Chapter 150: Every He Family Has a Daughter, Every He Family Has a Daughter

Jingxiu County.

Qing Yuan stood before the He residence.

The He residence was not large—merely an old manor, appearing quite antiquated, without any grandeur, and lacking guards or servants at the gate. The only reason the house existed was because He Hu served as the county magistrate. Yet he lived in poverty, merely maintaining this house, struggling daily to make ends meet.

He Hu was an incorruptible official; no one doubted his integrity.

But he was not a good father.

Qing Yuan gazed at the house, his expression darkening, a faint murderous intent flickering in his eyes. After a moment’s hesitation, he ultimately turned away.

Upon entering the county town, he overheard many murmurs.

He Qing, the daughter of Magistrate He, was dead.

She had starved to death.

Because she had taken something that belonged to others.

“A young lady, how could she take what belongs to a man? Where is her sense of shame?”

“Can that thing even be eaten?”

“I, He Hu, have never once begged for food, even in my youth when poverty was severe, eating grass roots and tree bark, refusing all charity from neighbors. How then did I come to have such a daughter?”

“If you wish to eat, then eat this bottle of medicine. From today onward, you shall not touch any food from the He household.”

According to rumor, these were He Hu’s exact words.

The little girl He Qing was stubborn by nature, and so she truly refused to eat any food—until she starved to death.

...

He Qing was dead.

He Hu paid no mind, but He’s wife was deeply sorrowful. She ultimately took some secret savings and hired someone to find a favorable burial site.

Yet that man kept all the money and instead dug a pit by the riverbank, burying He Qing there.

Until today, Qing Yuan arrived at the riverside.

The great river spanned three or four zhang across, its waters rushing turbulently downstream.

By the riverbank lay a small mounded earth hill.

Beneath that hill was surely the grave of a young girl.

“I never thought a single bottle of elixir would take your life,” Qing Yuan murmured softly as he crouched down, pressing his hand against the mound.

“That elixir was originally meant to be beneficial, even considered an elixir of longevity for the elderly and feeble. Yet it ironically ended your life instead.”

A cool breeze stirred, the river still rushing fiercely.

Qing Yuan stood quietly for a moment, then patted the mound again, glancing around.

“This river runs swift. When the rains come heavy, it may wash away the banks. You may not rest peacefully here.”

He rose slowly, closing his eyes briefly, pressing his hand downward.

The earth mound suddenly solidified and began to compress.

Drawing upon his mastery of the Five Elements, he transformed the soil into stone, extending it in all directions. The land, covering an area of seven or eight zhang, including the riverbed’s mud, all hardened into rock.

Immediately, within the Ling Fa Tower, the western mural suddenly emitted a radiant glow.

Qing Yuan added a layer of golden iron energy within the earth, making it indestructible.

“My understanding of feng shui is not profound, nor do I possess great power to move mountains or fill seas to alter fate,” he said as he walked around the mound, continuously adjusting his elemental forces and the Eight Trigrams layout.

“But within this small area, I can at least make some changes for you.”

He arranged the Five Elements and Eight Trigrams as best he could—not profound, but decent.

Having finished, he did not leave immediately. Instead, he sat cross-legged near the mound and pressed his hand once more, conjuring a stone stele.

He Qing’s tomb.

Along one side was a small inscription: “Erected by your brother Qing Yuan.”

“Now, in this mortal world, the era of the Investiture of the Gods is unfolding,” Qing Yuan said softly to the tomb.

“In theory, those who die in this era have a chance of being deified. Alas, you were neither a cultivator nor blessed with divine fate, so it’s hard for you to attain a godly rank. If I could become an immortal, perhaps you could share in that celestial fortune and be granted a title.”

“But I have not attained immortality, nor can I send you to the Investiture platform, much less secure a divine position for you.”

“Fortunately, after this era, eighteen levels of the Netherworld will be established, overseeing the cycles of life and death in the heavens. Perhaps… you still have hope for reincarnation. Unlike before, when death meant total oblivion, the establishment of the Netherworld will truly change everything.”

He then spoke in her original tone, softly, “Well then… shall I leave?”

Of course, there was no reply from the mound.

Qing Yuan sighed and rose.

At that moment, a brilliant light suddenly surged from his chest. The ancient mirror rose swiftly, its light radiating in all directions.

Though the sun blazed overhead, the mirror’s radiance made the surroundings slightly dimmer and colder.

Qing Yuan was startled, quickly turning to look at the grave.

Above the tomb hovered a faint light, pale blue in color, flickering like a firefly, wavering as if near extinction.

His breath caught.

“A true soul spirit?”

By rights, with his cultivation at the Third Heavenly Layer, he should not be able to perceive such a spirit.

Only upon breaking through to the Fourth Heavenly Layer, when true qi transforms into magic power and the soul spirit condenses into a yin spirit, can one see soul spirits with the naked eye. Yet now, he saw it clearly—the faint, flickering light.

“It must be because of the ancient mirror,” he mused.

“This mirror is almost linked to me, sensing my thoughts, so it casts light in all directions, blocking the blazing sun and revealing this soul spirit.”

He took a deep breath and recalled a spell from the Seven Spirits Sect.

Soul Capture!

Qing Yuan placed his hands together, fingers overlapping, forming a seal, palms slightly cupped, empty within. He slowly extended his hands forward, intending to trap the soul spirit between his palms.

Suddenly, a sharp whistling sound pierced the air beside his ear.

The sound of an arrow released from a bowstring.

A chill rose in Qing Yuan’s heart.

His face changed dramatically as he twisted his body, turning his back toward the sound.

A sudden thud!

An arrow pierced his back.

Blood sprayed, instantly soaking his clothing.

Yet he managed to trap the soul spirit within his palms.

Only then did the ancient mirror, suspended in midair, gradually dim and descend into Qing Yuan’s arms.

He ignored the rest, channeling his true qi to imprison the soul spirit with the Soul Capture spell, protecting it carefully.

As for the arrow lodged in his back, he vibrated his true qi slightly, but did not remove it.

This was no ordinary arrow. It had been dipped in talisman water, inscribed with runes, and fired with great force by a warrior brimming with murderous intent.

Once the soul spirit was secured, Qing Yuan freed his hands and reached behind to pull the arrow free.

Only then did he turn around.

Behind him, dozens of people had encircled him.

Blades flashed, killing intent condensed as if tangible.

(To be continued.)