What is constantly remembered will surely echo back.

"Ah! It's done!"
Chen Huangpi stared excitedly at the pill furnace, where a pill, glowing red and white, round and lustrous, had just formed.
A rich fragrance wafted from the pill, and it was the size of a grown man’s head.
The brass oil lamp was dumbfounded, and finally managed to say, "The Heavenly Poison Pill is this big?"
"This is just the Heavenly Pill," Chen Huangpi explained. "We still need to add the Hundred-Deaths-Not-Living Man, then refine it with high flames until this time tomorrow—when night turns to day and yin meets yang—only then will the true Heavenly Poison Pill be finished."
"I know," the brass oil lamp said dryly. "I, Old Huang Two, might not know pill-making, but I’ve seen the Daoists of the Pure Immortal Temple at it. Their methods are very different from yours."
"How different?"
This question stumped the brass oil lamp. It had only seen pill-making once, just after it was created, right as the great change in heaven and earth began and all the Daoists were busy making gods.
Chen Huangpi had learned his craft from the temple master, so the brass oil lamp dared not criticize a word.
But speaking of the finished pills—the Daoist had produced over a hundred in one batch, each no bigger than a pinky finger.
Chen Huangpi, on the other hand, got only one per batch, and the half-finished product was already the size of a human head. Who could imagine what the real thing would be like?
"Something’s off, really off..." The brass oil lamp shook its head, scalp tingling. "Chen Huangpi, the temple master’s pill-making shouldn’t be like this. Are you sure you’ve learned it right?"
"What else could it be?" Chen Huangpi replied. "I was refined so many times myself, and I remember every method inside and out."
"Besides, the bigger the pill, the better. If it were smaller, I’d worry the medicinal power wouldn’t be strong enough."
"You have a point," the brass oil lamp admitted, carefully recalling that Chen Huangpi’s methods were indeed exactly as the temple master had used on it.
So it set its mind at ease.
"Shall I throw in the Hundred-Deaths-Not-Living Man, then?"
"Wait a moment. After night falls is best! I need to get the timing just right."
After a long while, night finally descended.
Chen Huangpi waved his hand, and the lid of the Nine Dragons Pill Furnace floated up by itself.
A wave of heat surged out.
The brass oil lamp hurriedly threw in the Hundred-Deaths-Not-Living Man.
In the next instant, what was supposed to be a person—actually a ball of black flesh—melted into liquid in a blink.
Strangely enough, the black liquid immediately surged toward the head-sized Heavenly Pill, dyeing it black in the blink of an eye.
Black streaked with silver, yin laced with gold—the colors of mercury, litharge, and other metals Chen Huangpi had added.
Along with this came a strange, indescribable scent.
"Fragrant, so fragrant..."
The brass oil lamp sniffed, and the overwhelming aroma rushed over, so intense that its very wick flickered.
"I must admit, it smells rather good!"
"Once it’s finished, you won’t smell a thing. Colorless, odorless—touch it and you die, brush past it and you perish, your soul scattered in three breaths. That’s what makes a Heavenly Poison Pill!"
Chen Huangpi was a little pleased with himself.
His first attempt at pill-making, and he’d effortlessly produced something so extraordinary.
Even in the world of alchemy, he’d likely be called a prodigy.
...
Night cloaked the Pure Immortal Temple in silence.
At this time, Granny Tang was seated cross-legged, and before her stood the statue of the Fox Mountain God.
In just a day’s time, the Fox Mountain God’s image was no longer the shattered, miserable thing it had been.
"It wasn’t easy..."
The Fox Mountain God opened its eyes, a flash of grievance flickering within.
"Not even a tenth of the incense smoke left. Even at my lowest, I was far better off than this."
"Thankfully there are those sixty gods for the temple..."
At this, the Fox Mountain God caught itself. It had almost said, "for the temple master to feed on," but abruptly stopped.
That could not be spoken, lest the temple master heard.
Inwardly, however, it was pleased: "As long as my incense isn’t as rich as those sixty blockhead gods, I’ll be fine."

The Fox Mountain God had resigned itself.
Now that it was in this wretched temple, it knew it would never leave.
It would die here, just like those other blockhead gods who tried to leave only to end up imprisoned with itself.
"The gods outside the mountain may have abundant incense, but when it comes to survival instincts, any mountain god would outdo them by far!"
The Fox Mountain God looked down on the sixty gods—having figured out how to survive before they were drained dry.
That was: play the dog!
Be a dog for Chen Huangpi!
A fox is a dog, too!
The Fox Mountain God was confident, for at least it had spoken with Chen Huangpi, had some goodwill with him, even if the boy was a little sinister and its own divine soul had suffered after those few words.
But surely, that wasn’t his doing.
Thinking of its divine soul gave the Fox Mountain God a splitting headache.
It was convinced the one who devoured it was that unspeakable, unnamable existence.
So it was determined to be Chen Huangpi’s dog.
