Third Master: Kill, kill, kill.

When the Fox Mountain God awoke, he was in a most wretched state.

He was roused by something pressing against him.

As soon as he opened his eyes, he saw a horn shimmering with a golden radiance pointed directly at his head. Though the horn was mere outline, the ominous sensation it gave was undeniable.

It felt as though it were pressing against his very spirit.

Before he could react, the brassy voice of the old oil lamp rang out.

“Golden Horn, put Chen Huangpi down.”

“I'm starving, I want to eat the fox.”

“Wait until Chen Huangpi wakes up and we’ll eat together.”

“I don't care.”

Golden Horn turned his head and glared fiercely at the brass oil lamp. “I went hungry in the old temple, but now even outside, I still have to starve? What’s the point of coming out at all?”

So this was Golden Horn.

Only now did the Fox Mountain God see Golden Horn’s true form.

His body was massive, four or five meters long. His frame was rugged and daunting, with four legs like those of a dragon, only more muscular. His beastly head bore eight eyes, the entire skull making up nearly a third of his body—a grotesque and misshapen thing.

Yet, perhaps from years of hunger, his flesh clung tightly to his bones; he looked little better than the Fox Mountain God himself.

Looking up further, he saw that Golden Horn was carrying Chen Huangpi on his back, eyes shut tightly, his face pale as death.

“Is he dead too?” he asked.

At those words, both the brass oil lamp and Golden Horn froze, unable to maintain their composure. Even the Soul Reaper from the Book of the Departed leapt out, black-and-red eyes fixed intently on the Fox Mountain God.

It was as though a forbidden line had been crossed.

“He won’t die,” the brass oil lamp's voice was cold. “If he does, it’ll be your ill-omened tongue that cursed him.”

Earlier, in that old temple, they were about to leave. But just as they were departing, a monstrous abomination made up of countless severed arms suddenly emerged—arms from Xu Qingshan himself. Though Chen Huangpi had cut down most of its body with a single sword strike, the severed arms seemed endless; the more he cut, the more appeared.

Worse still, they began forming the deadly sigils of the Sword of Killing.

In an instant, each of them felt a dreadful, suffocating fear seize their souls, as if an unseen sword, meant solely to slay souls, had locked onto them.

The brass oil lamp tried to shield Chen Huangpi, but Chen Huangpi seized him instead. The Soul Reaper tried to emerge from the Book of the Departed, but Chen Huangpi, as its master, exercised his authority and kept it bound.

“You would die. Let me do it,” Chen Huangpi said, stepping in front of them and taking the soul-killing sword blow himself.

And so he ended up as he was now.

The Soul Reaper looked at Chen Huangpi with a complicated gaze.

That sword strike was truly terrifying. Who knew how many arms had formed the sigil for that attack? Even at the height of its own power, the Soul Reaper doubted it could have survived such a blow.

Its soul was anchored within the Book of the Departed, which allowed its immortality. Yet that sword felt as if, no matter how many fragments of soul one hid or wherever one concealed them, all would be destroyed in a single strike—none would survive.

What the Soul Reaper understood even less was why, as its master, Chen Huangpi had not ordered it to intercept the blow, but had stopped it instead.

As the Soul Reaper gazed at the sleeping Chen Huangpi, a gentle thought rose in its heart: He is not like the masters before. He calls me A-Gui, treats me as a friend, not just the Soul Reaper bound to the Book of the Departed.

Thinking this, a strange, bittersweet feeling welled up within the Soul Reaper.

It had been countless years since it left the land of the dead. Every master who possessed the Book of the Departed treated it as a tool for killing and conquest.

Only Chen Huangpi was different.

“Xu Qingshan deserves to die,” the brass oil lamp growled through gritted teeth. “Those severed arms were his own. If, before dying, he’d destroyed them instead of leaving them behind, Chen Huangpi wouldn’t have been harmed.”

Xu Qingshan’s arms had mutated in years past. He kept cutting them off, but the more he severed, the more they multiplied, until they massed into something unspeakably unnatural.

And this abomination could wield all the arcane arts Xu Qingshan himself had known.

Xu Qingshan was no ordinary practitioner—he had been brought from the Great Qian Celestial Empire by the temple’s abbot, as part of the plan to forge a god.

In those days, when the world was just beginning to shift and spiritual energy still remained, such practitioners held gods in contempt, treating them as mere livestock, obliterating them at the slightest disobedience.

Could Xu Qingshan's severed arms have been anything simple?

Though the brass oil lamp found Chen Huangpi uncanny, it was only his physical strength that was truly formidable—his soul was, in fact, his greatest weakness. Before he cultivated the Art of Harmonizing Yin and Yang, the lamp couldn’t even sense Chen Huangpi’s soul at all; had it not been for his utterly human actions and demeanor, it would have suspected him to be little more than a corpse.

“Why didn’t the three abbots intervene?” the brass oil lamp muttered. “That wicked Buddha tried to convert Chen Huangpi and provoked their wrath—yet now, when Chen Huangpi’s life is truly at stake, do they simply not care?”

