Xuan Zhao snapped, “Then you yourself are walking the heretical path.”
Xue Cuo straightened at once. “Which is precisely why I’m off to report that there’s a lawless maniac here, flagrantly defying Heaven’s authority.”
Xuan Zhao: “…”
Xue Cuo spun once on the spot, laid down a concealing talisman, and then set off on his little short legs.
Ten thousand years ago, the Xianghuo Divine Dao collapsed, and new gods succeeded them. These were styled the True Gods.
In practice, though, most of the mortal realm fell under the purview of the immortal sects. Secular imperial power was largely theirs to command. These minor mountain and land gods might bear the title of True Gods, but their incense offerings were meagre at best.
The real profit lay in the great temples of the towns and cities. They kept close ties with the higher authorities and attracted not only mortals but cultivators eager to curry favour on their way to ascension.
The South Sea, for instance, boasted a grand True God temple known as the Temple of the South Sea Civil and Martial God-Lord.
Xue Cuo, inhabiting the body of a mountain god, deftly opened his divine disc—a small, round, jade-green plate known as a Naturalisation Certificate. It mapped the temples of the land and verified one’s divine credentials. In short, an extremely handy map.
He burrowed through the earth for over two hours before finally emerging before the Temple of the South Sea Civil and Martial God-Lord.
The temple stood in a prosperous city, solemn and majestic.
The main hall rose twenty-three feet high, with sixty-six steps leading up to it.
The square was wide and spotless. A towering main hall dominated the centre; branching from it were secondary worship halls and smaller shrines.
Ancient trees rose skywards; the grass was lush as a carpet. Springs and flowers echoed each other’s beauty, exuding a sense of auspicious clarity.
Xue Cuo thought: What a thriving incense flame. If there’s a proper official god here, all the better. This will be easy.
It was the night of a bright moon. Outside the temple, ablaze with lanterns, stood two guardian deities, wound about with ribbons and shrouded in coils of incense smoke.
“Honoured sirs!”
Xue Cuo clutched his belly and hurried forward on his tiny legs.
“I’ve urgent business to report to the South Lord!”
A whole line of three-inch-tall figures stood outside. They were bright red, green, and blue, representing the land and mountain gods of every nearby village.
Just then a round, barrel-shaped god rolled forward, ready to barge straight inside.
“Oi, oi. Where’s this grass-headed god come from? Know any rules?”
“Trying to cut the queue? Back of the line.”
Two halberds dropped before Xue Cuo’s chest. He jumped up… just high enough to reach their knees.
“My lords, I truly have urgent business. It concerns the Xianghuo Evil Dao. I beg you, please let me through!”
The guardian deities burst into thunderous laughter, shaking the ground and knocking Xue Cuo flat on his backside. One guardian waved a hand and kicked him to the side.
“Nine in ten here also have ‘urgent business’. If every one of them behaved like you, how are we meant to serve the gods? How are we to plead for the people?”
“The p-p-people?” Xue Cuo’s eyes went round. This was something new indeed.
Could it be that even among temples there were some who remained untainted?
A nearby land god hauled him up, dusted him off, and guided him to a seat. “Bro, speak over here.”
Xue Cuo quickly straightened his red cloth robe, bowed, and said, “I am the mountain god of Mount Qi-Lao outside Qianyun City. Might I ask where you hail from, bro, that brings you to the South Lord’s temple on official duty?”
The land god was crimson from head to toe, with a goatish beard and a drinker’s nose. Smiling, he said, “I am the land god of Qiyin. I’m here to file my report. Looks like it’s your first time at the South Lord’s temple. You aren’t familiar with the rules.”
Xue Cuo let out a cry, stamping his feet repeatedly, insisting he was a country bumpkin of a god who had never seen the world, and begged for guidance.
The Qiyin land god said, “This is a grand temple, not some random mound or wild shrine. Everything runs by regulation. There’s a set time for submitting placards, a set time for roll call. The first, second, and third days of the month are for governmental matters; fourth, fifth, and sixth for civil petitions; seventh, eighth, ninth for inspections.”
