Seventy-Seven: The Divine Compass Appears Again

At dawn, in the Hundred Thousand Mountains, a fine autumn rain began to fall without warning.

Mount Yuqiong was the tallest peak in the region.

It could not be called a place of jagged wonders or surpassing beauty, yet it was strange and ever-shifting, and with the autumn rain descending over it, it seemed all the colder and more desolate.

Song Jiu held an oiled-paper umbrella. Through the misty rain, he could just make out the Daoist temple atop Mount Yuqiong.

His gaze lowered.

At the foot of the mountain, thin threads of smoke were rising from human dwellings.

“There are actually people living here?”

His tone was peculiar. He took a step forward, and his figure appeared within Yellow Beard Village.

At this hour, some of the ragged survivors in the village were already shouldering hoes, preparing to head into the fields.

Ever since they had settled beneath Mount Yuqiong, they had begun clearing wasteland for cultivation.

Yet when Song Jiu passed by them, not a single person noticed him.

The City God of Qing’an County said indifferently, “Some days ago, the earth-dragon stirred in the Hundred Thousand Mountains. These are likely displaced survivors who fled here from the disaster.”

“Look, there’s even a cultivator.”

A strange light flickered in Song Jiu’s eyes as he looked at Granny Tang, who knew nothing of this.

Granny Tang was only at the Golden Core stage.

Now that the end of her lifespan was approaching, all she wished was to arrange the survivors’ future as best she could before dying.

At that moment, Song Jiu’s thoughts shifted, and he appeared before her.

“Greetings, Senior...”

Granny Tang’s expression changed. She hurriedly lowered her head. She had looked at him only once, yet already felt as if her mind were about to split apart.

There was no need to think further.

This had to be a Nascent Soul cultivator.

And not just any Nascent Soul cultivator, but one who, like Madam Twelve, had already reached the utmost limit of the path of cultivation.

One more step, and he would become a god upon the earth.

Song Jiu was not a noble-born young lady like Song Qiuyue.

Nor was he a decisive, ruthless figure like Madam Twelve.

He was Song Tiangang’s loyal servant.

What sort of people had he not seen? With a single glance, he discerned Granny Tang’s true nature.

Smiling faintly, Song Jiu said, “You people cannot have been at Mount Yuqiong for long. Have you seen a young woman, about eighteen or nineteen, accompanied by a group of Nascent Soul cultivators? If you have, please tell me truthfully.”

Granny Tang replied, “They were all in Pure Immortal Temple. They’re dead now. Chen Huangpi killed them all.”

The moment those words left her mouth, Granny Tang was horrified.

She had merely listened to his question, and then, as if by instinct, revealed everything without reservation.

“Do not be afraid,” Song Jiu said calmly. “It is only a minor trick. Let me ask you this—who exactly is this Chen Huangpi, that he should possess such means?”

“He is the temple master’s disciple.”

“And those hundred gods—was he the one who killed them as well?”

“He only killed forty.”

“He is a god?”

“No.”

At that, Song Jiu’s brow furrowed at once.

If he was not a god, then he was a Nascent Soul cultivator.

For one Nascent Soul cultivator to fight three of the same realm was already the mark of heaven-gifted talent.

But to slaughter dozens of cultivators of the same level as easily as one might cut grass, and in the same stroke kill forty gods—such a thing could not be explained by talent alone.

Could this Chen Huangpi be some baleful aberration?

And one that could even speak like a human, a thing on par with calamity?

Most crucially, he even had a master.

At that thought, a thick unease rose in Song Jiu’s heart.

It felt as though, somewhere in the unseen, something had fixed its gaze upon him.

He asked Granny Tang again, “This temple master you speak of—what kind of being is he?”

Granny Tang answered instinctively, “The temple master is simply the temple master.”

“Is he in the temple?”

“He is.”

“My thanks.”

Song Jiu cupped his hands and turned to leave without the slightest hesitation.

If the disciple alone had slaughtered dozens of cultivators and forty gods, then he was surely a calamity.

And a master capable of teaching such a calamity could only be, at the very least, an aberration worthy of being called a tribulation.

Granny Tang was but mortal-eyed and mortal-hearted; her mind had been clouded, and she could not perceive their true nature, taking them merely for master and disciple.

Song Jiu had come for revenge.

He had not come to die.

With the County City God, himself as a temporarily invested county magistrate, and eight hundred grass-head gods at his side, even if they encountered a true tribulation they could still withdraw with ease.

But only withdraw.

To try to kill a lesser aberration before the eyes of a greater one would be nothing short of a fool’s dream.

And even taking ten thousand steps back—even if they truly managed to kill him—who knew whether that so-called temple master would go mad and hunt them down without end?

By then, not only would vengeance fail, more lives would be thrown away for nothing.

Yet just then, Song Jiu hesitated, then stopped and turned back.

“Is this Chen Huangpi in the temple as well?”

If he was, then Song Jiu would leave at once.

If not, then there might still be room to maneuver.

Granny Tang shook her head. “Chen Huangpi went to the God-Burying Tomb. He is not in the temple.”

“Why did he go there?”

“Because the temple master is dead. Chen Huangpi wants to find a way to save him.”

“Dead?”

Song Jiu immediately looked toward the summit of Mount Yuqiong, toward Pure Immortal Temple veiled in the autumn rain.

...

Within Pure Immortal Temple, a light breeze and fine rain drifted through the air.

The Fox Mountain God sat cross-legged on the ground, holding three portraits of the temple master in its arms.

It did not dare set them down carelessly.

Nor did it know where they ought to be placed.

So it had no choice but to stiffen its resolve and keep holding them.

At that moment, the Fox Mountain God suddenly frowned and shouted toward the outside of the hall, “Who goes there?”

