My path is complete.

Xu Qingshan shook his head. "Senior Brother Liu's temper is as fiery as ever. If it were my constructed deity behaving so brazenly, at most I'd give it a few lashes as a lesson, nothing more."

Chen Huangpi watched this scene, suddenly realizing he might have underestimated their cultivation. He only knew that beyond the Golden Core stage was the Nascent Soul. As for the realm above Nascent Soul, he had no idea. Moreover, Huang Er had told him that the Twelfth Madam was a Nascent Soul True Lord—she had reached the pinnacle and could advance no further. Once her eight hundred years of life ended, she would have no choice but to cultivate the Path of Divinity. Thus, the road ahead was cut off.

One by one, the deities entered the dark region and never returned. The remaining ones were all failed divine statues. Chen Huangpi looked around, then to both sides, growing puzzled. The Fox Mountain God had said it had seen Master with its own eyes, yet it had not become a true god this time, claiming its foundation was too weak. So when, exactly, had it seen Master?

After a long while, the Daoists all departed. Xu Qingshan paid no attention to his two divine statues, leaving these failed idols alone in the cave within the Immortal Ascension Painting. In the blink of an eye, no living soul could be seen.

"Why did everyone leave? Where is Master?"

Chen Huangpi was stunned. Was his master not here? And that mysterious senior brother, whose voice always echoed from the darkness but never revealed himself—he had been watching, hoping to see the true inheritor of the Pure Immortal Temple, but never caught a glimpse. He could not help but fall into contemplation.

He was young, quick-witted, and lively. As his thoughts turned, he reasoned, "They said those deities were sent in again, meaning that dark region. It was Master who had them create gods, so he and their senior brother must be inside." Yes, their senior brother, not his own.

Chen Huangpi was unwilling to just sit and wait. Without hesitation, he leapt out from the Fox Mountain God's statue. Overhead, the golden oil lamp—no, Daoist Liu called it the Golden Heavenly Lantern.

"It's really a lot like Huang Er," Chen Huangpi thought, gazing up at it for a moment. Apart from its golden color and Huang Er’s being brass, they looked like they were cast from the same mold. This Golden Heavenly Lantern's oil could animate clay idols into gods. Huang Er had also said that deities craved its oil the way dogs craved dung. Perhaps Huang Er's oil had similar properties.

But Chen Huangpi did not linger. He moved quickly and soon stood before the edge of the darkness, where even the Golden Heavenly Lantern’s light could not reach.

"Master, are you in there?" Chen Huangpi hesitated, then called out. Though the Daoists treated the deities as mere creations, as livestock, they were still gods. Once inside, they never returned. The place was surely dangerous.

"Ah! How foolish I am!" Chen Huangpi shook his head. He was inside the Fox Mountain God's memory—a dream, not reality. No matter how dangerous this place, could it truly harm him? At that thought, he plunged into the darkness without further hesitation.

In the next moment, a voice echoed from the dark.

"I'm here. I have always been here."

It was Master's voice. Chen Huangpi felt a chill run down his spine. He looked toward the sound but saw only unbroken darkness. He could not see where Master was. Yet Master's voice continued.

"Come, come over here. I am waiting for you."

"Master, don't scare me." Chen Huangpi's voice trembled. He could not understand why the Master in the Fox Mountain God's memory could speak with him. Wasn’t memory supposed to be fixed, unchanging?

Surely the Fox Mountain God’s memory could not be alive?

"Come here, Huang Pi’er. Let me look at you," Master's voice called him by name.

"Only Master calls me that," Chen Huangpi thought with relief. He never liked his nickname—Master always called him Huang Pi’er instead of disciple, making him feel like he was being called a weasel. Back then, before Master’s mind broke, he had asked why. Master stroked his head and said kindly, "Huang Pi’er, you’re still a child. Calling you ‘disciple’ is too formal. If I keep calling you that, you’ll learn to be proper before your time, and once you do, you’ll be grown."

"But if I grow up, I can chop more firewood, cook more meals, and help you patrol the mountains. Isn’t that good?"

"Both good and not good. In the end, not good," Master replied, then produced a skewer of sugar-coated hawthorns. Chen Huangpi loved those, so he forgot to observe Master's expression, remembering only a faint sadness.

"Master, it's really you! I’ve come to find you!" Chen Huangpi ran toward the voice without a second thought. He was still a child at heart, not questioning what was wrong with this scene.

The darkness was vast. Chen Huangpi ran on and on. Whenever he grew weary, the complete Yin-Yang Harmony Divine Transformation Technique surfaced in his mind—those strange, bird-and-flower-shaped characters would emit a cool breath at critical moments, restoring his energy. Master’s voice always sounded from ahead.

He did not know how long he ran. Suddenly, the darkness around him parted—not vanished, but forced open. Chen Huangpi saw Master.

