The Record of Exterminating Evil from Ashes

The thirty-mile-long mountain path of Cangshan was covered with snow, and the stone steps were frozen.

In normal times, this mountain road connecting Qingzhu Village and Yunxi Town is already rugged and difficult to traverse. Now, after days of wind and snow, the road surface has been covered with a layer of translucent, thin ice, making it extremely slippery to walk on. A slight misstep could send one tumbling down into the deep valleys on either side. The cold wind howls through the forest and scrapes against the icy cliffs, as if countless sinister creatures are lurking in the shadows of the mountains, whispering softly.

Cen Jin carried a heavy medicine basket on his back, his steps steady, leaving no trace in the snow.

For years, through scorching summers and freezing winters, he traversed these dense mountains and forests daily, gathering herbs and scaling cliffs, etching every inch of the mountain paths into his very bones. He knew every steep slope, every icy ledge, every sheltered spot from the wind, and every place shrouded in mist by heart. The biting wind stung his cheeks, his ears turned numb and red from the cold, and his fingertips were already stiff and cold, yet he dared not slow his pace for a moment.

With his family's New Year's wishes in his heart, and his sister's long-awaited sweet cakes and new clothes, this bit of hardship and fatigue was nothing more than a normal ordeal for him.

The mountain path was desolate, with wind and snow accompanying the journey. Only the soft rustling of falling snow and the steady footsteps of the young man echoed slowly through the vast, secluded forest. Along the way, vegetation was withered, birds and beasts had vanished, and the entire mountain range was deathly silent, with only the endless falling snow as if to bury all life in the world.

Cen Jin never stopped, braving frost and snow, traversing mountains and valleys, traveling from dawn to dusk.

As the sun began to set, its afterglow pierced through the thick clouds, casting a faint warm glow. Finally, the outline of human habitation began to emerge at the edge of the mountains. Blue-brick and gray-tiled houses lined the streets, alleys winding and wisps of smoke rising from chimneys—this was Yunxi Town at the foot of the mountain.

As the year draws to a close, the small town is a hundred times more bustling than the mountains. Even with the snow still falling, the streets and alleys are still teeming with people, with mountain folk and merchants coming and going in an endless stream. Vendors line the streets, offering everything from rice and flour to cooking oil, cloth and clothing, to sweets and snacks. The lively atmosphere is thick and warm, completely dispelling the desolation and coldness of the mountains.

The prosperity of the Great Yong Dynasty is vividly displayed here. The people live in peace and contentment, with no worries about food and clothing year after year. Unbeknownst to anyone, deep in the Cangshan Mountains a hundred miles away, dark shadows are swirling, and evil lurks, threatening to wipe out the lives of the people at any moment.

Cen Jin had no interest in lingering in the bustling city, and went straight to Tongde Pharmacy, the largest pharmacy in town, which he knew by heart.

The shopkeeper had known him for several years and knew that this young man from Cangshan was down-to-earth, meticulous in picking herbs, and excellent in processing them. The herbs he delivered were all top-quality and never adulterated or moldy. When he saw him arrive covered in snow and carrying a full basket of medicinal herbs, the shopkeeper immediately greeted him with a smile and carefully examined the quality of the herbs.

Winter medicines were scarce and prices soared. In addition, this batch of herbs was of exceptional quality, far surpassing ordinary mountain goods. The shopkeeper adhered to the market price and did not try to bargain down the price. He readily handed over the silver, and a heavy ingot of silver fell into Cen Jin's hand. It felt slightly cool to the touch, but it was heavy with the weight of his hard work and anticipation over the past few days.

After the transaction was completed, Cen Jin carefully hid the silver coins close to his body and pressed them tightly against his clothes, fearing that they would get wet in the wind and snow or be lost on the way. Then he turned around and wandered through the streets and alleys, following his memory, and found the old-fashioned sugar cake stall on the street corner, where he bought a bag of osmanthus sugar cakes that were still warm.

The sugar cake was soft, sticky, and sweet, and it was Wan Tang's favorite food. It was also the best way for the boy to pamper his younger sister during their impoverished years.

