Longevity Strange Immortal
Chapter 114 - 115: Are You... Human or Beast?

Chapter 114: Chapter 115: Are You... Human or Beast?

Before the Beast Calamity broke out, the banks of the Qing River were among the most bustling and lively areas, with a history that likely dates back over a thousand years.

Many myths and legends revolve around the Laurel Bridge.

As long as one set foot on the Laurel Bridge, they would see two rows of willow trees lining the riverbank, their branches adorned with red strings symbolizing longing and yearning.

Such prosperity has long vanished without a trace.

The outbreak of the Beast Calamity has turned the Laurel Bridge into a perilous place to be avoided at all costs, with its eerie rabbit-head lanterns instilling fear in all who see them.

Many cultivators know that encountering the Laurel Bridge leaves them with only one chance of survival—retreating backward with their eyes closed.

Once entrapped in the Beast Calamity, the stone rabbit monster, a creature that delights in sucking blood, would appear. It crafts the heads of cultivators into rabbit-head lanterns, using the brain matter within the skulls as light, hanging the gory creations along the bridge.

Most terrifying of all, the Laurel Bridge doesn’t remain fixed in one location; this calamity roams freely along the Qing River, surfacing in various parts of Rong Town.

However, compared to the slaughterhouse, the Laurel Bridge seems almost trivial.

After all, the stone rabbit monster’s power merely matches that of a cultivator in the Weak Crown Middle Stage, and its abilities are tied to illusion techniques. As long as the stationed cultivators are well-prepared, escaping from the Laurel Bridge unscathed isn’t too difficult.

The reason Tian Changwen has yet to deal with the Laurel Bridge is mainly due to the slaughterhouse.

Beast cultivators are simultaneously occupying three areas affected by Beast Calamities, each suffering losses of varying degrees, while puppet cultivator ambushes persist unrelentingly.

Only Tian Changwen possesses an accurate count of the beast cultivator casualties, though the numbers are far from optimistic.

Even under such dire circumstances, Tian Changwen still placed chess pieces on the Laurel Bridge, albeit as if using idle moments to make leisurely yet seemingly insignificant moves.

The mists churned and billowed.

Along the Qing River banks, numerous childhood-stage cultivators were stationed, tasked specifically with monitoring the Laurel Bridge’s every action.

Shops were arranged neatly along the riverbank at intervals of fifty meters. The stationed cultivators were forbidden from communicating with one another, and even the spiritual tablets used for external contact were rendered useless.

The Government Office sat on the outskirts of the shops, patrolled by constables tasked with vigilance and patrols.

Perhaps Shi Ji could not comprehend the meaning behind Tian Changwen’s moves, suspecting an enticing bait to lure himself to confront the Laurel Bridge, and thus refrained from interfering with it.

Inside the shops, unrest simmered among the people. The oppressive pressure brought by the Beast Calamity consumed them, leaving them unable to extricate themselves from the mounting dread.

Li Zhuang hid nervously behind the wall, his face filled with terror. He stole glances at the constables outside with the corner of his eye while muttering incessantly.

"It’s not me... it’s not me..."

"Cough, cough, cough."

He couldn’t suppress a violent coughing fit, expelling clumps of goat hair from his mouth.

Slumping feebly against the wall, Li Zhuang retrieved a copper mirror and repeatedly checked his reflection. Upon confirming no signs of Deceit Beastification, he let out a long sigh of relief.

Ever since arriving at the Laurel Bridge, he had sensed that something was amiss with his body. From time to time, mutations would sprout beneath his skin and flesh.

He reported his condition to the constables multiple times but never received any definitive answers.

Thankfully, the mutations had not worsened. Moreover, simply recording information about the Qing River each day earned him thirty Contribution Points, seemingly a harmless task.

Li Zhuang repeatedly reassured himself, engaging in delirious conversation with his reflection in the copper mirror—laughing one moment and crying the next, his mind wound tight as a bowstring.

His mental state was beyond repair. Faint itching sensations seemed to emanate from deep within his bone marrow.

Especially when he sat cross-legged to meditate, the circulation of spiritual power through his meridians felt precariously close to spiraling out of control, filling him with nervous agitation.

"Baaa..."

Li Zhuang’s eyes shot open as his ears caught the eerie sound of a goat’s bleating. Yet he was certain he had already distanced himself far from the slaughterhouse.