"If that wretched lamp can do it, why can’t I? Once I’m Huangpi’s dog, surely he’ll leave me a way out!"
Feeling smug, the Fox Mountain God glanced at the neighboring room.
Though its divine power couldn’t affect anything here, and its divine sight couldn’t even see through the walls, it knew that it and those sixty gods were no longer equals.
There is hierarchy even among gods!
Just then—
Knock, knock, knock...
A familiar knocking sounded.
Without a word, the purple-robed old Daoist appeared in the room, his withered but immortal face looming close as the Fox Mountain God shrank in terror.
"Little fox, you were just thinking of Huangpi, weren’t you... Say his name, and I will hear it!"
With one inhalation—
All the incense the Fox Mountain God had carefully hoarded vanished.
The purple-robed old Daoist came and went as suddenly as a dream, as though he had never been.
Granny Tang, who had been sitting cross-legged, suddenly opened her only remaining eye and looked at her mountain god with a complicated expression.
She rose and stepped forward, whispering, "Lord Mountain God..."
"Don’t move..."
The Fox Mountain God managed to choke out, "Broken, all broken."
...
In the next room, Song Qiuyue could not sleep.
She sat cross-legged while the other cultivators stood guard at the door.
The guest rooms of the Pure Immortal Temple were small single rooms, so with everyone squeezed into one space, it felt oddly cramped.
Luckily, as a noblewoman, Song Qiuyue had privileges.
She occupied half the room, drew a curtain in the middle, and set up a soundproof barrier.
If any cultivator approached, the barrier would warn her.
She trusted her retainers, but as a woman, she still felt uneasy.
So, though she sat in meditation since nightfall, her mind was restless and she couldn’t sleep.
Nascent Soul cultivators did not need sleep, but unless mentally exhausted, they rarely wanted it.
Song Qiuyue was truly worn out—anyone would be, given such bizarre events.
She longed for sleep, but dared not.
"Four more hours until dawn," she calculated.
By then, her uncle’s men would arrive to rescue her.
That old Daoist was too terrifying—at least a hundred gods would be needed to subdue him, and not just any newly ordained ones, but true mountain gods, river gods, and a city god.
Yes, when she was forced up the mountain at dawn, this was the message she’d had the gods relay.
At that moment, Song Qiuyue frowned.
She seemed to hear strange sounds—knocking, and faint, jumbled voices as if dozens of people were speaking at once.
"Could it be that old Daoist knocking?"
A chill ran down her spine.
Chen Huangpi had kindly warned her: if you hear knocking at night, ignore it and sleep; it’ll pass quickly.
She didn’t know what might happen otherwise, but she dared not risk it.
With that, Song Qiuyue blocked her hearing, and the voices disappeared.
She didn’t notice, however, that in her pouch, the wooden temple housing sixty gods was trembling violently.
Only inside their temple could the gods wield their full power.
The temple also stored incense, serving as a portable palace.
Song Qiuyue’s palace was larger and more wondrous than Lady Twelve’s, big enough for sixty gods.
So now, the gods looked upon the purple-robed old Daoist within and felt nothing but despair.
Just now, they had been absorbing incense to replace what had mysteriously vanished, when suddenly the knocking began.
Like the Fox Mountain God, they were stunned, not understanding why someone would knock at their temple door—until the old Daoist entered, shut the door, wiped his mouth, and came toward them.
"Senior, have mercy!"
"I... I am willing to become a demon god, a dog at your command!"
These towering gods, worshipped in their own temple, now fell from their pedestals, kneeling and begging for mercy.
"Heh, such vibrant human energy!"
The old Daoist laughed, approaching a god and patting its head.
The sound was dull, unsatisfying.
"Not this one," he grumbled.
Before the god could react, the old Daoist opened his mouth wide and inhaled.
A column of incense smoke was sucked into his mouth.
With a crack, the god’s incense was drained dry, its body collapsing, fissures spreading across its torso.
Without pause, the old Daoist went from god to god, patting their heads like testing melons.
"Not this one."
"Not good."
"No."
"Still not right."
"None of you are right!!!"
Enraged, the old Daoist smashed the last god’s head, reducing it to dust before it could resist.
"You’ll be the death of me, the death of me!"
He grabbed another god by the neck, snarling, "I promised Huangpi I’d find him a god, but none of you will do. You’re all useless—damn you all!"
"Wait—my head sounds crisp!" the god whimpered weakly.
"That’s even worse. You deserve death."
With that, the Daoist snuffed it out.
The few surviving gods pressed their faces to the ground in despair, closing their mouths, eyes, and ears.
If death was certain, better to die without knowing anything.
After a long while, all was silent in the temple.
A snake-headed god’s eyelids fluttered.
"I’m still alive. Why didn’t he kill me?"
"I’m alive too!"
"So am I."
Fifty-eight gods exhaled in relief.
"Life is sweet!"
The next moment, a familiar voice echoed in their minds—
"No matter. You’ll all be dead soon."