Tick tick.
The rain fell like strings of beads.
Thousands upon thousands of droplets, endless and unbroken.
Yin Feixue stood still. First came the wind, then the sound within the wind. Every droplet of rain froze before his eyes, refracting a cold, murderous light.
At the instant the raindrops descended, he tried for the first time to step upon one to rise into the air.
Xue Cuo had never taught him the technique, nor spoken any incantation or guiding words. He had only ever said one line: “This is the [Supreme Freedom Technique.]”
From those five brief words, Yin Feixue comprehended the first move he could achieve: [Freedom].
Because of [Freedom], all things offered no resistance. He could go anywhere, unhindered.
“Assist me! Assist me! He’s taking to the skies! He can’t be an ordinary creature. He bears the bloodline of the White Tiger!”
“Don’t kill him! Capture him alive to make him a gatekeeper!”
The cultivators shouted excitedly. Amid the roar of torrential rain, twelve of them formed a strange formation and encircled the white tiger.
Sword energy lashed out, scattering countless sprays of water, slashing through giant fish and collapsing houses.
The pitiful mortals and creatures spared by the flood were slaughtered all the same, annihilated by sword-light.
Yin Feixue stepped upon the falling rain, trying to break free, but the formation pressed him back.
“Humans.”
“Heh.”
He turned sharply and swung his blade. The black knife was so swift that even the falling rain could not keep pace.
In a flash of thunder and lightning, the blade tasted blood.
The cultivator who faced him faltered, eyes wide with confusion. Reaching to his neck, he felt the warmth of his own blood, let out a strangled cry, and toppled backwards.
The severed head rolled into the flood, the corpse quickly dragged away by a lurking monster fish.
“Ke-shidi!”
“Demon cultivator! You go too far! Witness our sect’s treasure: the [Lake and Sea Heaven Turning Seal]!”
The moment Yin Feixue saw the weapon and sensed the aura of the Great Dao upon it, he knew it spelt trouble. Fortunately, he had stolen a glimpse of the technique before and, relying on the principle of Freedom, stepped upon the raindrops and narrowly evaded the attack.
But that treasure, brought down from the mountain for merit’s sake, was no ordinary tool.
Yin Feixue was growing desperate. He was fighting and guarding the incense burner all at once… when the Heaven-Turning Seal struck his head, leaving him momentarily dazed.
Seizing the gap, he pulled out a little paper effigy and shouted,
“Oi! Xue Yinbing! Are you done yet?”
Bloody humans! Still attacking!
“Hurry! He can’t hold out! Catch the demon first, then seize his artefact. Careful you don’t let the incense burner fall into the flood!”
“Yes, shixiong!”
The white tiger threw back its head and roared. Thunderclouds churned, the wind howled, and high above, Xue Cuo fought the black dragon in the downpour.
Suddenly, the small paper effigy in his robe began to twitch. Xue Cuo hurled two talismans, snatched up the paper man, and pressed it to his ear while shouting mid-battle,
“I’m occupied! Occupied!”
“Yin Feixue, can you manage this or not?”
Yin Feixue swung his great blade down, snapping back angrily, “Xue Yinbing!”
Xue Cuo burned another talisman, cursing. He’d picked up a coarse phrase from Yin Feixue. “What are you yelling for? I’m fighting a dragon, not a snake!”
Yin Feixue had barely looked up before the Heaven-Turning Seal came crashing down and flung him into the flood.
The surface fell silent.
All of a sudden—
A soaked white tiger burst from the water, transforming mid-leap into a blade-bearing tiger spirit, and lunged straight at the cultivators.
The mortal cultivators watching from afar were struck dumb. One disciple whispered to his master, “Shifu, who are those people?”
The old Daoist with the white beard jolted. “Heads down, you fool! Who told you to come so close?”
Just then, the eldest disciple staggered over on his sword. “Shifu, shifu! There was a landslide just now. Xiao shimei was buried trying to save someone!”
The old Daoist jumped to his feet in horror. “Quickly! Take me to her!”
The group of cultivators hurried away.
Far above the earth,
Xue Cuo’s figure moved as light as wind and rain, gliding through the thunderclouds as though walking on solid ground.
But the black dragon, reigning in the heavens. It held every advantage: the time, the terrain, the power of men and spirits… and, fuelled by an evil god’s will, it fought with fearless ferocity.
“Ah-Mu! Gather the living first!”
The black dragon roared, its power forming a colossal water vortex that sucked up every living creature and crushed them in one gulp.
Blood rained from the sky; floods ravaged the land.