"Who... who the hell is in my head? Get out of there, now!!"

He clawed at his scalp, oblivious to the blood trickling down his forehead.

The bleating intensified, threatening to burst something inside his mind, nearly shattering his grip on sanity.

Instinctively stepping out of the shop, he gazed into the boundless void of the courtyard beyond. Within the dense mist stood what appeared to be a black mountain goat.

Li Zhuang rubbed his eyes. It was nothing more than an illusion.

"Saw a ghost."

He couldn’t help scanning his surroundings. The nearby shops appeared undisturbed, and the Qing River’s waters remained unchanged, their ancient tranquility unbroken.

Li Zhuang erupted in a fit of anguished wailing, a nameless dread welling deep in his heart.

He wanted to contact Li Qingfang or seek assistance from Li Mo. Yet the spiritual tablet in his possession had long ceased functioning, and he collapsed despairingly to the ground.

"Baaa..."

Li Zhuang sprang up as if facing a mortal enemy.

The dense fog remained unchanged, and the source of the bleating was untraceable.

His expression grew distant, and he strained to recall—but no matter how hard, he couldn’t piece together what had transpired in the slaughterhouse.

Staring blankly at his palm, he suddenly felt a strange alienation from his own hand.

A cacophony of approaching footsteps drew closer. Two constables arrived at the entrance to Li Zhuang’s shop, unlocking the rust-covered magical artifact lock with a peculiar key.

One of them struck a copper gong and, in a peculiar tone, chanted: "One drop of life’s tears, two coins of elder’s tears, three parts bitter tears, four cups regret’s tears..."

Li Zhuang lifelessly stumbled toward the Qing River.

The cold wind howled.

By the riverbank, childhood-stage cultivators began to gather one by one. Many had once ventured into the slaughterhouse. It was impossible to tell if they were still human or now beasts.

Moments later, the Laurel Bridge arrived, drifting down the river.

Like the mythical Naihe Bridge that ferried lost souls to the afterlife, the Beast Calamity lured cultivators into its clutches. Their silhouettes vanished amid the rabbit-head lanterns that illuminated the bridge.

A constable couldn’t help muttering: "Using Deceit Beasts to deal with Beast Calamities... this can’t possibly end—"

"Shut up."

The older constable’s face darkened. His voice dropped to a warning whisper: "Don’t forget what Manager Tian said. They’re just ordinary cultivators. They have nothing to do with the slaughterhouse. Nothing to do with Deceit Beasts."

The young constable jolted, trembling in despair: "Brother Qian, then tell me—are we human... or beast?!"

"We’re not beasts. Not beasts at all..."

"If there are any beasts, they must be hidden amongst the cultivators from the slaughterhouse."

...

The lingering effects of the slaughterhouse continued to ferment, but Li Mo appeared rather unhurried.

The opening of the Artifact Refining Shop had caused quite a stir among the stationed cultivators, mainly due to the current limitations on how Contribution Points were spent.

Most of the spiritual material resources available for exchange focused on advancing one’s cultivation realm.

Yet the majority of cultivators prioritized survival above all—after all, with immortality as an ultimate goal, staying alive was the most critical concern.

The Artifact Refining Shop aligned perfectly with this demand. Li Mo specialized in crafting protective Low-Grade Magic Artifacts. As long as the artifacts underwent five refinements, they practically guaranteed a steady market demand.

Unfortunately, the Government Office prohibited trading Contribution Points directly; otherwise, he could easily earn a tidy "small human head" worth of profit.

While managing the Artifact Refining Shop, Li Mo remained diligent in tending to the warehouse’s responsibilities. If the Deceit Beasts confined within accidentally broke free, it might trigger a cascading series of disasters.

He immersed himself in forging artifacts behind closed doors, the Calligraphy and Painting Hall echoing day and night with chaotic noises.

Cultivators who visited to purchase Low-Grade Magic Artifacts often glimpsed a silhouette through the window—its form stretching out with dozens of arms.

It seemed that only Li Mo could juggle the tasks assigned by Tian Changwen while also diverting his attention to the Artifact Refining Shop without drawing criticism.

Yet Li Mo’s unhurried pace worried the constables at the Government Office immensely.

They were well aware of the true situation within the warehouse, dreading the possibility of the Deceit Beasts rebelling at any moment.

