This is the sensation of killing.

Thick, rolling black smoke surged forth as if it had a will of its own, lunging directly at the Twelfth Madam.

The change was as sudden as a lightning strike.

Just a moment ago, the Twelfth Madam’s hands had touched Chen Huangpi, but in the next instant, it felt as though her arms were plunged into roaring flames.

Screams—agonized, unrelenting screams!

With the last shreds of her will, the Twelfth Madam severed her own hands, but the black smoke clung to her like maggots burrowing into bone.

“Sever them!” she shrieked, her voice torn with agony, and her arms broke away at the shoulders, sending her body hurtling backward.

Her nascent soul, already on the verge of collapse, burst into a shower of spiritual light.

Within the blink of an eye, both hands and the newly severed stumps were consumed by the living black smoke.

“Chen Huangpi! Chen Huangpi!” The brass oil lamp shouted anxiously, “Wake up! Don’t scare me like this!”

It had been with Chen Huangpi for years; their bond was deep and enduring. In the past, when cultivation was out of reach, nothing could harm him—his skin was thick, his body resilient. Now that he could cultivate, how had he fallen victim to such an ordinary attack, suffering such a bizarre transformation?

If not for the fact that the black smoke seemed to consciously avoid the lamp, it would have been devoured too, even with Chen Huangpi riding atop it.

Meanwhile, Chen Huangpi’s mind exploded as if a bomb had gone off in his skull.

Golden lights danced before his eyes, spinning madly, inverting, merging into a maelstrom of grotesque hallucinations.

His consciousness sank into these visions, like falling into the underworld’s soil, doomed never to be reborn—or as if he were sealed inside a coffin, unable to breathe.

Terror gripped him, panic flooding every nerve.

No matter the illusion, he was always beset by countless corpses—limbs mangled, skin pale and blistered—crawling toward him, pinning his arms and legs, covering his mouth, blinding his eyes, blocking his ears.

He could not struggle; he could not move. His mind froze utterly.

He had no sense of time.

Suddenly, a familiar voice thundered through the void.

“Huang’er! I’m here!”

At once, Chen Huangpi’s suspended consciousness jolted awake.

The illusions vanished, the corpses disappeared.

He gasped for breath, his chest heaving as if caught in a gust of wind. With the return of his awareness, the strange symbols that had crawled over his body faded away; as he exhaled, the black smoke that had devoured the Twelfth Madam’s hands and arms seemed to receive a signal, retreating into his pores.

The abnormality dissipated as though nothing had ever happened.

The brass oil lamp asked nervously, “Chen Huangpi, are you alright?”

“I…I’m not sure…” Chen Huangpi shook his head, his mind aching, thoughts muddled.

“What happened to her?”

“Stay away! Don’t come near me!”

“You’re a fiend! A fiend! You’re—”

“I’m not a fiend!” Chen Huangpi frowned, speaking earnestly, “I’m human!”

“Yes, yes, you’re human, just don’t kill me, please, don’t come closer!” The Twelfth Madam’s spirit broke completely. She could no longer control the dissolution of her nascent soul; even her clothing began to unravel, and the black veil on her face faded, revealing a delicate, porcelain beauty.

Yet her face was twisted in terror, an eerie, tragic beauty.

“Oh…” Chen Huangpi was stunned—other than his master, he’d only seen living people these past two days. As for women, aside from Granny Tang and the clay doll girl who called him brother, there was only the Twelfth Madam.

“You’re very beautiful,” he blurted out.

At this, the Twelfth Madam grasped at the thread of hope, trembling as she pleaded, “Please don’t kill me. You think I’m beautiful, don’t you? I can serve you, I can be your partner in dual cultivation. You’ve never tasted a woman’s flavor, have you? Don’t kill me—the pleasure is exquisite.”

She was the beloved concubine of Song Tiangang, Prefect of Xuzhou—not a maiden by any means.

As she spoke, she drew upon the last dregs of her nascent soul to restore her arms, swaying her body with a seductive charm.

Gulp.

Chen Huangpi’s mouth went dry, and he swallowed hard. His body reacted in ways he couldn’t understand.

He turned inward, asking the brass oil lamp, “Huang’er, I… I feel strange.”

“My mouth is dry, my heart is pounding, my face is burning up…”

“What’s happening to me?”

“What’s happening? Obviously, you want to kill someone!” The brass oil lamp was furious. This wretched Twelfth Madam had nearly harmed Chen Huangpi.

“I want to kill the Twelfth Madam?” Chen Huangpi was bewildered. He’d barely met any people, let alone killed anyone. The concept was foreign to him.

The brass oil lamp shouted, “Master, don’t you trust me?”

He was a naive youth, after all—he’d only ever seen three women: Granny Tang, the clay doll girl, and the Twelfth Madam. Now, seduced by the Twelfth Madam’s charms, he was falling into her trap.

The brass oil lamp could not allow it.

“Don’t be angry, Huang’er. Of course I trust you,” Chen Huangpi replied. “I’ll remember this—so this is what the urge to kill feels like!”

He stepped before the Twelfth Madam.

She, clueless to the silent exchange between man and lamp, mistook his reaction for succumbing to her seduction. She became even more alluring, caressing her chest, biting her tongue coquettishly.

