Li Mo and his companions dismounted the Roc Demon at the edge of the Mingjiao Dragon Clan's territory.
This was the land of their sworn enemies, and the Roc Demon could venture no further. If discovered by the Mingjiao Clan's powerful figures, it risked being struck down mid-flight.
Watching the Roc Demon fly away, Li Mo fell into deep thought.
He had visited the military camp at Baoping Town, where the border garrison, reinforced by a Divine Observation Realm guardian, could have easily captured or at least driven away the Roc Demon long ago.
So why had they allowed it to roam freely over Baoping Mountain, unsettling the people?
The group continued on foot across the marshy land known as Blackwater Marsh.
This region, plagued by constant mud and heavy rains, still housed human settlements—though they no longer had garrisons for protection.
The people who had lived here for generations worshipped only the "Witch Spirits."
Each town venerated a different Witch Spirit, each with bizarre and varied functions beyond safeguarding their territory.
After five days of travel through the winding mountains, they finally arrived at a relatively flat town.
The entire settlement was built around a lake, and faintly, the exotic melodies of fishermen's songs drifted across the water.
"This is the last human town before entering the Mingjiao Clan's lands," Huang Donglai confirmed, studying the map.
"The fabric here in Blackwater Marsh is so strange," Murong Xiao remarked, removing the silk headwrap he wore. With a flick, the water droplets slid right off, leaving it perfectly dry—its surface shimmering with an iridescent sheen.
Huang Donglai explained, "Different lands breed different customs. This pearl-white lotus silk naturally repels moisture. It’s extremely rare and valuable."
"It feels incredible—honestly, the smoothest thing I’ve ever touched," Murong Xiao mused, running his fingers over the fabric.
"Not even close!" Li Mo suddenly interjected, his expression dead serious.
His tone left no doubt—he spoke from experience.
"Then what is the softest, smoothest thing in the world?" Murong Xiao asked, puzzled.
"Ah..." Li Mo sighed, shaking his head as he gently kneaded the silk between his fingers—slow, deliberate strokes.
The motion was less like handling fabric and more like... a massage.
Murong Xiao was utterly lost, his mind racing but failing to decipher Li Mo’s meaning.
Brother Li’s knowledge truly surpassed his own.
"This material is excellent—much nicer to touch than Darkmist Silk. What do you think about using it for stockings?"
Li Mo didn’t know why he’d blurted that out.
Apparently, not just his hands had a mind of their own—now his mouth did too.
This time, even Huang Donglai was stunned.
"You know, my hammer techniques are decent, so I’ve recently taken an interest in forging."
"Working with such delicate materials requires precision. I might buy a few hundred pounds to practice."
Li Mo coughed lightly and plopped the headwrap back onto Murong Xiao’s head.
Murong Xiao’s eyes gleamed with both awe and confusion.
He had trained extensively under Elder Hanhe at the Divine Arms Peak. His master had said that once he could forge a proper Darkmist Silk underarmor, he’d be considered a skilled craftsman.
Yet Brother Li was starting with the even more challenging pearl-white lotus silk?!
Huang Donglai thought to himself—this had nothing to do with forging. Wasn’t this weaving?
"Brother Li, ten thousand pounds of lotus roots yield only two ounces of silk."
"Even a few hundred pounds is impossible—this entire town likely produces less than twenty pounds a year."
Li Mo gazed toward the lake, where figures stooped in the mud. Some women carried infants on their backs, trudging through the mire, their bodies so caked in filth they seemed to have sprouted from the earth themselves.
It was hard to connect these people with the pristine, pearl-like silk.
After entering the town, Li Mo and Murong Xiao purchased a few pounds of lotus silk from an out-of-town merchant at an exorbitant price. Yet Li Mo’s confusion only grew.
If they produced such a luxurious fabric, why were mothers still forced to toil in the mud with their babies?
The merchant, however, cheerfully suggested:
"Today happens to be the Witch Spirit Festival here. If you’re not in a hurry, you should attend—this town’s Witch Spirit is quite potent, with many devoted followers."
"Thanks," Li Mo replied, though he wasn’t particularly interested.
Murong Xiao also had little enthusiasm for the festival. Instead, he was brimming with nervous excitement.
"I wonder if my parents have been waiting impatiently."
He had never met them in his life.
"Well... I’ve always admired Uncle Murong..."
As they walked, Li Mo couldn’t help but ask:
"If your parents miss you so much, why didn’t they visit you at the Qingyuan Sect? And why send you alone to the Southern Border?"
"Maybe they had their reasons. Besides, we’re almost there safely now."
Murong Xiao grinned, his heart overflowing with the joy of finally reuniting with his family.
If not for the joint efforts of the Cloud-Crossing Sword City and the Drizzle Pavilion, you’d still be the Divine Son of the Demon-Calling Cult.
After years of silence, they suddenly summoned Murong Xiao back—just as the Jade Phoenix Goddess descended upon the Southern Border.
The timing couldn’t be coincidental.
The truth, however, would only be revealed once they reached the Mingjiao Clan’s lands.
As they spoke, they arrived at the lakeside, where a weathered altar stood tall.
Even from a distance, the statue atop it was unmistakable.
Carved from stone, it had an oversized head, a small body, and two pairs of eyes—grotesque and unsettling.
"Ugh... why does this feel familiar?"
Li Mo was reminded of the Sanxingdui relics from his past life, though not quite identical.
Among the shattered Divine Observation statues destroyed by his beautiful master, one had resembled this.
At that moment, the priest—wearing a mask identical to the statue’s face—performed an incomprehensible dance atop the altar.
The townsfolk below offered tributes in exchange for black incense sticks. Lighting them, they prayed fervently, some even voicing their deepest desires aloud.
"May this year’s harvest be plentiful..."
"May I bear a son..."
Li Mo’s brow twitched.
He realized the statue gave him the same eerie sensation as gazing upon a Divine Observation Diagram—yet far more sinister than any ordinary idol.
This didn’t seem like a proper deity at all.
Recalling other villages they’d passed, every worshipped Witch Spirit had been similarly unsettling.
"May the ruthless Mingjiao cease their raids on our village..."
"May I reunite with my parents safely..."
Li Mo turned to see Murong Xiao also praying earnestly.
Seriously, Brother Murong? This Witch Spirit’s main purpose is warding off the Mingjiao.
And you’re worshipping it?
Even if the Witch Spirit approves, would the Buddha?
The sky darkened abruptly. A whirlpool erupted in the lake, rapidly expanding as a massive, shadowy figure emerged from its depths.
"The Mingjiao are attacking!"