“Whatever you wish to report, you must draft the memorial early, book your date, know exactly when you’re to step forward, when you’re to offer a sign, which side hall to burn incense in, which worship hall to seek blessings from. You must be clear on every step. One misstep and there’s no turning back.”
Xue Cuo’s head felt like a swelling drum. He hopped up indignantly. “But mine is an emergency!”
“Emergency?” The land god snorted. “Even emergencies require a memorial, a report, a round of incense in the side hall. Everything moves up level by level. First rank, second rank, third.”
This is a disaster, Xue Cuo thought. He asked, “Surely there’s some detailed handbook?”
The Qiyin land god stroked his beard. “Of course there is. But… there’s no such thing as a free meal under Heaven.”
“Oh?” said Xue Cuo. “And what does that mean?”
The land god led him to a secluded spot near the temple and lifted a curtain. “Sign up for a class with me, and you’ll know it all.”
Inside were crowds of minor gods, each clutching brush and memorial paper, scribbling away. A few looked up, blinking enormous eyes.
The land god grinned. “Three years’ worth of salary in exchange for a shot at a Dragon-Ascension Permit. Pretty good, isn’t it? And if the South Lord takes a liking to you, you might even get transferred to a big city…”
Xue Cuo’s eyes narrowed. “And if I don’t buy?”
The land god’s face chilled in an instant. “Then get out. For the next twenty years, forget about seeing the South Lord.”
Xue Cuo retorted, “The temple gate is right under my feet. You think you can stop me entering?”
The Qiyin land god looked him over as though examining some rare and ridiculous creature… amused, contemptuous.
“You rustic little god, no sense of Heaven and Earth. Wild-grass rabble, puffed up with your own arrogance.”
“Tell me, how many pounds of divine wit do you think you have? Can you even read the Heavenly Scriptures? Recognise a line of ancient divine script?”
“You can’t even draft a proper memorial. A muddy-legged country god, dreaming of seeing the South Lord? Don’t make me laugh. Stop dreaming of becoming some fairy consort!”
He ridiculed Xue Cuo up and down, then flicked his sleeves and strode off.
A mountain god hunched over his desk, labouring over his writing, saw Xue Cuo being mocked and leaned over to murmur, “Don’t be stubborn, ol’ bro. If your stipend’s tight, you can borrow some. Just don’t borrow from that one. His interest piles upon interest… you won’t clear it even after a few hundred years’ stipend.”
“And if your matter’s urgent, then all the more reason to sign up for a course straightaway. Finish it properly and you might yet be saved.”
Xue Cuo was struck by this and asked, “Bro, what brings you here?”
The mountain god replied, “A demon’s causing havoc on the mountain. It ate a few dozen people. I’ve neither strength nor standing, so I’ve come to the temple to beseech the South Lord to uphold justice.”
Xue Cuo: “So once I sign up for a course, I’ll get to see the South Lord?”
The mountain god said, “Of course not. It’s merely a foot in the door. There are layers upon layers inside. But if you can’t even manage the first step, you’ve no hope at all.”
Xue Cuo frowned. “Do all gods have to go through this?”
The mountain god shook his head. “No. Look over there at that Qiyin land god. He only ropes in poor, struggling gods. The wealthy city gods have all their connections sorted. One word from them and they’re inside, no need to queue. Their matters are handled in a flash. But small fry like us? We follow their rules.”
Xue Cuo: “Wouldn’t it take days and nights just to get one turn?”
“No helping it. That’s why mortals say human life is cheap. By the time the memorial’s even processed, a few more will have died.”
Xue Cuo thought for a moment. Not wanting to stir up further trouble, he went to buy a “course” from Qi Yin.
The latter beamed, took his Naturalisation Certificate identity plate, pocketed his stipend, and handed over a sheet of paper. “How to write a memorial. Everything essential’s on here. Study it carefully.”
He then pointed at the incense burner. “You must write it here. Two hours costs one month’s stipend.”
Xue Cuo: “…”
Finding a free spot, Xue Cuo sat down and examined the sheet. It translated the ancient divine script into vernacular wording, though the glyphs, half-picture, half-text, looked profoundly strange.
The more he read, the more his brows knitted. The mountain god who had warned him earlier whispered, “Hurry and copy it. A few hours is considered fast.”
