Chapter Ninety-Four: The Naked Woman in the Lake

Quanyin’s brother had gone into the mountains to hunt yesterday and had yet to return. As the tribe’s priestess elder, she felt powerless, despite being the most skilled in magic and cultivation among the Morning Mist Tribe. She knew that venturing deep into the mountains to search for him would likely be futile. Still, she prepared for the worst and entered the mountains alone.

She set out dressed in coarse white linen, her sleeves and waist tightly bound, her hair wrapped entirely in a hemp cloth. In her hand she carried a curved, razor-sharp blade.

When the men of the tribe came armed, insisting on accompanying her, she refused them. Her brother was one of the bravest warriors in the tribe; ordinary little demons that sometimes wandered down from the mountains were no match for him. For him to vanish in the mountains could only mean he’d encountered something far more formidable—perhaps even one of the ancient demons of the deep woods that had taken on human form. Bringing more people would be useless, she insisted. If a great demon really appeared, numbers would only doom them. Alone, she would at least stand a chance of escape.

She hacked her way along the very path her brother had taken. For two days, she saw not a single monster—an uneasy calm she both dreaded and wished would last. But on the third day, this fragile peace was shattered.

A strange beast, part monkey, part wolf, appeared before her. Quanyin, though only in her early twenties and already the most accomplished in her tribe, had little worldly experience. She did not recognize this ferocious and bizarre creature, but she was certain it was no ordinary animal.

Its eyes gleamed with malice, and its furry face seemed twisted into a chilling, mocking grin.

It was early morning, and mist still drifted through the forest—though even at midday, these mountains were shrouded in a perpetual haze. The monkey-wolf beast stood just beyond the reach of the morning light, lurking in the shadow at the edge of the mist.

Quanyin raised her sharpened blade defensively and began to retreat, hoping to slip away at a safe distance and circle around. Suddenly, a snarling sound came from behind. Whirling around, she found her path blocked by a leopard with a mottled face.

Her heart seized with alarm, and she tried to back away in another direction. Her movement drew both the leopard and the monkey-wolf after her, their pace deliberate and relentless—each time she stepped back, they advanced.

With a sudden turn, she bolted. The two beasts lunged to give chase, but in that instant, she spun back, the sunlight glinting off her blade as it flashed through the air in a dazzling arc.

Her swiftness matched the beasts, her movements graceful and precise. She sidestepped the leopard’s pounce and confronted the monkey-wolf’s flank.

Her blade fell.

The beast gave a childlike, agonized scream as her blade carved a deep gash from its neck to its foreleg. Blood spurted forth, but it was not enough to kill it.

Quanyin prepared to strike again, but the wounded creature leapt into the thicket and vanished. She could not give chase, especially with the larger, fiercer leopard still present.

The leopard did not attack, only licked its lips with a blood-red tongue. Quanyin moved, gliding past it, blade poised like lightning. The leopard dodged, shrinking back, unwilling to retaliate.

She pressed her attack with several quick slashes, but the leopard evaded each one. Unable to gain the upper hand, she turned and left. The leopard followed at a distance, occasionally emitting a menacing, snarling chortle.

Another day passed with Quanyin’s nerves stretched taut. If only the leopard shadowed her, she might have endured. But more and more monsters appeared, including the wounded monkey-wolf, now accompanied by other beasts.

Quanyin felt utterly exhausted. If there had only been one, two, even three or four, she would have fought back. But against so many, even if she managed to kill a few, she would soon be spent—and then she would surely die.

Some monsters would leave, only to be replaced by others. Occasionally, she would turn and strike, killing one or two, which kept the others at bay.

Among these monsters were strange beasts she had never seen—some half-formed into human shapes, some with human limbs. It was enough to drive her mad; she fled blindly through the woods, losing all sense of direction.

She knew, with a growing certainty, that she would likely die in these mountains.

Suddenly, the forest opened up before her, revealing a lake—its waters clear, reflecting the blue sky and drifting clouds above.