With all matters settled, night had quietly fallen. The cold moon hung in the sky, its clear light spilling across the snow-covered plains, gilding the vast mountains and fields with a layer of cool, silvery frost. The dense snowstorm of the day gradually subsided, leaving only scattered snowflakes drifting in the wind. The evening breeze was slightly cool, and the road home became increasingly clear.

Cen Jin walked home with unusual ease.

The image of returning home kept flashing through his mind: his sister's bright eyes when she saw the sweet cakes, the gentle, contented smiles of his grandparents, the family gathered around the thatched hut, warming themselves by the stove, reminiscing about the peaceful end of the year. He didn't seek great wealth or fame, only peace and family togetherness year after year—this was his only wish in his seventeen years of life.

The boy at that time was full of ordinary and warm expectations. He never imagined that the sharp blade of fate was already quietly waiting at the end of his journey home, ready to shatter all his beauty as soon as he stepped into the village.

The return journey was a 30-mile mountain road, and we walked in silence. The wind and snow gradually subsided, and the moonlight was clear.

As the moon rose high in the sky and the night deepened, the familiar outline of Qingzhu Village finally appeared faintly on the horizon. Bamboo houses were scattered about, and a stream murmured. The most familiar scene of my homeland lay quietly in the moonlit snowfield, serene and gentle.

Just as Cen Jin was about to step into the village, a strong, sticky, icy, and sweet-smelling scent suddenly rushed towards him on the evening breeze, instantly piercing through all his warm expectations and gripping his heart tightly.

It smells like blood.

The thick, bone-chilling stench of blood, mixed with the chill of the snowy night and the stillness of the vegetation, was eerie, sinister, and domineering, enveloping the entire village, making one's breath catch and one's blood freeze instantly.

Cen Jin's feet suddenly froze on the spot, his back instantly straightened, and the hairs on his body stood on end.

  

Qingzhu Village has been peaceful and stable for generations, with simple and honest folk customs. Doors are left unlocked at night and lost items are not picked up on the road. There has never been a fight or murder in decades. How could there be such a huge bloodshed?

An extreme sense of unease, like an icy tide, instantly engulfed his limbs and bones; an ominous premonition swept over him, almost suffocating him.

"Grandpa? Wan Tang?"

He subconsciously uttered two soft calls, his voice trembling slightly, revealing an undisguised panic.

The night wind howled past, swirling snowflakes across the village, but no one answered.

In the past, Qingzhu Village was never short of life after nightfall. Lights flickered in every household, and the sounds of dogs barking, roosters crowing, children laughing, and neighbors chatting mingled together, creating a warm and cozy atmosphere, just like always. But tonight, the village is eerily silent.

There were no lights, no human voices, no barking dogs, and no movement.

The village, with a hundred or so households, was deathly silent, like a lifeless, desolate graveyard, lying quietly in the snow, eerie and terrifying.

Cen Jin's pupils suddenly contracted, his mind went blank, and his ears were ringing. All his fatigue, expectations, and warmth vanished in that moment, leaving only a bone-chilling cold and extreme panic.

Without further hesitation, he abandoned the empty bamboo basket on his back, strode wildly through the slippery snow, and rushed into the village like a madman.

What he saw was a scene of purgatory that he would never forget in his life.

The once neat and orderly bamboo houses have all collapsed and broken, with beams and pillars crumbling, bamboo doors shattered, and broken wood and tiles scattered everywhere, a scene of utter devastation. The entire village's bluestone path is soaked in layers of crimson blood; the pristine white snow has long been stained a dark red by scalding blood, mottled and glaring, a shocking sight.

Along the way, the mutilated corpses of villagers were everywhere, men, women, children, and the elderly—none escaped. The kind neighbors they had lived with day and night, the children they had played with, and the gentle and kind elders of the village—all lay dead in pools of blood, resting in eternal sleep on the land that had given them life.

Overnight, the once bustling village was transformed into a living hell.

The wind and snow continued, the moonlight was cold and clear, silently overlooking this horrific massacre, without a sound, cold and ruthless.

Cen Jin's legs buckled, and he staggered to his knees in the blood-red snow. The icy snow and blood soaked through his knees, but he felt no chill whatsoever. His heart felt as if it had been crushed by an invisible hand, and excruciating pain swept through his entire body. A metallic taste rose in his throat, and he almost vomited blood and fainted on the spot.

