Chapter 181 - Cremation

In this team, Fu Zichu had always been the one calling the shots. His agreement meant Ye Qingxuan’s wish was granted. Sensing the people behind them, Ye Qingxuan didn’t show overt excitement. Instead, she flashed Fu Zichu a sweet smile. “Thank you, senior brother. I’ll wait here for your return.”

“You, you…” Fu Zichu shook his head, unable to hide the helplessness in his expression. After thinking for a moment, he advised, “Don’t wander off too far. I heard rumors of evil cultivators around here. I can’t confirm their validity, but it’s better to be cautious. If you encounter one and realize you’re no match, don’t hesitate-come find us immediately.”

Senior brother is preaching again!

Ye Qingxuan rolled her eyes internally and quickly cut off Fu Zichu’s long-winded reminder. “Don’t worry, senior brother, my luck’s not that bad. Okay, okay, if any bad guys show up, I promise I won’t stand my ground and will come find you all immediately.”

Having received her promise, Fu Zichu said no more. With a nod, he led the group away.

To avoid alarming the villagers, Fu Zichu and his team opted not to make a dramatic entrance. Nevertheless, for villagers who had never seen cultivators in their lives, the sight of these extraordinary-looking young people was already deeply impressive.

Swordsmen were known for their hot tempers. Though they often meant no harm, their demeanor could sometimes have unintended adverse effects when dealing with common folk. That’s why, ever since Fu Zichu-a rare exception among swordsmen-joined the team, all interactions with others were tacitly delegated to him.

Over time, even Fu Zichu himself had grown accustomed to taking on this role.

“Greetings, everyone. We are disciples of the Xuanming Sword Sect. We’ve come here to address the drought that has caused suffering in this area.”

“Is… is that true?”

The first person to step forward and welcome the group was an elderly man-the village chief. It was difficult to determine his actual age just by looking at him. His thin, frail body was almost skeletal, his hair was white and matted with dirt, and his tattered clothing spoke volumes about the harsh conditions this village endured.

“Immortal masters, please save us. We can’t hold on much longer,” the village chief pleaded, his weak voice trembling with desperation. “So many in the village have already died. We didn’t dare keep the bodies… we were afraid of disease spreading, so we burned them…” His voice broke toward the end, and he began to sob.

In the Eastern Wasteland, burial rites had been a centuries-old tradition. Even in the poorest corners of the region, it was customary to grant the dead a proper burial, no matter how impoverished the family might be. Cremation, on the other hand, was unthinkable for ordinary folk. It symbolized a complete denial of a resting place for the soul, leaving it to wander aimlessly. Burning a body was something no one would consider unless they were utterly desperate.

“My condolences.”

Fu Zichu’s group hadn’t anticipated such circumstances. Cremation was abhorrent not only to the common folk but also to cultivators; it was the most undesirable form of burial. They had witnessed horrifying acts of cannibalism in overcrowded cities, but to think that in this remote mountain village, of all places, humanity and decency still prevailed-it was unexpected and deeply moving.

Even though his heart was heavy with grief, the village chief did not forget the identities of the people standing before him. These were immortal masters, cultivators capable of soaring through the clouds and commanding the heavens. They were people far above the status of mere villagers like him. Not daring to offend or burden them further, he quickly composed himself and led the group to his home-the only house in the village constructed with mud walls.

Compared to the places Fu Zichu and the others were accustomed to staying in, this environment was utterly deplorable. However, after experiencing so many trials during their journey, the group had grown accustomed to encountering such destitution. None of them displayed any signs of distaste, which eased the village chief’s anxiety as he discreetly observed their reactions. Seeing no disdain on their faces, he felt slightly more at ease.

“Our village has never had anything of real value,” the village chief began with a sigh. “We rely on our own crops for food, or sometimes we forage for wild fruits and nuts in the mountains. On lucky days, we might even catch a wild chicken or a sparrow.”

As he recounted this, his eyes held a flicker of nostalgia. These simple, humble foods that a cultivator would never give a second thought to were lifelines for the villagers-a necessity for survival. “But now, none of it is left.”

“About half a year ago, when the drought began showing signs, we harvested what grain we could early. It wasn’t much, but at first, it was enough to stave off hunger. However, as the weather grew hotter and our supply dwindled, food ran out. The animals vanished from the mountains, and… we even chewed through bark from the trees.”

“Over time, some people began to give up. About a month ago, people in the village started dying of starvation,” the village chief said in a low voice. His tone was so heavy with grief and despair that it almost made it hard to breathe.

Although the group that had come here were all cultivators, they were still young, around twenty years old. Tragedies like this were something they had only encountered after leaving their sect. For a moment, they all fell silent.

After a long pause, Fu Zichu finally spoke. “I’ve seen some grim scenes elsewhere. The bodies of those who starved to death… usually they aren’t well preserved. How did you come to decide on cremation?”

Though Fu Zichu spoke rather indirectly, the village chief understood what he was getting at. In times of famine, stories of people turning to cannibalism were not uncommon. For those driven by extreme hunger, even corpses could be considered food.

The village chief opened his mouth, his throat tightening with emotion, and his voice came out with great difficulty, “We… we didn’t do such a thing.”

Seeing that their expressions seemed filled with doubt, the village chief hurriedly provided further explanation. “At the beginning, yes, some people had thoughts like that. But later, they were stopped. The person who stopped them said that once someone starts cannibalism, there’s no going back. If one person sets the precedent, others will lose control, and the destruction of the village would come even faster.”

After the chief’s recounting, Fu Zichu’s eyes lit up with a hint of energy. He immediately asked, “Who said that?”

At his question, the village chief’s expression became instantly complicated, filled with regret, reluctance, and a trace of pain. “His name was Lin Su. He’s an orphan in the village… and the only one here who managed to receive any sort of education.”

“Cut-”

Zhang Dong’s voice rang out right on cue. He gestured for his assistant, muttered a few brief instructions, and only after the assistant had left did he turn back to face the group. He remained quiet for a few moments, as if lost in thought, before finally nodding and remarking, “That scene just now was good; it’s a one-take.”