Chapter Forty-Three

The villagers were chatting about something, but Cheng Yuan had no idea what it was. He set down his teacup and looked at the mud-stained siblings before him, their faces showing a mixture of nervousness and, more than anything, fear. Cheng Yuan gave a soft laugh. “You’ve dirtied the clothes I laid out to dry. Have you thought about the consequences?”

The siblings trembled, for they had just witnessed the terrifying powers of the Traveler. Cheng Yuan pointed to the clothes outside and spoke in a commanding tone. “Go and wash them clean.” The two carefully took down the garments and hurried off toward their home.

Watching their retreating figures, Cheng Yuan murmured, “It’s coming soon.” The siblings first encountered their mother, who scolded them, then lay on their bed wiping tears from their eyes. In the courtyard, their mother scrubbed Cheng Yuan’s clothes, grumbling all the while. “Next time you make such a mess, I’ll hang you up and beat you.”

Suddenly, the woman remembered something and asked, “How did you feel about that Traveler?” The siblings considered for a moment. “He’s very powerful. With just a look, we couldn’t move—it was like someone grabbed our clothes.” A young villager laughed. “You were scared, weren’t you?” The siblings quickly retorted, “I could move, but my clothes felt fixed. He was inside the window, I was outside.”

The young villager remained skeptical. “If he’s so capable, let him try it on me. You were just frightened.” The older sibling shouted back, “If you’re so brave, go try it yourself.” “Try and you’ll die,” someone joked.

A few minutes later, a group of young villagers, hesitant and wary, gathered at Cheng Yuan’s door and knocked gently. Status in the village was strict; someone like Cheng Yuan, seen as a figure of importance, deserved their respect.

Cheng Yuan put down his small shovel, glanced at the beans on the ground, then opened the door and asked, “What is it you want?” His tone was somewhat haughty, a manner he’d adopted from reading social strategies for scenario-based games.

In worlds governed by class, it was best to display the bearing of your status. If people thought you were nobility but you acted as a commoner, they’d be friendly at first but later start bullying you, thinking you were foolish for not embracing the privileges of your station.

Hearing Cheng Yuan’s proud tone, the young man who had hoped to show off in front of the children was suddenly intimidated by Cheng Yuan’s lifted chin and commanding gaze (albeit feigned). The young man faltered. “Traveler, sir, my child said you fixed them in place. Could you tell us how you did it?”

Cheng Yuan snorted. “Don’t waste my time.” With that, he turned and closed the door. The young man relaxed, just as the village chief arrived with a sieve. “Why are you all gathered at the Traveler’s home? What if you disturb him?”

The crowd dispersed, but then the young man who had questioned Cheng Yuan shouted, “I can’t move!” Everyone turned to look. He could only turn his head to speak. His clothes seemed to be pulled taut, as if held fast; he was caught mid-stride, trying to move forward, but restricted as though enveloped by a spider’s web.

The elderly village chief immediately knelt toward the mountain. “Mountain Lord, spare him! He didn’t mean...” Just then, the door opened. “Who is the Mountain Lord?” The chief turned and saw the eyes of a hunter, gleaming with desire and relief.

The young villagers all stared at Cheng Yuan, who snapped his fingers. Instantly, the young man’s body surged forward, taking a step. Shocked, he exclaimed, “Traveler, sir!”

Cheng Yuan laughed, a sound that sent chills through everyone present. “As a traveler who walks the world, possessing some unusual abilities is only natural.” In that moment, Cheng Yuan’s power transcended the villagers’ understanding, godlike—the only word their impoverished imaginations could conjure.

Supernatural abilities weren’t unheard of. Creatures like their ice-feathered chickens possessed powers, but the villagers were not afraid. They could set traps and easily handle mature beasts. Proudly, they believed monsters had abilities, but humans were cleverer. Yet now, before them stood a man with such abilities, recalling the last time something like this occurred—the Mountain Lord.

In truth, Cheng Yuan had simply used the Art of Object Manipulation, controlling their clothes. The power of his third-level technique was nearly equal to that of a grown man.

Cheng Yuan looked at the crowd and commanded, “Tell me, who is the Mountain Lord?” The village chief lowered his head, his tone respectful and ingratiating. “Traveler, sir, it is a long story.” “No matter, I have time.”

The chief asked, “May the others go back to work?” “I haven’t stopped them, have I?” Relieved, some villagers left with their children, but many remained. The chief began, “Long ago, when our ancestors first settled here, there was a fierce tiger in these mountains. It commanded fiendish spirits and roamed the hills unchecked.

Our ancestors, desperate to survive, set many traps, hoping to kill it. But it was clever and powerful, bigger than an ox, armored with a mix of bone and gold. They could not slay it.

One day, a pack of wolves invaded the village, snatching away a child. The village dogs and young men had already perished battling the tiger, leaving only the old and weak. The ancestors decided to drive the tiger to attack the wolves, using themselves as bait. The plan worked; the tiger wiped out the wolves and returned to its prey.

The ancestors felt they owed the tiger some reward for its help, so they prepared a chicken. When night fell and the tiger came out to patrol its territory, they threw the chicken before it.” Here, the chief wore a look of astonishment. “The tiger was startled at first, then looked at the ancestors. Seeing their expression, which clearly meant ‘this is for you,’ it ate the chicken.

For the next year, the tiger never appeared in the mountains again. The chief organized searches, but it was nowhere to be found. Then, at New Year, a tiger’s roar echoed at the village gate. When they saw the tiger again, it had a human body and head, a long tail, wore armor, and wielded weapons. It told the ancestors it accepted their offerings, had become the Mountain Lord, and would bless them—protecting them from grave harm in the mountains.”

The chief continued, “That blessing was truly effective. We have since regarded the Mountain Lord as our deity, honoring him with ancestral rites, until...”

The chief raised his head, anger flashing in his eyes, and stood, pointing at an old villager with a guilty look, stooped and bald, bearing a scar across his face. “Until this wretch, drunk, babbled nonsense before the Mountain Lord’s temple.”