38. Huang Yi, Lighting the Sky Lantern

A dense white fog stretched endlessly before their eyes.

The entire expanse of Jade Qiong Mountain, spanning dozens of miles, was blanketed by this mist. The cultivators, led by Song Qiuye, were gradually hemmed in by the encroaching fog, driven ever backward until they found themselves at the foot of the mountain. Only here, in this small refuge, had the mist not yet reached. From this vantage, they could even see the sun gleaming overhead.

It was daytime, and in these daylight hours, the cultivators could fly freely above the Great Ten-Thousand Mountains without fear of attracting the notice of malevolent entities. One cultivator proposed, “Miss, perhaps we could ascend and fly out from the mountaintop.”

Another agreed, “There is no fog atop the mountain. Perhaps the deities can reach Xu Prefecture City from there?”

Song Qiuye shook her head. “It’s no use.”

The deities had already tried. Even without the mist on the mountain or its summit, they still could not establish contact with Xu Prefecture City.

As for escaping by flying from the mountaintop…

Song Qiuye considered the idea. “Malevolent beings dislike the day, and the sun most of all. If we seize the moment when that old Daoist is distracted, it might be our only chance to escape.”

But at that instant, the cultivator named Zhao Hai, suddenly tense, rushed to interject, “Miss, you mustn’t.”

Everyone turned to look at Zhao Hai.

He quickly explained, “That old Daoist is no ordinary fiend. Even among malevolent beings, he is a calamity. Earlier, he stood unharmed beneath the midday sun and looked as though he would devour us all.

“Now, the fog has driven us to this spot; it is clearly the old Daoist’s doing. If we remain still, we may go unnoticed, but the moment we attempt to escape by flight, I doubt he will let us go unchallenged.”

At these words, Song Qiuye let out a desperate sigh. “Sixty deities, and not one can protect us?”

If not all, could they not protect her alone…?

Zhao Hai said, “There may be many deities, but this white fog is their natural bane. If they try to force our way out, I fear—” He left the sentence unfinished.

But Song Qiuye understood. She knew everything, saw it all clearly.

She was simply afraid.

The sun did not restrain these beings. Long ago, cultivators had researched this, only to find the sun had no effect upon the malevolent ones, nor did vital energy or the power of yang. Thus, the cultivators concluded: perhaps these beings were not so different from humans. Humans labor by day and rest by night; the malevolent ones do the opposite—they sleep by day and emerge at night to feed.

Song Qiuye said, “Zhao Hai, you are a thoughtful man. If you have an idea, speak it.”

“So that you may be informed, Miss,” he began, having already rehearsed his words. “Though that old Daoist is a fiend, both the yellow-skinned youth and the old woman in the Golden Core stage are unharmed. There must be something we do not know. Perhaps the old Daoist is unwilling to kill before his disciple. That old woman is clever; perhaps we could cooperate with her.”

Song Qiuye nodded in agreement, her mind racing. She, too, had considered returning to the temple, but she feared the white-robed old Daoist.

“That yellow-skinned youth is not one of the fiends. That is another path.”

Song Qiuye instinctively seized upon the key point.

Zhao Hai nodded, hesitating before continuing, “Malevolent beings lack humanity, but that old Daoist seems different with the yellow-skinned youth, as if he still remembers the bond between master and disciple. If we are to act through the youth, Miss, you will have to approach him yourself.”

“I understand.”

Song Qiuye drew a deep breath, recalling the look in Chen Huangpi’s eyes and the murderous intent he failed to conceal. Even now, it seemed absurd.

She could not tell whether it was killing intent or desire.

“Come, let us ascend the mountain.”

...

Elsewhere, in Xu Prefecture City, the streets bustled with life.

The Prefect of Xu, Song Tiangang, was playing chess with his servant. Yet, he hesitated over each move, growing impatient and finally tossing the piece into the basket.

The servant, having long attended Song Tiangang, quickly perceived his unease. “My lord, are you perhaps worried about Miss Qiuye?”

Song Tiangang gave a surprised, wry smile. “Indeed. My elder brother had only one daughter, and on his deathbed he entrusted her to me. Now she’s ventured into the Great Ten-Thousand Mountains—how could I not worry?”

Yet, he was not truly concerned. After all, she had sixty deities for protection. Even should she encounter fiends or calamities, she ought to be safe. Those deities would not dare shirk their duty.

The servant said, “Miss Qiuye acts much like Lady Twelve—decisive and swift. Since entering the mountains, she has had the deities report their progress every quarter hour, without fail.”

Song Tiangang asked, “Where are they now?”

“They’ve reached a place called the Pure Immortal Temple, on the eastern fringe of the mountains—a suitable base for the incoming settlers.”

Song Tiangang frowned. “It must have been built by some remnants. The name is unsuitable. Tell her to rename it before returning.”

“Yes, my lord.” The servant rose to clear away the chessboard.

Song Tiangang stood with hands clasped behind his back, uneasy and apprehensive. The spiritual intuition of cultivators was keen; he could not ignore it. Yet, try as he might, he could not discern the source of his misgivings. His niece was in no danger—she sent word every quarter hour, and now had found a base. By tomorrow at the latest, she would be back. Then the settlers would be in place, a hundred deities would protect them, and the flow of people would be unending. Even if calamity struck, they could hold out for half a month. By then, he himself would be there, ready to seize the aberrant idol.

So, what could be wrong?

“Any news from Wang Taiyu?” Song Tiangang mused. Perhaps only the current Grand Preceptor, his former classmate, could be involved.

The servant thought for a moment. “None, my lord. Since arriving in Xu Prefecture, Grand Preceptor Wang has not left his residence, as if waiting only for the taxes to be collected before returning to the capital.”

“Send someone to watch him—closely.”

