16. Entering the Village

Helan couldn’t help but glance a few more times, yet when she looked again, that mysterious aura had vanished. But Helan was certain she hadn’t imagined it; Lu Wazi had definitely been different just moments ago. Could it be a matter of talent? Helan paused, sensing that Lu Wazi’s gift was unlike any other.

Ye Lu, of course, had no idea what Helan was pondering. His expression was thoughtful, clearly still contemplating his recent connection with the earth veins. The land’s energy was strong yet strange in this world. If he understood, he would immediately grasp what Helan meant.

That was the innate talent of the Taishan Divine Child.

A wondrous bloodline gift—not only Helan but even the spirit scholar and the life amusement man had hinted at it delicately before. When Ye Lu entered the dungeon, this talent often led NPCs to worship him as a deity, much to his annoyance.

In the Star Network’s assessment, he was a prime candidate for starting a religion.

The refugee group halted, gazing distantly at the village.

It was a tiny, dilapidated settlement, with withered straw and a decrepit appearance even more desolate than Helan’s original village. It was easy to doubt whether there was any water at all.

The group dared not approach directly; such abandoned, lifeless villages often harbored hidden dangers, and no one knew what terrifying mysteries might lurk within.

Helan frowned and glanced back at the refugees, who watched the village with a mix of hope and caution. She hesitated, about to enter.

“Wait,” Helan Si pulled her back calmly.

Helan understood his meaning—to first check for any anomalies. She stopped. After some time, still no sign of movement within the village.

“Alright, no matter what, we’re here now. Let’s take a look,” Helan waved dismissively. Waiting would change nothing. If there were truly dangers, they wouldn’t just come out because they waited. The refugees were running low on water and food; waiting was not an option.

“A few guards, come with me inside.” Helan gestured, and several well-trained guards followed her into the village. The place was eerily silent—not even insects chirped.

The village itself was strange.

As the refugees anxiously watched Helan and her party disappear into the village, it was well known that Helan was among the strongest in the guards—not because she possessed the highest cultivation but due to her extraordinary talent and versatility. The actual strongest was the deputy leader, Helan Siu.

The villagers trusted Helan’s strength implicitly.

After an indeterminate time, some of the refugees couldn’t hold back and stepped down from their carts, though their children were firmly kept inside by their parents. Black dogs roamed about, but anyone paying attention would notice the pack never strayed beyond a protective circle around the convoy.

“Still no sign?” Qian Basun squinted, worrying. As village chief, he wasn’t responsible for the guards but had to keep the villagers calm. Water was nearly depleted, and he feared some would perish of thirst if they couldn’t find a source soon.

Earlier, someone had tried to enter the village directly but was promptly ordered back by Qian Basun to behave; he was still alive, after all.

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The sun was nearly overhead, yet the forest retained a faint chill. Since Helan’s group entered, not a sound had come from within the village, and Qian Basun grew restless.

He inquired of Helan Si.

Helan Si listened carefully, then shook his head. “No sounds.”

“Wait a little longer. Whatever happens, Helan will find a way back,” Qian Basun urged anxiously. He knew fretting was useless but still paced, whispering self-reassurances.

After much time passed, figures emerged slowly from the ruined village beneath the great locust tree at its entrance. At the forefront was Helan, uninjured. The same number who had entered came out, their clothes merely dirtied.

Helan’s expression was peculiar. She seemed unharmed, as if nothing had occurred—just a little disheveled.

Before Qian Basun could ask, she spoke, “There’s water and supplies inside the village. I saw a few households with some vegetables in their fields. Though the residents have been gone a long time and the crops are poor, at this point, we can’t be picky.”

“No strange phenomena,” she added.

Qian Basun had been about to ask precisely that. Hearing her words, he was momentarily stunned and instinctively questioned.

Helan shrugged, “I’m puzzled too, but the village was genuinely quiet, no eerie aura at all. We checked the well in the wealthier homes—only two wells, but enough for us.”

