The earthy smell is overwhelmingly strong.

"Chen Huangpi, do you feel it? It seems we’re safe now!"

The big dog, conjured from the brass oil lamp, barked incessantly.

"It really does seem so."

Chen Huangpi was surprised. The Dog-Taming Sutra connected his mind with the brass oil lamp, enhancing his spiritual senses through it as well.

The suffocating sense of peril, the feeling of treading on thin ice, had vanished—he didn’t know when it had happened.

Moreover, he could sense that the evil god, who was on the verge of transforming into the Yellow Calamity, now exuded a faint, nearly dissipated aura.

It was as if it were about to disappear.

Chen Huangpi frowned. "The earth-dragon’s uprising isn’t over, and the yellow mud hasn’t flowed back into the underworld. Why has its aura suddenly weakened?"

"I have no idea!" The brass oil lamp shook its dog head in confusion. "Maybe those four hair gods managed to injure it?"

But even as it spoke, it didn’t believe its own words.

Perhaps the four divine beings could have wounded or even blown apart the evil god, but they could never kill it. As long as the earth-dragon’s uprising continued and the tainted yellow mud didn’t return, the polluted evil god could never truly die.

Besides, the divine avatars were as fragile as paper before the yellow mud—contact meant corruption.

No matter how mighty, they couldn’t handle the evil god.

So the question remained: who or what had injured the evil god so gravely?

The brass oil lamp even felt the illusion that the evil god’s aura was so faint, it was as if it were about to perish.

"Huang Er, is there really such a terrifying being in this vast mountain range?"

"Absolutely not! No way!" The brass oil lamp shook its head like a rattle drum.

What a joke—without the temple master’s permission, nothing that powerful could emerge in these mountains.

Then again, now that the temple master had gone mad, and Chen Huangpi was patrolling the mountains, who could say? Perhaps some bizarre entity or evil god had used this brief respite to transform.

"Enough, let's not dwell on it. Let's hurry back to the temple—I miss the master!" The brass oil lamp hurried Chen Huangpi along.

Chen Huangpi knew full well that Huang Er wasn’t missing his master; it was simply afraid.

"I miss master too," Chen Huangpi replied. By now, the vital energy between his kidneys was nearly depleted, and the brass oil lamp’s oil was almost exhausted. Thankfully, it was daytime—much safer than night. Though the paths had shifted and the rivers reversed, he could still recognize the direction of Pure Immortal Temple.

…

At that very moment.

High above the mountain range, a graceful figure sped through the sky, as if searching for something.

At night, no cultivator, regardless of their power, dared to fly. Doing so would attract the attention of the evil things below.

But daylight imposed no such restrictions.

"People… people… where are there people?"

It was the voice of the Twelfth Lady.

But now, she had lost her physical body and her foundation. Her nascent soul was on the verge of dissipating.

Once a cultivator reached the nascent soul stage, they became fundamentally different from mortals—destined for eight centuries of life, their bodies mere shells to be changed at will.

But here, amid these mountains teeming with evil, without the protection of a divine idol, she could neither send word outside nor communicate with her servant-cultivators.

Worst of all, what had just happened was so terrifying, it had nearly broken her mind. In her panic-stricken flight, she had no time to think about finding a new body.

Now, disoriented, she didn’t even know where she was. To follow Chen Huangpi’s trail and find a remnant or servant-cultivator to possess was wishful thinking.

"If I’d known, I would never have separated from the god-woman," the Twelfth Lady muttered bitterly.

When they fled, Granny Tang ran east while she ran west.

If they hadn’t split up, at least she would have had options now.

Then again, even that was uncertain—since Granny Tang’s mountain god wasn’t dead.

The Twelfth Lady shuddered uncontrollably whenever she recalled the scene.

When the eerie, white-robed old priest appeared, intent on devouring the four gods, the evil god transforming into the Yellow Calamity stood there like a sacrificial lamb, too terrified to move.

No, even livestock would resist—this evil god was as helpless as a dish on the table.

That’s right—a dish.

The Twelfth Lady had watched, wide-eyed, as the white-robed priest lifted the evil god’s skullcap, scooped out and savored its brain, utterly absorbed, as though tasting supreme delight, before gnawing away most of its body.

The sound of chewing, the gulping—each noise was soaked in cruelty.

What’s more, the old priest genuinely seemed to relish his meal.

"Too earthy—doesn’t go down well!"

"Tasteless… not as good as Huangpi."

With that, the white-robed priest stopped eating the evil god and turned his head toward the temple door.

He sniffed the air.

As if he’d caught a scent.

The next moment, the Twelfth Lady witnessed a scene that shattered her very soul.

"Human essence! Human essence!"

"Ahhhhhh!"