Even if the Deceit Beasts possessed relatively stable Spiritual Wisdom after taking on human form, prolonged captivity could drive even ordinary cultivators to madness.

Ma Weigong visited the shop every few days to urge him on. Though he never managed to see Li Mo in person, his repeated requests clearly irritated Jin Li.

Li Mo, however, remained unbothered.

After ten days of seclusion, he finally emerged from the Calligraphy and Painting Hall.

Li Mo headed straight to the warehouse entrance, where he immediately spotted Tang Wu leaning against the door, idly puffing on a pungent pipe.

Compared to the impatient Ma Weigong, Tang Wu exuded calm indifference.

With a grin, Tang Wu remarked, "Youngster, if you don’t deliver a satisfactory answer to this old man, you can kiss those two thousand Contribution Points for the mission goodbye."

He had gained a deeper understanding of Li Mo, concurrently realizing the latter’s exceptional talents.

Tang Wu had witnessed many promising Daoists meet an untimely demise, yet he had never been so confident in saying that a Weak Crown cultivator would inevitably reach Golden Core Formation.

"Let’s begin with the warehouse."

In his palm, Li Mo summoned a miniature magic artifact house, modeled after Qingya Pavilion but deliberately without windows.

The primary material consisted of Spirit Concealing Wood nourished by the Corpse Mountain, refined with a focus on suppressing spiritual power.

This design greatly limited the powers of any Black Mountain Goat Deceit Beasts confined within. However, the artifact house itself required spiritual power for maintenance.

"Teams of three—move quickly."

Under Ma Weigong’s command, iron cages covered with black cloth were carried into the new warehouse, their contents violently thrashing within. These black mountain goat creatures slammed against the cages repeatedly.

Blood seeped from the iron bars, inciting fear among the stationed cultivators unfamiliar with the scene.

Li Mo produced additional cages designed specifically for restraining Black Mountain Goat Deceit Beasts. Each was a mid-grade magical artifact forged through five refinements—an outcome that had cost the Government Office significant resources.

Chains scraped against the ground.

One by one, the anthropomorphized Black Mountain Goat Deceit Beasts were herded into their new confines. Their venomous gazes filled Li Mo with unease. They cursed, wept, and laughed maniacally, a far cry from sanity.

The remaining Black Mountain Goat Deceit Beasts reacted even more violently; lacking strong Spiritual Wisdom, they appeared consumed by a primal desire to rip apart the constables tasked with guarding them.

Li Mo found the formers’ behavior far more unsettling than the latters’.

He observed that the anthropomorphized Black Mountain Goat Deceit Beasts meditated in a manner similar to cultivators, seemingly absorbing spiritual energy through their mouths and noses.

After spiritual energy completed its Circulation Cycle through their Eight Extraordinary Meridians, it bypassed the Middle Dantian entirely, inexplicably converging in the Mud Pill Palace.

Li Mo was deeply curious about what resided in the Mud Pill Palaces of these Deceit Beasts. However, since examining their brain structures without causing mortal injury was impossible, he abandoned further investigation.

Once the Government Office secured all the Black Mountain Goat Deceit Beasts with Bone-locking Body Sealing Chains, the warehouse’s security significantly improved.

While Tang Wu appeared satisfied, he stepped outside the warehouse to get some fresh air.

Li Mo had no intention of lingering either.

His responsibility lay solely in creating magic artifacts; the Black Mountain Goat Deceit Beasts held no relevance to him. His next consideration would likely involve matters concerning the Corpse Mountain.

Before leaving, Li Mo noticed Tang Wu staring blankly in the direction of the slaughterhouse. Unable to resist his curiosity, he asked, "Senior Tang, the Deceit Beasts are becoming increasingly human-like. Does this imply that the Beast Calamity is going poorly?"

"Maybe."

Tang Wu inhaled deeply from his pipe. The Qingfang Taoist had been at the slaughterhouse for an unsettlingly long time.

Moreover, from the very beginning, the slaughterhouse had been eerily devoid of noticeable changes—its unnatural calm was profoundly disturbing.

Tang Wu dared not dwell on the thought.

When he turned to say something further, Li Mo was already gone.

"That Li Mo brat—no patience whatsoever."

"Not like Hu Wen, who back when he was in the slaughterhouse—"

Tang Wu’s words cut off abruptly. Tapping his pipe against his temple, he muttered to himself, "Ah, old age dulls the memory."