15. True Colors Revealed

“Wasn’t I just in the main hall? How did I end up in the cooking pot?”

“Huang Er, are you there?”

The brass oil lamp’s voice rang out.

“It was the temple master. I don’t know what trick he used to knock you out, but he hoisted you up and tossed you into the pot. He hadn’t even started the fire when he had another attack, started searching for you everywhere, and finally found you in the pot again.”

“Take my advice—let’s leave these Hundred Thousand Mountains!”

“I won’t go until Master is cured,” Chen Huangpi replied, lifting the lid of the pot and climbing up onto the cooking range.

The range was very tall, about two meters high. It was also enormous; both master and disciple could stand on it without feeling crowded. There were many such stoves and pots in the kitchen.

“Huangpi? Your face…”

The old Daoist in the purple robe stared at Chen Huangpi, his expression full of suspicion and uncertainty.

“My face? Is it dirty?” Chen Huangpi touched his own face. He didn’t feel anything strange.

“It’s not that. It’s different. Are you really Huangpi?” the old Daoist said, clutching his white hair in distress.

“It’s Huangpi’s voice. The scent is the same—still so fragrant. But why do you look different? You always looked the same before…”

Hearing this, Chen Huangpi was also surprised. Could his face really change?

He jumped down from the stove and went to the water vat, where he saw his reflection.

He looked about eight or nine years old, with dark hair tied up high and a yin-yang hairpin carved from wood holding it in place. His features were delicate and handsome. His name wasn’t for nothing—his skin was indeed somewhat yellowish.

But now, as the old Daoist said, his face had indeed changed. It was much paler, with just a hint of yellow. Anyone who saw him would think him a refined and elegant young boy.

“How odd…” Chen Huangpi was bewildered. After learning the Five Visceral Spirit Refining Technique from his eldest master, he had grown a year older. His second master then taught him the Harmonious Yin-Yang Transformation, after which his skin had turned much fairer and he seemed more vigorous.

Could it be—

He muttered suspiciously, “Neither technique mentioned changes like this. Am I cultivating correctly?”

He wasn’t sure, because both masters’ techniques didn’t require his active cultivation. The methods seemed almost alive.

Thinking this, Chen Huangpi looked at the old Daoist in the purple robe. His master seemed a bit clearer-headed now. He might as well ask.

“Master! After cultivating, will my body undergo many changes?”

“Changes?” The old Daoist paused, frowning as he pondered. “People are born as they are; cultivation only alters the surface.”

“But—hey! How come your true appearance has changed?” The old Daoist’s eyes widened; the murkiness vanished, replaced by a strange, swirling light that seemed to pierce through everything.

No—it didn’t just seem so. Chen Huangpi felt as though even his soul was being laid bare.

“How could this be?” The old Daoist’s face was a mix of shock, distress, and disbelief.

“Master, don’t force yourself if you can’t figure it out,” Chen Huangpi hurriedly said.

They’d spent so much time together that he could tell when his master was about to get obsessive. Already half-mad, if he became fixated now, who knew what madness would follow—shouting, rolling on the floor, anything was possible.

“Let me think! Let me think!” the old Daoist muttered, waving one hand while the other plunged into his own head, rummaging around.

“Master, please be gentle—don’t pull your brains out. Last time, it took me ages to put them back in,” Chen Huangpi said with a pained expression.

Then, the old Daoist suddenly beamed with delight. “I know! You must have grown up! Now you care about appearances and sneaked some powder on, didn’t you?”

“That’s not good—it’ll mess up the scent!”

“I did not!” Chen Huangpi protested angrily. “I only practiced the Harmonious Yin-Yang Transformation my second master taught me, so I became fairer.”

“You’re lying!” the old Daoist scoffed. “How could your second master’s technique be that magical? You must have secretly used powder—even on your soul!”

“I’m not lying! I really practiced the technique and that’s why I changed,” Chen Huangpi insisted.

The old Daoist believed him now—two explanations made it true.

He wailed in pain, “Second Brother’s gotten better, even his teachings are more miraculous than mine! He’ll be above me now, and the seniority will be all wrong, and I’ll be beneath him!”

“That won’t happen, Master. There’s still Third Master,” Chen Huangpi said, patting his back to comfort him while pulling his hand out of his head. Luckily, no brains came out—those took days to fix.

“Oh, Huangpi!” The old Daoist howled, “If I become Second Brother, then Third Brother will want to be Second. He and I don’t get along—he’ll bully me for sure!”

“Is Third Master really that bad?” Chen Huangpi asked in confusion.

His master had only gone mad recently, when he was eight. Now nine, he’d never seen the third master in blue robes.

Whenever he asked his masters, they’d reply, “Third Brother and I don’t get along. When he appears, he ruins everything for me.” And always added, “Third Brother is the worst—only I am good!”

The two masters attacked each other but agreed on the absent third master’s villainy.

The old Daoist sobbed and wailed, and Chen Huangpi, at a loss, said, “Master, don’t cry. You’re not worse than Second Master. Your Five Visceral Spirit Refining Technique is amazing—when I practiced it, I grew a year older and black smoke came out of me. Second Master’s technique can’t do that.”

