A Half-Day’s Deadline

“Ah...” Song Qiuyue let out a miserable scream. The faces of the other cultivators changed drastically as they glared at Chen Huangpi in fury.

“How dare you—”

“Silence, all of you!” Song Qiuyue, enduring the pain, forced a smile and ignored her severed hand on the ground. She knelt down before Chen Huangpi, following his every move, and pleaded, “Chen Huangpi, you’re kind-hearted to shelter those destitute folk. Why not spare me a little of your kindness?”

“Just give me a bit more time, please? I promise I’ll pay you back.”

Chen Huangpi looked down at her coldly, extending a finger, but after a moment’s thought, he withdrew it.

“Half a day. I’ll give you only half a day.”

“I know you can contact your uncle through the gods. Send him a message right now, tell him to send the copper coins.”

“If not, I’ll take your heads!”

But Song Qiuyue let out a bitter laugh. “The area around Jade Qiong Mountain is shrouded in white mist. With this mist blocking the way, how could I possibly reach my uncle?”

Hearing this, Chen Huangpi was somewhat surprised. Could the white mist truly disrupt communication between gods and the outside world? Why had he never heard of this?

He glanced at the brass oil lamp.

“Don’t ask me—I have no idea,” the lamp replied helplessly. “This is the work of the Second Master. He’s far more terrifying and much crazier than the First Master. If I say anything that displeases him, I’ll be the one to suffer for it.”

Seeing this, Chen Huangpi said, “If Brass Two knows everything, and even it doesn’t know about the mist’s ability to block the gods, then you’re lying.”

“Every word I say is true,” Song Qiuyue insisted. “That white mist is exceedingly strange. Even the gods cannot disperse it, nor can they touch it. If they do, it’ll devour them.”

As she spoke, she gritted her teeth and signaled to a fellow cultivator. The latter understood at once and produced a magical treasure, sending it hurtling into the thick white mist encircling Jade Qiong Mountain.

Chen Huangpi watched closely.

The treasure instantly disappeared into the mist. In the next moment, the mist parted, revealing the dense forests beyond.

“This...” Song Qiuyue’s eyes widened as she hastened to explain, “The mist wasn’t like this before, I swear! Something’s wrong, something’s wrong, this—”

“What’s wrong with the white mist?” An ancient, raspy voice sounded behind Chen Huangpi.

The cultivators’ eyes grew round with terror; they trembled uncontrollably and fell to their knees at once.

It was him...

That bizarre old Daoist.

And the white-robed one—the maddest of them all.

Seeing the reaction, Chen Huangpi, puzzled, said, “Second Master, I’m in the middle of something important, and you’ve frightened them.”

“I don’t eat people—why should they be frightened?” The white-robed Daoist smiled kindly, revealing rows of sharp, pointed teeth to the cultivators. “Isn’t that right?”

All the cultivators, even the gods, instinctively replied in unison, “Yes, Second Master is the best. First Master is the worst, Third Master is even worse! Second Master is Chen Huangpi’s true teacher!”

This was not because the white-robed Daoist had twisted their will, but because their bodies had been trained to recite these words. Whenever they saw him, they spoke them involuntarily.

Witnessing this, Song Qiuyue felt a chill she could not articulate.

This old Daoist claimed he didn’t eat people, yet she clearly saw the hunger and madness in his eyes.

The next moment, as if sensing her thoughts, the white-robed Daoist looked at Song Qiuyue with a half-smile. “Little girl, weren’t you just saying something’s wrong with this mist?”

“I didn’t—”

“Don’t be afraid. Though your skin is soft and delicate, perfect for slow roasting, I don’t eat people.”

“Go on, tell me—what’s wrong, and where?”

“I’m sorry, I was wrong, I was wrong!” Song Qiuyue collapsed to the ground, shaking her head helplessly. “It’s just white mist, there’s nothing wrong with it at all.”

The white-robed Daoist’s smile remained. “Good. Then send the message.”

“Yes, yes.” Song Qiuyue, on the verge of breaking, said, “I’ll send a message to Xuzhou City right now, I’ll do it now.”

With that, she reached out to contact the forty gods.

The gods dared not disobey; though divine, they too had once been cultivators who ascended. Cultivators were still human, and humans feared death.

The gods burned what little incense power remained, channeling their divinity to try to send a message through the white mist toward Xuzhou.

They knew it was likely impossible.

But with the bizarre Daoist’s command, could they refuse?

Yet as their divine senses entered the mist, all the gods froze.

Because a voice truly responded.

But it was the white-robed Daoist’s voice.

“You’re actually trying to send a message?”

...

Elsewhere.

Within Xuzhou City.

The usual tranquility of the Song residence had been replaced by a deadly silence. Thousands of servants and maids throughout the household, along with Song Tiangang’s offspring and concubines, all cowered in fear.

For something momentous had occurred the previous night.

Something that had driven the Xuzhou Prefect, Song Tiangang, into a towering rage.

