66. The Return of the Heretic

“I’ve succeeded!”
Chen Huangpi’s eyes snapped open, a flash of brilliance shooting through them. The demonic tree branches that had protruded from his ears and nostrils instantly withdrew back inside. The scene was utterly uncanny.

The bronze oil lamp couldn’t help but speak, “Chen Huangpi, what have you succeeded in?”
Indeed… what had he become?

The Fox Mountain Spirit was baffled. Two hours of meditation—could that really make one an immortal?

“Maybe he tamed the demon tree?” the Soul-Reaping Ghost blurted out, his gaze fixed intently on the temple of kidneys within Chen Huangpi’s body.

“Yes and no,” Chen Huangpi both nodded and shook his head. “The demon tree isn’t as vicious as you imagine. It’s reasonable, just like me. Once I explained the pros and cons and promised to water it daily, it agreed to return my power to me.”

“All things considered, it’s half-tamed,” he said.

“Half-tamed is still tamed—round it up, it’s fully tamed,” the Soul-Reaping Ghost hastily added. Heaven knew how ecstatic it had been to awaken inside the Soul Register rather than that terrifying kidney temple.

It had never forgotten what Chen Huangpi had said when his kidney temple was empty:
“Ghost, you are a being born in the Yellow Springs, so your attribute should be water, right?”

Indeed, the Soul-Reaping Ghost was water—Yellow Springs water, something not found in the mortal realm. But that didn’t mean it was safe. Chen Huangpi’s kidney temple was now inhabited by the wood-attributed demon tree, currently a calamity far stronger than the ghost. If Chen Huangpi failed to tame it, who knew if he’d simply abandon the tree and throw the ghost in instead.

Chen Huangpi seemed to sense the Soul-Reaping Ghost’s worry and smiled reassuringly. “Don’t be afraid, Ghost. Each organ temple can only house one deity. Though the kidney temple is water, the demon tree of wood lives there—you can’t enter.”

“Alright, I believe you. I’m not afraid,” the Soul-Reaping Ghost replied with a forced smile.

Water gives birth to wood, wood to fire, fire to earth, earth to metal, and metal to water. There was no place for the ghost in the kidney temple, but as for the lung temple—representing metal—who could say?

The bronze oil lamp glanced at the Soul-Reaping Ghost and shook his head inwardly. This ghost was too new to understand Chen Huangpi’s nature. Though he was a bit unorthodox, he was nostalgic, loyal, and righteous—why would he let the ghost suffer in the lung temple?

Not to mention, what strength did the Soul-Reaping Ghost really have? The bronze oil lamp found it amusing—having regained much of its power, the ghost probably couldn’t match even half of it now.

At that thought, the lamp grew a bit smug. Lifting its head, about to speak, it found Chen Huangpi staring straight at it with a strange, unreadable expression.

“Chen Huangpi, why are you looking at me like that?”

“It’s nothing, just planning ahead,” Chen Huangpi shook his head and turned towards his master behind him. At a glance, his brows knit together. “Strange—why are my master’s two heads so far apart now?”

No sooner had he spoken than the bronze oil lamp, Soul-Reaping Ghost, and Fox Mountain Spirit all crowded forward.

“Are you sure you’re not seeing things?”

“We’ve been watching you and the temple master this whole time—nothing’s changed.”

“Contract holder, I haven’t noticed anything either.”

But Chen Huangpi said nothing. He reached out and placed his hands between the two heads of his master, measuring the distance. Then, addressing both heads, he said, “First Master, Second Master, forgive me.”

With that, he pulled open his master’s Daoist robe at the collar. The next instant, Chen Huangpi’s face went deathly pale.

His master, with two heads, naturally had two necks, but at the juncture of neck and chest, fleshy buds were sprouting.

Seeing this, the Fox Mountain Spirit collapsed to its knees in terror.

“Chen Huangpi, is your master turning into an abomination?” it cried.

“No, he won’t,” Chen Huangpi shook his head, his tone complex. “But… he may be growing a third head.”

“It’s the Third Temple Master!” the bronze oil lamp exclaimed, jumping up anxiously. “Chen Huangpi, night is falling—go into the old temple! Whether it’s Gold Horn or Silver Horn, just take one and get out before the Third Temple Master emerges. Secure the Soul-Returning Jade and save the temple master!”

They could wait no longer. The Third Temple Master was also a temple master—facing himself, there would be no contest. Now, only fleshy buds had appeared; by tomorrow, bones and flesh might have formed.

…

Meanwhile, deep within the Ten-Thousand Mountains, far from Jade Qiong Mountain, an old Daoist with snow-white hair and beard, clad in a black robe embroidered with red plum blossoms, was traversing the forest. If Chen Huangpi saw him, he would have been furious, for this Daoist looked exactly like his own master—the very one who had stolen a drop of his blood and then disappeared, a heretic.

With less than an hour before sunset, some abominations had already awakened and begun their activities. Humans work by day and rest by night; abominations are the opposite.

Suddenly, a figure wrapped entirely in straw blocked the heretic’s path.

“Elder, please help me.”

The heretic glanced at him, smiling faintly. “What do you need my help with?”

“Help me remove this straw garment,” came the reply.

“You have both hands—why ask me?”