Song Tiangang prided himself on his discretion; not even his closest servants or the seventh uncle who had become a deity knew his true thoughts. Yet sometimes, he could not help but trust his intuition. Something was indeed amiss.

At that moment, the servant spoke up. “My lord, another message from Miss Qiuye—she asks when the deities can be dispatched.”

Song Tiangang shook his head. “My niece is proud—she sees only gods, not the people. She is sure to seek the path to deification.”

“Have the settlers been arranged?”

“They have; we took some tenant farmers from the landlords, and selected a batch from the prisons—all obedient folk.”

“Good. Follow Qiuye’s plan. Send them now, along with those forty deities.”

...

At that same moment, in the alchemy chamber of the Pure Immortal Temple, Chen Huangpi was studying the recipe for the Heavenly Poison Pill.

The alchemy room was complex, filled with many poisonous herbs. Strangely, all were common—none were rare. Only the principal ingredient was unknown to him.

“Yinman Grass, Ghostface Flower—I know where those grow, I even have some left,” Chen Huangpi muttered, scratching his head. “But this Hundred-Deaths-No-Life—what is it? Is it even human?”

Of all the ingredients for the Heavenly Poison Pill, this was the only one he had never seen nor heard of.

The brass oil lamp spoke up, “It can’t be. If it’s ‘hundred deaths, no life,’ even the bones must have turned to dust. Perhaps we shouldn’t make this pill—pick another.”

“No,” Chen Huangpi replied. “I must make it. The other pills require too many ingredients I’ve never heard of. Only this one is different—find the main ingredient, and that’s enough.”

The brass oil lamp sighed helplessly. It did not truly dislike the idea of the temple master awakening, but it did fear that, upon waking, the master would discover it was the lamp itself who’d encouraged Chen Huangpi to concoct poison. Especially since, after the master went mad, the lamp had often cursed him in secret. Surely, the master would know.

After all, the temple master was as a god in the Ten-Thousand Mountains—life and death decided at a whim.

The brass oil lamp could only sigh, its face mournful. “If only we could poison—”

At that moment, a voice sounded at the lamp’s ear.

...

“Poison whom?”

“Why, to poison the—” The lamp caught itself, instantly fawning, “To poison myself with worry for you, Master! Who else could I mean? Huang Yi? He’s not worthy!”

Catching sight of the temple master, now garbed in purple Daoist robes, the lamp nearly prostrated itself. The old master had become ever more unpredictable of late.

“Huang Yi? Which Huang Yi?” The purple-robed Daoist’s eyes grew confused. “That’s right, Huang Yi… Where is he? Is he dead?”

No, not dead, surely?

But if not, why had he not returned?

Huang Pi’er was already grown—of the age to light the celestial lamp.

“Yes, the celestial lamp! I must light the lamp for Huang Pi’er!”

As if reminded of something, the old Daoist scratched his head, unable to recall fully, and reached his hand inside his own skull.

“Master, don’t stick your hand in your head—if you scramble your brains, I’ll never be able to put them back together,” Chen Huangpi said, stopping his master’s bizarre action.

He then asked, “Master, where did you go just now? I haven’t seen you for ages.”

The old Daoist grinned. “I went off to do something wicked—but I won’t tell you. You’re still young; I can’t let you be led astray.”

Chen Huangpi pressed, “Master, I’m bad enough already. Just tell me.”

“No, I can’t. I won’t.” The old Daoist shook his head stubbornly.

Suddenly, he circled Chen Huangpi, eyes gleaming. “Huang Pi’er, your Kidney Temple is nearly complete. Once the Kidney Temple is done, the Liver Temple will follow, then the Heart, then the Lung. The cycle of the five elements, the five viscera forging the divine!”

“Ah! You’re about to succeed!”

The old Daoist beamed, clapping his hands in delight, drooling as he spoke.

“Not yet,” Chen Huangpi replied, wiping the drool from his master’s face. “Besides, I still need to invite a deity into the temple, and I haven’t found a suitable one yet—not even an evil god.”

There was a fox-spirit mountain god in the temple, but his master had said its rank was too low. Besides, Chen Huangpi had seen the memories—knew it had been a failed creation by the golden-topped celestial lamp, Huang Yi. Only after many years had it been venerated as a mountain god. Thus, Chen Huangpi had no interest.

The old Daoist agreed, “You need to find a suitable one. The kidney belongs to water, so the deity should also be of water—then, the forging will go smoothly. Or you could pick one of wood—water gives birth to wood—but those are unruly. You’d need to beat them into obedience.”

“Is that really possible?” Chen Huangpi blinked. Though he had mastered the entire Five Viscera Divine Forging Method, it only mentioned matching each viscera to its element—never that a deity of a generating element could be invited.

By that reasoning: water begets wood, wood begets fire, fire begets earth, earth begets metal, metal begets water. If he chose a wood-aligned deity for the kidney, the other four would have to follow accordingly.

But inviting deities could not be rushed.

Chen Huangpi had already shaped the framework for the divine temples; at this rate, it would take another day or two. Temples were easy to construct—finding the right deity was difficult.

“Ah, the Demon Tree!” Chen Huangpi suddenly recalled the towering, terrifying tree—more fearsome than any deity, and wood-aligned.

With that, he immediately looked to his master, curious. “Master, if I wanted to place the Demon Tree in my Kidney Temple, would that be possible?”

The old Daoist paused in surprise. “The Demon Tree? What Demon Tree?”

“The one that bullied me—the one that grows human fruit.”

“So that’s called the Demon Tree…” The old Daoist scratched his head. “It’s dead—died miserably. I twisted its head clean off and swallowed it whole. If you want, you can go inside and look—maybe I haven’t digested it yet.”

As he spoke, he opened his blood-red maw wide.