Chapter 988: As if the Nine Divine Spirits Watch from the Mysterious Depths

In the church, a round table of Eastern design stood in the main hall of worship.

Beneath the Holy Triangle, Amon, incarnated as the great lawyer Drummond, sat at the head of the table, a black eye patch covering his right eye.

His hands lay open upon the table, his left palm holding a triangular holy lamp pendant, his right hand resting on the Three-in-One Bible.

A raven perched atop the Three-in-One Bible, its black goat-skin cover, tilting its head and fixing its pea-sized green eyes upon the assembly.

To his left sat a young foreign woman, black-haired, her blue eyes like a clear lake.

Zhang Sanzhi sat below him, still holding his tobacco pipe, though the bowl was empty and no tobacco had been lit.

Below him sat a man with a thin mouse-like mustache, slanted eyes, and a sinister expression.

Below him again was the spirit-medium Daoist, who claimed to possess the iron-mouthed certainty of fortune-telling.

Beside the spirit-medium Daoist, tall-limbed and monkey-like, was none other than the missing Shaman Lord, who had fled without a trace.

And Sarah, who had stumbled in by accident, grew grim as she looked to her left.

There sat the Sin Bishop Menol, clad in red robes, his seven arms spread behind him like wings, radiating an otherworldly divinity.

Below Menol sat Jialidao, now dressed in the red robes of a bishop.

Though clad in the cardinal’s robe, his face held no trace of holiness—only keen amusement as he observed those around him.

Xilin sat below him, dressed in a white physician’s robe, representing Miskatonic University.

Xilin’s expression was faintly dazed; she stared at Menol and Jialidao seated together, as if seeing ghosts.

Opposite her sat a Daoist with a benevolent face, smiling warmly, holding a bronze wine vessel—it was Nianwan Daochang, the abbot of Tianhou Palace; beside him stood a dark-faced monk with nine scorch marks on his scalp—the abbot of Haikou Chao Yin Temple, Fubo Master.

Beside them stood another figure, his back turned to all, gazing intently at the silver lamp burning upon the altar; his face was strikingly beautiful, almost inhumanly eerie.

It was the Primordial Spirit Demon of the Tai Sui Alliance—Chi Fenruo!

The twelve sat in order around the round table.

Drummond looked at the sinister man and addressed the assembly: “Gentlemen, this is Zhao Tianli, the leader of Tianli Sect, one of the Three Northern Religions—and one of the rarest living martial sages to have taken the Sixth Step.”

Zhao Tianli swept his gaze over the motley crowd and said coolly: “I didn’t come here to make friends, nor do I have any interest in befriending a pack of scoundrels. I am here for one purpose only—the Xuanjun Seven-Chapter Secret Scripture!”

Drummond smiled: “Master Zhao, as agreed, once the Xuanzhen Sect Master is slain, the scripture shall be yours.”

At these words, the spirit-medium Daoist’s face twitched slightly; he glanced around the room and for the first time wondered if he had come to the wrong place.

Killed the Xuanzhen Sect Master?

Did they even know what the Xuanzhen Sect Master was?

Chi Fenruo slightly raised his head and nodded at the spirit-medium Daoist, offering him slight reassurance.

Drummond clasped the hands of the two men beside him and smiled: “According to our custom, we must pray before the meal. Those who share faith in the Heavenly Father, pray with me; the rest, pray as you will.”

He bowed his head.

The Westerners to his right lowered their heads in unison—even Sin Bishop Menol, Xilin of Miskatonic, and Sarah did the same.

On the left, only three bowed their heads.

Nianwan Daochang of Tianhou Palace formed the Three Holy Seal with his fingers; Fubo Master of Chao Yin Temple clasped his palms together; the third who paid homage to Mingzun was the last person the spirit-medium Daoist expected.

Chi Fenruo raised three fingers toward heaven, closed his eyes, and silently prayed.

Drummond’s voice echoed through the church—

The twelve wore expressions of varied intent!

“Our Father in heaven!”

“Hallowed be Thy name…”

“Thy kingdom come…”

“Thy will be done…”

“On earth as it is in heaven.”

In the Luo Temple, eight clerks sat three on the left and four on the right, flanking Qian Chen.

