45. The Tomb of Buried Gods, The Yellow-skinned King

It truly was a grand performance.

A spectacle, indeed.

With a single command from the little girl, the curtains on the stage were drawn open.

Immediately, Chen Huangpi saw even more familiar faces.

They were the cultivators who had once accompanied the Twelfth Madam.

Each of them wore a deathly pallor, clad in garishly colored opera robes, and began, right in front of all the abominations, to perform an opera on stage.

Their voices were shrill and haunting.

All the roles—Sheng, Dan, Jing, Mo, and Chou—took turns upon the stage.

Yet in the audience, the abominations remained utterly silent, watching intently.

Only the twisted figure presiding in the temple would occasionally clap and exclaim in delight.

The brass oil lamp watched, utterly enthralled.

“Wonderful! I love it!”

“Why is it that I can’t enjoy this?” Chen Huangpi felt increasingly ill at ease.

It was his first time ever watching an opera, and it was so bizarre and grotesque that he found no enjoyment in it.

The brass oil lamp remarked, “You’re still young, you can’t appreciate it yet. When you’re older, you’ll find it interesting. Wouldn’t you agree, Ghost?”

“I too can’t watch it, just like our master,” replied the Soul-Reaping Ghost. “Though it looks like those cultivators are performing, they’ve long since died. They’re nothing but empty skins. The true performer is an abomination, merely manipulating their bodies and mouths like puppets.”

“That’s exactly why it’s so entertaining!” the brass oil lamp gloated. These cultivators had been shameless; when Chen Huangpi rode it here with his true fire, they had snuck behind without a word of thanks. They deserved this fate.

Some of the ragged survivors had still known to call him “Young Master” with every breath.

Listening to the Soul-Reaping Ghost and the brass oil lamp, Chen Huangpi focused his gaze.

It was exactly as they’d said.

All the cultivators looked alive but for their ashen skin. Their chests never rose or fell.

They were clearly long dead.

Most telling of all were the threads running through the shadows at their feet.

It was as if invisible hands were manipulating their bodies through these shadows.

With a hint of schadenfreude, Chen Huangpi said, “So this isn’t really an opera, it’s more like a shadow puppet show!”

Now, he actually became absorbed in watching.

The more he watched, the more fascinating it became.

Such is the way of children—they love novelty.

Tell him to listen to opera, and he’s bored. Tell him the performers are puppets, manipulated by unseen hands, and suddenly he’s intrigued.

By the end of the play, Chen Huangpi was thoroughly mesmerized.

Suddenly—

The little girl announced loudly, “By the decree of the Mountain God, a reward shall be given!”

In the next instant, all the skins of the cultivators on stage burst apart, their flesh and blood splitting into pieces and flying toward the abominations in the audience.

Each abomination received a portion.

The flesh twitched, the muscle fibers clearly visible—tender and pink, like raw beef.

All the abominations devoured their share.

Even the mutated idol tossed its portion directly into the gaping maw on its chest, chewing alongside the deity.

A faint, yellowed radiance, thin as a cicada’s wing, flashed across its body.

The gaping hole in its head suddenly began to heal.

Witnessing this, Chen Huangpi thought to himself, “Such grandeur, this Yellow Calamity! The flesh it rewards seems to be a precious tonic for abominations. If I weren’t human, I might be overawed as well.”

At that moment, the little girl turned to Chen Huangpi and said, “The Mountain God has just arrived, prepared this opera for you all, and bestowed rewards. You watched the play but did not move—do you find the Mountain God’s reward unworthy?”

At these words, Chen Huangpi was rendered speechless.

The little girl pressed him, stepping forward and saying coldly, “To refuse is to disrespect the Mountain God.”

The Big-Headed Abomination chimed in, “Great Ominous Abomination, eat it! It’s delicious!”

All the abominations stared at Chen Huangpi.

It was as if refusal would provoke them instantly.

The brass oil lamp said, “Master, just eat it. You’re strange enough already. Just pretend it’s beef.”

“I don’t eat beef, remember?” Chen Huangpi replied offhandedly.

He then said to the little girl, “The Mountain God invited me to the play, and I enjoyed it greatly. I appreciate the reward, but I cannot eat it.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because I am not hungry.”

“Why not hungry?”

“I just am not hungry.”

Chen Huangpi lied.

In truth, he was hungry, but the medical texts said that human flesh was a kind of medicine.

And all medicine carries some poison.

He was afraid of being poisoned, so he refused to eat.

Just then, the temple doors suddenly swung open, and a hoarse, murky voice rang out.

“Great Ominous Abomination, forgive this embarrassment!”

As soon as the words fell, the little girl was thrown backward, flying toward the temple doors.

“Mountain God, spare me…”

The temple doors closed, and a dreadful scream, followed by the sound of gnawing, made everyone’s teeth ache.

Afterward, Yellow Calamity’s voice echoed once more.

“This deity has just arrived and invited you all to watch the play. You are my honored guests, yet this little girl dared to flaunt my name and disrespect a Great Ominous Abomination. She deserves no burial place.”

Every word from Yellow Calamity struck home, resonating with the shrewder, more eloquent abominations.

“Master Huang is truly wise.”

“Great Ominous Abomination, Master Huang has avenged you!”

Chen Huangpi remained silent.

This was not his first encounter with Yellow Calamity.

The little girl was nothing but its puppet.

Once dead, she could be revived with a mere thought.

What kind of vengeance was that?

Even the words she spoke were just Yellow Calamity’s manipulation.

Chen Huangpi sneered inwardly: “This Yellow Calamity underestimates me, trying to win me over with flattery. It must want me as a dog. But I am far too clever for such tricks.”