Xue Cuo said nothing. He picked up the brush, dampened the tip with his mouth, paused in silence, then lowered his hand.
Fast.
Because he memorised it at a glance.
Without hesitating.
Because this so-called memorial was absurdly simple, nowhere near as intricate as the talismans he drew every day.
He wrote at extraordinary speed. The little gods nearby began whispering in disbelief. “How’s he so fast?!”
“In the blink of an eye he’s already finished the opening?!”
In less than half a stick of incense, Xue Cuo completed the memorial in one go. Preparing to submit it, he noticed the mountain god beside him struggling to write his own petition for the villagers’ sake, so Xue Cuo casually finished it for him as well.
At that moment, Qiyin entered with two burly mountain gods.
Qiyin pointed at him. “Our minimum is four hours. Even if you leave now, that’s still four hours’ stipend.”
Xue Cuo gave him a calm look, unwilling to cause a fuss. “Fine. But I’ll submit the memorial first.”
“Stop!” Qi Yin barked. “You haven’t stayed the full four hours. Leave early and you still owe the stipend.”
Xue Cuo said, “And if I refuse…”
The two mountain gods glared, seized him from left and right, and gave him a ruthless beating, shattering his clay statue into falling shards.
Xue Cuo rolled out to the front of the temple, his memorial torn to pieces.
Qiyin forcibly took his Naturalisation Certificate, shoved a large loan of stipend onto his account, and said, “You’ll repay this eventually. Now go enrol again and write your memorial properly. I guarantee you’ll get into the South Lord’s temple.”
Xue Cuo lifted his head. “You.”
Qiyin jingled the jade identity token in his hand, beaming. “Be angry if you like.”
Then, in high spirits, he strode off with his two hulking mountain gods in tow.
Xue Cuo struggled upright, brushing clay dust from his robes. He glanced up at the Civil and Martial temple’s plaque, and a cold, sinister smile curved across his face.
…
The South Sea.
Thousands of acres of jade-green waves.
A woman carrying a blood-red greatsword walked alone across the surface, as though treading solid ground.
Her hair was pinned with a thorn clasp, her robes plain, her gaze cold and desolate. She resembled snow falling across an empty wilderness, clear and without warmth.
Sword Immortal in white stood not far away.
His brows were slightly drawn, a faint melancholy softening his refined features. Hands clasped behind him, his garments were cleaner than pear blossom.
Gu Ruhui, clad in green, stood quietly at his shizun’s side, upright as a silent pine.
Xue Zhenzhen lifted her eyes and slowly unsheathed the massive sword from her back.
“Swordmaster.”
“No need for further words.”
The sword on Xue Zhenzhen’s back let out a low, trembling hum. The two met each other’s gaze, then vanished from the sea at the same instant.
Thunder rumbled overhead; tigers roared, dragons bellowed. The brilliance of the dragon-forged sword intent tore through the night, rending the heavens.
Rain traced down Xue Zhenzhen’s cold, unyielding brows.
Sword Immortal caught the raging dragon-patterned greatsword on the stem of a flower branch. “The great calamity is upon us. How long will you keep searching?”
Xue Zhenzhen struck with all her strength, neither retreating nor yielding. Her fierce sword aura shattered the gathered storm clouds. “I told you already. You need not speak.”
Sword Immortal exhaled softly, swung his sword, and a peerless beam of sword light cleaved forth, like the first radiance that split primordial chaos at the dawn of heaven and earth.
The two forces collided, an explosion of sound like the world’s spine cracking open.
A violent gale churned between them.
Blood trickled down Sword Immortal’s palm, threading between his fingers. He lowered his gaze to it, then closed his eyes. “Swordmaster.”
Xue Zhenzhen calmly sheathed the Dragon Might. “Each time I meet you, I shall greet you with this strike.”
Beneath the sea of clouds…
Gu Ruhui sat cross-legged upon a drifting cloud, hovering over the waves, deep in meditation.
In the distance, a great hawk circled with a black hair ribbon tied to its talons.
Not far away, a tiny shrimp spirit popped its head above the water. “Green robes. Could that be the opportunity Little Turtle Chancellor’s been seeking?”