Hell itself could scarcely be worse.
Xue Cuo unleashed every talisman he had, wounded and bleeding, yet still unable to subdue the dragon.
“Flood!”
“Threshold!”
Expressionless, he sent forth forty-nine talismans, forming a vast net.
He looked down.
With the black dragon held in check, it could no longer devour much life force. However, the cultivators below were in a frenzy of slaughter, and the karmic burden of their killings fell upon the evil god. Its murderous aura swelled in an instant.
He was barely holding it back.
The talisman net was one of his trump cards.
The black dragon, trapped and starving, grew restless. Bo Jinling, eyes bloodshot, fought like a fiend, revealing his true Rakshasa form as he tore madly at the net.
Xue Cuo was gravely wounded. Bo Jinling, riding the dragon skyward, shouted furiously,
“You’re nothing but a Divine Dao talisman cultivator! Those gods have fallen, the heavens are silent. What powers are left to you? Who can you summon now?”
“You surnamed Xue! I’ll have your head today as a blood sacrifice for my Lord’s return!”
The black dragon surged upward, claws flashing like lightning, striking at the already-ruined river embankment.
He meant to break the great river completely!
Xue Cuo swiftly cast another talisman. Bo Jinling’s eyes glinted; the black dragon, obeying his command, whipped its tail and struck out with its claws.
“Mm.”
A thin line of blood splattered the dragon’s talons.
Countless beings below perished anew. Behind Bo Jinling, a bronze temple materialised from the void. Within it, the corpse that had long stared skyward gave a faint twitch.
“My Lord!”
Bo Jinling counted on his fingers. The blood sacrifice was nearly complete. He threw back his head and laughed wildly, flicking out a red cord that lashed toward Xue Cuo’s head.
“You’ll be the last one!”
The talisman shield intercepted the blow.
His blue robe was torn apart.
Xue Cuo clutched his chest, bent double. The strike had shattered his defensive talisman, leaving three deep claw marks across his chest, bone visible beneath.
His heart could be faintly seen beating within.
Bo Jinling seized the advantage to strike again!
Kill again!
But suddenly, a lotus bloomed from between Xue Cuo’s brows. The flower unfolded into a vast manifestation of the Dao, layer upon layer, like cloud and mist, shielding the young man within.
Bo Jinling’s expression changed.
That thing…
Why did it carry the aura of the Great Dao?
That was not the Great Dao that endures today.
It was the lost Dao… the eternal, the extinguished, the one that had lain cold and silent for ten thousand years.
Xianghuo Divine Dao.
Xue Cuo wiped the line of blood from his lips. The black dragon exhaled violent gusts, its massive head lowering to gaze silently at the young man that appeared so small, no bigger than a soybean.
The gulf in power was far too vast.
A golden dragon.
An evil god on the verge of resurrection that no ordinary mortal could possibly withstand them.
Mortals were but flesh and blood vessels that nourished the divine… tiny ants who clung to their gods and prayed.
They were meant to rejoice at the birth of divinity, to cheer and celebrate.
They were meant to witness Bo Jinling’s ascension… to see a true child of heaven achieve the immortal Dao.
“Is that so?”
Who spoke? Who answered?
Xue Cuo raised his eyes.
The wind and rain fell silent. For one breath, the heavens were as still as the abyss.
Lotuses blossomed.
Not golden lotuses, but blossoms white as snow, clear as ice, lustrous as jade.
Lotuses unfolded one by one, layer upon layer. They formed a Dharma robe, a Dharma image, a Dharma body.
He held a lotus of Daoist resonance in his palm… ethereal as moonlight, cold and pure as falling snow.
[Golden Pool Reincarnation]
This body no longer suffers the damage of the spirit altar; this body is the Dharma body.
[Deliverer of Tribulation]
This title is born of suffering; this name is the name of selflessness.
Bo Jinling’s pupils dilated, every hair on his body standing on end. “You… how can you possess a Dharma body?”
He could not see through it.
It was a complete manifestation. Dharma image, Dharma robe, Dharma body. All whole and flawless.
But Xue Cuo was merely a Daoist who had not even reached the Divine Void Realm. He had flesh and blood. He was mortal!
Then where, exactly, had the world gone wrong?
Bo Jinling stared in disbelief. What he saw was impossible. It was an outrage to common sense.
Yet even as he faltered, he felt the Dao in the air shift, the tides of battle turning.
[Deliverer’s Dharma body]
Xue Cuo could sustain this Dharma body for but a moment. But a moment was all he needed to deal with Bo Jinling. He did not strike the Bronze Temple. He did not even look at Bo Jinling.
