Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/

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Chapter 138: Just the Beginning

A ghost from the past was crying for help.

The child clung to the black Taoist’s shoulder, his sobs growing quieter. Fang Xiu unconsciously slowed his breathing. The Taoist was running into the dark mountains, just as his own parents had done years ago.

Xushan was too vast. Even though the provinces were different, the mountains next to his grandmother’s village had also been part of Xushan’s outer regions.

[Different times and directions, but the same destination.]

[Fang Xiu recalled the scent of plants in the air that day, and the brush-covered terrain of the mountain. He could no longer see his grandmother, who had fallen to the ground, nor the village cult that had tried to keep their family trapped.]

[Little Fang Xiu lay on his father’s shoulder, staring blankly as everything receded. His father was crying, but ran too fast to sob outright, forcing himself to suppress the tears.]

[Young believers from the village chased them with hoes and cleavers in hand.]

[You won’t escape, the believers shrieked. No one survives in these mountains; those who charge into Xushan unprepared rarely leave alive!]

[Come back! Come back! You won’t make it!]

[Fang Xiu still remembered the despair and confusion of that moment. It felt like death was chasing them from behind and awaiting them ahead. His throat convulsed from tension, unable to form words, and his parents had no time to respond.]

[But they still ran forward.]

[If he could return to that day, maybe he could save his family.]

The story here was almost indistinguishable from reality. If he could go back into the story and save them, perhaps he could live out a long, happy tale.

Yes, just like that.

You must understand now. You’re in a story.

And given the choice, wouldn’t a warm, comforting story be better than one of dangerous revenge? I can give you the best story, the longest story—a story that lasts a hundred years.

Go home.

It’s a wonderful wish. Don’t you want it?

Fang Xiu was a little tired. It felt as if something was nudging him to make a wish. They dangled before his eyes like bait, one after another, switching endlessly. Who knew how many more would follow?

This wish didn’t sound too ba—

Don’t control my thoughts.

Fang Xiu smacked his forehead hard with a loud “thwack”, startling Bai Shuangying, who reflexively tightened his grip on Fang Xiu’s wrist.

[…]

What a shame.

Fang Xiu steadied himself and decisively grabbed the weeping black Taoist, and they all bolted in the opposite direction. Bai Shuangying and A’Shou followed closely behind; Bai Shuangying kept hold of Fang Xiu’s wrist, channeling yin energy without pause.

As for A’Shou, this ghost immortal had fully resisted the “God of Calamity’s” influence and moved quickly and steadily.

They ran toward Zhuang Guiqu tent. For once, the three were in agreement. There was no way that wily old man would place himself in the most dangerous position.

“Does the Immortal Encounter E have thoughts of its own?” Fang Xiu asked the two spirits while running, directing the question especially toward A’Shou, the one most directly in charge.

“E’s are dead things. The Immortal Encounter E is also dead. An ‘E’ having a will of its own is unheard of in the Underworld.”

A’Shou spoke in quick, quiet succession without needing to breathe. “At most, they reflect the will of their controller. But the Immortal Encounter E isn’t even active. It can’t be controlled.”

She was confident about that. That entity in all black was certainly suspicious, but it could never be the Immortal Encounter E itself. If E’s had their own consciousness, the Temple of All E’s would’ve already fallen into chaos.

Though in all honesty, she didn’t really understand what was happening now either.

Fang Xiu glanced toward Bai Shuangying again, only to find him distracted. His ghost stared blankly ahead, as if listening to a voice that didn’t exist.

Suddenly, a warm, gentle wind blew by, sending a shiver through Fang Xiu’s body, making him feel significantly lighter. Even the half-dead black Taoist revived slightly, his movements less rigid.

It was a storm created by magic.

The wind carried countless tiny golden lights, breathtakingly beautiful, sweeping out from the direction of Zhuang Guiqu’s tent like ocean waves.

Wherever the golden wind passed, those under control regained their clarity.

Unfortunately, even though they woke, they couldn’t resist the strange “tree transformation” process. In an instant, shrill screams and cries for help exploded in Fang Xiu’s ears.

The child in the black Taoist’s arms gasped for breath and burst into loud wailing. Seeing the Taoist fleeing smoothly, Fang Xiu let go of his hand and took up the rear.

In the chaos, Fang Xiu once again locked eyes on Zhuang Feng.

Zhuang Feng stood beside the tent, calmly sipping sweet soup. Though the bowl held only light broth, he drank it with the air of consuming blood. The tent behind him glowed with lamplight, but Zhuang Guiqu had yet to appear.

Golden winds radiated outward like lotus petals unfolding, breathtaking in their splendor. But the disaster victims had no time to appreciate it.

Mudslides, fires on evil mountains, living immortals offering prayers—just when they thought they could finally relax, death came too suddenly.

Fully awake, the people marched straight into death. Some cultivators fired flames skyward as distress signals. The combination of mud, debris, firelight, and wails made the surroundings a living hell.

Looking at it in the distance, one could see mountain fires and golden wind on the ground, while fireworks lit the sky. Zhuang Feng stood firm, calmly watching the people struggle.