“Young master…” she began, but before she could finish, Chen Huangpi formed a sword with his fingers. In an instant, a killing qi from the Taishui Demon-Slaying Sword flashed forth.

Her nascent soul had already unraveled beyond recognition; even a peak Foundation cultivator could have dispatched her, let alone Chen Huangpi. In a single stroke, she was cleaved in two, her shattered spirit sucked into the Soul-Luring Register hidden in Chen Huangpi’s robe.

...

By noon, Chen Huangpi had ridden the brass oil lamp to the foot of Jade Dome Mountain.

His sight was keen—he could see the mountain gate halfway up the slope.

“Huang’er, did you really see black smoke coming from me? And it devoured the Twelfth Madam’s arms?”

Chen Huangpi remembered the hallucinations but was unaware of the physical changes.

“I saw it clearly—there’s no mistaking it,” the brass oil lamp replied, uneasy. “Remember that mutated idol? The black smoke from your body was similar, but purer, more sinister—alive, almost.”

Chen Huangpi remembered the idol well. It had once been one of the many statues worshipped in Pure Immortal Temple. After his master’s mind was ruined by cultivation and madness, all the idols had been removed. He’d been sad at the time, since without them, he had no offerings to steal.

But the last time he saw the statue, it had changed completely—polluted, shrouded in a terrifying black smoke that corrupted everything it touched.

“Could I have been polluted too?” Chen Huangpi ventured.

“What do you think?” the brass oil lamp hedged. “Don’t ask me—I’m scared…”

He had no idea how much these words unsettled the brass oil lamp. If Chen Huangpi was polluted, it would spell disaster. He was already so formidable—if he were truly corrupted, he’d become a living evil god.

And the lamp, having practiced the Dog-Taming Sutra, would become the evil god’s lackey, its very mind twisted—a fate worse than death.

“Don’t worry, Huang’er. If I am polluted, I promise I won’t hurt you,” Chen Huangpi pledged. “Besides, I don’t think I’m polluted. When Master once threw me into the pill furnace and tried to burn me, black smoke came out of me too, but I was fine, and I could cultivate.”

“What?” The brass oil lamp was stunned. “You had black smoke before?”

“Yes…” said Chen Huangpi.

...

“Huang’er? Why are you silent?”

“Because I want to keep my distance from you,” the brass oil lamp thought suddenly, horror dawning.

What if Chen Huangpi’s black smoke wasn’t a result of his newfound cultivation, but had always been there, only now revealing itself? And the black smoke on the mutated idol was less pure—could it be that, after years of offerings from Chen Huangpi, the statue had been corrupted by him?

Oh heavens…

The brass oil lamp wailed, its legs weak with fright, collapsing on the ground.

“Ow.” Chen Huangpi nearly tumbled off, brushed dirt from his clothes, and complained, “Huang’er, what’s gotten into you!”

“My friend—no, Chen, listen,” the lamp stammered. “I think we’re too close. From now on, let’s go our separate ways—our bond is broken.”

It gritted its teeth, resolute in its decision to sever ties.

Chen Huangpi scratched his head. “Huang’er, is it because I tricked you about the Dog-Taming Sutra that you’re angry?”

“I know I was wrong! I shouldn’t have given you the second volume—the Dog-Servant Sutra—while I secretly practiced the first volume, the Dog-Taming Sutra. It wasn’t right. I’m sorry. Let’s make up.”

He cherished this friendship—it was his only one.

“There’s a first and second volume? You gave me the Dog-Servant Sutra?” the lamp exploded, fur standing on end, mouth gaping, hot lamplight pouring out with every breath.

“Fine, fine! At first, I didn’t want to be a dog, so I lied about being a spiritual treasure, made you the dog master. I even felt guilty. Even when I became your dog, I blamed myself. But now I see—you were playing me from the start!”

The lamp raged; Chen Huangpi was dumbfounded.

“You lied to me?” he accused, incredulous.

“Yes, I did! But don’t forget, you gave me the Dog-Servant Sutra first. You started this!”

“Nonsense!” Chen Huangpi fumed. “You never wanted to be a dog. Even if I gave you both volumes, you’d still refuse, tricking me into practicing the second one!”

“So what? You started it!”

“And who tried to trick me first?”

“You did!”

“No, you!”

The boy and the lamp barked at each other, voices growing hoarse.

“You’ve let me down, Chen!”

“Huang’er, I’m the master!”

“We’re finished!”

“Fine!”

Furious, Chen Huangpi slashed off a corner of his robe with his sword, wiped his tears, and strode through the temple gates without looking back.

“Chen Huangpi!” the brass oil lamp called after him.

It saw Chen Huangpi weeping. In all their years together, this was a first.

“He’s still just a child. Perhaps I shouldn’t be so harsh,” the lamp thought, regretful. But then it reconsidered—if Chen Huangpi was already this devious, what would he become in a few more years?

And for all the talk of severing ties, Chen Huangpi hadn’t actually released the Dog-Taming Sutra and restored the lamp’s true form.

“I won’t regret this!” the lamp told itself.

But regret soon followed.

Suddenly, it was seized by a pair of large hands. It turned to see the face of the white-robed old priest.

“Abbot…?” it stammered.

“Dog, dog meat is delicious…” The old priest licked his lips, his eyes glinting with sinister intent.

The brass oil lamp’s vision went black, and it howled, “Chen Huangpi, I was wrong! Save me!”