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Murderous intent, impossible to suppress?

Song Qiuyue looked at Chen Huangpi, who now had a flushed face and a racing heartbeat, yet wore an expression of utter seriousness. She found this entire situation unspeakably disordered, even absurd.

Though she was only eighteen or nineteen, inexperienced in the ways of the world, she was nonetheless a daughter of a prominent family, raised under the care of the Twelfth Madam. Naturally, there were conversations about matters involving spring. For a moment, Song Qiuyue could not distinguish whether Chen Huangpi was flirting with her, or truly intended to kill her.

If it was the former, then he deserved death. If it was the latter, even more so. Even if Chen Huangpi had said nothing, he still deserved to die. For Song Qiuyue had already decided that the area surrounding the Pure Immortal Temple would be used as a settlement for the immigrants, with the temple itself serving as a shrine for a hundred deities.

Moreover, Chen Huangpi had asked whether she had parents. That wound was struck with precision—deadly and unerring.

With this thought, the murderous intent in Song Qiuyue’s heart surged again, nearly impossible to contain. Yet, raised in refinement, however much she wished to kill, not a hint would show on her face—anything else would be unbecoming. She loved beautiful things, after all.

So, her face still adorned with a gentle smile, she asked softly, “What is your name?”

“I am Chen Huangpi,” he replied.

She nodded, “As expected, an ugly-sounding name.”

No sooner had these words left her lips than Madam Tang, standing nearby, turned as pale as paper. Chen Huangpi was young, with little worldly experience. But Madam Tang was different—she immediately perceived Song Qiuyue’s murderous intent. In her heart, she called out to the mountain deity. But there was no response. The mountain deity had earlier inhaled a mouthful of incense smoke and should have recovered some energy. If he did not intervene, something dreadful was about to happen. Each of these people carried the power of their gods; if they wished to kill Chen Huangpi, how could she possibly stop them?

At this moment, Chen Huangpi, annoyed, retorted, “How rude you are! My master gave me this name, and he said it was pleasant and fitting. What right do you have to call it ugly?”

Song Qiuyue, however, was no longer interested in arguing. With a graceful wave of her hand, she was about to order Zhao Hai and the others to kill Chen Huangpi. At first, she had intended to do it herself, but upon hearing his name, she found it distasteful and lost the mood for murder. She loved beautiful things, and loved, too, to destroy them with her own hands.

Just then, a voice rang out abruptly.

“Ahhhh!”

“The aura of life! Such a dense aura of life!”

Before the last word had even fallen, an old Daoist in a white robe appeared bizarrely behind Chen Huangpi, his demeanor wild, his muddy eyes filled with hunger and greed.

“Second Master! You’re out!” Chen Huangpi exclaimed in delight, “I knew you’d come out. Huang Er said you’d wait until nightfall, but I’m glad I didn’t believe him.”

As he spoke, he patted the brass oil lamp hanging at his waist.

“Chen Huangpi, why are you patting me? I’m busy researching the Joy of Union... Eh?! Temple Master—oh my, you should announce yourself when coming out! Temple Master, are you all right?”

The brass oil lamp sprouted facial features and grinned obsequiously.

The temple master’s robe was white—madder and more demonic than the purple-robed temple master. The lamp dared not slacken in the slightest; even if the temple master wanted to grind his teeth on its body, it would have to clap and cheer along.

The white-robed Daoist paid the lamp no heed, only fixing his gaze upon Song Qiuyue and her companions—or, more precisely, upon the sixty deities they had brought.

At that moment, no matter how self-assured and lofty Song Qiuyue and the others were, they realized something was wrong. No one had seen how the white-robed Daoist had appeared. Not even the deities detected him—it was as if he had materialized from thin air.

Moreover, the oil lamp at Chen Huangpi’s waist had suddenly started talking.

Though today’s cultivators differed from the ancients as much as men differ from dogs, some traditions remained—such as magical artifacts. A talking, seeing magical artifact was already the equal of a deity. Yet here it hung easily from his waist, as if merely an oil lamp.

In truth, the deities connected to Song Qiuyue’s spirit were thrown into chaos.

