What Is a Demonic Cultivator?

Gu Changqing packed his belongings, though there was little to gather—just a tattered piece of clothing and two coarse grain cakes, the kind that scratched at the throat with every bite. The only other possession was a hatchet, its blade pitted with rust and nicks the size of rice grains; this was the most valuable item his entire family owned.

He had been in this world for five days now and found it unbearable. The place was surrounded by mountains and wild beasts. The village was home to barely a few dozen households, not a single woman worth a second glance, and meals were an uncertain affair—sometimes hungry, sometimes half-full, always a meager cake and a bit of boiled wild greens.

His throat burned with every swallow, even saliva felt like swallowing shards of glass—all from eating those harsh cakes. He thought to himself: anyone who wants to stay here can, but he would rather die than remain trapped in these mountains.

As for wild beasts, he figured a quick slide-and-dash would suffice. In his previous life, he had some martial training, and with the hatchet in hand, he was confident enough against common beasts.

“Hey, boy from the Li family, where are you off to?” A burly woman called out just as he stepped out the door.

This body had once belonged to someone surnamed Li.

“I’m going to Wang Family Village,” Gu Changqing replied gruffly.

It was several dozen miles to Wang Village. Every few months, a merchant caravan would visit, and people from the surrounding villages would bring animal hides and herbs to trade for salt.