Runes • Rifles • Reincarnation

219. Long Xue Ling

Watching a small dragon spirit chew on metaphysical soul runes wasn’t something Jin Shu had ever put on his life’s bingo card—but here he was, witnessing exactly that.“Enjoy your meal,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ll come visit again soon.”

The dragon paused mid-chew just long enough to glare at him, transmitting a clear sense of irritation—and the distinct thought that Jin Shu shouldn’t come back—before returning to its food.

Jin Shu raised a brow. The dragon’s thoughts felt… clearer.

If it had possessed the intelligence of a toddler before, it now felt more like a slightly older toddler.

Just before leaving the space, another thought occurred to him.

“Hey,” he said. “You want a name?”

Most spirits were born with names. His, apparently, hadn’t been.

The dragon’s tail twitched. Its tiny eyes rolled as it sank into deep contemplation. After a long moment, it shrugged.

“How about… Long Xue Ling?” Jin Shu offered. “It means Blood Spirit Dragon.”

The dragon frowned slightly… then nodded.

“Alright,” Jin Shu said with a small smile. “I’ll call you Xue Ling. Makes us feel closer, right?”

Long Xue Ling rolled his eyes, ignored him completely, and went back to eating.

Jin Shu exited the spirit space, his awareness snapping back into reality.

“Have fun?” Shuang asked, his voice carrying a hint of exhaustion.

“Yeah,” Jin Shu nodded. “But… I’m definitely getting my ass kicked next time he comes out.”

“Why…?” Shuang asked slowly. “What did you do in there?”

“Not much,” Jin Shu replied. “Just cussed him out, pressed him into the ground, stomped on his head, shrank him to a hundredth of his size, flicked his head, and then gave him a name.”

“…A name?”

“Long Xue Ling.”

“Uh… okay.” Shuang fell silent, clearly at a loss for words.

“Anyway,” Jin Shu said, turning and heading deeper into the forest, “let’s get to that village… and maybe avoid any more disaster-class beings along the way.”

He walked with confidence.

But his other selves could feel it clearly.

Jin Shu was anxious.

***

Stepping out of the forest, Jin Shu immediately spotted a village nestled right at the edge of the tree line. His first thought was that it must be an incredibly peaceful place—there weren’t even any fortifications.

That made a certain amount of sense if the forest truly lacked demonic beasts. He hadn’t seen any himself. Still, he doubted there was no danger at all.

Either way, it wasn’t his concern. He was only passing through.

As he entered the village, he was surprised to find nothing but ordinary mortals. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’d expected at least a few cultivators, given how relaxed the atmosphere was—especially this close to the base of the Demon Mountains.

The village’s quiet normalcy didn’t fit his image of the southern region. He knew the south wasn’t entirely overrun by demon worshippers, but this level of peace still felt… wrong.

He followed a worn dirt path through the village, passing by numerous villagers. A few cast him curious glances, but most went about their day as though he weren’t there at all.

That, more than anything, was strange.

Cultivators naturally emitted a subtle pressure. Other cultivators barely noticed it, but to mortals, it was unmistakable.

Unable to ignore the oddity, Jin Shu stopped a passerby.

“Sir, may I ask you something?”

The middle-aged man looked him over, then nodded. “Sure.”

“This village is in a dangerous region, isn’t it?” Jin Shu asked. “Yet I don’t see any cultivators, or even a wall. How do you manage?”

The man raised a brow, his thick accent immediately apparent. “You a cultivata’? Den ya musta come outta da woods. Did ya see it?”

He pointed deeper into the village.

Jin Shu followed the man’s finger… and nearly felt his heart seize.

A cold sweat broke out as he stared at a perfectly crafted wooden statue: a one-to-one replica of the Ill-Omened Dread Beast.

“Dat’s our god,” the man said proudly. “Da forest god. He keeps da evil away. Most o’ yous don’t make it outta da forest with him dere. Ya musta been reeeal lucky.”

“Lucky?” Jin Shu let out a dry chuckle. “Yeah… I guess I was. Thanks for the information.”

The man nodded and continued on his way.

Jin Shu stood there, staring at the statue.

“…They worship that thing?”

“Not only that,” Shuang added, “they’ve seen it… and lived.”

“How…?”

“It’s possible it views mortals as ants,” Nano theorized. “Too insignificant to bother with. Cultivators, however, would be more like hornets—still insects, but capable of stinging and irritating it.”

“But isn’t it a demonic beast?” Jin Shu asked. “They’re creatures of pure aggression.”

“It didn’t behave like one, did it?” Nano replied.

Jin Shu thought back to the Ill-Omened Dread Beast’s actions. It had chased him, but it never truly attacked. The closest it came was subjecting him to those horrific illusions—visions of his family dying.

That wasn’t the mindless savagery of a demonic beast.

And yet… it wasn’t a spirit beast either. Having lived as one, Jin Shu could tell the difference.

“Maybe it really is a god,” he murmured.

“That is a possibility,” Nano agreed. “Or something very close to one.”

Nano had once lived in a world ruled by a god. Jin Shu suspected he knew far more about such beings than he let on—but the few times Nano had mentioned that world, the memories hadn’t been pleasant. Jin Shu chose not to pry.

It wasn’t important right now.

He’d rest here for a few hours, then move on.

Jin Shu continued through the village, giving the statue at its center a wide berth as he searched for a place to eat. There likely wasn’t an inn, but a small restaurant should exist somewhere.

Following the scent of food drifting through the air, he soon found it.