“Song Jiu, subordinate to Governor Xu.”

Song Jiu walked into the great hall with composed ease and cupped his hands toward the Fox Mountain God. “You must be the mountain god of Yellow Beard Village?”

“And what if I am?”

The Fox Mountain God’s expression changed slightly.

Though it had been drained of human vitality and then taken in a great mouthful of spiritual energy, leaving it very different from before, it was still intimately familiar with the scent of human vitality.

It could smell the exuberant vitality on Song Jiu’s body. It blazed like a great sun.

Faintly, it could even discern a god clad in azure armor.

That was a being far above it in rank.

At this thought, the Fox Mountain God’s heart stirred. Its eyes widened at once, and in a mixture of excitement and unease it said, “Could it be that you have come to rescue me?”

“Rescue you?” Song Jiu said with a half-smile. “And how exactly should I do that?”

The Fox Mountain God replied eagerly, “Since your surname is Song, then you must be kin to Miss Song. She and I were trapped in this devil’s den together. She once told me that Governor Xu was her uncle, and that he would certainly send people to save her. But alas, Chen Huangpi was too savage. Miss Song merely owed him a little money, and he murdered her cruelly for it.”

“Before she died, Miss Song told me to endure in silence and hide her body well.”

“I may be only a petty mountain god of the wilds, but even I know the reputation of the Song clan of Qinghe is an excellent one. If you have not come to rescue me, surely you have not come to kill me?”

At those words, Song Jiu froze.

It was not that he believed the Fox Mountain God.

A man of his experience would never take someone’s few casual words as truth.

Only children did that.

He simply had not expected Miss Song’s corpse to have been hidden away.

He had assumed it had been eaten.

After a moment’s thought, Song Jiu said, “Where is Miss Song’s body?”

The Fox Mountain God replied, “On the rear mountain. There is a broad clearing there. Miss Song’s corpse, together with those cultivator brothers, was hidden there by me.”

“Good. Then take me there.”

Song Jiu stared fixedly at the Fox Mountain God.

But the Fox Mountain God shook its head. “I cannot. I am trapped here. If I could leave, I would have fled long ago while Chen Huangpi was away.”

As it spoke, the Fox Mountain God jerked its chin subtly behind itself.

Song Jiu looked over and saw only a statue, without the slightest trace of incense.

He sneered. “I see no sign of your plight. All I see is that you seem quite at ease in this hall, even kneeling to kowtow to that sta—”

Before he could finish the word, his expression froze.

That was no statue.

It was plainly a bizarre corpse, with two heads already grown, and between them a mass of blurred flesh.

Earlier, he had taken it for an idol of some enshrined deity.

Now that he looked properly, his scalp prickled with horror.

Even stranger still—

Song Jiu could clearly see the corpse twitching from time to time.

As if it had not quite died.

In his mind, the voice of the City God of Qing’an County exploded like thunder.

“Evil—too evil!”

“Lord Song, did you see it? That Daoist corpse is about to grow a third head!”

“Go! Before the third head comes out, go at once!”

Song Jiu’s face turned ugly. He hurriedly retreated from the main hall of Pure Immortal Temple.

“Brother Song, wait!”

The Fox Mountain God hastily called after him. “The temple master is already dead—you need not be afraid. I have thought it through. If I stay and wait for Chen Huangpi to return, I am dead anyway. Better to leave with you. Perhaps there is still a sliver of hope.”

But Song Jiu had already fled, faster even than when he had arrived.

Inside the hall, the faint trace of human vitality that had just arisen vanished at once.

The Fox Mountain God gave a disdainful laugh. “With courage like that, and you still wanted to play mind games with this god? I need only make the slightest move to scare you into pissing yourselves.”

...

Song Jiu became a streak of fleeing light and shot out of Pure Immortal Temple.

Had he been facing Chen Huangpi, he would naturally not have been reduced to such a sorry state.

But that temple master had given him a very bad feeling.

He had only looked once, yet the grotesque sight would not leave his mind.

The more he dwelled on it, the more uneasy he became.

The feeling was much like the dread he had known in childhood, when the Song family, in training loyal servants such as him, had ordered him to sleep in the same coffin as a corpse for seven days and nights.

As though at any moment the corpse would revive and devour him alive.

It was sinister to the extreme.

Only after flying several hundred li from Mount Yuqiong did Song Jiu finally stop.

“Lord Song, are we returning just like this?” asked the City God of Qing’an County.

“Returning?” Song Jiu shook his head. “If I return now, I will have no way to answer for it. That Chen Huangpi is likely no more than a calamity. I can cut off his head before I leave.”

The City God said, “He went to the God-Burying Tomb. Does my lord know where that place is?”

Song Jiu replied, “I do not. Fortunately, I brought the geomantic divine compass. He killed Miss Song, and so he must have been tainted by her human vitality. If that vitality has not yet dispersed, then I can roughly determine which direction he went.”

As he spoke, his thoughts moved, and from the species-pouch hanging at his waist flew out a square geomantic divine compass of cast bronze.

Then Song Jiu produced a single long strand of hair.

It belonged to Song Qiuyue.

He tied the hair to the needle of the compass, sent a thread of magic power into it, and formed a hand seal. At once, the needle began to spin.

A moment later, it pointed in one direction.

Song Jiu let out a breath of relief. “If we go this way, we will surely catch up to Chen Huangpi.”

But no sooner had he spoken than the needle suddenly trembled and swung toward another direction.

The two directions were not merely somewhat different—they were as opposite as south and north.

Song Jiu narrowed his eyes and said in a tone of astonishment, “It sensed another geomantic divine compass? Is it the one carried by Lin Ye and his people, or Madam Twelve’s?”