He ran frantically, his eyes scanning the corpses scattered everywhere. The last vestiges of hope in his heart were gradually crushed and completely destroyed by the horrific scene before him.

The entire village was wiped out.

More than a hundred households and hundreds of lives were lost here.

He alone, having survived by sheer luck by going into the city to sell medicine during the day, became the sole survivor of the entire village, facing the devastation, bloodshed, and corpses all by himself.

Endless despair and regret instantly engulfed him. If he hadn't entered the city today, if he had returned home earlier, could he have protected his family and neighbors? Even a sliver of hope would have been better than this moment of eternal separation and desolation.

But there are no "what ifs" in this world.

He clung to the ground, forcing his way back to his swaying body, his eyes bloodshot, and roared in a hoarse voice, "Grandpa! Wan Tang!"

The roar was broken by the wind and snow, weak and powerless, and no one responded, leaving only a world of coldness and deathly silence.

He rose like a madman, staggering and running wildly through dilapidated houses and across blood-red snow, rushing towards his own thatched hut without a second thought. Only a last, humble plea remained in his heart: a plea for the safety of his ancestors, a plea for the well-being of his Wantang, a plea for fate to grant him one last act of kindness.

But the dilapidated gate, the collapsed walls, and the mess on the ground completely shattered his last hope.

His ancestor's body lay silently in a pool of blood in the house, lifeless and devoid of any vitality. The gentle and kind old man who used to constantly remind him to stay warm was now cold and stiff, his body covered in blood, devoid of any warmth.

A loved one has passed away, forever separated from us.

Cen Jin's vision went black, and tears finally streamed down his face uncontrollably, splashing onto the blood-red snow and shattering into icy droplets. Seventeen years of peaceful and warm life had been completely destroyed here. From now on, there would be no more elders who loved and protected him, and no more simple and warm home.

Extreme grief overwhelmed him, but he dared not, and could not, collapse.

He also has Wan Tang.

His sister, the only tenderness he protected with all his might, must still be alive.

Cen Jin trembled, his hands frantically searching through the dilapidated house. His fingertips brushed against the cold bamboo and wood, the warm bloodstains, and the tattered bedding. His heart pounded, and he felt like he was suffocating.

Finally, under the tattered bedding in the corner of the room, he felt a faint, fresh warmth.

The temperature was extremely light and weak, yet it instantly gave Cen Jin, who was on the verge of collapse, a lifeline.

He bent down tremblingly, carefully lifted the blankets, and gently pulled the small body curled up in the corner into his arms.

Cen Wantang's eyes were tightly closed, her face was ashen, her lips were bloodless, and her breathing was so weak that it was almost imperceptible. But what terrified him the most was that a faint yet chilling black mist surrounded the girl, and fine black lines spread like vines on her neck, wrists, and between her eyebrows, creeping onto her skin in a strange and terrifying way.

Those lines are not those of an ordinary person, and they are not marks caused by external injury.

A chilling, violent, and inhuman aura, transcending life and death, slowly emanated from the girl, echoing the sinister atmosphere of this blood-red village.

Cen Jin held his only family member in his arms, his whole body trembling violently, tears of blood streaming down his face, utterly bewildered and helpless.

The entire village was wiped out, his whole family perished, only he survived, and only his sister underwent a strange transformation.

He was unaware that the devastating disaster that wiped out the entire Qingzhu Village was not caused by bandits or wild beasts.

This is a calamity and divine punishment that spans a thousand years, a massacre unleashed in a single thought by an unparalleled demon lord hidden in the world.

When Xuan Ye Zun passed by this place, he casually glanced at it and overthrew an entire village of mortals. He then casually planted his own demon blood and dragged his most beloved sister into the abyss of demonic hell from which she could never escape.

The wind and snow intensified, the moonlight grew colder, and on the blood-red snowfield, the boy stood alone amidst a scene of purgatory, holding his unconscious sister who had undergone a strange transformation.

Boundless darkness enveloped him, deep-seated hatred weighed heavily on his shoulders, the road ahead was uncertain, and his return was impossible.

The thousand-year-old demon lord, lurking in the shadows of heaven and earth, remained hidden in the dark, coldly observing this human tragedy. No one knew when the next massacre would descend, or which mortal realm would be destroyed.