A long table, common in the Western Continent, stretched before the Luo Temple’s Three Holy Altar; Qian Chen sat at the center. Excluding Wen Caixia, who had transformed into a raven perched on Qian Chen’s left, the other seven were arranged as Du Xiaoling, Dou Dabiao, Cui Bu’er, and others—twelve in total seated at the long table.

“The poor open markets, the rich open altars; the great assembly of the Three Teachings and Nine Streams. Fierce duels are arranged, black and white tangled in ghostly lawsuits.”

Zhang Sanzhi murmured: “Don’t laugh, gentlemen—I’ve twice arranged duels for the Qingpi Guild, and both times our Ancestor lost! Once, at a grand assembly by the canal, the White Lotus Sect showed up and crushed our Zhigu’s cart guild, porter guild, and canal guild alike. Had it not been for our Ancestor’s honor, I’d have cut off my last three fingers rather than gamble my brothers’ lives on defeat!”

“But this Xuanzhen Sect? Their intentions are hostile—not a matter for our Qingpi Guild alone. It concerns the martial guilds, cart guilds, medicine guilds, canal guilds, and even you foreigners.”

“Each guild eats its own meal, but this time, Xuanzhen Sect means to wipe us all out!”

“That’s why I’ve summoned you all here—to fight this lawsuit!”

The abbot of Tianhou Palace, clad in purple ritual robes, flicked his dust whisk and smiled: “Lawsuits are not our concern as outsiders. The Empress of Heaven judges the living by day and the dead by night, grants blessings and ensures safety—Tianhou Palace’s gates are open to all. But if you seek to file a ghostly complaint, to sue the dead, you must not come through this gate!”

Zhang Sanzhi nodded: “I’ve already summoned the most powerful spirit-walker in Zhigu—he will deliver the petition before the Empress of Heaven…”

Nianwan Daochang sighed faintly and shook his head: “The hour is wrong!”

“To file a ghostly petition at Tianhou Palace, I have no authority over it. Only when the moon is at its zenith, passing through the shadow of Tianhou Palace’s gate, can one send one’s soul along the spirit path to meet the Empress transformed into the Heavenly Mother Ghost. But the Winter Solstice draws near! The shadow of Tianhou Palace’s spirit path now falls into the Sancha River—you must take that path!”

Zhang Sanzhi’s face turned ashen; he snapped his head up: “The spirit path at the Sancha River mouth?”

“Spirit-walking is inherently demonic—even if you truly summoned Old Master Wang! He may descend into the river, but he may never rise again!” Nianwan Daochang’s face was filled with pity.

Fubo Master also shook his head: “The Holy Mother of Heaven holds great compassion, yet also great peril. For centuries, the sacred artifact of Tianhou Palace has lain buried beneath the Sancha River mouth; no immortal, north or south, dares to peer into it. On the Winter Solstice, yin peaks and yang retreats—this is when the Holy Mother’s yin body, the Heavenly Ghost Mother, is most malevolent. Zhang, I urge you to reconsider!”

Zhang Sanzhi fell silent for a long while, then gritted his teeth: “One of our Qingpi Guild’s ancestors sank at the Sancha River mouth. Old Master Wang has walked the spirit path for decades, wielding his ancestral white lantern, human-skin robe, and soul-stirring gong—three treasures. Moreover, the Wang family’s eldest son is enshrined in the Clay Doll Temple, holding the red thread tied to Old Master Wang’s life. With two masters to guide him, he has a seven-in-ten chance!”

Nianwan Daochang frowned: “Foolish! The clay doll cannot enter water; the Wang family’s eldest cannot save him!”

Fubo Master merely sighed: “The peril is clear—even Old Master Wang, who has walked the spirit path for decades, knows it well. Zhang Sanzhi, how did you persuade him? How did you make him risk his very life?”

Zhang Sanzhi paused, then spoke: “The Wang family’s spirit-walking broke too many taboos—they had no heirs. I found a distant nephew in Hebei, kowtowed nine times, and restored their ancestral line.”

He raised his head: “Old Master Wang found a kiln—he intends to summon his eldest son back and burn him into a life-essence porcelain.”

