My words have become law; I truly have no desire to display my divine power before others.

"Don't kill me...don't kill me...I don't know anything...I'm just a soldier..."

The second-in-command glanced at him, then at the corpses on the ground, and waved his hand.

The scarred man walked over and slapped the soldier on the head.

The soldier didn't even utter a sound before collapsing limply to the ground.

The woods fell silent.

The second-in-command squatted down, rummaged through the dark-faced man's body, pulled out a waist token, looked at it, and casually threw it away.

I looked through it again, but there was nothing of value.

He stood up and said to the two scouts, "Strip these people of their clothes, armor, and weapons, and take them back. Don't waste anything usable."

The short-bearded man responded and beckoned the scarred man to join him.

The two men worked quickly and soon stripped the corpses naked.

Clothes were folded neatly, armor was stacked up, and weapons were gathered together and piled up by the roadside.

The second-in-command stood by the roadside, gazing at the faintly visible mountain shadows in the distance, and suddenly asked, "Which direction did that golden light you reported come from?"

The short-bearded man quickly pointed ahead: "It's in this direction. Go a few dozen miles further ahead, there's a village called Ginseng Gathering Village. The golden light is roughly in that area."

"Ginseng-gathering village..." the second-in-command muttered, then suddenly remembered something, "Does that village hold some kind of grand festival every year?"

The short-bearded man nodded: "Yes. Every year before winter, we worship the Ginseng God. I heard that this year's grand ceremony is in the next couple of days."

The second-in-command said "Oh," touched the rough stubble on his chin, and suddenly laughed.

"Perfect timing," he said. "The matter of that golden light isn't urgent; it won't run away. But as for that ginseng-gathering village, I remember that every year during the grand festival, they would select the best ginseng to offer at the temple."

"Isn't it better to take one ginseng root that's hundreds of years old to nourish your body than to wander aimlessly in the deep mountains and forests?"

The short-bearded man hesitated for a moment: "Second Master, the First Master's orders are for us to investigate Jin Guang first..."

The second-in-command waved his hand: "We will investigate, but there's no rush. The golden light won't disappear, and there's only one ginseng plant; once it's used up, it's gone. Besides—"

He licked his lips. "If that ginseng is really several hundred years old, don't you have a good idea how much your cultivation level would increase if you ate it?"

"But there's a Martial Saint in that stronghold, and the chief isn't here. If we go, I'm afraid..."

Short Beard didn't say anything, afraid of getting a beating from the second-in-command.

Although the second-in-command was arrogant, he wasn't stupid and could naturally understand what was being said.

Although he was at the peak of the Blood Exchange Realm, a Martial Saint is still a Martial Saint, and no one in the Blood Exchange Realm can fool him.

Although he understood this principle, he still spoke arrogantly.

"What? You want me to avoid his sharp edge?"

"By the way, I remember the Martial Saint of that ginseng-gathering village is almost a hundred years old, right? Even if that old codger is still alive, how much strength can he possibly exert?"

Even if a martial artist trains to the highest level, it won't increase their lifespan; one hundred years is roughly the limit of human lifespan.

Even a martial saint cannot break this law.

Moreover, a Martial Saint who is a hundred years old is old and frail, so how many times can he unleash his Martial Saint power?

His current apparent cultivation level is at the peak of Blood Exchange, but in reality, he has long since reached the half-step Martial Saint level and has initially condensed martial intent.

However, he still lacks a powerful tonic to boost his qi and blood and break through to the Martial Saint realm.

Normally, the head of the gang would treat him like a brother, but in reality, he was extremely wary of him, and any highly nourishing medicinal herbs had to go through him.

On the surface, however, he was constantly showered with beautiful women, jewelry, and gold as his second-in-command, putting on a very good show.

But these are not what he wants at all. Without the cultivation of a Martial Saint, he cannot gain a foothold in these Hundred Thousand Mountains. That's right, he also wants to be the leader!

Therefore, even if this operation is risky, he is willing to try!

The man with the short beard quickly replied, "I will investigate immediately."

The second-in-command nodded, then glanced at the corpse on the ground. "Just throw it into the woods to feed the mandrills, saves us the trouble."