“Good!” Qian Basun’s confusion was swept aside by relief. With Helan’s talent, wherever there was stone, it was her domain. If she said there was no sign, then there was truly none.

“I’ll call the villagers to move in immediately. It’s been so long since we found water; we must rest here properly for a few days.”

Ignoring Helan, he turned to see Helan Si already signaling the guards to have the refugees drive their ox carts into the village first.

Qian Basun smiled broadly and followed.

Inside, the village was different—still broken and dirty, but there was a certain vitality. Perhaps the heat had wilted the crops further; Ye Lu noticed the vegetables and grass outside some homes drooping.

The refugees stopped in a clearing at the village center, no one claiming the empty houses. They parked their carts and began unloading belongings, fetching water, cooking meals, preparing dry rations, and feeding the cattle. Then they checked for water to wash with.

Ye Lu helped maneuver his ox cart to the center, placing it near Aunt Huang’s house in front and a family of six named Wang behind—two obedient parents and four children, who sometimes helped with chores.

The spirit scholar carefully set up a pot and stove, lighting the fire. After the fire caught, he fetched water to boil tea. Their Daoist guide was exhausted from the journey, resting against a cart with eyes closed.

---

The spirit scholar gathered a few large stones and a pile of smaller ones to build a modest stove. With some mud applied, it was crude but surprisingly efficient and quick. Once the fire was burning, it was ready for use outside the dry shelter.

The life amusement man boiled water and refilled the large jar in the cart. He didn’t bother with the other jars but came over to the spirit scholar.

“How’s the well?” he asked as he sat down. The spirit scholar was cooking dried meat, adding water to make broth, and steaming rice. He had also checked the village and confirmed the guards’ observation—there were indeed vegetables.

Apparently, the villagers had left in haste, leaving crops unharvested, which now grew wild and malnourished, with weeds taller than the vegetables.

Still, the spirit scholar recognized some of them; in his previous life, he’d been a county magistrate and knew his plants. He gathered a large bundle, planning to add them to the meat broth once the rice was ready. With meat, vegetables, and millet, plus corn, the three men would have a hearty meal.

His mind was well organized, though his attention lingered on the well.

“Not bad. Much better than our old well,” the life amusement man mumbled in his unique rhythm but clearly. “The water level has dropped but is recovering fast. I think after everyone fills their containers, it should be back to normal by tomorrow.”

“Good work,” the spirit scholar nodded. “Only fill one jar per person. Too many wells and too much water taken will cause resentment. It’s better to keep things peaceful; after all, we’ll be here a few days.”

The life amusement man nodded in understanding but glanced at the stove with a hint of disdain, then looked at himself with a grimace.

“I want to bathe!” he grumbled unhappily, having gone several days without washing due to water scarcity.

“Tomorrow,” the spirit scholar replied bluntly, offering no sympathy. Everyone was in the same boat, yet this little troublemaker always picked the worst time to complain. Did he not care about his own smell?

The life amusement man grunted in displeasure.

“Where’s the Daoist?” he suddenly remembered. Usually, when he talked so much, the Daoist would smack him on the head.

“Looking for a path. Too tired, resting with eyes closed,” the spirit scholar nodded toward the cart. Sure enough, leaning against it was Ye Lu. His ox, unburdened, was idly nibbling on grass. Being in the village meant fresh forage replaced their usual rations.

“Hm?” Ye Lu opened his eyes and met the gaze of two brothers nearby and other busy villagers fetching water.

“Daoist, dinner’s ready!” the spirit scholar called out. It was about time. Better to finish eating and then rest rather than let their Daoist sleep endlessly.

Ye Lu rubbed his temples but rose to join them. Using his talent drained his energy severely; only after resting briefly had he recovered somewhat.

“The flavor’s good!” At dinner, they ate rice soaked in meat broth, supplemented with millet. The appearance was plain, but the taste was excellent. Ye Lu’s eyes brightened as he praised the spirit scholar’s cooking.