Nianwan Daochang’s expression finally turned grave: “The Empress of Heaven molded clay to create humanity—thus, the clay doll is naturally earth-bound, its qi long-lasting, flesh and blood alive—hence it can bear calamities and substitute for fate. It is alive! Once burned into porcelain, it becomes brittle, a dead object—a ghost-spirit! It no longer fears water—but the clay doll turned porcelain ghost, its red thread turned black, no longer shares the umbilical cord of a single mother!”

“It becomes the ink-thread binding a corpse!”

Zhang Sanzhi’s expression turned cold: “Eighteen brothers of our Qingpi Guild kowtowed to him, pledged to smash his funeral basin and carry his funeral banner—to raise him in life, bury him in death. From now on, the Wang family’s eldest brother is our Qingpi Guild’s new chief; his eighteen brothers are his blood-brothers, born of the same mother, sharing life and death—even if he orders me killed, they will obey without hesitation!”

Nianwan Daochang only shook his head and sighed.

Drummond tied a black thread to a clay doll beside him, then turned to the next object—a withered ghost-faced moth.

Zhang Sanzhi drew a deep breath from his empty pipe, pulling forth a thick plume of smoke from nowhere, exhaling slowly: “I’ve hired the two greatest masters from north and south. The Northern Nine You General leads a thousand bandits; on the Winter Solstice, they will dig up the three ancient ghost graves—the Central Official Tomb, the Concubine’s Mound, and the Old King’s Mausoleum—to find the Black Sky Moth Mother’s trail!”

“And the Four-Eyed Daoist of Maoshan in the south will personally enter the Bone Burial Tower to break open hell for ten thousand wronged souls!”

“The leaders of the Wei and Lu guilds have already summoned the Dragon Ticket!”

“Behind the Dragon Ticket, passed down for centuries by the northern and southern canal guilds, lies the Nine Dragon Secret Map—the hidden source of Zhigu’s Nine Rivers. They will lead their disciples to reopen the ancient Yu River channel and face the Nine River Dragon King!”

Zhao Tianli’s expression shifted slightly; he raised his eyes: “The ancient Yu River channel? I never imagined the canal guilds still held such a secret!”

“No wonder…”

Zhao Tianli chuckled softly: “When the barbarians ruled the world, legends spoke of a monstrous beast rising from the Yellow River, unleashing torrents of blood rain that destroyed that dynasty. My Tianli Sect spent decades searching to destroy the Gan Dynasty—only to discover that when Tianhou Palace was built, when the Sancha River mouth was sunk with treasures, and when Zhigu’s Nine Rivers ran dry, the afterwaves of that Yellow River beast had yet to fade. This Nine River Dragon King… may well be…”

Drummond set down the stone-carved figurine and picked up a long black feather from a raven.

“The gaze of the Raven God will arrive as promised…”

Drummond brushed the feather lightly against the raven beside him.

The demon Ramo let out a piercing shriek; Sarah, hearing these names of alien deities, sensed that these secrets could become elements of magic—or even sources of power.

Though she did not understand what these alien deities of the Eastern Continent meant, her Solomonic blood made her instinctively memorize them.

The raven’s screech startled her.

But Jialidao rose to his feet and smiled: “In the name of the Eastern Church’s Cardinal, my Lord’s gaze shall surely descend!”

Sarah’s heart filled with dread.

The Holy Church—the most arrogant, the most dismissive of all deities, branding every alien god as demon—now placed its “Lord” on equal footing with these obscure, insignificant alien deities.

In truth, the fact that the Cardinal had not furiously smashed the symbols of these gods had already stunned her.

Now—could it be that these strange, unheard-of “gods” were ones even the Holy Church feared?

“The Lord of Yin-Yang Dao will arrive as promised!”

Nianwan Daochang’s expression twisted; he added: “You need not summon Him. He will come of His own accord—and no matter what you do, He will be delighted to witness it.”

Zhang Sanzhi tapped his pipe: “The Mirror Lord is the most detached; His earthly manifestations are exceedingly rare. But I know someone who brought back a sacred relic from the Outer Void—fragment of the Mirror Lord’s incarnation, the Silver Mirror of Taiyin. He hid this secret for decades, even feigning madness—but others watched him for just as long…”

The Shaman Lord spoke gravely: “Herding sheep and hiding treasures—each has its experts.”