“That’s the source of the golden light! So it’s a lamp!”

The madness of the deities rocked Song Qiuyue’s heart. Though she didn’t know why they all coveted the lamp, she did know the white-robed Daoist was the more terrifying presence before her.

What kind of being was this, undetectable even to the gods?

Song Qiuyue forced a smile, bowed her head, and said, “I am Song Qiuyue of the Qinghe Song clan. Greetings, senior. May I ask your name?”

The other cultivators followed suit, “Greetings, senior.”

The white-robed Daoist ignored them, merely wiping his mouth and saying to Chen Huangpi, “Huangpi, you are truly filial, knowing your master is hungry and preparing so much food for him. I did not dote on you in vain.”

The faces of Song Qiuyue and the other cultivators changed dramatically. For as the Daoist spoke, his gaze never left their bodies—it was as if he truly meant to devour them.

“Your master is so hungry!” The Daoist’s teeth ground together with a crisp sound—he was truly famished, almost starved. The eldest had eaten the demon tree’s head, but he had not yet eaten.

Chen Huangpi, terrified of his master’s hunger, quickly said, “Second Master, it is forbidden to eat after noon. Please bear with it a little longer. Tonight, I’ll make you a big delicious meal, all right?”

“Huangpi, you’ve changed!” the white-robed Daoist said angrily. “I’m already starving, and you want me to wait until evening? I can’t wait—I want to eat them now! Otherwise, I’ll eat you!”

As he spoke, the Daoist’s face twisted in rage.

He was very angry. Very unhappy.

Huangpi had been bullied; the eldest had stood up for him, but so had he. Why should the eldest eat his fill while he starved?

At this moment, the Daoist’s aura was dreadful and fierce, like a hungry ghost, as if he would swallow everything before him whole.

“Second Master, you can’t bite through me....”

“I’m hungry!” the Daoist shouted, wild and obsessive. “I’m hungry, I’m hungry! So hungry!”

As he raved, he suddenly began to wail.

“I couldn’t bear to see you suffer, so I drove the eldest away and defended you myself. But you—this is how you repay me? Not letting me eat? My fate is bitter indeed...”

“Second Master, you misunderstand!” Chen Huangpi coaxed him as one would a child. “No eating after noon—it’s bad for your stomach and will spoil your appetite later.”

With that, he took out a carefully preserved skewer of candied hawthorn.

“If you’re hungry, eat this to tide you over.”

The white-robed Daoist stopped his wailing, staring blankly at the candied fruit. His muddied eyes began to clear.

“Candied hawthorn.... Candied hawthorn....” He took the skewer, murmuring, “Candied hawthorn is delicious. My Huangpi loves candied hawthorn the most.”

Chen Huangpi breathed a sigh of relief. He knew he had soothed his master.

He then looked at Song Qiuyue and the others, who instinctively took a step back.

“There’s no need to be afraid,” Chen Huangpi quickly explained. “My... Second Master fried his brain cultivating and lost his mind. He’s quite lucid when he’s clear-headed—please don’t misunderstand.”

“No... no misunderstanding,” Song Qiuyue replied with a forced smile. In her mind, the gods screamed warnings—when the white-robed Daoist had his fit, every deity had urged her to flee.

“Chen Huangpi, I have other matters to attend to. I’ll take my leave.” She did not wait for a reply, but turned and hurried down the mountain without looking back.

The other cultivators left even faster. In the blink of an eye, they were gone.

Chen Huangpi sighed helplessly. “Second Master, so many people came to the mountain, and you’ve scared them all away. I’d hoped to make some money off them.”

He was quite displeased.

The white-robed Daoist seemed addled, staring at the candied fruit and mumbling, “Candied hawthorn is delicious. My Huangpi loves it—he never cries after eating.”

Over and over.

“Second Master...” Chen Huangpi was moved, feeling a pang of guilt. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have blamed you.”

He remembered when he was little, his master always cooked for him. In those days, his master had not yet gone mad, but the food was terrible—always the same kind of porridge, sticky and tasting of mud and ground wood.

His master said it was good for his health, but he hated it. So each time, as if performing a trick, his master would produce a skewer of candied hawthorn—if he ate his meal obediently, he would get the treat.

