Chapter 66

Zhu Gaoyang fell into a solemn silence, his legs tensing, claws slightly curled.

“The second matter was decided on the spot… because I originally thought the one who would come here would be that boy… but since it’s Young Master Zhu—don’t move.” The old man lightly squeezed, and Zhu Gaoyang’s arm instantly went limp with numbness.

He pointed to the courtyard, raising his brown eyes in warning: “The moment you move out of my grip, what you just saw will happen again.”

Zhu Gaoyang fell still.

“No need to be tense.” The old man lowered his head again, gently stroking and examining the monstrous arm in his hand. “As I was saying… ah yes, the second little gift.”

“I thought the one who would come here would be that boy—he’d have had no value. But since it’s the First of Long Jun’s Dongting Sword Line, I can offer you an opportunity.”

“What opportunity?”

“An opportunity to escape the fate you just experienced.”

“What’s the price?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

“I refuse.”

“Hehehe.” The old man chuckled softly, wrinkles bending into gentle creases. “No, you cannot.”

“The second gift is for you—and for Long Jun’s Dongting. This little gift… is you.” The old man’s index finger tapped lightly on Zhu Gaoyang’s demonic arm—and before Zhu Gaoyang’s widened pupils, a miracle was born.

He had never truly fought Qiongqi, nor seen the Immortal Lord after the Eighth Rebirth; this ability to command flesh was something he witnessed for the first time.

Yet even Pei Ye, who had seen it several times before, could not remain expressionless before this sight.

For this command was not like before—merely liquefying flesh to hide or evade attacks—but targeted the smallest units of flesh, painstakingly disassembling, transforming, and reassembling them.

Give different people a knife and a carrot: one can only chop it into irregular halves, another can peel it, another can slice it into threads, and yet another can carve it into jade pavilions and towers.

It was an exquisitely refined manipulation, far superior to the application of turning the tiger’s body into internal organs.

Under this manipulation, Zhu Gaoyang watched in shock as his body underwent a massive transformation.

The bone spines retreated beneath the skin, the scales melted into liquid and seeped into his flesh; the pervasive blue hue faded, revealing pale skin and muscle, his body slowly returning to its original form.

No—not returning. Completely remade.

And the blue substance was compressed into a single mass, buried deep within his heart.

Only then did the old man’s furrowed brow relax; he exhaled gently. Clearly, this feat was no trivial matter for him. He smiled lightly: “Well? How do you like this gift?”

He pulled a pen from his chest pocket and a small notebook from his robe, scribbling a few lines.

“Indeed, I must try…” he murmured to himself, then tucked the pen and notebook away. Seeing Zhu Gaoyang staring at his chest pocket, he smiled and explained, “It’s a bamboo-pen—I modified it slightly, injecting ink into the tube so I don’t have to carry ink. But it always leaks. I thought I should add a cap…”

“Oh, sorry. Old men tend to ramble.” The old man offered an apologetic smile. “You have urgent matters, and I must go catch a few small creatures. We’ll talk again next time.”

Before Zhu Gaoyang could reply, the old man lifted his loosely clenched hand and extended it gently.

There was a soft *pop*. The blue substance within Zhu Gaoyang’s heart surged like a beast released from its cage, flooding his veins, filling his limbs in an instant—the grotesque transformation returned to his body.

Zhu Gaoyang’s inner clarity plunged into shadow.

He raised his cold, golden eyes toward Fenghuai—where the God’s sought object lay.

Beside him, a figure in black robes sat back on the stone, opening an ancient book. Zhu Gaoyang glanced at him, then looked away.

A curved strip of beef jerky, he thought.

…

…

Fenghuai, County Office.

Xu Wei Zhou, the Vice-Minister dispatched from the province, arrived after Jing Ziwang’s sudden death. This morning, he received word that Pei Ye and the others had returned to the county office, and had just come back from Bai Zhu Village.

This Vice-Minister was far younger than Jing Ziwang, a true master among the entire Bo Wang Province.

He had a refined, handsome face, came from a distinguished family, studied under a great sect, and at thirty-six had already reached the second tier of the Mystic Path—the Jade Step. He then leveraged his family’s political connections to serve as a senior provincial aide, a perfect version of Shen Yanping.

Only he, Xing Zhi, Chang Zhiyuan, and Pei Ye were in the room—but only three spoke.

“The notion of ‘divine descent’ is still too vague,” the Vice-Minister tapped the table. “You’ve merely confirmed that the seed can manipulate minds, correct? In six thousand years of history, how many alchemists have sought immortals? No one has ever heard of a true god.”

“It’s just a name,” Xing Zhi clearly agreed. “We’re not saying He is a god descending from heaven—but a powerful will has awakened from the seed, and it is undeniably linked to the ‘Immortal Lord’ worshipped by the Candle World Cult. Whether He is an ‘immortal’ doesn’t matter. Just don’t dare doubt His power, Vice-Minister Xu.”

“I naturally trust Master Xing—and Master Ming’s judgment,” Xu Wei Zhou nodded. “But whether He’s powerful or not is irrelevant to us now. The event has already occurred. The seed has awakened. We cannot enter the mountains to crush Him… Master Xing.”

Xing Zhi glanced at him: “I know, Vice-Minister Xu. I’m not asking you to go into the mountains to find Young Master Zhu—he’s already dead.”

Xu Wei Zhou squeezed his teacup, smiling awkwardly: “Ah, Young Master Zhu had great fortune…”

“I mean,” Xing Zhi interrupted, “without knowing His purpose, we cannot predict His movements. How do you know He won’t come to Fenghuai?”

“...What purpose could He possibly have? After awakening, He’d naturally seek to grow stronger. Why come after us?”

“He can grow rapidly by consuming.”

“Then—” Xu Wei Zhou began, then his face turned pale. “Master Xing, don’t joke.”

Xing Zhi continued: “How many civilians are there in Fenghuai County?”

Chang Zhiyuan replied: “More than thirty-two thousand in the city.”

“The province just reported: the Vermilion Bird has been released. The capital will have someone here by tonight at the latest. And since the Immortal Lord didn’t pursue you last night, perhaps He has no such intention. Even if we assume the worst—that He opens His mouth and swallows one by one—how many could die before the capital arrives?” Xu Wei Zhou drained his tea. “Don’t scare yourselves.”

Pei Ye frowned. Xing Zhi drank her tea without expression.

—Even five deaths would be your failure, Vice-Minister Xu.

The Vice-Minister’s post carries no permanent authority—it exists only to summon experts for emergencies. But when she passed through the provincial capital on her way to Fenghuai, she already knew: he treated this post as a convenient pleasure trip. When Fenghuai sent urgent reports, he was aboard a pleasure boat, hosting a literary gathering, drunk with a crowd of young masters and ladies.

Had he come with Jing Ziwang that day, the situation wouldn’t have deteriorated so swiftly. Had he delayed even one day, the capital would have had time to respond.

“I have a proposal,” she set down her teacup. “Ask Vice-Minister Xu to enter the mountains alone. If you see Qiongqi, lead it away in another direction—to buy Fenghuai time.”