Chapter Three: The Suffering Saintess

That crowd surrounded her, faces animated, saliva flying as they babbled on in a language she couldn’t understand. Unfortunately, it wasn’t Mandarin, nor was it a local dialect, and it certainly wasn’t the language one needed to pass a Level Four exam to graduate from university. She couldn’t make out a single word.

“Who are you?” Her hands were bound, so Feng Liqian couldn’t gesture. She slowed her speech, asking carefully, “Where is this place? Why did you bring me here and tie me up?”

Chaos broke out among them. They all fell to their knees, none daring to lift their eyes and look at her.

Kneeling? What good is that? Could any of them at least get someone who understands spoken language? If they worship her, why tie her hands with this shabby vine? Furious, Feng Liqian raised her bound hands, using the most primitive body language to demand they untie her.

Unexpectedly, the wrinkled old woman kneeling at the front shook her head repeatedly, terror in her eyes. She knocked her forehead to the ground like a chick pecking at rice, crying out, “Lao, lao…”

The others followed suit, bowing and shouting.

Judging by their demeanor, they were begging for mercy.

With the language barrier, communication was impossible. Feng Liqian broke into a cold sweat. Grandpas and grandmas, it’s me who’s bound here! Shouldn’t I be the one begging for mercy?

Suddenly, she noticed a short twig on the ground. A light flashed in her mind—an idea. She knew ancient script, bronze inscriptions, and her stick-figure drawing skills were top-notch. They might not understand her words or recognize her writing, but surely, they could grasp a drawing.

Feng Liqian signaled them to stop, picked up the twig, and drew on the muddy ground.

First, she drew a small figure with long hair and pointed to herself: “This is me.” Then she drew three tall figures: “Three villains.” She depicted a glowing sphere striking the little figure: “They attacked me.” The little figure was knocked away, flying in an arc and landing beside a small stream: “That’s how I ended up here.” Finally, she drew a person hitting the little figure from behind with a stick, then pointed at that figure, glaring at the crowd and demanding, “Is this one of your people? Who are you? Why did you kidnap me?”

She could tell these people revered her! Since things were already this bad, she might as well be bold—perhaps she could survive a few more days.

It seemed everyone understood. But no one stepped forward to explain, and no one cried “Lao, lao” anymore.

Each one prostrated themselves, hardly daring to breathe. The thatched hut fell into silence; even the sound of a pin dropping could be heard.

Useless effort! A bunch of old monsters who hadn’t even awakened their wits. Deflated, Feng Liqian tossed the twig aside, unwilling to speak further.

Just then, hurried footsteps approached from outside.

More people coming?

The kneeling crowd's faces brightened with joy.

Perhaps the newcomer was someone important. Feng Liqian perked up, eagerly watching the doorway.

The curtain was lifted, and a figure in white slipped inside.

A young woman entered, clad in a long white silk robe that reached the ground. Her forehead was adorned with a multicolored silk band holding a round jade ornament. Her black hair flowed to her waist; her face bloomed like peach blossoms, her eyes bright, her teeth gleaming, her figure slender as a willow branch.

Feng Liqian’s eyes lit up, secretly admiring: What a beauty!

“Forgive me, Holy Maiden. I arrived late.” The young woman lifted her robe and bowed gracefully, her voice more melodious than a songbird.

“And you, who are you?” Thrilled at first, Feng Liqian quickly snapped back to reality, utterly confused. What was this? Her Mandarin was flawless! Did they think she was three years old? How could such language exist in primitive society? And “Holy Maiden”—what a joke.

“I am Feng Queyi, the priestess here.” The young woman finished speaking and, like the others, knelt respectfully. “Forgive us, Holy Maiden. These are ordinary folk, untrained, and unable to untie the vine binding you.”

So that’s it. Feng Liqian was full of questions, but finally, someone she could communicate with had appeared. Cautiously, she tested, “Priestess? If so, please help me untie this.” After all the fuss, the thing had tightened further, leaving her wrists red, swollen, and painful. No point in fighting now; she’d play along with these lunatics for the sake of relief.

At her words, Feng Queyi concealed her delight and, like the old woman before, bowed her head repeatedly: “Forgive me, Holy Maiden. I cannot obey—unless…”

Everyone else lowered their heads still further.

So, all their fox tails are showing now! They all understand Mandarin! Clearly, they were playing her for a fool.

Her anger flared. Feng Liqian frowned, “Unless what?”

Steeling herself, Feng Queyi looked up, pleading, “Unless the Holy Maiden promises to stay here, not attempt to escape again, and wait for the arrival of the Immortal.”

An Immortal? This never ends! Do they think her temper is too good? Feng Liqian pointed to her swollen face, furious, “What exactly do you want? Take a good look—I’m not your so-called Holy Maiden!”

“Lao, lao…” Bowing and pleading filled the air. The terror on their faces was not feigned.

What is this, a movie set? Driven to exasperation, Feng Liqian exploded, “Enough! Tell me—what the hell is going on?”

“Holy Maiden, please don’t be angry. Are you abandoning your people?” Feng Queyi’s face was solemn, “This concerns the survival of our entire tribe. Please, Holy Maiden, place the tribe’s fate above all else.”

