107. By the Yellow Heavens Above

“These malevolent spirits are not leaving…” Chen Huangpi observed the swelling ranks of sinister entities and suddenly realized, “This is the place where they forge their gods.”

There were many of these evil spirits.

Not all carried the reincarnation jade.

Most bore large chunks of gray soil being transported here.

As for the yellow clay used to create gods, Chen Huangpi had never seen it.

He silently speculated that perhaps because the Underworld had transformed into malevolent spirits, the yellow clay for god-making was similarly unusable.

Or perhaps, humans used yellow clay to forge gods, whereas the Underworld fashioned shadow gods from the dark soil.

Regardless, when a mound of shadow soil nearly his height was placed before him, Chen Huangpi felt an indescribable confusion.

“Me? I am to create a shadow god?”

The spirits gave him a startled look, as if puzzled by why this particular spirit would ask such a strange question.

One by one, the spirits began their work.

Chen Huangpi, however, was at a loss, utterly clueless about the process.

He had seen Xu Qingshan create gods and remembered the procedure.

But Xu Qingshan was an immortal—he just willed it to be.

Chen Huangpi tried willing it repeatedly, but the soil would not obey.

With no other option, he squatted down to watch how the spirits worked.

Their method was frustratingly simple.

Each took a pickaxe and dug into the pliant soil, which immediately softened with each stroke.

Then, with skills far beyond Chen Huangpi’s reach, these spirits used their mining picks like fine embroidery needles, carving intricate shapes into the soft soil.

The difficulty was akin to embroidering on tofu.

After watching for a while, Chen Huangpi shook his head.

He could manage digging with a pickaxe, but such delicate work was beyond him.

The spirits, however, did not hurry him.

They acted as if his presence neither added nor took away from their numbers.

But Chen Huangpi could not leave.

Surrounded by spirits both before and behind him in life and death, there was no chance to slip away.

So, he resigned himself to watching for amusement.

With that thought, his interest suddenly piqued.

Creak… creak…

A spirit focused on crafting was startled by the noise and looked toward the sound.

Startled as if its tail was stepped on, it leapt up.

More spirits turned their gaze.

Soon, a wave of shock and fear settled on them, their eyes fixed on Chen Huangpi.

“Why are you all staring at me…” Chen Huangpi bit into a fist-sized reincarnation jade and said, “I don’t know how to create gods. You go first; when I’ve figured it out, I’ll join in.”

The spirits could not speak, but their eerie stares lingered on the jade in his hand.

Seeing this, Chen Huangpi whispered, “Huang Er, am I eating too loudly and disturbing them?”

“Nonsense. You smack your mouth when eating; who wouldn’t be annoyed?”

“Alright, I’ll be quieter.”

He carefully took a bite and chewed silently.

The creaking stopped immediately.

---

The spirits watched this scene for a long time, unsettled.

Yet they did not harm Chen Huangpi, merely returning their attention to the shadow soil.

After about the time it takes to drink half a cup of tea, the soil was shaped into humanoid forms.

They varied in size and were misshapen—dented here, bulging there—ugly to the extreme.

Chen Huangpi laughed and said, “Huang Er, I thought these spirits were skilled enough to carve a proper god statue with those picks. If I’d known, I could’ve done better.”

His bronze oil lamp mocked, “Don’t mention you. I could pee right here and make a figure more attractive than these spirits’ work.”

Though they exchanged these words in their minds, neither dared speak aloud before the spirits.

Once fashioned, the spirits drew eerie characters on the clay figures with pens taken from their black robes.

“Chen Huangpi, what are they writing?”

“Let me see.”

Chen Huangpi glanced and said, “It’s Underworld script. It says ‘Yellow Heaven above, praying for blessings…’ Hmm, they are indeed creating shadow gods. This one is number 7,200,000; the next is 7,200,001.”

The oil lamp scoffed, “These spirits are illiterate. It should be ‘Blue Heaven above,’ not ‘Yellow Heaven.’”

Chen Huangpi teased, “Maybe ‘Yellow Heaven’ refers to the Underworld, since it’s surnamed Huang.”

The lamp sneered, “I’m Huang too; perhaps they mean me.”

“What about me?”

“You’re not Huang, but since we share the name, I’ll let you claim a little kinship.”

“No, I’m the master…”

Chen Huangpi grinned, “I don’t want to be Yellow Heaven.”

At that moment, the spirits suddenly produced reincarnation jades.

The lamp said, “You guessed right. These jades are indeed used to create gods.”

