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Feng Jun grimaced at the woman’s words. Did she do this sort of thing often? “Have you killed many people?” he asked.

“Not many,” the woman shook her head, responding crisply, “just three, but this is the only time I could loot anything.”

As she spoke, a faint, satisfied smile appeared on her face.

You’ve killed three? Feng Jun was taken aback: Damn, this space… really is quite brutal.

Seeing him silent, the woman bent down, picked up the corpse from the ground, and with her strong legs moved swiftly, taking the body over to a slope twenty-some meters away and flung it with force.

The naked body traced an arc through the air, flying over twenty meters before tumbling down the slope and into the bushes, eventually disappearing from sight.

After discarding the body, the woman returned with a calm demeanor, “In a few days, his body will be devoured by insects… Don’tyou want his swords?”

Watching her composed manner, Feng Jun shuddered inwardly; this woman had an incredibly strong psyche.

As a law-abiding citizen of Earth Realm, this was his first time killing someone. He thought being able to kill so naturally without much discomfort already made him heartless and exceptionally mentally resilient.

But compared to this woman, he felt like a sorcerer’s apprentice facing a grand wizard; her carefree attitude was just incomparable.

However, when it came to spoils of war, he still wanted to stake his claim, “The knife is yours, but I’m curious about that sword.”

The woman wasn’t surprised. In fact, the rule here was that if two people cooperated in a kill, the spoils should definitely be split between them. Although the man hadn’t wanted the clothes before, had he not wanted the swords either, she would have suspected his true intentions.

So she nodded assuredly, “That sword is indeed better than the knife; it should belong to a martial master—an imitation war blade. But that also means trouble, which is why I prefer this machete… such a large chunk of iron, practical.”

Hearing this, Feng Jun couldn’t help but feel as though he was getting the better end of the deal.

He emphasized again, “Since I’m taking the sword, there’s no need to give me a share of that Spirit Green Bamboo Shoot.”

“How could that be?” the woman glared, “My Lang family always follows the rules. You helped protect the spoils of war, so you’re entitled to half. Without you, I might have lost my life.”

Feng Jun didn’t want to dwell too much on this issue and only asked out of curiosity, “That Spirit Green Bamboo Shoot… It’s not worth more than the sword, is it?”

“That’s not necessarily the case,” the woman shook her head, “Peak martial masters need the Spirit Green Bamboo Shoot… It’s a consumable, a rare herb, unlike weapons like the Longsword, which can be reforged.”

Feng Jun nodded in understanding, “I see… I’m a stranger in these parts and not too familiar with the lay of the land. Could you perhaps give me an overview?”

At that, the woman responded regretfully, “I don’t know much about these things either. Why don’t you follow me back to the village, and my father can explain? He has lived in the manor city.”

So the two of them packed up and walked briskly towards the village.

As they walked and talked, Feng Jun learned that the woman was named Lang Dajie, her father Lang Zhen, who traveled extensively in his youth, served in the army, and for several years worked as the head of a convoy in the manor city—it was during his time as a bodyguard that his left hand had been chopped off.

The village had a simple fence around it. On seeing Lang Dajie return with a strangely dressed young man, more than a dozen villagers came out to watch.

What depressed Feng Jun, though, was that despite having saved Lang Dajie, the villagers weren’t particularly warm to him. They merely gazed at him from a distance, their faces expressionless, even somewhat cold—a deliberate distancing.

When Lang Zhen heard the news, he did come out, but his attitude towards Feng Jun was also lukewarm. After hearing his daughter’s account, he gave Fengjunabow, “Thank you for your assistance, sir. May I know where you come from and where you are headed?”

After thinking it over, Feng Jun replied, “lam essentially a wanderer, going wherever the road takes me. I was hoping to use the village as a base for a couple of days, but I’m not sure if that’s allowed?”

At that moment, a young man in the crowd suddenly shouted, “Impossible, our village does not permit outsiders to stay overnight!”

The man was in his early twenties, with thick whiskers on both cheeks. If it weren’t for his young and clear eyes, one might believe him to be thirty.

Lang Dajie immediately grew furious upon hearing this, “Jia Xingwang, when your uncle-in-law came to the village, who chased him away?”

Whisker Hu glanced at her and spoke in a hurry, “Dajie, I find this man suspicious, you should be wary in case he’s a bandit… My uncle-in-law is family, why shouldn’t he stay in the village? What is your relationship with this foreigner?”

Lang Dajie grew anxious upon hearing this, “A bandit, how could he possibly be a bandit? He saved me!”

“I would have saved you too,” Jia Xingwang retorted anxiously, “Dajie, you are always so naive. Be careful not to be deceived. These foreigners are the least trustworthy. The rule against outsiders staying in the village was proposed by Uncle Lang and established as a village law.”

Feng Jun heard this and looked towards Lang Zhen.