He simply lifted his hand, flicked a finger, and the lotus of Daoist light sank into the black dragon’s brow.
“Little Golden Dragon, wake up.”
In an instant, the blood-red murderous pupils receded like the tide, revealing the pure gold eyes beneath.
The golden dragon awoke.
Xue Cuo’s Dharma robe and Dharma image shattered.
The white lotus petals folded inwards, collapsing into a single mote of Daoist light that sank between his brows.
A long, guttural bellow echoed through the heavens.
The little golden dragon opened his eyes. He stared at Xue Cuo in shock; the young man’s blood was still warm upon his claws. The dragon cried… a sound that burned with grief and fury, erupting into a roar so terrible that the rain itself seemed to halt.
“Ah-Mu!”
Bo Jinling’s face went pale. He tried to shake the Soul-Catching Bell, but the ringing only enraged the dragon further, throwing him from its head.
Bo Jinling spat a mouthful of blood and reached out, eyes full of desperation. “No, Ah-Mu! Just one more! One more, and we’ll ascend as gods! Ah-Mu!”
“You’re already dead. You’ve killed too many. There’s no turning back.”
The golden dragon gave a mournful cry and vanished into the clouds.
The black miasma of demonic energy coiled around his body like maggots on bone. It was impossible to remove, impossible to cleanse. He was ensnared in karma, burned by his own evil deeds. Even in that fleeting moment of lucidity, he knew. He would die unburied, reviled and hated by all.
There was no place in heaven or earth for him now.
“Ah-Mu, listen to me. Don’t be afraid. I’ll save you!”
Bo Jinling’s eyes brimmed with tears. He manipulated the red cord and golden bell, trying again to control him. But the golden dragon only hovered above the clouds, glaring down with cold hatred.
“You won’t die. Come, come to me. Trust me. I’ll lead you to godhood.”
Bo Jinling stretched out his hand, gaze burning with devotion.
The golden dragon stared back, and for the first time, his golden pupils clearly reflected Bo Jinling’s face: green-skinned, fanged, the visage of a Rakshasa demon.
Bo Jinling recoiled, horrified by the reflection in those eyes. He hastily summoned the red thread, wrapping it about himself to shield his face. “Ah-Mu, don’t look! Are you frightened? Don’t be afraid, I’ll change back soon!”
“Little Golden Dragon God.”
The voice travelled through wind and rain, piercing the veils of the storm to reach the dragon’s ears.
He turned.
He saw the tattered blue robe, the crimson blood, the heart still beating within a torn chest; black hair streaming through the air like silk.
The young man’s face was deathly pale, blood seeping down his breast.
“If I call upon your sacred name, will you save me?”
[Little Golden Dragon God]
Long ago, the mountain folk knew: when lost or imperilled, they need only cry his name, and the Little Golden Dragon God would come to their aid while asking nothing in return.
They built temples and statues for him, planting a hundred flowers around his shrine.
In spring, they flew kites there. In summer, they rested beneath the shade. In autumn, fruits and melons filled his altar. In winter, when snow sealed the mountains, he kept his lonely vigil.
He had eaten the glutinous rice balls from roadside stalls, drunk the farmers’ smoky winter wine. He had taken the form of a tiny fish, slipping through the fingers of laughing children.
In five hundred years, countless lives had passed before him.
And now, what remained?
The dragon’s cry rose again, echoing like ten thousand voices… half lamenting, half wailing. The sound came from the depths of his soul, soaked in grief and boundless despair.
He had not heard a prayer in so long. The last prayer that he’d heard, he had silenced himself, ripping out his own heart. He seemed once more to stand within that dark cavern, before the old woman bound to the stone pillar.
[Will you save me?]
[I will.]
The dragon roared, a howl that split the heavens.
The golden dragon surged upward, pursuing Bo Jinling, and brought his claws crashing down upon the Bronze Temple.
The divine idol shuddered violently.
Within the temple, the corpse stirred; its miasma condensed into countless blades of malice, striking out to kill the dragon that dared to defy its master!
Bo Jinling, bound by the god’s fate, coughed a mouthful of blood, eyes wide with disbelief as he tried to flee.
“Ah-Mu! Wake up!”
But there was no escaping the golden dragon. Their breaths were intertwined. No matter where Bo Jinling fled, the dragon would find him.
And in the skies, dragons command the wind and rain.
He struck at the temple again and again, heedless of his own life. With every blow, a strip of flesh tore from his body.
Agonising pain seared through him. Yet still he did not stop.