The “restaurant” consisted of three outdoor tables, an elderly man cooking, and what appeared to be his young granddaughter serving as the sole waitress.

Choosing an empty table at random, Jin Shu sat down.

The little girl hurried over, her head barely rising above the table’s edge—nearly making Jin Shu laugh.

“Hewwo—! I mean, hello, sir. Whacha—no. What would you like ta eat?” Her cheeks flushed red as she struggled to sound formal, clearly unused to speaking that way.

“No need for polite speech,” Jin Shu said with a soft chuckle. “Just give me the tastiest thing you have.”

She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Well, I wike Grandpa’s cakes. But you prob’ly want somethin’ more dan dat. Grandpa makes real good soup. Ya want dat?”

“That sounds perfect,” Jin Shu said. “Your best soup and a plate of cakes.”

She nodded enthusiastically and scampered back to her grandfather.

As he waited, Jin Shu closed his eyes and slipped into meditation.

As a Spirit Realm cultivator, his body no longer needed sleep—but his mind still had limits. After the stress of the past few days, even he needed rest.

Fortunately, full recovery only required twenty minutes or so of peace.

The soft sounds of cooking and the village’s tranquil atmosphere gradually eased his thoughts.

The towering statue of the Ill-Omened Dread Beast… less so.

Still, Jin Shu forced the distraction aside and let his mind settle.

Twenty minutes passed in a blur. Jin Shu opened his eyes just in time to see the little girl approaching, a tray wider than she was tall balanced precariously in her hands. She wobbled with every step, yet somehow managed not to spill a single drop of soup.

Jin Shu smiled. The sight was undeniably adorable.

With a thought, he guided a thin thread of qi beneath the tray and lifted it gently onto the table. The girl froze, staring as it floated out of her grasp.

Then she snapped out of her daze and scrambled onto the seat beside him, eyes shining.

“Was dat qi?!” she squealed, her voice breaking with excitement. “Yous a cultivata?! Can ya teach me?!”

In her enthusiasm, she bumped the bowl.

Hot soup splashed onto the back of her hand.

“Ah!” she cried, flinging her hand instinctively.

Jin Shu reacted instantly, catching her wrist and sending the barest wisp of qi through her hand.

Mortals couldn’t retain qi—too much would poison them—but the right amount could heal even life-threatening injuries. Jin Shu wasn’t a healer, though, so he let the qi pass through rather than linger, using it only to assess the damage.

The burn wasn’t severe, but her skin was delicate. It would scar if left untreated.

He couldn’t give her a pill—they’d be lethal to a mortal—but the bandages Xi Yue had given him would work. They used external qi, healing from the outside in.

Carefully, he wrapped the white cloth around her small hand, snug but loose enough not to cut off circulation.

The girl watched with wide-eyed fascination.

“What’s it?” she asked, lifting her bandaged hand.

“A special bandage,” Jin Shu said gently. “It’ll heal you fast.”

She nodded. “Doesn’t hurt no more.”

“Sir—”

The old man had emerged from the kitchen, worry written all over his face. Jin Shu waved him off.

“No need.”

He turned back to the still-bouncing girl. “You wanted to cultivate, right? Hmm… let’s start with your name.”

“Xiao Nuhai!”

Jin Shu blinked.

Little Girl?

He looked to the old man, question clear in his gaze.

The man scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “Her da died ‘fore she was born. Her ma died givin’ birth. Da village raised her… but it didn’t feel right givin’ her a proper name, considerin’.”

“…I see,” Jin Shu said quietly.

She’d had a hard start—but at least the village had taken her in.

For a moment, Jin Shu considered teaching her a basic technique. Something harmless. She reminded him too much of Yin’er… and Ji Ji.

Then his thoughts drifted to the statue at the village center.

“I would teach you,” he said at last, “but… for your safety, I can’t.”

She pouted immediately. “Why?”

He considered lying—then chose honesty.

“Him,” he said, pointing toward the distant statue. “He’s your god, right?”

Both Xiao Nuhai and the old man nodded.

“I mean the one in the forest. He doesn’t like cultivators. I barely survived. If I taught you… he’d get angry.”

“Dat’s true,” the old man said gravely. “Others tried before. Dey saw terrible visions… until dey couldn’t take it no more.”

Jin Shu’s brow twitched as memories resurfaced.

“…Oh,” Xiao Nuhai murmured, her shoulders drooping. “Den… never mind.”

Guilt tugged at him.

After a moment, Jin Shu reached into his storage ring and pulled out a stack of blank talismans. He selected one and traced across it with a qi-infused finger.

He wasn’t a talisman master—but runes, formations, and talismans all shared common ground.

In seconds, glowing runes formed across the paper. He handed it to her.

“I can’t teach you,” he said, “but if you’re ever in danger, this will protect you. Paste it on your chest. It’ll shield you, and get rid of whatever’s trying to hurt you.”

He met her eyes seriously. “It’s not a toy.”

She clutched it with both hands, staring at the softly glowing runes.

“What’s it called?”

“…It doesn’t have a name yet.”

The talisman was improvised—a simplified pure-light barrier combined with a qi reservoir and release array, feeding into a controlled explosion rune. Crude, but devastating.

It held enough qi to function for half an hour.

Anything attacking her would have a very bad time.

“Let’s call it the Big Bang Talisman,” Jin Shu said. “Cover your ears if you ever use it. Hopefully… you won’t need to.”

She nodded vigorously.

Jin Shu smiled, slid the plate of cakes toward her, and finally tasted the soup.

“Mm,” he said approvingly, giving the old man a thumbs-up. “Good soup.”