“Why didn’t you say so earlier!” The old Daoist wiped his tears and got up, proudly declaring, “So I’m still on top, beating that heretic! Good! Huangpi, you must practice the Five Visceral Spirit Refining Technique well—make yourself dark and yellow again, don’t turn fair!”

“I’ll try…” Chen Huangpi hesitated; he rather liked being fair. At nine, vanity had begun to take root.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you!” The old Daoist winked at him, then, as though presenting a treasure, withdrew something from his sleeve.

“My good disciple, see what I have here?”

It was a statue, about the size of a palm and a half—a fox deity dressed in robes, standing upright like a person. The carving was lifelike, every hair rendered in detail.

What was even stranger was that when Chen Huangpi met the statue’s eyes, it suddenly started frantically blinking at him.

At the same time, a feeble voice sounded in his ear, “Young master, save me…”

“It’s you—the Fox Mountain God!” Chen Huangpi was stunned. Wasn’t the Fox Mountain God with Granny Tang? How did it end up in his master’s hands?

“Master, where did this come from?”

“Found it in the kitchen. This thing’s great for strengthening kidneys and vitality—perfect for making soup!”

Hearing this, Chen Huangpi helplessly glanced at the brass oil lamps hanging in the kitchen.

“Huang Er, why is the Mountain God in the kitchen?”

There was a connection between Huang Er and his avatars. Even at night, the link persisted, and in the day, messages could be sent even across great distances.

Just as Chen Huangpi had asked why he’d woken up in a pot, he now inquired about the Fox Mountain God.

But this time, Huang Er’s voice was hesitant: “Chen Huangpi, if I said the temple master pulled this Mountain God from his own stomach, would you believe me? I don’t know what he wanted to do with it—he’d just pulled it out when he suddenly became the purple-robed version again.”

“The temple master is even crazier now. Eating cultivators was one thing, but now he’s eating deities too. And that mutant idol from last time—it vanished and never reappeared. I suspect it fell victim to the temple master as well!”

Hearing this, Chen Huangpi’s expression darkened. He looked at the old Daoist, his gaze full of complexity.

The old Daoist didn’t notice at all. He held up the Fox Mountain God, drooling. “Huangpi, start boiling water! I’ll cook this myself today to give you a real tonic!”

In the next instant—

“Master!” Chen Huangpi snatched the Fox Mountain God’s statue, brimming with fury. He even called him “Master,” forgetting that using the wrong title would normally drive the old man mad.

“I’m angry now!”

The old Daoist panicked. “Why are you angry, Huangpi? Is it because you don’t like my cooking?”

“Mas…Master…” Chen Huangpi took a deep breath and pleaded, “How many times have I told you? When I’m not around, if you’re hungry, just sleep—don’t eat random things. At least those cultivators had flesh and blood—people say human meat is medicinal, and taking medicine is good for your health. But you…”

“You even eat deities made of clay! Clay fills your belly, but it’s dirty and indigestible—how can you eat that?”

To be honest, Chen Huangpi was truly upset. He’d worked so hard to cure his master, going out daily with Huang Er to gather herbs when he couldn’t cultivate.

Yet for all his efforts, his master was only making things worse.

“Tell me honestly, when I wasn’t here, did you eat all sorts of strange things behind my back?”

“I didn’t!” The old Daoist was aggrieved to the point of tears. “I only want to eat you. I’d never eat those things—only your second master would. Please believe me.”

Seeing his master’s tears, Chen Huangpi’s anger melted away. His master was old and now half-mad, often doing things that would drive anyone crazy. Yet in the past, he himself had been the one to cry and cause trouble, and his master had never lost his temper with him.

“Don’t cry, Master. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have spoken that way and hurt your feelings.”

Chen Huangpi was filled with remorse and wiped away his master’s tears.

The old Daoist smiled foolishly, “Huangpi, good disciple.”

Chen Huangpi smiled too. “Let’s not eat this. Let’s have noodles instead.”

“Yes, yes, noodles! The longevity noodles you make are delicious!” the old Daoist cheered.

At that moment, the Fox Mountain God’s voice sounded in Chen Huangpi’s ear.

“Young master, thank you for saving my life.”

“Saving your life?” Chen Huangpi glanced at it, then stuffed it into the stove.

“Young master, what are you doing?”

But Chen Huangpi ignored it. The statue suddenly had a bad feeling as he saw Chen Huangpi pack sticks of firewood around it until the space was filled.

There was a rustling sound, and then from outside the stove, Chen Huangpi’s voice rang out, “Master, let’s make plain noodle soup. Go pick some scallions for me; I’m about to boil the water.”

“Alright, noodles it is!” the old Daoist replied.

Inside the stove, the Fox Mountain God’s terror grew as the firewood suddenly blazed—not with ordinary flames, but a weird, true spiritual fire that set the statue itself alight.

“Let me out! Let me out! I’ll be burned to ash! Please spare me, young master! I know what your master truly is—I saw it with Yellow Calamity. We came to this temple once before!”

“So what?” Chen Huangpi rolled his eyes.

So what if you’ve seen my master? I see him every day.

But then the Fox Mountain God’s next words left Chen Huangpi stunned.

“You are not his only disciple,” the Fox Mountain God cried.

Those words struck Chen Huangpi’s deepest wound, making him leap to his feet.