Agonising pain!
Boundless hatred!
And at that moment, a vermilion talisman drifted softly into the divine hall.
Bo Jinling jolted. He sensed a foreboding rising in his heart… but it was already too late. “Honoured God!”
Boom—
A burst of dazzling light erupted within the bronze temple. That radiance was annihilating, pure, immaculate!
A clear cry rang out.
The light took the form of a tiny three-legged golden crow, circling upward with what seemed a casual beat of its wings.
The bronze temple exploded with a resounding crash; the divine corpse shattered into countless fragments.
“Ahhh, ahhh, ahhh!”
Bo Jinling lost control, transforming into a Rakshasa, plummeting downwards.
Xue Cuo could stand no longer. He swayed, falling lightly backwards, eyes closing… yet he did not strike the ground.
When he opened them again, the tempest had stilled. He felt beneath his palm the smooth, jade-like scales, blood trickling from his lips. He smiled faintly and murmured, “Thank you, Little Golden Dragon God.”
The golden dragon bore Xue Cuo to the shade of a tree, set him gently down, and soared back into the heavens.
The little golden dragon’s flesh had all but fallen away. He too was about to vanish from this world.
He lingered amidst the clouds, glancing once towards Bo Jinling, then towards the other side.
Life and death.
Slaughter and retribution.
He raised his head and howled. He was unwilling, wrathful… yet in the end, he abandoned his desire to kill Bo Jinling.
He carried with him the wind and the rain, soaring free through the skies as though learning to ride the clouds for the very first time.
The golden dragon hurled himself towards the broken river mouth and crashed down heavily. With his body he built a wall, halting the rampaging flood. His flesh rotted and scattered, his golden eyes lifted one final time to the heavens… then closed in wearied peace, sleeping like a young dragon at rest.
“Ah-Mu!”
Bo Jinling broke into helpless sobs, sitting dazed upon the ground as black fragments scattered through the air above him.
Then suddenly, talismanic light flared across his body.
Bo Jinling whirled around, staring towards Xue Cuo. His features twisted with grief and hatred. “You… what have you done this time?”
Xue Cuo lay prone upon the ground, utterly drained. He had prepared those talismans long ago. Broken Head Mountain. Yinliu Village. Xishi Village.
A vast web of cause and effect.
Bo Jinling would have to repay it himself.
The soil beneath him began to shift. Floodwaters receded; the river reversed its flow, revealing the earth beneath. Wisps of black vapour rose, and then a hand burst from the ground.
This strange ghostland was none other than the Infernal Realm.
One. Two. More and more spirits clawed their way out of the depths, forming a sea of corpses and blood, crawling towards the one who had doomed them.
Bo Jinling recognised them. But now he had no refuge left. His face drained of colour; the red golden bell no longer answered his call.
Hell, the bottomless pit. Evil ghosts poured forth in swarms, filling the crater. Bo Jinling could not climb free. He howled and screamed, hacking through the fiends like an Asura amidst the damned. Yet, how could one man prevail against endless vengeful souls?
He wept in agony, then broke into wild laughter. “Ah-Mu! I’ll join you! I’ll join you. Life after life, we’ll never be apart!
“Come with me, let’s fall together into the Infernal Realm!”
Suddenly—
A tiny golden light bloomed in the heavens.
Xue Cuo lifted his eyes, relief softening his bloodied face. It’s here at last.
The golden spark was a lotus.
A small golden lotus, floating down through the air. It landed upon the hillside where the Dragon God had fallen, and soon golden lotuses spread across the pond, forming a dreamlike pool of shimmering light.
Petal upon petal. Leaf upon leaf.
Then, from between the lotus leaves, a little golden dragon head emerged. It blinked, sipped a mouthful of golden water. And just like that, it rose into the sky, vanishing into the clouds.
The sun broke through the storm-dark sky, a rainbow stretching across the horizon.
The golden dragon climbed higher and higher, its body growing as it flew. By the time it entered the glow of the clouds, it had returned to its true size. A single dragon’s cry resounded through the heavens… and then it was gone.
From the Infernal Realm came a single hysterical shriek, as though calling out a name that would never answer.
…How could you… leave… me…
…Ah-Mu…
The Infernal Realm dragged down the spirit it had claimed.
The resentment faded.
The waters flowed back, carrying the abyss down into the depths.
Xue Cuo felt the tremor in the Goddess’s divine kingdom. The Infernal Hell had opened; her realm had taken another step towards revival.
He covered his eyes with a weary hand and sniffed.
It hurts… like hell.
