Everyone gets a share.

Within the main hall of the Pure Immortal Temple, a cacophony of voices rang out.

Chen Huangpi tore down his master’s portrait, rolled it up carelessly, and tossed it onto the floor.

“Be gentle, be gentle!” The Fox Mountain God’s fur bristled in alarm, rushing to catch the three portraits of the temple master, speaking with trembling fear, “Where should I put them, where should I put them?”

These were the portraits of the temple master himself.

Chen Huangpi gave it no mind.

But the Fox Mountain God dared not simply lay them aside.

The Brass Oil Lamp said, “If you really don’t know what to do, just hold them for now. When the temple master awakens, he might praise you for your filial piety.”

“That’s not right…” The Fox Mountain God was nearly in tears. “I’m only a humble mountain god, I dare not overstep. Why don’t you hold them, Second Huang? You were made by the temple master, surely you’re more suitable than I am.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” The Brass Oil Lamp spat out those three words, gloating.

It had served in the Pure Immortal Temple for many years. It knew well what could and could not be done.

The Fox Mountain God pleaded, “Second Huang, show me a way out. I’m truly terrified.”

“Hm? What did you just call me?”

“Second Huang Brother…”

“That’s more like it.” The Brass Oil Lamp said slyly, “There is a way. See the Daoist robe Chen Huangpi is wearing?”

“Should I make a Daoist robe too?” The Fox Mountain God asked tentatively.

It knew the robe had been made for Chen Huangpi by Granny Tang, and Chen Huangpi had not kept it a secret.

The Brass Oil Lamp scoffed, “You fox, you aren’t as shrewd as your temple caretaker. When a person makes a robe, it’s sincere. If you imitate, everyone will see through your motives. How about this, become my dog, and I’ll watch out for you.”

“No, absolutely not.” The Fox Mountain God shook its head fiercely. It only wanted to be Chen Huangpi’s dog, not the dog of Chen Huangpi’s dog.

There were degrees of closeness, after all.

Besides, the Brass Oil Lamp was sly and wicked. If it really became its dog, who knew what torment lay ahead.

The Brass Oil Lamp was furious, “You won’t do this, nor that. Fine, then wait for death.”

“I…” The Fox Mountain God was caught between a rock and a hard place, bitterness welling in its heart.

It blamed itself for its loose tongue.

It had foolishly mentioned that the temple master always moved about at night.

Now, Chen Huangpi’s mind had taken that notion and insisted on nailing the temple master to the wall, saying that would keep him still.

When the temple master woke, it feared its own skin would be flayed.

Just then, Chen Huangpi spoke up, “Second Huang, stop scaring the Fox Mountain God. It guarded my master’s body, and even if it didn’t achieve much, it endured hardship. You can’t treat it like this.”

With that, Chen Huangpi jumped down from the altar.

“And you, Fox Mountain God,” Chen Huangpi said seriously, “Don’t be afraid. I’ve told my master not to eat you. He loves me most, you’ll be fine.”

“Thank you, Chen Huangpi.” The Fox Mountain God was deeply moved, desperate to kneel in gratitude.

But holding the temple master’s portrait, it dared not do so.

Otherwise, it would seem as though the master was bowing to his disciple, which would utterly disrupt the hierarchy of the Pure Immortal Temple.

Chen Huangpi was unaware of the Fox Mountain God’s thoughts.

He glanced at his master’s corpse, which was on the verge of sprouting a third head, and instructed the Brass Oil Lamp, “Second Huang, help me lift my master’s body onto the altar. It’ll make it easier to hammer in the nails.”

At these words, the Brass Oil Lamp was dumbfounded. “What? Me?”

“Yes, you. No one is allowed to shirk today.”

This sounded to the Brass Oil Lamp not like ‘no one can be lazy,’ but rather ‘no one can hope to survive.’

It complained, “I’ve got skinny arms and legs, no strength at all. Ah, Ghost, Ghost is strong, call Ghost instead.”

Suddenly, Chen Huangpi’s Soul-Reaping Register radiated a chill.

The Death-Seeking Ghost’s head popped out, then retreated.

“Master, the Golden-Horned one is unruly, I need more time. Give me a few more days and I’ll teach it to keep its mouth shut.”

With that, the Soul-Reaping Register fell silent, lifeless.

Now, the Brass Oil Lamp had no excuse.

It hung its head and grew sixteen arms, helping Chen Huangpi lift the temple master’s corpse onto the altar.

A storm of clattering noises followed.

When Chen Huangpi hammered in the last nail, he shook his master’s corpse.

The clothes were nailed tightly, immobilizing the body.

“Second Huang, how do you rate my craftsmanship?”

“I wouldn’t dare judge.”

“Alright then.” Chen Huangpi shrugged, surveying his handiwork. Suddenly, he remarked, “Say what you will, but with my master standing on the altar, he looks more imposing than those gods.”

Hearing this, both the Brass Oil Lamp and Fox Mountain God looked up at the altar.

The Pure Immortal Temple had once enshrined many gods, all standing upon the altar, but they had since been driven out.

Now, the temple master stood on the altar, his Daoist robe nailed to the wall, giving rise to an indescribable, uncanny aura. The Brass Oil Lamp racked its brains but could not find a fitting phrase.