The man with the severed arm nodded and spoke in a deep voice, “Outsiders are not like locals; they commit misdeeds and simply run away. I don’t agree with them moving into our village.”

After the period of adaptation, Feng Jun had become fairly proficient in understanding the local dialect. Hearing this, he became furious, “Uncle Lang, I did save your daughter, and this is how you repay your savior?”

“The Lone Wolf might have a point,” a loud voice came from a distance, and a burly middle-aged man approached. This man bore a strong resemblance to Jia Xingwang.

He laughed loudly, “Foreigner, if you want to stay, live outside the village. We won’t chase you away. Fierce beasts are unlikely to come close, so you will be safe… This is the mountains; anything could happen.”

“Fine,” Feng Jun nodded indifferently, “I rescued her as a matter of conscience, expecting nothing in return. Since I’m not welcomed here, I’ll just leave.”

Whisker Hu sneered at him, “Ha, wishful thinking. Come when you please and leave when you wish, what do you take Small Lake Village for?”

“Xingwang!” Lang Zhen snorted coldly, his face also darkening, “While your father is still the head of this village, it’s not your turn to speak!”

“Uncle Lang,” JiaXingwang’s face immediately flushed red, “I’m looking out for my sister’s best interests. This stranger looks peculiar; we can’t be sure he isn’t a spy for the bandits.”

It was clear he had an uncommon concern for Lang’s sister.

“A spy for the bandits? Hmph!” Lang Zhen glared at him with annoyance, “Would a spy carry around the quill of a Spiritual Hedgehog?”

“Hmm?” Feng Jun gave him a curious glance and felt the roughly one-meter- long quill on his back.

He had found this quill next to an electric fence; after the hedgehog had broken through the fence and gotten terribly frightened, it had run off, leaving behind one of its quills.

Feng Jun played with the quill for a while and found it to be exceptionally hard, capable of piercing a stone. Its sharpness was not much less than that of a Swiss Army Knife, and in terms of strength, it was even superior.

So he carried the quill on his back; it could serve as a Longsword, and it wasn’t too conspicuous—perfect for his travels.

However, Lang Zhen’s insight was remarkable; from a distance, he had recognized the origin of the item.

Feng Jun, seeing that he knew his stuff, couldn’t help but draw the Spiritual Hedgehog’s long quill from his back, smiling as he said, “I picked this up.”

“It can’t be picked up,” Lang Zhen shook his head, firmly stating, “I’m not yet blind. This quill is suffused with a strong life force and resentment; it must have been taken while alive. Young man, there’s no need to be obstinate.”

“Impressive,” Feng Jun said with a smile, bowing slightly, “Indeed, I took it alive, but it was really by chance… I couldn’t havebeaten that creature.”

Lang Zhen snorted irritably, “Of course you couldn’t beat it; it’s a Spiritual Hedgehog. If the whole village went up against it, it would be like delivering vegetables to it.”

Feng Jun no longer wished to leave upon hearing this and asked with interest, “So are there Spiritual Hedgehogs in the mountains nearby?”

Before Lang Zhen had a chance to respond, Jia Xingwang began to mock loudly, “Ha-ha, Spiritual Hedgehogs in the mountains? If there were such things, would we dare live here? What an idiot.”

Feng Jun was truly tired of this person, and it seemed like the people in the village didn’t have any good feelings towards him either, not even the Lang family, who didn’t appreciate his act of rescue.

At that moment, he really felt fed up, so he turned and walked out of the village, “Since you don’t welcome me, I’ll just rest next to the village.”

That evening, as dusk approached, light rain began to fall. Feng Jun, who was resting out in the open next to the village, took out a tarp and set up a shelter, sprinkling some insect repellent around. He made up his mind that as soon as the weather cleared up, he would leave this wretched place.

Of course, he could feel the curious eyes of the village on him, but that didn’t matter anymore; he didn’t like this indifferent village.

However, not long after he had set up his shelter, Lang’s sister arrived, followed by two children, one about twelve or thirteen, the other around seven or eight; they were her two younger brothers.

In her hands, she carried a clay pot with a lid, still steaming at the mouth.

Braving the rain, she walked under the shelter and offered the pot with a smile, “This is meat porridge from our house. The weather is so cold; have some to ward off the chill and avoid getting sick.”

In Feng Jun’s large backpack, he indeed had a gas stove, but it wasn’t very convenient to use right then, even for boiling water.

Hence, without declining, he took the clay pot and set it on a flat stone, taking out a pair of chopsticks from his backpack.

Lang’s younger brothers were curiously inspecting the rain shelter, and the older boy, seeing the water roll off the tarp, even tugged at it, very lightly.

The younger boy also wanted to tug at the tarp but couldn’t reach; quickly, though, he was lured by the aroma of the meat porridge, his gaze unwaveringly fixed on the clay pot, as if unable to look away.