Now she was being blamed! Which eye of theirs recognized her as their whatever Holy Maiden?

“And if I refuse?” Things were becoming more bizarre. 'Pig-headed Feng' suppressed a flood of questions, probing for answers.

Feng Queyi straightened, her face full of sorrow and determination. “It was I who attacked the Holy Maiden; I alone, acting on my own, bound you with the Sacred Vine bestowed by the High Priest. All fault lies with me; spare the others.” As she spoke, she slowly stood and walked toward Feng Liqian.

Her expression was entirely wrong. For some reason, Feng Liqian felt a chill down her spine, as if those sinister words echoed in her mind: “Such selfishness! After decades of worship, you turn your back on the tribe. Fine, if you are heartless, don’t blame others for being ruthless. Yes, my power is low, but today, even if I self-destruct, I’ll take you with me. In three days, when the Immortal descends, the chief will report your death as an accident during cultivation. Then perhaps the tribe will escape disaster.”

After years immersed in online novels, Feng Liqian knew exactly what “self-destruct” meant.

“Stop!” she cried in panic. “I warn you, don’t come any closer, or—or…”

“Or what, Holy Maiden?” Feng Queyi’s face twisted, voice sharp, “Will you kill us all?”

Her words matched perfectly the sinister voice that had haunted Feng Liqian’s mind. Terrified, she decided to placate her, “Fine, I promise—I’ll stay and won’t try to escape again.”

She emphasized that word “again.” What did they mean by “escape again”? It was her first time here! She’d never tried to escape before! This unnerving girl was too good at intimidation—Feng Liqian was genuinely frightened. This Holy Maiden business was the most miserable role imaginable!

The tense, oppressive atmosphere vanished. Cheers nearly lifted the thatched roof. Except for the “Holy Maiden,” everyone present rejoiced.

“Perhaps the Holy Maiden suffered some trauma outside—some memories and faces are unclear to you.” Feng Queyi returned to her gentle demeanor, respectfully introducing everyone to Feng Liqian.

The “amnesiac” nearly coughed up blood—she was faking it! That witch was definitely pretending!

The crowd appeared to be an extended family. Every man and woman bore the surname Feng.

The chief was the elderly woman. Her eldest daughter would succeed her. There were three elders—her two sisters and second daughter. The High Priestess was Feng Queyi’s aunt, currently away. These seemed to form the clan’s ruling core.

Besides them, three old men sat in the hut: the chief’s uncle and two brothers. They were the elders handling external affairs. According to Feng Queyi, one was skilled in pottery, another in hunting, and the third in agriculture—essentially, the clan’s technical experts.

Among them, roles like “father,” “husband,” and “son-in-law” were conspicuously absent. Strange! Feng Liqian’s heart wavered—was this a matriarchal society? Could she really have crossed into another world, with a dash of fantasy?

But what if she’d simply fallen into a madhouse? The thought drove her crazy. Feng Liqian didn’t dare ask rash questions, keeping her growing doubts strictly in check.

All things considered, safety first. She decided to play along, showing no hint of suspicion.

Once she cooperated, her treatment soared:

The Sacred Vine was untied immediately;
Apart from Feng Queyi, the elders each approached to bow, then filed out;
Soon, others entered, heads lowered, to tidy up the hut.
In no time, the thatched hut was transformed: a thick, soft fox fur mat covered the floor; beside it, glossy basins and jars brimmed with water, fresh wild fruit, large chunks of boiled meat and bones…
Finally, they withdrew, and a sturdy little boy entered, carrying a colorful feather fan. After bowing, he knelt by the mat, slowly fanning her.

Thunderstruck, Feng Liqian’s nerves grew even tougher.

She beckoned Feng Queyi with a finger, signaling her to roll up a fur mat and tuck it behind her back. Settling into a comfortable pose, she half-closed her apricot eyes, reclining like a grandee.

Her late mentor had always said: there’s no such thing as a free lunch. Based on her twenty-one years’ experience, Feng Liqian concluded that being Holy Maiden was anything but a cushy job—most likely fatal.

Who knew what price she’d have to pay?

Trapped, powerless, she’d best enjoy herself while she could.

Once all was arranged, Feng Queyi bowed and reported: to calm the Holy Maiden’s nerves and celebrate the Immortal’s arrival in three days, the entire tribe would hold bonfire dances, three nights of festivities.

However, since the Holy Maiden was unwell, Feng Queyi personally recommended she rest indoors during the celebrations.

In other words, the festival was off-limits to her. She… endured it. Without raising an eyelid, Feng Liqian replied with full dignity, “Thank you, Priestess.”

“Your humble servant is grateful.” Feng Queyi knelt, bowed, and left.

As soon as she was gone, Feng Liqian sprang up, grabbed a coveted meat bone, and devoured it.

She really was starving. With no other choice, it was better to die full than set out hungry.

Who boils meat bones without salt? Torturing prisoners on purpose! Mouth stuffed with meat, Feng Liqian clutched the big bone, tears streaming down her face.

More votes and reviews, please… With enough recommendations, I’ll update more. Truly, no false promises—I swear.

Tongtian Codex 3—Chapter Three, The Miserable Holy Maiden, complete!