He even briefly glanced at Fang Xiu and the others running the opposite way. He seemed neither surprised nor concerned. Soon, Fang Xiu understood why.

More people were converging from this direction.

The black Taoist licked his cracked lips and patted the trembling child in his arms. His voice was excited beyond reason. “We’re saved! We’re really saved!”

“Thanks to Master Zhuang, otherwise we couldn’t have even lit a signal flare!”

Fang Xiu didn’t respond.

A few days ago, he’d heard the survivors chatting. Disasters like “God of Calamity Descends” often struck the Xushan region. More than a thousand mystics and soldiers were stationed nearby. They hadn’t shown up this time purely because a high-ranking figure like Zhuang Guiqu was present.

Now, with the cries for help so loud and the golden winds waking the cultivators, people had finally realized something was wrong. Fire signals lit up the way like markers.

As reinforcements approached, Zhuang Feng finished his soup, solemnly set down the bowl, and drew his sword.

The sword burst into flames, shooting a fiery column into the sky. In the darkness, it looked like a rallying banner.

“Master Zhuang has resisted the God of Calamity’s corruption! Follow me and save the people!”

His voice boomed, reinforced by the warmth of the sweet soup. “The God of Calamity must be destroyed! Destroy the God of Calamity!”

Fang Xiu pulled the Taoist into the shadows of a crumbling wall. After settling the crying child, he looked out toward the distant chaos.

“What’s that golden light?” he asked the Bai Shuangying who was still in a daze.

“That’s the real Heaven-Breaking Divine Art. Looks like the divine book is still in Zhuang Guiqu hands,” A’Shou cut in before Bai Shuangying could answer, her tone laced with sarcasm.

Fang Xiu asked, “Heaven-Breaking Divine Art?”

A’Shou nodded. “A divine text bestowed by an immortal. This is how it’s truly supposed to look. That Zhuang guy could’ve completely severed the corruption, but instead…” Instead, he only woke the survivors and didn’t lift a finger to help them.

She figured she didn’t need to spell it out. Fang Xiu would understand.

And Fang Xiu did understand perfectly.

“They died too quietly before,” he said. “Zhuang Guiqu wanted a grander stage.”

“Don’t say that…”

The black Taoist finally managed to speak, “Master Zhuang is… helping. This kind of support… is very common.”

His face twisted; the prior corruption still lingered, making his voice wooden. “Just a bit of suppression and they can be saved… the God of Calamity, actually…”

[These days, the God of Calamity rarely responds. Villagers seldom offer prayers. Before the temple was torn down, they could barely scrape together a single whole fruit for the altar.]

[It was a shrine passed down from older generations. The wish-granting methods were always twisted, and the one who made the wish was fated to die violently.]

[Only the most wicked or desperate still prayed to it. Most would’ve torn the shrine down ages ago, if not for the threats it posed.]

[Still, desperate and evil people kept wishing, and the village kept facing disasters. Droughts, floods—they put up with it, and eventually resorted to burning the mountain.]

[After the fires, anomalies would appear, and that’s when people like us were called in to suppress them. My ability to stay in this village came from this skill.]

Fang Xiu’s eyes widened as black characters poured from the Taoist’s mouth. They dripped down his chin, smeared across his robes, and clattered onto the ground.

But this time, Fang Xiu didn’t reach out to touch them.

…Because not far away, the reinforcements were “suppressing” the God of Calamity.

The golden light from the Heaven-Breaking Divine Art cleared the path as soldiers charged ahead to rescue survivors. The practitioners each performed their own magic, building platforms that rose on the spot. Layers of spells overlapped each other, filling the air.

At the front stood Zhuang Feng, his sword pointed skyward, surrounded by a turbulent whirlwind.

Screams mingled with chants. In the distance, the mountain fires shifted hue, turning an eerie green. The flames rose higher, devouring the farthest slopes like a plague of locusts.

Finally, the silence of the mountains broke.

From within the strange green fire, a giant shadow emerged. Its silhouette shifted softly, hard to tell if it was liquid or gas. As it rose, the land trembled and stones cracked with deafening noise.

“It’s working!” Zhuang Feng shouted. “Don’t fear its corruption. The divine art will protect you! Curse it with all your might!”

Behind him, the practitioners cheered. But in the next moment, their voices cut off like a flock of strangled geese…

Within the golden light of the Heaven-Breaking Divine Art, the soldiers’ movements went awry.

They stopped shielding civilians. Their armor turned into bizarre white garments. They twitched uncontrollably. Then they ran to the dead trees that were once the disaster survivors and tied strips of cloth onto the branches. For a moment, thousands of soldiers gathered around the trees creating a lively scene.

“Sprout. Sprout,” they murmured deliriously.

“Bloom. Bloom.” They looped the ropes around their waist and hung them on the branches.

“Fruit. Fruit.”

Then, joyfully, they leapt up and placed their necks into the nooses, swinging happily among the dead branches.

“Harvest. Harvest.”

Their throats made a cracking sound, and they turned into smiling fruit.

In a flash, the barren forest became lush and full of life, heavy with fruit. Bathed in the golden wind, the scene looked alive and thriving.

So that’s it, Fang Xiu thought.

The dead survivors weren’t the end. They were only the beginning.

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