Mu Congyun still didn’t understand.
He even felt a trace of grievance. It wasn’t that he refused to step out-it was that this bustling world had no place for him.
He recalled his previous life in the orphanage.
Perhaps because they lacked parental protection, children in orphanages matured early regardless of age, quickly learning to form cliques for mutual support.
He envied them and tried to join, but for some reason, he was always the one excluded.
Once, he shared candies he’d saved for a long time, reluctant to eat them himself, hoping to be accepted.
Yet those children just laughed and pushed him to the ground, snatching his candies before scattering away.
There were also couples who came to adopt children.
They would praise and hug him enthusiastically, promising to treat him well.
But not long after adopting him, they’d start complaining about his dullness and slowness.
He even remembered the couple’s complaints to the orphanage director when they returned him:
“This child hasn’t spoken a single word since we took him home. Have you had him checked? If he has autism or other mental issues, he shouldn’t be presented as a normal child for adoption.”
Later, the director took him to the hospital where the doctor asked many questions.
He answered as best he could. Yet when they left, the director’s gaze still held dissatisfaction.
After that, no one came to adopt him again.
As time passed, those children he once envied were adopted one by one, while he remained in the orphanage, still out of place.
The orphanage conditions weren’t great, but not terrible either.
He followed the rules, attended classes, and lived quietly.
At eighteen, he was admitted to a mediocre university, left the orphanage to support himself, and graduated to find a job step by step.
The only constant was that he still had no friends.
Classmates and coworkers privately criticized him for being unsociable.
Occasionally, someone would be drawn to his looks and pursue him passionately. But usually within a week, they’d lose all interest.
Once, he even overheard one such pursuer complain to a friend:
“What a waste of a pretty face with that personality. Who’d want to face a beautiful puppet that doesn’t speak all day?”
He didn’t know what personality others saw in him. But he knew he probably wasn’t very likable.
He stopped making futile efforts, learning not to listen or look, just moving forward alone.
Though sometimes he felt lost about his destination, staying away from crowds made him feel safe.
He wanted to tell his master that he might disappoint him.
But facing his master’s concerned expression, he couldn’t bring himself to say it.
So he accepted the mission to descend the mountain, trying not to let his master down.
Yet sometimes he felt like a student facing an open-book exam-the questions seemed simple, but no matter how many references he checked, he couldn’t find the right answers.
Mu Congyun sighed gloomily.
But the motion was so slight that others only noticed his expression turning colder.
Xu Yao, who had been clinging to Jinli in relief after their narrow escape, immediately stiffened.
He released Jinli and stood properly, instinctively shifting behind Jinli while cautiously peeking at Mu Congyun with upturned eyelids.
He’d been too happy and forgot the senior brother was still here!
Was senior brother angry now?!
He secretly poked Jinli’s back.
Jin Ni impatiently swatted away his hand, thinking to himself that their senior brother had a gentle temperament and wouldn’t get angry so easily.
Ignoring the annoying Xu Yao, he eagerly addressed Mu Congyun:
“Senior brother, should Xu Yao and I go move the other disciples here first?”
Rescuing the Xuanling disciples first would mean more hands available for subsequent rescue efforts.
Mu Congyun surveyed the mountainside covered with fallen trees and, after a moment’s contemplation, shook his head: “There are too many people.”
He was the only one in Xuanling who practiced the Sword of Compassion-the other disciples wouldn’t be of help. But relying solely on his own strength, it would be impossible to save them all.
With Xuanling short on manpower, it was unlikely they could spare reinforcements anytime soon.
He feared that further delays would only lead to more casualties.
“Let’s find the source.”
He recalled the giant tree at the heart of the old forest and the missing Old Man Zhao.
Since the anomaly originated from there, there must be a solution to be found.
Naturally, Jin Ni and Xu Yao didn’t dare object and followed him toward the center of the old forest.
The closer they got to the center, the denser the fallen trees became.
Eventually, the ground became impassable, forcing them to take to the skies on their swords.
Mu Congyun arrived first and saw that the giant tree, which had previously still had its trunk intact, had now been reduced to a mere stump protruding from the ground.
Old Man Zhao, who had gone missing, was sitting slumped against the stump, holding the wooden statue in his arms, his expression despondent.
“Did the anomaly in the old forest have something to do with you?”
Mu Congyun sheathed his sword and stepped forward, his gaze fixed on the wooden statue in Zhao’s arms, his tone certain.
He could sense similar spiritual energy emanating from the remaining stump and the wooden statue.
Old Man Zhao lifted his eyelids to glance at him.
His once-vigorous face was now shadowed by profound grief, and even his voice sounded weak: “Too late.”
It was unclear whether he was referring to himself or to them.
Mu Congyun didn’t respond, stepping past him to examine the stump closely.
After a long while, he spoke again, his tone resolute: “This is a Soul-Returning Tree.”
The Records of Strange Tales from the Western Regions documented a type of tree that grew in the shaded parts of mountains-three zhang tall, with a canopy like an umbrella, gray-brown bark, and rare human-faced growth rings.
It was said that this tree could commune with the divine, and wishes made to it would be granted. Thus, it was called the Prayer Tree.
But the Records also mentioned another tree-the Soul-Returning Tree, which thrived in burial grounds steeped in resentment.
Being of yin nature, it often attracted lingering spirits.
There were accounts of people being lured into wishing for their loved ones’ resurrection, only for the revived to turn into man-eating monsters.
Beneath this entry, the author had added a note in small script:
This tree gathers souls and is of sinister nature.
