23. The Pure Immortal Temple at Night (Please Vote for Me)

"Don't go out at night."

"If my master comes knocking, just close your eyes, cover your ears, and sleep—it'll pass quickly."

"And tomorrow, I'm heading out to patrol the mountains. You all need to leave before I go."

Chen Huangpi settled everyone into the guest rooms of the temple, left these three pieces of advice, and departed early.

Inside the room, only Granny Tang and the Fox Mountain God remained. The other remnants were in the adjacent guest room.

Granny Tang hadn't slept for a whole day and night; her nerves were taut, and after so many upheavals, she was utterly exhausted. As soon as Chen Huangpi left, she closed her eyes.

The Fox Mountain God, however, needed no rest. Only incense offerings could sustain a deity. Now, it had withdrawn all its presence, feigning lifelessness. Yet its spirit was ceaselessly pondering.

Within the Hundred Thousand Mountains lay countless abominations, while deities were scarce, for there were too few remnants left to support many gods. Generation after generation, they struggled to survive.

Though it had lost its memory of Chen Huangpi's master, it remembered the events that followed. The Fox Mountain God and the Yellow Plague had existed for nearly two thousand years, slumbering several times during that span. Natural and manmade disasters always wiped villages out. Two hundred years ago, the remnants of Huanghu Village found them, revived them with worship and incense.

During that time, it had met other deities. Some of these gods hadn't slept for nearly two thousand years. From their accounts, it learned that, in all the ages the Hundred Thousand Mountains had existed, they should have birthed abominations of unspeakable power. Yet, there was a terrifying presence always patrolling the mountains. Whenever an abomination known as "Calamity" appeared, it would vanish at once.

But that being hadn't patrolled the mountains for a very, very long time. For there were already abominations called "Calamity" born in these mountains. Yet those dreadful things never dared show themselves. They feared the patrolling one might still be present. Even in death, his lingering power suppressed them, kept them in awe.

"Chen Huangpi is also going to patrol the mountains... Could that presence be him?" The Fox Mountain God entertained the thought, but immediately snuffed it out. What nonsense. The boy was only nine, crafty as he was, and his so-called patrols probably just circled a few hills near the temple.

"Perhaps it's his master," it told itself, then quickly dismissed that, too: "It can't be. It absolutely can't be!"

Though that memory was lost, the image of the white-robed old Daoist's terrifying, ruthless aura was still clear. If he were the one patrolling these mountains, all would be lost. Yellow Plague, Hu Plague—all would pale beside him. Should he become an abomination, he would undoubtedly be the lord of the Hundred Thousand Mountains, the abomination among abominations.

So it couldn't be. Otherwise, wouldn't it have walked right into death?

"I'm so weak now, he probably won't even notice me."

Just then—

Knock, knock, knock...

A sudden knocking at the door.

"Have you seen Huangpi'er? I didn't find him in the pot, nor in the alchemy furnace. Is he in there?"

That voice—it was the purple-robed old Daoist.

The Fox Mountain God's mind went blank with terror, screaming inwardly: He's not here, not here.

"Alright, I'll keep looking."

After a while, the Fox Mountain God finally breathed a sigh of relief, thinking to itself: Chen Huangpi was right—just ignore that old Daoist and he'll leave.

Good, good, he's gone.

My spirit nearly shattered from fright. I'll leave at dawn—no way am I staying in this cursed place.

But in the next moment, the purple-robed Daoist's voice drifted back, hauntingly: "I haven't left."

"What? You haven't left?" The Fox Mountain God was horrified. Even the idol trembled, shedding several bits of clay.

"You've been thinking about me so much, you've made me hungry."

"Hungry?" The Daoist's voice landed, and his belly rumbled with hunger.

But to the Fox Mountain God's ears, this was no ordinary hunger; it was the sound of impending doom!

——

The crimson moon hung high in the night sky. Looking up, the darkness was like a curtain—no stars could be seen.

But this was only within the Pure Immortal Temple. The extra regions were different—strange and sinister.

Chen Huangpi held the yellow-skinned oil lamp, standing before a moss-covered courtyard gate, and whispered, "Huang Er, once we're inside, the red moon's light won't reach us. Do you have enough lamp oil left?"

"Of course I do. If not, I'll just squeeze a bit more out."

The brass oil lamp had entered this extra region before. In fact, it understood it better than Chen Huangpi. It had been created right here in the Pure Immortal Temple and knew the lay of the place, and how terrifying it was inside.

"Young master, be careful. Don't touch anything once inside; don't disturb them," the brass oil lamp warned.

"And be quick—in and out. If we don't get out before dawn, we'll never leave," Chen Huangpi said. "Don't worry, Huang Er. We've been here a few times now—I know what I'm doing."

"If you did, you wouldn't be thinking of raiding the Sutra Library for the medical texts!" the brass oil lamp retorted, rolling its eyes.

Before, he'd only agreed to accompany Chen Huangpi along the outer edges, never daring to go deeper. Back then, the temple master hadn't lost his mind. Chen Huangpi was his treasure, cherished above all. If he went in, the worst he'd get was a spanking, then tossed into the alchemy furnace to be cleansed by true fire.