“You don’t understand, Elder. I am a scholar; these hands are for composing poetry, not rough tasks. The straw is sharp—if I were pricked, it would spoil my scholarly aura.”

“I see,” the heretic smiled. “But you’re only wearing this straw garment—if I remove it, wouldn’t that be indecent?”

“You misunderstand, Elder. As a scholar, I ought to wear silk and satin. This straw garment is an insult to my dignity. Better to pose as a madman and let the world witness my spirit.”

The heretic only smiled, waving his hand. Instantly, the straw garment vanished. The next moment, the man shrieked inhumanly, wailing in agony.

Beneath the straw, not an inch of his skin was intact—everywhere were densely packed holes, oozing blood, and in a blink, fresh stalks of straw sprouted from them, weaving a new garment.

But as soon as it formed, it vanished again. This time, the screams were even more harrowing.

“Don’t be afraid,” the heretic said. “I will help you.”

“No more—no more!” the man shrieked, stumbling backward, his body twisting and elongating like a writhing worm. As he retreated, he shouted, “Straw or brocade, both are garments. If clothing alone could stifle my spirit, then what use is such spirit?”

But even as he spoke, he suddenly lunged, the straw on his body bristling. Using the straw as limbs, he darted into the shadows.

Yet soon he re-emerged, for the heretic came out from the darkness, his withered, aged face still smiling.

“Huangpi is a well-read scholar, surely with a strong spirit. But what does that spirit look like? For now, let me see yours first.”

With that, the man howled in agony as a straw-covered skin sloughed off, revealing raw flesh beneath. Then even the flesh peeled away, leaving only bones.

The skeleton’s jaw moved as if speaking, but the heretic only shook his head. “A spirit that shatters at a touch is best discarded.”

With that, the bones crumbled to dust. The heretic walked on, continuing his journey through the forest.

As he traveled farther, the sun also slipped away. By the time he reached a village entrance, a blood-red moon hung high in the sky, and the Ten-Thousand Mountains had plunged into night.

The village, with some forty households, was brightly lit and protected by a deity—a towering figure eight feet tall, holding a staff entwined by a great serpent, imposing and strong.

The heretic made no effort to hide his approach, for the Serpent God noticed him instantly.

“Stranger, from whence do you come?”

“From the Pure Immortal Temple.”

“What is your intent?”

“To borrow the Serpent God for a while.”

At these words, the Serpent God grew alert, realizing at last that this old Daoist was neither man nor cultivator, but an abomination.

Powerful abominations might not speak, but those who could—and retained their wits—were extremely formidable. A minor deity like itself could never protect forty villagers.

“You are the abomination who has been slaughtering deities in the Ten-Thousand Mountains, calling yourself the Heretic Daoist!”

The heretic smiled. “Serpent God, do not fear. I only need your life for a while; as for the villagers…” He chuckled and shook his head. “Even ants cling to life—I will leave them a sliver of hope.”

With that, he fell silent. If it were daytime, this deity would already have been drained of energy and crushed to dust, concealing the aura of that stolen drop of blood—the blood that held black smoke, which the heretic could never dissolve, only mask. That way, Chen Huangpi could not sense his location, while he could always sense Chen Huangpi—a game of cat and mouse, nothing more.

The heretic chuckled softly to himself, “Huangpi grows stronger by the day. As his master, I mustn’t let him catch up, or if the disciple kills the master, what would that do to his reputation?”

But this heretic was merely a memory of Chen Huangpi’s master, housed in the Fox Mountain Spirit—crafty in method, yet subtly influenced by the existence in that memory. Born of detachment, he called himself the Heretic Daoist. But looking identical—how could he truly be detached?

…

Meanwhile, at the gates of the Pure Immortal Temple, the bronze oil lamp leapt to hang at Chen Huangpi’s waist. The Soul-Reaping Ghost slipped into the Soul Register. The Fox Mountain Spirit, however, wore a worried face. “Chen Huangpi, why not take me with you? I’ve absorbed more spiritual energy—I’m not completely useless.”

“No, Fox Mountain Spirit,” Chen Huangpi replied. “Stay in the main hall and watch over my master’s body. If a bird comes to peck, or a worm to eat, drive them away.”

“But I’m scared…”

“What’s there to fear? My master didn’t die unjustly—he won’t turn into a corpse-fiend,” Chen Huangpi reassured him. “Listen to me. I’ll be back from the old temple before dawn. Once I revive my master, I won’t let him absorb your energy again.”

“Alright, I trust you—but I have one thing to tell you.”

“What is it?”

“From the heart—a fox is also a dog.”

Chen Huangpi was taken aback, sizing up the Fox Mountain Spirit before letting out a laugh.

“Very well, I’ll remember that.”

With that, Chen Huangpi turned and left. The Fox Mountain Spirit watched him wave goodbye, then turned back to the main hall.

There sat the two-headed temple master, staring directly at him.

Gulp…

The Fox Mountain Spirit swallowed hard. With the bronze oil lamp’s avatar as a light source, everything in the hall was clearly visible. Still, a chill crept through his heart.

“It feels like I’m keeping vigil over the dead. If I’d known, I’d have had Granny Tang here for company—at least I’d have someone to talk to.”

Though he said this, the Fox Mountain Spirit would never do it. Granny Tang was the temple attendant he’d watched grow up, and the temple master was far too strange. Such matters were best kept from children.