“Ridiculous,” Chen Huangpi sneered. “Their jades are tiny—only the size of a fingernail—not even enough to wedge between my teeth. Look at mine, still fist-sized after chewing half of it. The Soul-Haunting Register even has head-sized ones. One of those outweighs a hundred of theirs.”

He bit again into the jade in his hand.

Crunch…

This time, the spirits did not glance back.

Instead, solemnly, they placed their tiny jades—some smaller than fingernails—into the clay figures they had mocked.

The transparent jades sank into the clay.

Suddenly, the inscriptions on the figures glowed with a chilling solemnity.

Chen Huangpi watched, curious.

Then his face drained of color.

The clay figures stirred with the changes in the script.

Their bodies stretched into narrow, elongated forms.

They trembled as they stood.

Their bodies resembled corpses—pale, cold, and rigid—eerily slender and grotesque.

Yet they bore no hollow eyes.

They were all identical, carved from the same mold.

Once the inscriptions faded, they could no longer be distinguished by numbers.

At this point, some spirits produced straw hats and black robes, handing them over.

The clay figures—no, the shadow gods—donned the black robes and hats.

They looked no different from the spirits themselves.

Chen Huangpi suddenly understood, “I see now. Yi Qingzhou’s corpse must have stolen these shadow gods’ clothes and hats.”

“No way. These things are shadow gods?” the bronze oil lamp shouted. “No wonder their eyes looked at you strangely. You’re eating their own kind!”

A fingernail-sized jade plus shadow soil could create a shadow god.

Chen Huangpi was chewing his jade.

And that was just the piece in his hand.

Earlier, on the desolate mountain, the smaller reincarnation jades all ended up in his stomach.

“Chen Huangpi, you’re so cruel!”

“Huang Er, you’re talking nonsense.”

Chen Huangpi flushed, the jade suddenly less appetizing.

Even if these shadow gods were detestable, they were still lives.

“No, I’m eating reincarnation jade, not shadow gods!” he explained.

“Like eggs. Eating eggs isn’t the same as eating chickens. At most, it’s eating chicks!”

“Then aren’t you even crueler?”

“Huang Er, say that again and I’ll have to use the Dog-Taming Scripture on you!”

“Heh…”

The bronze oil lamp chuckled coldly.

It knew Chen Huangpi’s character well enough—just making excuses.

But why did these shadow gods come to life without being enlightened?

They shouldn’t have.

The thought barely formed when the shadow gods’ actions answered.

Dressed in black robes and hats, the shadow gods knelt before the golden gate, as if performing a ceremony.

“Yellow Heaven above, praying for blessings…” the oil lamp cried out.

“These shadow gods are incomplete,” it said. “They pray to Yellow Heaven, begging for blessings to be enlightened and become true shadow gods.”

“Is Yellow Heaven inside the golden gate?” Chen Huangpi watched the gate anxiously.

This spot once held the Yama Palace.

But for some reason, the palace was gone, and Yama’s head was hung at the gate of the City of the Wronged Dead.

The golden gate was just a frame. Empty in the center, it was easy to see through.

But it was enormous, wide enough for two shadow god heads laid side by side.

The shadow gods continued kneeling.

As the saying goes: three kneels and nine kowtows.

Each kneel was followed by three kowtows to the golden gate.

After the third kneel and ninth kowtow, all the shadow gods raised their heads and looked at the gate with pleading eyes.

Seeing the spirits focused on the gate, Chen Huangpi realized this was his chance to escape.

He was about to signal the bronze lamp.

But before he could act, dazzling golden light burst forth.

Everything was bathed in the glow.

The shadow gods and Chen Huangpi all turned golden.

“Good, Huang Er! I didn’t even say it, and you knew what I wanted to do!” Chen Huangpi laughed, but his laughter soon faded, “Huang Er, why does your Divine Light only shine but not teleport?”

“Yeah, why no teleport? Wait, I’m not using Divine Light at all…” the lamp called out.

“It’s the golden gate; the gate is shining!”

Chen Huangpi looked toward the gate.

Golden beams radiated from its center.

Then, a cold, emotionless, almost mechanical voice spoke:

“Ten thousand seven hundred forty years into the Dao calendar. Currently, there are seven million nine hundred eighty-one thousand four hundred twenty-three shadow gods praying for Yellow Heaven’s blessing. But Yellow Heaven is yet unborn, the Dao Master not arrived; approval denied.”

“Next.”

The shadow gods looked at the gate in confusion.

“Next? Where’s the next one?”

Chen Huangpi scanned around but saw no sign of another voice.

Only when the shadow gods’ gazes dropped upon the shadow soil before him did he realize—the next was right here.

(The end of this chapter)