbreakingly bad as ever.

The tolling of the bell suddenly stopped. Outside, the sound of countless wings flapping arrived instantly, drifting in from all directions. It was like a locust plague, covering the sky with the scent of poultry.

“Not dying yet,” Lu Yuan frowned. He knew the little monk must be exhausted; after all, striking a ritual object was no small feat, and it was not easy for him to have persisted this long.

Lu Yuan pointed to the monk beneath the Buddha statue in front. “See him?”

With his back to them was an elderly man with a white beard and hair. He had been silent the whole time, his figure submerged among the corpses of the owl-men. The elder’s appearance was solemn, and he seemed indifferent to the stench of blood filling the room.

“Is this Abbot Liaowu?” Ling Chuandu’s expression grew uglier. In this room, the living were far more terrifying than the dead.

Lu Yuan hesitated for a moment. “You have never met him?”

When he came to Jiezhao Temple in his past life, Ling Chuandu truly seemed to have never entered.

Ling Chuandu strangely asked in return, “Have you?”

Lu Yuan decisively shut his mouth. As the Shouzuo of Haotian, Lu Lingyue had certainly met Abbot Liaowu, but as Lu Yuan, an outer disciple of the Fengchi Sect, he had absolutely no opportunity to come into contact with this great Buddhist cultivator.

Ling Chuandu’s suspicious gaze lingered on Lu Yuan’s face. He suddenly asked, “After leaving the Lu residence, what did you do?”

Lu Yuan ignored him and insistently led Ling Chuandu to the front of Abbot Liaowu. Ling Chuandu stepped over the lamp oil spilled by the owl-man corpses, his hem accidentally brushing against those stiff, hard feathers; he glanced at the corpses on the ground with disgust.

When they reached the front of Abbot Liaowu:

“This is…” Ling Chuandu froze.

Abbot Liaowu had already become half-human and half-wood. His lower body was like a vine, rooted into the floorboards beneath him, penetrating the ground for who knows how many fathoms. No wonder he had remained as silent as a stone, never moving an inch.