Third Master

Standing there, Chen Huangpi held a stick of candied hawthorn in one hand and a brass oil lamp in the other, completely at a loss.

“Master told me to go back to sleep, but dawn is almost here. What if I can’t get out in time?”

Once the sun rose, the extra section of Jingxian Monastery would disappear. If he wasn’t out by then, he’d never be able to leave.

Chen Huangpi was beside himself with anxiety.

He stared at the brass oil lamp in his hand and hurriedly urged, “Huang Er, Huang Er, wake up! Something terrible has happened!”

But the lamp remained motionless.

“Oh no, did Huang Er fail to revive?” Chen Huangpi’s heart was in turmoil.

It was at that moment a chilling voice sounded.

The Death-Seeking Ghost sneered, “Your master is treating you like a child—life and death are decreed by fate. Dead is dead. Just because he says you’ll live, it doesn’t mean you will. Even the one from the Underworld can’t change that—at best, they can arrange a reincarnation. That’s the way of heaven.”

“You’re lying!” Chen Huangpi retorted irritably, “You have no idea how powerful my master is. If he says so, it must be true!”

The Death-Seeking Ghost replied, “I admit, your master is quite strange—he gnawed me to a skeleton, and even devoured my previous host alive. But when it comes to matters of life and death, no being in this world knows more than I do.”

Chen Huangpi shot back, “If you know so much, why are you a ghost?”

“Why don’t you come back to life?”

“Do you really enjoy being a skeleton?”

The barrage of questions left the Death-Seeking Ghost speechless, both annoyed and enraged. This new host was outrageously rude. Even the previous, more sinister host had never treated it this way.

But it dared not truly lose its temper, for judging by Chen Huangpi’s master’s demeanor, he seemed the protective type. If he found out, the Death-Seeking Ghost might not even remain a skeleton.

It remembered well how, the last time that uncanny Daoist devoured its former host, it had immediately withdrawn into the Soul-Hunting Register, sensing the Daoist’s dreadful power.

Within the register was a world unto itself—a corner of the Nether Domain. Unless one was the register’s master or a soul, no matter how great one’s cultivation, entry was impossible.

Yet, Chen Huangpi’s master had appeared inside the Nether Domain as if by magic. The Soul-Hunting Register hadn’t even sensed his presence, leaving the Death-Seeking Ghost to be gnawed down to bare bones.

Even now, recalling that event sent pain shooting through every bone.

“Just wait,” the Death-Seeking Ghost sneered inwardly, “Let him realize that lamp is useless. Then he’ll know who’s right and who’s wrong.”

With that, the ghost fell silent, waiting in the shadows for Chen Huangpi’s humiliation.

…

Meanwhile, within the newly appeared section of Jingxian Monastery, the elder Daoist in the purple robe moved forward, his face grim. Wherever his gaze swept, the darkness revealed all its secrets. Even where moonlight could not reach, his sight was undiminished.

He followed the path Chen Huangpi and the brass lamp had taken—the path of nine hundred and ninety-eight steps.

But it was not the same for him. When Chen Huangpi walked it, there had been only nine hundred and ninety-eight steps, for the evil thing was not present. Now, as the purple-robed elder advanced, even after nine hundred and ninety-eight steps, he had not reached the end.

Only a single step remained ahead.

Just one more step—and upon reaching the nine hundred and ninety-ninth, the evil entity would act, dragging the trespasser into some unknown realm.

The elder cast a glance downward. There, lying at his feet, was a creature with only half a body—its upper half rotten, its lower half a mass of fleshy growths. It had once been a Daoist of this very monastery. In death, it had become a monstrous aberration.

Yet for reasons unknown, it seemed not to have forgotten the elder. Or perhaps it was simply gripped by terror, refusing to look away from him.

“Out of my sight.”

With a single word, the purple-robed elder stamped the creature into the mud, grinding it to pulp before striding on. The notion that stepping on it would make it vanish was nonsense. Even given a thousand lifetimes, the creature would never dare attack.

It was only because it had not harmed Chen Huangpi that the elder spared it, allowing it time to recover. Had it dared to torment Chen Huangpi, things would have been different.

The demon tree’s crown was vast, enough to block out the blood-red moon, letting no light through. Its branches rustled with unease. Even the human fruits it bore were silent, eyes and mouths shut, ears covered as if dead.

If Chen Huangpi were present, he would have boldly observed the demon tree, and seen that its once world-shadowing, menacing form was now desperately thrusting countless roots into the earth. Its crown shrank; branches fell away; the human fruits crumbled to dust.

This tree, a terrifying aberration that had lingered in the monastery’s hidden realm for countless years, had grown into a calamity—an even greater threat than the Yellow Peril. Yet now, it was severing its own body, its aura rapidly weakening.

But it was too late.

The purple-robed elder stood beneath the tree, gazing coldly up at its crown.

“So it was you who bullied my Huangpi?”

All the tree’s movement ceased, as if it had died.

“Bring your head down here!” the elder commanded, beckoning with one hand.

As if compelled, the demon tree’s crown contracted, bending at an impossible angle to lie at his feet. The vast trunk now bore a crown scarcely larger than a ball, making the elder seem all the more imposing.

