He had practiced cultivation since childhood, with exceptional natural talent. After more than ten years of smooth progress, he reached the Grand Ascension stage. Now, having been dispatched to this place by the Heavenly Dao, not only was he trapped, but he was also forced to speak with others—a difficulty he had truly never encountered before.

Evan Carter stood there, took a few deep breaths, and did quite a bit of mental preparation before finally organizing his words and asking, "Is there a sword?"

The villagers all looked at him, their knees actually going a bit weak, almost wanting to fall to the ground and kowtow.

Who would have thought that the little fool, upon suddenly becoming enlightened, would be so calm and composed, showing no emotion—truly the bearing of a master. The immortal did not deceive us.

Chapter 2 Our Young Lady

There was, in fact, a sword.

Someone handed one over.

It was a short, thick little wooden sword, whittled for a three-year-old child to play with.

The child wailed, "My sword! My sword! Give me back my sword!"

Evan Carter was made dizzy by his howling and ultimately did not take the sword. Instead, he broke a branch from the dead jujube tree in the courtyard, held it in his hand, exhaled slightly, and felt a bit more comfortable.

His sect had a rule: better to die with a sword in hand than to live having abandoned it. After more than ten years, this was etched into his very bones. Now, with all his cultivation lost, holding a sword was of no practical use, but having it in his hand could at least slightly ease the discomfort brought on by the pressing crowd.

Evan Carter moved past the crowd and walked toward the edge of the village. The closer he got, the denser the gray mist became.

Through a barrier, he suddenly locked eyes with a corpse not far away—its clothes tattered, face rotting and oozing pus.

Amazingly, the thing was still alive. With a roar, it half-leapt, half-crawled like a monkey, pouncing over, only to be blocked by the barrier. Evan Carter took a few steps back, watching as it frantically slammed against the barrier, its claws barely piercing through before being bounced back. Clearly, the barrier was no longer very strong.

Half-rotted, crawling on all fours, moving swiftly—according to "Strange Records of Jiushou," this was a crawling corpse, a low-level evil creature, afraid of light, wind, and fire. The villagers clearly knew something of its habits and had already brought torches to drive it away.

Yet under the shadows, in the dense forest, a rustling sound gradually arose. Before long, dozens had gathered. According to the villagers, these evil creatures had been lingering outside the barrier, numbering in the thousands.

Evan Carter watched the crawling corpse being driven away from the barrier. He could see very clearly that the barrier was already extremely weak and likely wouldn't last more than half a month. If there was no way to escape within that time, they would probably be trapped and die in the village.

But his cultivation could not return in a short time—or perhaps, it might never return in this lifetime. The body of this little fool was also quite frail, likely from years of malnutrition; even walking a few steps made his heart race—unless he could rebuild his foundation and forcibly open the eight extraordinary meridians, he could barely step onto the path of cultivation.

The villagers watched him silently pondering, all feeling uneasy, none daring to step forward.

After half a quarter of an hour, Evan Carter finally spoke: "Is there a zither?"

First a sword, now a zither—but in such a remote village, where would they find such things?

Seeing them look at each other in confusion, Evan Carter thought for a moment and slowly said, "Anything that can make a sound... will do."

This time, there was a result.

A few young men ran to the east end of the village and soon returned, supporting an old man and carrying an erhu.

This old man suffered from an eye disease and was blind. He was once a storyteller named Mr. Bennett at a teahouse in Minzhou City. Ten years ago, he left the city to visit relatives in his hometown, but who could have expected this disaster? He was trapped in the village and could never leave.

After listening to others recount the events, Old Mr. Bennett trembled as he cupped his hands and said, "Young hero, as long as you can lead us to Minzhou City to escape this calamity, I am willing to do anything with these old bones of mine."

Though he said this, what could such an old man, already half in the grave, actually do? The villagers were all puzzled.

But Evan Carter did not intend for this elderly man to do any physical labor; he wanted him to play the instrument.

To practice the sword, one must first cultivate the mind. His sect had a tradition of playing the zither to clear the heart, so he knew a few tunes for dispelling evil. He chose one called "Qingshu Bixie Melody" and tried to teach it to the old man.

However, Evan Carter's ability to explain things was truly lacking, and the music scores for the guqin and the erhu were quite different, making communication difficult. The two of them worked in the house for a long time before finally managing to play a tune that sounded right.

That night, the two young sons of the auntie, Henry Thompson and Samuel Thompson, led the way with torches. Evan Carter and Old Mr. Bennett once again came to the edge of the barrier, accompanied by several strong villagers.

In the thick fog, ghostly flames rose from the ground, and dozens of eyes once again turned toward them.

Old Mr. Bennett picked up the bow and began to play.

The villagers exclaimed, "They're really leaving!"

They saw the bushes shake, and one after another, several crawling corpses moved away. After the tune was played a few times, more than half of them had left.

The music was indeed effective, but the player was only a mortal, and the tune carried no magical power, so its deterrent effect on the evil creatures was still limited.

Evan Carter silently pondered how to further enhance the power of the music.

Just as he was thinking, Old Mr. Bennett's movements suddenly stopped.

"There's something moving outside," he said.

A blind man's ears are always a bit sharper.

Sure enough, after a few breaths, sounds gradually approached. At first, there was a sharp clashing, mixed with a woman's clear shout. Then came footsteps, and voices could be heard as well.