But for the oil lamp, it was torment. True fire would refine its lamp oil, a fate worse than death. Only now, with the temple master mad and the brass lamp unable to refuse, did it agree to help Chen Huangpi this time.

"Let's go," Chen Huangpi said.

He stepped inside.

In an instant, he could see nothing—as if struck blind.

Whoosh.

The lamp's wick flared, a pea-sized flame pushing back the darkness enough for Chen Huangpi to see, though only a small area.

Night here was nothing like the outside. Even the brass lamp dared not shine too boldly.

Chen Huangpi walked carefully. This was the closest entrance to the Sutra Library—just a left, a right, then straight ahead.

One step, two, three.

He silently counted each step. "Nine hundred and ninety-eight steps—no extra step."

The first left turn required exactly nine hundred and ninety-eight steps. He'd walked this path twice before. The first time, there had been an extra step. Only the brass lamp's shriek had stopped him. For if he took that extra step, he would vanish in an instant.

The bizarre thing was not the extra flagstone underfoot, but the number of steps. Whether his strides were long or short, the count was the same—except for the odd step more, or less.

"Hurry, you’re lucky—it's not here today," the brass oil lamp sighed in relief, urging him forward, though secretly wishing there had been an extra step. If they couldn't go further, they could just turn back—no need for this constant dread.

Chen Huangpi pressed on and asked softly, "Huang Er, this is my third time on this path. I'm curious—what does that thing actually look like? It seems as long as you don't take the extra step, it won't appear."

"What does it look like?" The lamp considered. "Its upper body is human, but below the waist it's a mass of rotting flesh, legless, covered in meaty growths. In life, it was cut in half, and crawled nine hundred and ninety-nine steps on its hands before becoming an abomination."

"I've seen, in the mountain god's memories, many people growing odd things from their bodies; after death, they turned into abominations."

"Yes, that's exactly what this thing is," the brass lamp said with deep dread. "We’re still outside now. Go further and it's more dangerous—more died in there, especially around the Sutra Library. Be extra careful."

"Huang Er, have you grown distant from me?" Chen Huangpi muttered as he walked. "You knew these things, yet never told me before?"

"The master didn’t say—if he didn't want you to know, and I blabbed, I'd be finished," the lamp explained. "Besides, I was made not long before those people all died. The master split me into thousands of pieces. Only after you came was I reawakened, so there’s much I don’t know."

"Then how did I come to be? Was I born to my master, or found somewhere?"

"I really don’t know," the lamp admitted. The master had only revived it to give Chen Huangpi a companion, fearing the boy would be lonely otherwise. If not for that, the lamp would still be dormant.

Chen Huangpi fell silent, never pausing his steps. To reach the Sutra Library, he had to alternate left, right, then straight ahead.

After reaching the end of the left corridor, he closed his eyes and walked to the right.

"Huang Er, guide me," he whispered, not daring to open his eyes.

The brass lamp, too, extinguished its flame the moment Chen Huangpi shut his eyes. With any light, that thing could see them. Even without looking, it could sense everything around.

"Forward, forward. Slower—move closer to the left. More—you're almost touching it. Careful—its roots have grown out again. Don't walk—jump over."

The lamp’s anxious voice echoed in his mind. Chen Huangpi was tense. Blind, he had to rely entirely on Huang Er. Last time, he’d stopped here too—Huang Er had warned him, but he’d tripped, opened his eyes by reflex, and seen something unspeakably strange.

It was a tree—a leafless, withered tree of unknown height, its massive crown a tangle of bare branches interwoven like a domed canopy. Chen Huangpi had once suspected that the perpetual night and darkness of the temple’s extra regions was because the crimson moon’s light was blocked by this tree’s canopy. Not a single moonbeam was permitted through.

Yet this was not the weirdest part. Though withered, the tree was not dead. At intervals, it bore fruit—fruits shaped like infants, growing larger and older, living out a lifespan entirely on the branches, only falling to the ground after death to become fertilizer.

That last time, when he opened his eyes, all the fruits hanging from the tree were shriveled old men and women, their bare skin wrinkled and rotting, reeking of decay. At a single glance, they let out piercing wails. In the next instant, Chen Huangpi found himself ensnared on the tree, branches coiling around him, one twig boring frantically at his skull, trying to pierce his head.

But his skin was tough, his bones thick—the branch couldn't break through, so it hung him upside down, searching for another way in.

Both Chen Huangpi and the brass lamp were terrified. The lamp quickly called for help through one of its fragments. Only because the master was still sane at the time did he appear instantly and rescue Chen Huangpi. Otherwise, the boy would no doubt still be dangling from the tree.

"Huang Er, what do the fruits look like now?"

"Don’t speak—they seem to hear our thoughts," the lamp whispered anxiously.

It sensed that the human-fruits hanging from the dead tree were now in their adolescent years—keen of eye and ear. Even with the lamp's wick doused, so the pair was invisible, those on the tree could hear every thought from below. At that moment, they pressed their hands to their ears, listening intently for any sound from beneath.