The blood-red moonlight shone into this hidden realm. Yet the tree did not care, for neither did the elder.

“Lift your head. Higher—yes, that’s it.”

The crown rose to his chest. Satisfied, he seized it with both hands, his face twisted in savage glee. “Huangpi may have forgotten, but I have not. When he was young, he loved to plant flowers and trees, begged me to plant one for him. So I planted you in the monastery. Who would have thought that after a few hundred years, you’d become a monster?”

“I couldn’t bear to see him grieve, so I threw you into this place.”

“If not for Huangpi, I’d have destroyed you long ago!”

“But you—how dare you harm him!”

With every word, the elder’s expression grew more deranged, his robe shifting between purple and white, though purple ultimately dominated.

He grinned wickedly, eyes glinting with madness. “You even tried to eat him? How bold! Neither I nor the second have tasted him, and you, a rotten tree, dare to be first?”

“Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!”

“You deserve to die! You must die!”

With a violent twist, he tore the tree’s crown free, opened his gaping maw, and crunched it down with ferocious delight.

Crack. Crunch. The sound of chewing echoed through the darkness.

The crown was tough—it was, after all, a demon tree—but the elder’s teeth were sharper still. It seemed that, aside from Chen Huangpi, nothing could withstand being ground to pulp between them.

“Disgusting. Rough on the throat,” he muttered, swallowing the whole crown.

In the next moment, his expression shifted, and his robe turned white.

Chen Huangpi’s second master had emerged.

The white-robed elder licked his sharp teeth and with a single stride appeared before the Sutra Library.

At the entrance, the two sons of Di Ting were paralyzed with fear.

Since the great change in the world, they had fallen into slumber, relying on the library’s power to avoid becoming aberrations themselves, instead becoming mere anomalies. Even in the deepest sleep, they could sense the passage of time.

The abbot had not appeared for a very, very long time. Otherwise, they would have sensed it.

“Abbot, you’ve finally remembered us.”

“Abbot, we brothers have dutifully guarded the library all these years—haven’t let so much as a fly in.”

Goldhorn and Silverhorn leapt down from the foundation, prostrating themselves and trembling uncontrollably.

They were terrified of the abbot.

And the abbot before them looked different from their memories. His robe had changed from blue-black to white; his aura was uncannily sinister, unspeakably frightening.

Worst of all, Goldhorn and Silverhorn caught a familiar scent—one they couldn’t quite place.

But as soon as the thought occurred, the white-robed elder spoke:

“You called my disciple ‘Three-Inch Shrimp’?”

That one sentence answered all their doubts.

Gulp.

At those words, Goldhorn and Silverhorn collapsed to the ground.

“A misunderstanding, abbot, it was all a misunderstanding!”

“Yes, abbot, your disciple is the next abbot, your own son in all but name—practically our own father. Even if we were given a hundred lives, we wouldn’t dare insult him!”

Their teeth chattered in terror.

In their memory, Jingxian Monastery had many Daoists. But only one could truly be called the abbot’s disciple. There’s a difference between an apprentice and a true disciple; the former calls their master ‘teacher’ and comes to learn the arts, but the latter—when called ‘Master’—is in every sense a son.

The white-robed elder’s face darkened. “My disciple is so esteemed, and you two beasts dare claim him as your father?”

“Grandfather! It should be grandfather!” Silverhorn blurted.

“Shut up, you fool!” Goldhorn wanted to stuff Silverhorn’s mouth and forced a smile. “Abbot, don’t be angry. My younger brother talks nonsense—please calm down, have some tea… I mean, take a seat… No, that’s not right—ah, abbot, spare us!”

Goldhorn banged his head against the ground, wailing, “I truly didn’t know Chen Huangpi was your disciple. He didn’t have the Ascension Talisman or anything to prove his identity. My brother and I were strictly ordered to guard the library—how could we let him in?”

“But you let him in anyway.”

The white-robed elder sighed. “Huang Er nearly died; Huangpi was heartbroken. When he’s sad, his flesh loses its quality. My heart is shattered!”

“Abbot, have mercy! Spare us!”

“Spare you?” the white-robed elder sneered. “Never mind your blind eyes—insulting my Huangpi as ‘Three-Inch Shrimp’—who gave you the courage to let him in?”

Goldhorn and Silverhorn exchanged a glance.

Goldhorn whispered, “So… we shouldn’t have let him in?”

“What? This is Jingxian Monastery! My disciple can go wherever he wants—would you dare stop him?”

“Then…” Silverhorn ventured, “so we should let him in?”

“Let him in? Are you hoping for death?”

The white-robed elder opened his mouth, fangs interlocking with a spine-chilling creak. “Even if you become aberrations, you must speak in human tongues; the moment you see him, you must tell him to leave at once. If the third catches him here, he’ll never get out.”

At that moment, a bell tolled in the distance.

The white-robed elder’s expression shifted as he looked toward the innermost depths of the realm.

“Well, well, well! Third, is it!”

He burst into mad laughter. “You can’t get out, Huangpi is mine for the eating, and neither you nor the first can stop me!”