It all felt as strange as Chen Huangpi himself.

“Enough, I won’t talk with you anymore,” Chen Huangpi said, clapping his hands. “The power I got from the Demon Tree is spent. I need to water it more and ask for more power.”

Tomorrow, he would go to the Tomb of the Gods.

He needed ample strength to squander—only the Demon Tree would suffer for it.

With that, Chen Huangpi sat cross-legged.

Soon, from within his kidney temple, the tortured, frantic wails of the Demon Tree could be faintly heard.

…

At that moment, at the border between the Ten-Thousand Mountains and Xuzhou City.

Since the world’s transformation, this place had become a buffer zone.

Though it was a plain, it was filled with towering trees.

Each tree required five or six adults to encircle its trunk, and even the shortest were nearly a hundred meters tall. Their branches and leaves were so dense as to block out all sunlight.

One side faced the Ten-Thousand Mountains.

The other faced Xuzhou City.

Strangely, the leaves on the side toward Xuzhou City were yellowing, while those facing the Ten-Thousand Mountains were lush and green, full of vitality.

A pale-faced man in a black long robe, with a bronze seal hanging at his waist, moved through the dense forest.

His name was Song Jiu, servant to Song Tiangang.

Song Jiu walked at a leisurely pace, but each step carried him nearly a hundred yards.

“The young lady’s life token has shattered.”

“She brought it upon herself, yet she is still a daughter of the Song family.”

“I have two orders: one to collect the corpse, the other to avenge her.”

“Everyone in the Pure Immortal Temple has chosen a path to death.”

Song Jiu muttered, unclear to whom he spoke.

Yet a voice, deep as a great bell, responded.

“I am the City God of Qing’an County. I have brought all eight hundred grass-head spirits under my command, ready to serve you.”

“Very well, I will certainly report your merit to the master when the time comes.”

As the saying goes, even the lowest official at the gates of a prime minister holds rank.

Though Song Jiu was Song Tiangang’s servant, in the wider world, which City God of the four counties under Xuzhou dared slight him? Each addressed him as ‘Sir.’

Moreover, this time Song Jiu wore the seal, temporarily bearing the title of acting County Magistrate.

With such presence, he could afford to posture before the Qing’an City God.

Song Jiu did not hurry.

For the Ten-Thousand Mountains were a forbidden zone, teeming with sinister oddities.

He brought a City God and eight hundred grass-head spirits.

Though formidable, he dared not parade openly, lest he provoke the restless evil beings. If disaster struck, they could be entangled, and should they encounter an entity worthy of being called a calamity, they would have to slink away in defeat.

“Night falls.” Song Jiu looked up. The giant sun slowly sank behind the westernmost edge of the Ten-Thousand Mountains. As the last rays vanished, a crimson moon rose from the opposite direction.

Darkness engulfed the entire mountain range.

Everywhere was pitch black.

Occasionally, faint rustling could be heard, as if man-eating beasts lurked in the shadows.

Song Jiu snorted coldly, unconcerned, and sat cross-legged.

Above him, a spectral figure clad in azure armor appeared, opening its mouth to spit forth a flame that burned on the ground.

The flame was constrained, unable to spread, illuminating a ten-meter radius.

Meanwhile, in the darkness, a strange voice sounded.

“Uncle Yang, Song Jiu brought a City God. He won’t discover us, will he?”

“Rest assured. Outside, that City God could spot us at a glance. But here in the Ten-Thousand Mountains, he’ll only see us as evil beings.”

“That’s true. I understand the principle of ‘darkness beneath the lamp.’”

Wang Mingdao felt the chill emanating from Uncle Yang’s form and was deeply reassured.

He was Wang Taifu’s only son and held the post of Left Guard.

To uncover what Song Tiangang was scheming, Wang Mingdao had hidden in the mountain forest since yesterday, keeping watch.

But unexpectedly, it was Song Jiu who arrived, bringing a City God.

Fortunately, Uncle Yang was an anomaly—a close friend of his father, deified in appearance, but in truth an evil entity masquerading as a god.

Normally, evil entities and humans were mortal enemies.

But Uncle Yang was different, peculiar and unique.

Wang Mingdao had never encountered an evil entity like Uncle Yang, who could speak human words, understand human affairs, and treated him as his own nephew.

Uncle Yang had no physical form, existing like a shadow.

Standing within that shadow, Wang Mingdao’s presence was completely concealed, as if cloaked in the skin of an evil being.

“Tomorrow Song Jiu will reach the Pure Immortal Temple, but you and I cannot approach.”

“I only need to see from afar—that is enough.”

Wang Mingdao understood well: with a hundred gods trapped around the Pure Immortal Temple, neither he nor Uncle Yang dared step foot there.

To glance from afar, to gauge the situation, was sufficient.

As the saying goes, ‘In the mountains, time passes unnoticed.’

Night fell swiftly, and departed just as quickly.

In the blink of an eye, dawn arrived.

Song Jiu, seated cross-legged, suddenly opened his eyes, a sharp glint within.

“Let’s go, to the Pure Immortal Temple!”

(End of chapter)