Since sunrise, several high-ranking officials—addressed as “my lord” outside—had been brought into Song Tiangang’s study and had yet to emerge.

Inside the study—

Crash! A vase shattered as Song Tiangang hurled it to the floor.

“Nearly ten thousand migrants appear out of thin air outside Xuzhou, and you still haven’t found out who’s responsible?”

“What use are you to me?”

“Useless, the lot of you!”

The officials, all in crimson robes, hung their heads and endured his tirade.

“What of the forty gods?”

“And the cultivators?”

“Who can tell me where they’ve all gone?”

This could become a minor issue—or a major one.

Song Tiangang ruled Xuzhou City absolutely. With a single word, he could suppress this matter entirely; indeed, the city was unaware anything had happened.

But the problem was, Song Tiangang himself didn’t know what had happened.

He only knew that the migrants had entered the Ten Thousand Mountains yesterday, but in the blink of an eye, they’d reappeared outside the city, with no recollection of what had transpired.

“My lord,” someone ventured, “all the migrants’ memories have been wiped. Even the gods can’t restore them. Otherwise, we’d surely know what happened.”

“Perhaps, if we select one of the refugees and present him to the City God, we might trace last night’s events—”

“Trace, my ass!” Song Tiangang roared, throwing decades of cultivated composure to the wind. “If that were possible, would I have called you useless fools here?”

The City God of Xuzhou was his seventh grand-uncle, sent from the capital’s Song family. If it were official business—such as sending Lin Ye and others to seek out the source of pollution in the Ten Thousand Mountains and stirring up unrest to collect more taxes—his grand-uncle would help.

But this was private.

It was also tied to the secret of immortality hidden within the mutated idol.

He didn’t have the nerve to ask his grand-uncle.

If nothing was traced, fine; but if something unspeakable was discovered, the entire Song family would hold him accountable.

The divine path was a last resort.

He craved the immortal path.

Even if the Song family were to learn, it would only be after he had unlocked the secret of immortality and achieved the Dao himself.

Indeed, recently, Song Tiangang carried the golden seal with him every day. Only with the seal was he as powerful as the City God, and all his words, actions, and acquaintances would be distorted by the endless mortal aura within the seal.

That was why his grand-uncle could not detect any of his activities.

Just then, the study door opened.

A servant entered.

Song Tiangang’s brow furrowed as he barked at the officials, “This matter is suppressed for now. Go settle the migrants properly, or you can take off those crimson robes for good.”

“How should we settle them?” the officials asked bitterly. Should they be killed, released, or what? The order was too vague.

Song Tiangang took a deep breath. “Erase their memories. Jail those who should be jailed, send the rest home.”

“Now go.”

The officials hurried out.

The servant shook his head. “My lord, Miss Qiuyue still hasn’t returned.”

“I know.” Song Tiangang’s face was dark as he sipped his tea. “According to precedent, she should be sending a message soon?”

“Yes, as soon as you finish that cup of tea, she’ll send word.”

“Heh.” Song Tiangang sneered and drained his cup.

In a flash, he appeared in another room of the Song residence.

From the outside, the room seemed ordinary.

Within, it was vast.

Dozens of gods sat cross-legged, mortal aura so dense it seemed to leak into the air.

Song Tiangang had already reached the pinnacle of Nascent Soul cultivation.

He ignored the aura, approaching the gods.

“Greetings, my lord,” the gods said, bowing deeply.

“Which of you has been communicating with Qiuyue?”

“I have, my lord.” A god, about forty years old and wearing a Confucian cap, stepped down from his altar.

Song Tiangang’s face was expressionless. The golden seal at his waist shot a beam of light into the god’s eyes.

The god froze, eyes turning blank.

Then, in Song Qiuyue’s voice, the god said, “Uncle, it’s Qiuyue. Why did you only send forty gods? It’s not enough, send more, send more!”

“Would four hundred be enough?” Song Tiangang replied. “There are thousands of gods in Xuzhou. Aside from Grand-Uncle, there are four more City Gods in the counties. I might as well send them all. I just wonder if you can stomach them!”

With that, Song Tiangang smashed the god’s head with a single blow.

Waves of mortal aura surged into his golden seal.

With the seal, Song Tiangang was the equal of a City God within Xuzhou City.

The other gods lowered their heads, pretending not to notice.

Without another word, Song Tiangang left.

With a casual wave, the mortal aura that the gods had been absorbing coalesced into a will, sealing all the gods within the room.

Outside, the servant stood waiting.

Song Tiangang asked coldly, “Can the fifty gods we sent out later still be contacted?”

“Yes, they can.”

“Call them back.”

The servant hesitated. “Yes, I’ll do it now. But what about Miss Qiuyue? Her soul token remains intact—”

He meant she was still alive. Would they simply abandon her?

Song Tiangang suddenly laughed. “She’s a member of the Song family. Dead or alive, we’ll have to see her in the end. But now is not the time to bring her back. Let’s wait.”

“I understand.” The servant realized that when the soul token was broken, it would be time.