Master stood with his back to him, clad in a blue-black Daoist robe, before a towering golden wall. The wall stretched beyond sight, gleaming as if cast from gold, covered with writing. They were the same strange, twisting characters Chen Huangpi recognized but had never seen before.

At a single glance, his head began to spin. "Master, I feel dizzy. I want to throw up. Master, I don’t feel well. Why won’t you answer me?"

"Because I am hungry," Master replied, still facing away.

"Master, I’m hungry too. Do you have anything to eat? Can you share some with me?"

"No," Master shook his head and asked softly, "Huang Pi’er, you’re very filial to me, aren’t you?"

"Of course, Master! I’m the most filial of all, even if you don’t leave the Pure Immortal Temple to me after you ascend, I’ll still be more dutiful than any other disciple."

"I don’t believe you," Master said.

"Why not?" Chen Huangpi was shocked. "Master, I gather herbs every day to cure your illness, using all the recipes in the temple. Am I still not filial enough?"

"You are," Master replied, "but not enough."

"Then what would be enough?" Chen Huangpi pleaded.

Master said, "Among mortals, there are those who lie on ice to seek carp for their parents. That is true filial piety. Can you do that?"

"But there’s no ice here, and no carp."

"There are also those who feed their parents with deer’s milk," Master continued.

"Master, there’s no deer here either. Besides, I don’t even drink milk. You’re so much older than me and still want milk? That’s more childish than I am!"

Master sighed. "If you can do neither, how am I to believe you’re truly filial?"

"I am filial!" Chen Huangpi protested. "You only mention what I can’t do, so of course you think I’m unfilial. But isn’t what I can do enough?"

"Very well. I’ll give you something you can do," Master said. "Among mortals, there was a woman starving for meat. Her son, being truly filial, cut his own flesh to feed his mother. That is the highest filial piety."

No sooner had he spoken than Master turned and faced Chen Huangpi. With a clang, a hatchet landed at Chen Huangpi’s feet.

"I am your master. The bond between us is like father and son. I am hungry now and wish to eat meat. If you can cut a piece of your flesh for me, I’ll believe you are a filial child."

"Cut my flesh?"

"What, are you unfilial?"

"No, I am very filial."

"Then why not cut your flesh for me?"

"It’s not that I won’t, but this hatchet is too dull. My skin is thick and my flesh tough—it won’t cut," Chen Huangpi replied.

"This is no ordinary hatchet. No matter how tough your flesh, it will cut," Master insisted.

"Really, Master, it won’t cut."

"Ah, I knew it. You’re unwilling to feed your master your flesh! Your so-called filial piety is just empty words. In truth, you’re selfish and heartless—a truly unfilial child!"

This time, Chen Huangpi was truly distraught. Seeing Master angry and doubting his devotion, he could not bear it. Since the age of eight, he had vowed to serve his master with utmost filial piety. The accusation deeply stung him.

"Fine! I’ll show you now!" Chen Huangpi picked up the hatchet—so light it seemed weightless—and raised it to his forearm under Master’s expectant gaze.

"See, my ski—" Before he could finish, a scream tore from his lips. The hatchet bit into his arm, actually cutting a gash. Blood began to drip.

"It hurts! It hurts!" It was as if the hatchet cut not just his arm, but his very mind. Strange characters spun wildly through his head. The pain was unbearable.

"Master, it hurts," he whimpered, seeking comfort.

But in that instant, he realized that at some point—perhaps the very moment the hatchet wounded him—Master had come to stand directly before him, hands cupped to catch the dripping blood.

Gulp—

Master swallowed, his eyes filled with a sinister, malicious gleam.

"Keep cutting! I want to eat flesh!"

The voice was harsh and unkind.

Frightened, Chen Huangpi dropped the hatchet. Instantly, the wound on his arm healed. Master, however, lunged to catch the hatchet, one hand gripping it, the other reaching for the falling blood.

One drop. Two. Three.

"Why so little?" Master roared in fury, licking the blade with his tongue, but the hatchet bore no trace of blood—not even the faintest scent.

"I’ll be the death of me! The death of me!" Master raged.

Chen Huangpi stared in disbelief at his master’s fit of anger. "Why won't you comfort me, Master? I’m hurt!"

"Comfort you?" Master hastened to say, "Huang Pi’er, I feel terrible seeing you hurt, but I’m so hungry. You’re so filial—please, cut some flesh to feed me, won’t you?"

"No!" Chen Huangpi protested, wounded to the core. "Master would never treat me like this. You’re not my master! Who are you?"

This could not be his master. In his right mind, Master had always cherished him, never letting him suffer the slightest pain. Even in madness, no matter how distraught, if Chen Huangpi spoke of his woes, Master would always quiet down and try to make him smile.

But this master would not.

"Give me back my blood!" Chen Huangpi demanded angrily.

His master only cast him a cold glance, said nothing, and swallowed the blood in one gulp.

"My path is fulfilled!"