The old priest’s face twisted with madness. The temple doors blew open, and the four gods within tried to escape, as if Judgment Day had arrived.

But there was no escape.

The priest reached out with both hands, and the idols shrank helplessly into his grasp, gripped by despair.

"Spare us! Spare us!"

The lofty gods begged piteously for their lives.

But the priest ignored them. With a single breath, he sucked all the incense and vital energy from their bodies.

The three gods who had once been cultivators instantly crumbled into piles of dirt.

As for the fox mountain god, the Twelfth Lady didn’t know—by then she had already fled, too terrified to look back.

And she dared not see more. Who knew if, after devouring the gods, the old priest might turn his hunger on humans?

Just then, the Twelfth Lady paused, joy flashing in her eyes.

"It’s that boy!"

From her vantage above the forest, she saw a half-grown youth in a Daoist robe riding a yellow dog—it was Chen Huangpi.

Even better, both Chen Huangpi and the dog’s auras were feeble.

For a nascent soul cultivator, as long as the nascent soul remained, any body could be taken.

"Chen Huangpi, dear brother, kin of mine!"

"What is it, Huang Er?" Chen Huangpi knew what the lamp was thinking, but feigned ignorance.

The brass oil lamp barked irritably, "We’re connected in spirit—how can you ask me that? Enough nonsense, lift the Dog-Taming Sutra! You’re too heavy; you’re breaking my back!"

Chen Huangpi replied quickly, "Don’t fret, Huang Er. I can’t bear to see you like this. But the Dog-Taming Sutra is too strange—I need to study it carefully. If I’m careless, something could go wrong, and then…"

"And then what?" the lamp pressed anxiously.

Chen Huangpi stifled a laugh. "Well, things might end up like this time—me riding you instead of the other way around. We’re such close companions, I have to be cautious."

"As if you’d be so kind," the lamp grumbled, not believing him—a thick-skinned, shameless fellow, impervious even to real fire.

"You don’t trust me? Fine, let’s break the Sutra now. If something goes wrong, don’t blame me!" Chen Huangpi feigned anger.

That made the lamp hesitate.

"My friend, my dear friend, don’t be angry—I shouldn’t have doubted you. It was my mistake."

The brass oil lamp reflected that it had lied first, pretending to be a mere artifact, unfit to be a dog. Perhaps that was why the Dog-Taming Sutra had reversed their roles. Embarrassed by its own thoughts, it fell silent.

Chen Huangpi saw this and felt smug.

Suddenly, the brass oil lamp cried, "Chen Huangpi, look! Isn’t that woman flying toward us?"

"Twelfth Lady?" Chen Huangpi looked up, meeting her gaze as she silently approached.

"Madam, you’re alive?"

"Yes… yes, I am…" The Twelfth Lady had hoped to sneak up behind Chen Huangpi and seize his body, but was discovered before she could act. Cautious now, she hesitated.

"You…" She faltered, unsure how to address him. "Have you seen any survivors or my servant-cultivators?"

Chen Huangpi shook his head. "No, we were separated long ago."

"Do you remember which direction they went?"

"Maybe east, maybe west—it was all confusion. I can’t say for certain."

He spoke the truth; he hadn’t cared about their whereabouts and hadn’t bothered to remember.

The Twelfth Lady hesitated. Her nascent soul couldn’t delay much longer. Chen Huangpi and the dog were both clearly drained—this might be her only chance.

If her resolve hadn’t been shattered, she wouldn’t have hesitated. Once she chose, she would act decisively.

But times had changed.

"Granny Tang…" Suddenly, the Twelfth Lady looked ahead in delight. "You survived too?"

Chen Huangpi turned, but saw nothing.

"Die!"

The Twelfth Lady shrieked, her voice laced with a soul-shattering resonance—a technique meant to attack the spirit itself. At the same instant, two sinister characters, glowing with strange colors, appeared in her hands. She brought them down on Chen Huangpi’s head.

She struck without hesitation, giving him no chance to react.

But the brass oil lamp was unfazed, its fiery dog eyes full of mockery.

"Fool! The temple master tempered Chen Huangpi for so long, not even burning a single hair. You, left with only a nascent soul and about to be scattered, think you can kill him with just a clap? Dream on!"

Yet in the next moment, the lamp’s laughter faded.

The instant the Twelfth Lady’s hands struck Chen Huangpi’s head, a muffled thud sounded.

Chen Huangpi’s body stiffened, frozen in place.

A cold, ashen light, like a strange membrane, flashed over him.

Then, bizarre characters resembling birds, flowers, and fish appeared on his skin. Wisps of black smoke seeped from his pores—smoke akin to that which shrouded the mutated god, but purer and more sinister.