Later, as he grew, his master went mad. He became the one cooking, always making what he liked, but never again tasted candied hawthorn.

Looking at the now-clear-eyed white-robed Daoist, Chen Huangpi recalled Song Qiuyue’s earlier question.

“Master, am I really born of parents? Is my name really that ugly?”

He was curious.

If everyone had parents, then he should, too.

The white-robed Daoist was silent for a while before saying, “You were born from an egg—a very large egg. There were many insects, many little birds, flowers, and fish on it, all alive and moving.”

“As for your name, it is indeed ugly. I should never have let a coin toss decide. If I’d just named you Chen Eggborn, wouldn’t that have sounded better?”

At these words, Chen Huangpi fell silent. After a few breaths, he suddenly laughed heartily.

“Ha ha ha!”

“Second Master, you’re talking nonsense again.”

Surely his master was mad, his mind muddled, speaking only nonsense. How could he have been born from an egg? That wouldn’t be human.

As for the supposedly better name, he chose to ignore it.

He resolved to study the Seventy-Two Secret Elixirs scripture carefully today.

Just then, Madam Tang spoke. “Young master, those people just now meant to kill you.”

“I know.”

“What? You noticed?”

“Of course,” Chen Huangpi said in surprise. “My senses are so sharp now; how could I not see it?”

Now it was Madam Tang’s turn to be dumbstruck. She couldn’t help but ask, “If you knew and still wanted to take their money, do you not realize the danger of bargaining with tigers?”

Chen Huangpi replied, “Madam Tang, you misunderstood. I intended to let them stay in the temple and earn some money, but once I saw they wanted to kill me, I didn’t want them to stay—but I still wanted their money.”

Madam Tang was puzzled. “How so?”

Chen Huangpi said, “If I kill them all, wouldn’t the money be mine for nothing?”

He was nearly ready to forge his Kidney Altar, with even a trace of black smoke in his sword energy. He’d already cut a piece from the demon tree—killing a few cultivators would be effortless.

Madam Tang wanted to say that with so many gods behind them, they would never let him act wantonly—but on second thought, she held her tongue. For Chen Huangpi’s master feasted on gods, and who could say he did not possess the same ability?

In truth, Chen Huangpi’s own “teeth” weren’t that sharp. But with the brass oil lamp, he could escape anywhere with the Light of Escape—if he couldn’t win, he could always run. He knew the dangers around Jade Qiong Mountain intimately—even gods would perish there.

He trusted his sixth sense. Pity he hadn’t succeeded.

Feeling somewhat regretful, Chen Huangpi led his master back into the temple. As they walked, he said, “Second Master, you’ve frightened them off. Now they won’t dare try to kill me, and probably won’t ever come to stay at the temple again—they might even flee the whole Ten-Thousand Mountains region.”

“They won’t,” the white-robed Daoist replied, tilting his head. Suddenly, he grinned, tossed the skewer and all into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed it whole.

Dinner would come soon enough.

...

Meanwhile, in a guest room, the Fox Mountain God lounged, slowly inhaling incense smoke.

“The gods outside are all fools. With such strong incense, they still dare wander the Pure Immortal Temple—now they’ll never leave.”

The Fox Mountain God gloated. Though it knew its own end would likely come here in the temple, those other gods were different—their incense burned too fiercely. The white-robed Daoist would never let them go; one by one, they’d be drained dry.

This, in turn, bought the Fox Mountain God some time. It would seize the chance to mend its divine soul, and perhaps, by using that seemingly naïve and harmless Chen Huangpi, find an opportunity to escape this wretched place.

...

Elsewhere, Song Qiuyue and the cultivators hurried away. The moment they left the temple gates, they soared into the sky, fleeing as if for their lives.

“Miss, why not call upon the gods to destroy that Daoist?” Zhao Hai and the others were confused. They had brought sixty deities, who had just absorbed ample incense in Yuzhou City. An old Daoist, however strange, could at most rival a single god. Killing him should have been simple.

Song Qiuyue bit her lip, terror on her face. “That Daoist is not human...”