After he finished speaking, he strode into the woods.

The two scouts quickly tied up the clothes, armor, and weapons, carried them on their shoulders, and followed.

The fog rose again, slowly engulfing the corpses.

When the fog cleared, there was nothing left on the roadside.

Only a few dark red bloodstains seeped into the soil, were covered by fallen leaves, and crawled over by insects and ants, and soon disappeared completely.

......

When Yunniang woke up, it was already broad daylight.

She lay on the ground, her back pressed against the cold blue bricks, a piece of offering fruit that had fallen off at some point pressed against the back of her neck.

She was stunned for a while before she remembered what happened last night.

That scholar, that scholar who walked through the door, that scholar without a shadow.

She sat up abruptly and looked around.

The mourning hall was empty.

The lamp on the altar was still lit, the memorial tablet was still standing, and the chair was still in place.

The white silk ribbon lay neatly folded on the chair.

The window was ajar, and the wind blew in, making the smoke in the incense burner sway crookedly.

There were no scholars.

Yunniang breathed a sigh of relief and stood up, supporting herself on the ground.

My legs were still weak, and it took me a while to regain my balance.

She walked to the door and glanced outside.

The courtyard was empty, sunlight shone on the bluestone slabs, and a few sparrows hopped around under the osmanthus tree.

There was nothing there.

She looked down at her own shadow, then at the shadows of the door frame, the flowerpots, and the osmanthus tree.

Everything is fine.

The scholar was indeed gone.

Yunniang felt a chill of fear. There were many demons and monsters in the Ten Thousand Mountains, but the village had a guard team and an ancestral hall, so those things generally couldn't get in.

Ancestral halls are a skill of spirit mediums, where deceased ancestors are invited to reside, receive incense offerings, and protect their descendants.

Not just anyone can live there; only those who were highly respected and had made contributions to the village during their lifetime are eligible.

But as long as the ancestral hall is there, ordinary ghosts dare not approach the village.

How did that scholar get in?

The more she thought about it, the more frightened she became, and she walked towards the door.

We need to go find the clan elder and tell him about this.

If something goes wrong with the ancestral hall, the entire village will suffer.

She had just stepped across the threshold when a face appeared in front of her.

She was fair-skinned and clean, with delicate features, thin lips, and a slight smile. He was less than a foot away from her.

Yunniang cried out "Ah!" and stumbled back several steps, crashing into the door frame. The pain brought tears to her eyes.

The scholar, standing outside the threshold, quickly waved his hands, "Don't faint, don't faint! I'm not a bad ghost!"

Yunniang covered the back of her head, glared at him, and stammered several times before finally managing to speak: "You... why are you still here?"

The scholar stood under the eaves, his feet were clean and there was no shadow at all.

Hearing this, he touched his nose somewhat embarrassedly.

"I've been here the whole time. After you fainted last night, I tidied up the funeral hall and went out for a bit. Then it got light, and I was too embarrassed to come back in, so I just waited at the door."

Yunniang was stunned.

She looked down at herself—her clothes were neat, and there was a cup of warm water on the offering table.

Her face felt hot, but she quickly regained her senses.

This is a ghost, whether it's a good ghost or a bad ghost, a ghost is a ghost.

"You can go now," she said. "I won't tell anyone you were here. Go."

The scholar did not move.

He stood outside the threshold, looking at her with no malice in his eyes, only a pitiful look.

"I'm not here to hurt you," he said. "I just...want to talk to someone."

Yunniang did not speak.

The scholar took another step forward, and Yunniang subconsciously took a step back.

The scholar stopped and did not move again.

"I know you're scared," he said. "Anyone would be scared. But I really am a good ghost."

"I've never hurt anyone, and I don't want to hurt anyone. I just..." He paused, "...just have some unfulfilled wishes, and can't leave."

Yunniang looked at him.

He wore a clean blue robe, his square scarf was neatly arranged, and he was holding the scroll in his hand.

Except for not having a shadow, he is no different from a living person.

His eyes were clear; he didn't seem to be lying.

"Are you really a scholar?" Yunniang asked.