“Or maybe Chen Huangpi is fine after all.”

…

Meanwhile, inside the old temple, after Chen Huangpi’s departure, the entire place underwent a cataclysmic transformation.

Three colossal suns—one purple, one white, one blue—contended for dominance. As if provoked, the purple and white forced back the blue sun’s oppression.

Boom… boom… boom…

The mournful, distorted tolling of the Ninefold Parting Bell rang from within the blue sun, only to enrage the other two further.

At the gate of the Sutra Repository, Silver Horn watched the three suns with terror and anxiety. Before, Golden Horn had forbidden him to look; now that Golden Horn was gone, he stared wide-eyed.

Silver Horn saw the awe-inspiring, dreadful figures within the three suns: one in a purple robe, one in white, one in blue—the three abbots, one divided into three forms.

Moreover, as the child of the All-Hearing Beast, Silver Horn could hear the voices emanating from the suns.

“Third brother, with us here to watch over Huangpi, can’t you rest easy in the old temple?”

“If you truly miss him that much, eldest and I will let him visit you often.”

At these words, the Ninefold Parting Bell within the blue sun suddenly fell silent.

Then a voice, wild with madness, erupted: “One wants to refine him into a pill, one wants to eat him raw—is this how you care for Huangpi?”

“You’re both insane! I’m not mad!”

“Kill! All must be killed!”

“All those abominations—kill them all!”

“Gods who eat men must die!”

“Men who are no longer human must die!”

“The world’s transformation must die!”

The third master’s murderous intent blazed, the blue sun flaring with frigid brilliance that chilled to the bone.

The eldest master raged, “If I could truly kill, would I be mad?”

The second was venomous: “If I eat Huangpi, I can purge the world and remake it anew!”

The third, wild-eyed: “No need for pills, no need to consume him! Give me enough time and I’ll kill them all myself!”

“You two can’t do it, but I can!”

“If even I can’t, then let’s just kill Huangpi!”

“When he’s dead, he’ll suffer no more, no longer be mistreated!”

“Yes, once I’m free, the first thing I’ll do is kill Huangpi!”

…

Unaware of his third master’s murderous vow, Chen Huangpi was dreaming.

He dreamt he’d somehow returned to the egg, just as before.

Yet this time, he felt at peace, warm, comfortable.

He tried to open his eyes, but found he had no eyes.

No, not just eyes—no mouth, no ears, no nose. He existed only as consciousness.

“Oh no, am I just yolk and white now?” The thought startled him.

In the Ten-Thousand Mountains, there were not only abominations, but also ordinary animals, though they dared not approach Jade Qiong Mountain. During his patrols, he’d found bird nests, and when he broke the eggs, all that was inside was yolk and white. Mix it up with sesame oil and fry it—delicious.

Of course, Chen Huangpi didn’t know that even if he truly were born from an egg, he could never become mere yolk and white. That was only the nourishment within the shell.

He didn’t know how much time had passed.

Suddenly, he perceived a faint light before him.

At the same time, his ears picked up the faintest sounds.

He tried to command his body, and it responded.

“I’m nearly grown into human form!” Joy filled his awareness.

But it was still too slow.

“Faster, faster!” he urged, restless and impatient, trapped inside the egg, desperate to break free and leap into the world.

Yet he wondered—would countless eyes still be waiting outside the shell this time?

As if sensing his urgency, his growth quickened.

Now it wasn’t just faint light—his eyes had formed.

He saw that inside the shell, he was wrapped in gold-and-black energy as tangible as matter itself.

He heard cranes calling outside the egg, immortals dancing, as if celebrating his birth.

But gradually, the gold-and-black energy faded away.

The cranes’ calls turned mournful.

The immortals danced no more.

Chen Huangpi was filled with dread.

A cold voice outside the shell declared, “So many treasures wasted, and in the end, just a stillbirth—a failure!”

That failure meant Chen Huangpi in the egg.

“I’m not a failure!” Chen Huangpi shouted in fury. “I was born! I’m not stillborn!”

“It’s the fault of this world, not his,” another voice said.

“Is that my master’s voice?” Chen Huangpi froze, then called out, “Master, I’m in the egg—can you hear me?”

But as soon as he spoke, disappointment set in.

It was only a dream.

How could a dream-master hear his call?

“The Ten-Thousand Mountains are a land of ultimate yin and yang extremes.”

“Perhaps, if he goes there, he’ll have a chance to be born.”

“Chen Shidao!”

That cold voice spoke again: “The world is changing—I am about to seal all of Great Qian. If you take that thing to the Ten-Thousand Mountains, you can never return.”

Chen Shidao replied, “So be it.”

“Brother Emperor, I forbid you to go!”

“Don’t worry, Your Majesty. When the world’s transformation passes, I will return with him.”

“The change will last eighteen thousand years. Even you, so close to the Dao, cannot last that long.”

“Then let my disciple return in my stead.”

Let’s post one more chapter for now—another will come this evening.

Wrote too much yesterday—my hands ache, so I didn’t write last night.

(End of chapter)