The price for seeking its power is tenfold or hundredfold.
May be of the same species as the Prayer Tree.
The Records of Strange Tales from the Western Regions was a collection of the author’s personal experiences and hearsay, its veracity difficult to confirm.
Mu Congyun had only read it occasionally to unwind after training.
It wasn’t until he saw the human-faced growth rings on the stump that he realized the strange trees recorded in the Records truly existed.
His revelation about the tree’s origins even drew a surprised glance from Old Man Zhao, who then drooped his eyelids again and said, “But it was originally a Prayer Tree.”
The Prayer Tree and the Soul-Returning Tree were merely different states of the same tree.
Capable of communing with the divine, it could also commune with malevolent spirits.
Those that connected with the divine were called Prayer Trees; those that connected with evil were called Soul-Returning Trees.
The one that grew in the old forest of Nanhuai Town had originally been a Prayer Tree.
Perhaps feeling that all hope was lost and there was nothing left to hide, Old Man Zhao finally spoke:
“When I was five or six years old, it already grew in the ancient forest. Hunters who frequented those woods would occasionally come across the Prayer Tree and unintentionally make wishes.
Over time, these chance encounters were noticed by those with ulterior motives, and rumors gradually spread about a wish-granting divine tree in the ancient forest.
Townsfolk began wandering into the woods hoping for luck, and those who encountered the Prayer Tree indeed had their wishes come true.”
The divine tree’s fame grew, attracting more and more wish-seekers.
But human greed knows no bounds.
After all, the Prayer Tree was merely a spirit-awakened tree.
It fulfilled people’s modest wishes while drawing power from their faith to cultivate and grow-a mutually beneficial arrangement.
Yet as its legend grew more fantastical, those whose wishes had been granted developed greater ambitions.
They began making extravagant wishes without considering whether they exceeded the tree’s capabilities.
Unable to fulfill these excessive desires, the Prayer Tree stopped appearing and responding to the townspeople.
But those whose appetites had been whetted refused to accept this.
Some became obsessed with finding the tree.
“My worthless son was among them.”
The old man’s voice trembled with lingering hatred.
His family had been hunters for generations.
By age five or six, he dared venture into the ancient woods alone.
Unlike others who relied on luck, he could almost always find the Prayer Tree.
A loner with few friends, he’d heard the tree had spirit and treated it as a silent companion, confiding both joys and sorrows.
Over decades, this became an ingrained habit.
Perhaps because he’d never made demands of the tree, even after it stopped responding to others, he could still find it.
“That degenerate got involved in gambling and racked up huge debts. Unable to repay, knowing I regularly visited the Prayer Tree, he sold the information to Squire Chen. Next time I went to the woods, they secretly followed me and discovered the tree’s location.”
But their greed went unrewarded.
Frustrated, Squire Chen accused him of hoarding the tree’s power and kidnapped his three-year-old grandson as leverage.
What followed was chaos.
“My daughter-in-law was fierce-she fought them desperately. In the struggle, Squire Chen’s men killed her. My grandson Lingshan, already frail, died from shock after witnessing his mother’s death.”
“Only when his wife and child perished did that unfilial son feel remorse. He dashed his head against the tree and died.”
Old Man Zhao raised his face, etched with profound hatred.
“Those scum panicked when lives were lost. They abandoned their quest and fled.”
With his family destroyed overnight, he’d wanted to die.
But for the first time, the Prayer Tree responded to him.
Uncle Zhao lowered his head and affectionately patted the wooden statue in his arms:
“It preserved the soul of Spirit Mountain and returned him to me.”
The townsfolk all said he’d gone mad, but he knew he was perfectly sane.
Not long after, two people died in quick succession in the town-both happened to be among those who had participated in searching for the sacred tree.
When Squire Chen heard the news, he grew fearful.
Rallying the townspeople, he clamored to invite an immortal master to vanquish the evil.
He found someone from somewhere, and after performing rituals, declared they must cut down the old forest.
“Upon hearing this, I secretly went to the back mountain that very night and brought out the tree spirit of the Prayer Tree. I intended to return it after things settled down, but unforeseen changes occurred. The old forest became shrouded in gray mist, and it couldn’t go back.”
The old man’s face showed a mix of hatred and grim satisfaction:
“Evil begets evil retribution. After the old forest changed, more and more townspeople died. The first to meet misfortune was Squire Chen’s entire household.”
The Prayer Tree, having lost its spirit, became occupied by vengeful ghosts.
Further altered by the corrosive mist’s infiltration, it transformed into the current Soul-Returning Tree plaguing Nanhuai Town.
Who would have thought such a murder case lay behind all this?
Jin Ni looked again at the wooden statue the old man cradled, finding it less eerie now.
Yet he remained puzzled:
“What you’re holding now—is it the Prayer Tree’s spirit, or your grandson?”
If it were merely the remnant soul of a deceased child, it shouldn’t possess such bizarre abilities.
Uncle Zhao simply patted the swaddling cloth but didn’t answer.
“Spirit Mountain said the gray mist on the mountain had dispersed. I originally intended to return it.”
With his enemies having met their retribution, he didn’t know whom to hate anymore.
But upon entering the mountain, he found the tree already destroyed.
A tree spirit cannot long survive separated from its Prayer Tree.
Without an anchor, it would soon dissipate.
Uncle Zhao tightened his embrace around the swaddling cloth and murmured: “This is all retribution.”
Retribution for Nanhuai Town, and retribution for himself.