“It seems the famed Dou Dabiao still surpasses all. My master spent his life herding sheep beyond the passes, dying on the Dragon Vein of the Gan Dynasty—fitting for his station. Yet he never achieved what Dou Dabiao did: herding such a celestial spirit!”

The Shaman Lord’s eyes flashed with ruthlessness.

“The Silver Mirror must be the great green donkey that never left Dou Dabiao’s side. To use such a demonic art to conceal treasure—what a clever trick.”

Jialidao rose.

“The corpse of the foreign demon we found lies aboard the largest cargo ship at the port. The sea where we discovered it is precisely what you call—the Bottomless Void!”

At last, Chi Fenruo spoke.

“As for the deepest destruction, the boundless darkness—leave it to me!”

At Drummond’s side now lay: the clay doll bound with black thread, the withered ghost-faced swan, the bone-carved bodhisattva, the stone-carved figurine, the black raven feather, the silver triangular lamp pendant, the copper ring of the ouroboros, the shard of crystal silver mirror, and a sliver of velvet as smooth as night, pitch-black.

These nine objects filled Drummond’s side, piled into a small mound atop the black cover of the Three-in-One Bible…

The spirit-medium Daoist glanced left and right; from their tones, he sensed something higher, more mysterious, more unfathomable.

Behind each of the deities they named, he sensed a gaze—aloft, watching.

At last, he understood: the true intent behind Chi Fenruo, and behind the foreigner who seemed some pivotal figure.

“They seek… to capture a Creator God, to hunt… a Dao Lord!”

“The Empress of Heaven, the Bone Bodhisattva, the Black Sky Moth Mother, the Nine River Dragon King… these are all Dao Lords who, alongside Xuanwei Daojun—the reviver of Languan Dao, Qian Chen—opened heaven and earth and created this realm!”

“And all of this—this entire scheme—is the deliberate or accidental move of these Dao Lords, laid to hunt and kill Xuanwei Daojun!”

The alliance’s roots in this world far exceed my imagination; the twelve Dao Lords joined hands to create heaven and earth, likely to secure the Dao Seeds this world produces—and each of the twelve Dao Lords has their own calculations, making it impossible to tell friend from foe.

That Dao Lord Qian Chen attained his Dao through a spiritual treasure, and his foundation is likely the shallowest among the twelve Dao Lords—so someone has set their sights on his Dao Fruit, on his unique status in this world.

Dao Lord Qian Chen is one of the Three Primordial Lords of Creation—the Ming Zun!

On the Western Continent, the position of Ming Zun has been usurped by the Savior.

Behind this lies the hunting of him by other Dao Lords…

The Tai Sui Alliance has precisely uncovered the identities of those Dao Lords seeking to assassinate Ming Zun from behind—and thus they have laid this trap, willingly becoming pawns in the Dao Lords’ game.

No Dao Lord can be killed within a world they have created, not even a mere fragment of their will, not even in reincarnation—and I had karmic ties with Dao Lord Qian Chen before either of us attained Dao, so I am that “blade.”

Next, under the watchful eyes of nine Dao Lords, I, this special blade, shall assassinate a Dao Lord!

Thus, the Tai Sui Alliance forged me, this blade capable of harming Dao Lords; while other forces in this world have received orders: Dao Lord Xuanwei has reincarnated as the current Master of Xuanzhen Sect, likely to sabotage the Savior’s plot to seize his throne. Meanwhile, those Dao Lords who oppose Xuanwei secretly scheme, precisely to ensure Xuanwei’s reincarnation faces this “judgment” head-on!

At that moment, someone will surely wield my blade to “execute” him!

But… what if the Dao Lords do not act? They must have oaths and pacts forbidding them from striking one another—but what kind of method could possibly kill a Dao Lord?

The Daoist of Divine Penetration could not fathom it.

He felt only that he was powerless, trapped within a vast whirlpool.

A gaze from beyond heaven fell coldly, viewing all beings of this world as ants, as pawns!