In the lake, a woman was bathing. Her bare shoulders, exposed above the water, were as flawless as jade, as pale as snow. What struck Quanyin most was the woman’s long black hair streaming across the water, framing a bold, dazzling beauty that seemed almost supernatural.

The moment Quanyin saw the woman, a sense of mortal danger rose in her heart. This was no ordinary monster, but a great demon who had fully assumed human form—the most terrifying kind of all.

She turned to leave, only to realize that all the monsters that had been following her had silently vanished.

Then she heard a languid, mocking hum.

“Come out, all of you.” At the woman’s command, the beasts that had vanished now emerged from hiding. Quanyin could see their terror—they had not gone far, as if waiting for the woman to speak.

But not all returned; nearly a third remained hidden.

Quanyin did not know what would happen next. She stood motionless, not daring to retreat, not daring to approach.

The monsters, so fierce and murderous before, now crawled to the shore and prostrated themselves, trembling from head to toe, not daring to lift their heads.

“Go kill those who tried to run, and bring me their bodies.” The woman raised her arm, cupping clear lake water in her palm and letting it run down her slender neck. Her tone was calm, with no hint of anger, yet a chill crept into Quanyin’s heart.

The monsters, as if granted amnesty, immediately bounded into the forest. As Quanyin turned to leave, the woman’s voice sounded again.

“You—come here.” Her words were as clear as the lapping water.

Quanyin’s mind raced, but in the end, she moved to the lakeshore.

Feeling the woman’s unabashed gaze, Quanyin flushed with shame. Just as she was about to speak, the woman addressed her.

“Take off your clothes.”

Quanyin was startled. She had heard stories of the eccentric and perverse habits of mountain demons, but never thought she would encounter such a fate. “Great one, I entered this place by mistake. I beg you to spare me.”

“Take off your clothes,” the woman commanded coldly.

“I…” Quanyin hesitated, unwilling to obey. She was considering fleeing when the trees at the lakeshore rustled, and a beast emerged, dragging the corpse of another monster in its jaws. Soon, more beasts returned, each carrying a body.

Once again, the lakeside was lined with monsters—those who had left, now wounded and each accompanied by a corpse, the bodies of the ones who had tried to escape.

Quanyin’s heart pounded. Was this woman the demon king of the mountains, to wield such terrifying authority?

“Good. None of you escaped,” the woman said, and suddenly opened her mouth and drew a breath. The very essence of the world seemed to stir.

The prostrate beasts leapt up in terror, trying to flee, but as soon as they sprang, they fell back to the ground, motionless.

Terrified, Quanyin tried to run, her body turning to mist, shooting into the forest like an arrow. This woman was too dangerous—her moods unfathomable, her disregard for life absolute, killing her own kind without a flicker of emotion.

But as she reached the edge of the forest, she found herself unable to move. Not only that—she was being drawn backward.

With a splash, she fell into the lake, the cool water engulfing her. Desperately, she slashed out in all directions with her blade. After a frantic moment, she stilled and saw the woman watching her from nearby with an unreadable expression.

Fear seized Quanyin’s heart. She leveled her blade at the woman and retreated several steps, sending up a spray of silver water.

Her linen robe, now soaked, clung tightly to her form, accentuating every curve. She skimmed across the water like a mermaid, gliding toward the shore.

Just as she was about to reach land, a soft laugh echoed in her ear. At once, a force like a binding wind seized her, dragging her back.

Quanyin was pulled through the air like a kite, twisting at the last moment to strike at the woman with her curved blade, trailing a cloud of mist and water.

Her blade flashed through the water, sending droplets flying—but the woman remained untouched, a faint, enigmatic smile on her lips.

Quanyin tried to strike again, but found she could not move—only her eyes remained free, her terror mounting.

She sank into the water, which rose to her chest.

The water seemed almost alive, swirling around her, stripping away her clothing piece by piece.

Soon, she stood utterly exposed in the clear heart of the lake.