Her thoughts churned like ghosts as she led Lauren forward.

  By the time she surfaced from memory, they had already entered the village.

  From within came the sounds of hoes striking earth, rice being pounded, knives against stone.

  Anyone else would think this was nothing more than a quiet mountain hamlet.

  But Lauren knew better. This was no ordinary village.

  “Flower Wife, you’re back.”

  A rough voice called out before another followed, curious and sharp. “Eh? Why’d you bring back a little one? Kid, you’re too damn young to be here. What the hell did you do? Come on, tell me—I want to hear it.”

  Before Lauren could open her mouth, Flower Wife cut in, her tone firm. “Devourer, this girl is no ordinary child. She defies Heaven.”

  Devourer snorted, pounding the rice with heavy, steady strikes. “Defy Heaven? Tch. Don’t joke with me, woman. Heaven is everything. Who the hell would dare defy it?”

  “Don’t believe me? Touch her yourself.”

  Flower Wife pulled Lauren closer. Devourer set the pestle aside, circled behind her, and laid a calloused hand on her shoulder. His face stiffened instantly, eyes going wide.

  “Immortal root?”

  “Yes,” Flower Wife said with a smile. “And tell me—have you ever seen one this long?”

  Devourer shook his head slowly. “I’ve seen immortal roots before. But never… never one like this.”

  “Then you see why I believe she can defy the heavens.”

  He gave a dry chuckle and went back to pounding rice. “So what? I’ve seen plenty of so-called geniuses. None of them ever escaped Heaven’s leash. She’s here like the rest of us—trapped. This place swallows everyone. In, but never out.”

  He glanced back at Lauren, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Little one, stay here. Outlast us old bones, and one day you’ll rule this rotting pit.”

  Lauren’s voice was clear and firm. “I’ll leave.”

  Devourer smirked, dismissing it as childish nonsense, but Flower Wife’s eyes shone with something else—belief. Fierce, unshakable belief.

  She clasped Lauren’s hand, her voice full of joy. “Good girl. From now on, you’re my granddaughter.”

  Lauren dipped her head respectfully. “Thank you, Grandma, for taking me in.”

  Flower Wife laughed, covering her mouth. The sound rasped like a brush dragged over stone, harsh as a crow’s cry—terrifying in its joy.

  “Well then, Lauren. Since you call me Grandma, I’ll protect you. No one will lay a hand on you while I’m here.”

  The words had barely left her lips when the door slammed open with a thunderous crash. A man with three jagged scars carved across his face stalked inside, butcher knives gleaming in both hands.

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  “Where’s my snack?”

  He dragged the blades together with a screeching clang. His gaze landed on Lauren, and a grin split his face, feral and hungry. His tongue flicked across his lips.

  “The Devourer didn’t lie. A fresh, tender little morsel. Hah! I haven’t tasted human flesh in years… hahaha!”

  Scar let out a wild laugh and swung his knife at Lauren.

  “Stop.”

  Flower Wife stepped forward, raising a serpent-headed staff to block the strike.

  Scar’s scarred face twisted with fury. “Flower Wife, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Her eyes burned. “Scar, you can’t eat this girl. She’s my granddaughter.”

  “Granddaughter?” Scar spat on the ground. “Don’t fuck with me. You’re over a thousand years old. How could you possibly have a fresh little granddaughter? You’re just pretending to be young, trying to play me for a fool.”

  Rage flashed across Flower Wife’s face. She lashed out, striking him with her staff.

  “You’re asking for death.”

  With a thunderous crack, the two of them crashed through the roof and shot into the sky, their blows shaking the night.

  Lauren didn’t panic. She knew Scar couldn’t possibly win. Flower Wife was the only woman here, and her very survival proved her strength. She was the second-most fearsome fighter in this place. The first was a monk—a genius with terrifying power, but half-insane.

  Rushing outside, Lauren looked up. Two figures, one wreathed in crimson light and the other in black smoke, clashed high above the village, their curses echoing through the night.

  A shimmering blue barrier sealed the village below them, glowing like ice. Everyone here was dangerous, many of them mad, and fights broke out almost daily. The barrier was the only thing preventing their violence from spilling out and destroying the village.

  But in the air, the balance was shifting. The red glow around Scar was being devoured by Flower Wife’s black energy. His strength faltered, his aura collapsing.

  “Wuu… Flower Wife,” he whined, desperation leaking into his voice, “just let me eat her. She smells so good.”

  “Shut your mouth! If you dare say you’ll eat my granddaughter again, I’ll tear you apart!”

  “Damn you, Flower Wife!” Scar roared. “All the centuries of friendship between us, thrown away because of some wild brat? You’re really going to turn on me today?”

  He wheeled toward the ground, shouting at a bald man in a monk’s cassock. “Hey, bald donkey! Help me out. I’ll roast this girl alive, pickle her flesh, and give you half!”

  The monk pressed his palms together, his face the picture of serenity. “Amitabha. I do not eat meat.”

  “Then fine,” Scar snarled. “This girl has a connection to the Buddha. Shave her head, make her your disciple.”

  The monk’s gaze fell on Lauren. His lips curved into a gentle smile. “Indeed. The little girl does have a connection to the Buddha.”

  Lauren’s heart clenched.

  That bastard Scar had set her up—trying to hand her over to this so-called holy man.

  But this was no ordinary monk. This was Master Light, a name spoken with both reverence and dread. He had disciples beyond counting, his understanding of the Dharma vast and profound. Yet behind his radiant golden glow lay a hidden rot: a demon lurking inside him, a dark twin he could not escape.

  It was said there was no one Master Light couldn’t convert—because those he couldn’t convert, he killed.

  When people discovered the truth, they cursed him as a false master, a wolf in saffron robes. Those who obeyed him shaved their heads and became his monks. Those who defied him were crushed into corpses beneath his golden seal.

  The world turned on him, forcing him to retreat here, to Sky-Covering Valley.

  Now his eyes softened as he looked at Lauren, a warmth in them that chilled her more than Scar’s threats.

  Her voice shook slightly as she asked, “Does Buddhism even accept female disciples?”

  Master Light blinked, then shook his head, almost sorrowful. “No. Buddhism does not take female disciples.”

  Relief flooded her chest. Thank God.

  She had feared he would insist on dragging her into his fold—and if she refused, the demon within him would awaken and slaughter her.

  “Heh-heh-heh…”

  The voice came from beside Light. Another monk, his tone full of malice. “Little girl… I can’t tell if you’re fearless out of ignorance, or careful to the point of courage.”

  This was Viper. Once a murderous criminal drenched in blood, he’d fled here seeking escape. But Light had taken one look at him and declared he had a destiny with the Buddha. Viper had resisted, but Light’s power was overwhelming. In the end, he’d been beaten down, shaved bald, and forced into robes he despised.