Sure enough, Yellow Calamity soon spoke again.

“Let it be known—besides these rewards, there is also fortune to be shared.”

“Hmph, as if I’d believe that,” Chen Huangpi thought with disdain. He saw through the ruse. Yellow Calamity’s so-called fortune was likely a curse.

But how did it, newly transformed, know where the abominations gathered?

And if it was already a Calamity, why go to such lengths for this performance?

The next moment, Yellow Calamity answered his question.

“This Great Ominous Abomination, I suspect you all have met. I am an old acquaintance.”

Chen Huangpi suddenly understood.

Of course, the Fox Mountain God and Yellow Calamity had both been creations of Xu Qingshan, and the Fox Mountain God’s memories included the Mutated Idol.

Naturally, Yellow Calamity would know as well.

At this, the brass oil lamp gave a cold laugh. “It’s just boasting.”

“How do you know?” asked Chen Huangpi.

“I’m the same as it—I would know,” the brass oil lamp replied disdainfully. “The Mutated Idol, at least, was enshrined in the Pure Immortal Temple, while it was nothing but a defective lamp oil that never became a god. Even as Yellow Calamity, the Mutated Idol would never respect it. It’s just self-aggrandizement.”

Upon hearing this, Chen Huangpi glanced at the Mutated Idol.

Sure enough, it never once acknowledged Yellow Calamity, its gaze fixed solely on him—fierce and full of malice, as though wanting to devour him alive.

Now that was a look reserved for kin.

However, the abominations bought into Yellow Calamity’s story.

Hearing its words, they listened with utmost seriousness.

Yellow Calamity continued, “The Great Ominous God told me there is a God’s Tomb in these mountains, at the junction of the Yellow Springs Underworld and the human realm. Only during the days around the Earth Dragon’s Turning can it be entered. However…”

At this, Yellow Calamity paused, turning to Chen Huangpi. “So you understand, Great Ominous Abomination, after this Earth Dragon’s Turning, the God’s Tomb did not return to the junction of the Yellow Springs and the human world.”

“I see you are clever and articulate. Have you chosen a title for yourself?”

“A title?” Chen Huangpi considered, then said, “I have not, but since you mention it, I shall call myself King Huangpi.”

“…”

Yellow Calamity fell silent, unsure if he was being mocked.

Its true form was the Mountain God Weasel—a “Huangpi.”

Hence its title, Yellow Calamity, while Chen Huangpi now declared himself King Huangpi.

Did this not overshadow it?

It had already prepared its next words, something like, “Is the Great Ominous God satisfied with such a title? I think you should add ‘Calamity’ to it.”

But now, it dropped the idea.

“So be it. I’ll tolerate this King Huangpi for now. Once my plans succeed, I’ll kill him then.”

With this thought, Yellow Calamity refrained from speaking to Chen Huangpi, turning instead to the other abominations and proclaiming, “I intend to open the God’s Tomb and seize its fortune, so that all abominations of these mountains will have a chance to become calamities themselves.”

With those words, streams of light shot from the temple, floating before the abominations.

Each was a grain-sized lump of yellow earth.

“In ten days, crush it—the dust will point the way.”

Chen Huangpi pocketed his lump. He had little interest, but since all the other abominations accepted theirs, refusing would make him stand out.

Seeing this, Yellow Calamity was quite satisfied.

“I must be off elsewhere. In ten days, we shall meet again at the God’s Tomb.”

As swiftly as it came, Yellow Calamity departed.

In the blink of an eye, its puppets hefted the temple and carried it away.

Chen Huangpi thought, Yellow Calamity must be off to another gathering of abominations to repeat this scheme.

How wicked—deceiving even abominations!

The other abominations quickly dispersed as well.

The show was over.

Chen Huangpi, finding nothing to keep him, rose to leave.

A thunderous rumble sounded behind him.

The Mutated Idol.

“Chen Huangpi, it’s following you. Hurry—once we’re out of the cave, we won’t have to restrain ourselves,” urged the Soul-Reaping Ghost.

“I know,” Chen Huangpi replied, quickening his pace out of anxiety.

Yet the Mutated Idol kept close behind him, as though certain it would catch him.

Leaving the stage area, they reached the wide street where he’d previously bartered with more amicable abominations.

Some still lingered, including the one whose form shifted ceaselessly.

“Hurry back,” the Soul-Reaping Ghost urged, nervous. “If you pass by, it will assume your true form—then there’ll be trouble.”

Chen Huangpi saw the abomination.

It stood squarely in the middle of the road ahead.

No matter which way he tried to go, he’d have to pass it. Previously, he’d made a wide detour.

Now, the Mutated Idol blocked his way back.

It was herding him like prey.

There was no way to circle around.

Worse, every abomination on the street now watched him and the Mutated Idol intently.

With all those eyes upon him, Chen Huangpi grew uneasy, but could only press forward.

The brass oil lamp shouted, “Don’t go any further!”

But not only did Chen Huangpi not stop, he moved even faster.

He gathered his essence, summoning the Demon-Slaying Sword Qi between his fingers.

He meant to kill that abomination.

But just then, the abomination vanished into thin air, as if it had never existed.

“It hasn’t vanished—a hidden abomination just passed by it,” the Soul-Reaping Ghost warned.

“Where is it, Huang Er? Ghost?” Chen Huangpi called out.

“Beside you.”

In the next instant, a strange, twisted figure appeared at Chen Huangpi’s side.

It was small, curled up like a fetus in the womb.

Golden-black traces rippled across its form—those marks writhed and twisted, as if about to form some sort of script.