The malicious gossip and slander directed against the Imperial Preceptor spread like a plague of corpse toxin — without causing enormous panic, but still dealing a certain blow to his reputation. The Daoist priests of the Canglang Monastery had already noticed quite clearly that the hall enshrining the Imperial Preceptor’s life-size sacred statue had seen far fewer visitors burning incense in recent days.
When had this begun? Perhaps from the time that life-size sacred statue had been splattered with a bucket of excrement, or perhaps it had started from when the corpse-toxin plague broke out. In any case, the hall that had once seen an endless stream of devotees was now far quieter and cooler, and more often than not it was the young Daoist acolytes of the monastery who refilled the incense themselves.
Some Daoist priests believed that because the sacred hall had been defiled, its contaminating energy had not yet fully dispersed, and that this was what had caused the incense and offerings to thin. They advocated conducting a Dharma ceremony to cleanse and purify the hall.
But the monastery’s head priest had already ascended to immortality and departed the world. The new head priest — the position was taken up by his senior disciple, Daoist Priest Shanzun — and moreover, the Sacred Lady had not advocated holding a Dharma ceremony. So they simply re-cleaned the hall, replaced the life-size sacred statue with a new one, pinched off a few seals of purification, and left it at that.
After that incident, not only did the Daoist priests guarding the hall of the Canglang Shrine remain day and night without leaving, but their numbers were increased as well — for fear that someone might come again and throw excrement, pulling off such a revolting and depraved piece of behavior. It was truly deranged.
As night fell, two Daoist priests in their twenties made a thorough inspection of the doors, windows, lamp oil, and candles inside and out, ensuring no flame would be snuffed by the wind and start a fire — and only then sat cross-legged in a corner of the hall, settled in contemplative cultivation.
Yet both of them were feeling somewhat uneasy, and they could not help but glance toward the Imperial Preceptor’s life-size sacred statue. The round-faced Daoist priest among them sighed softly. “Ever since the head priest ascended and departed, the incense and offerings of the Canglang Shrine’s hall have grown less and less with each passing day.”
The head priest’s ascension and the excrement incident had occurred on the same day, and they did not dare to speak of so inauspicious a matter directly — they could only refer obliquely to the head priest’s ascension instead.
The other, a long-faced Daoist priest, said, “It’s not just the Canglang Shrine’s hall — the visitors and incense offerings to the monastery as a whole have declined considerably. In years gone by at this time of year, the ash trays would have been emptied basket after basket. This year, with the corpse-toxin plague stirring up such turmoil, the common people do not dare to move about freely — so of course fewer people come to temples and monasteries.”
Some people, finding themselves in desperate straits, will come to seek divine protection — seeking peace of mind. But others think: people are dying all around us, calamity after calamity, and the gods and spirits do nothing — why bother making the trip at all?
Or perhaps they simply lack the strength to come.
The round-faced Daoist priest said quietly, “The fact that the Imperial Preceptor did not step forward to combat the plague — the common folk, in their hearts, must harbor some degree of resentment.”
“Be quiet!” The long-faced Daoist priest glared at him in reproach. “Don’t you see where you are sitting? What kind of nonsense are you speaking?”
The round-faced Daoist priest felt abashed and could only turn toward the direction of the life-size sacred statue, clasp his hands in a Daoist salute, recite a murmured “boundless reverence to the Heavenly Worthy,” and say no more. But inwardly, he was unconvinced — he had said nothing wrong.
A catastrophe of such magnitude as the corpse-toxin plague — it was an obvious opportunity to step forward, sweep up all the reputation, incense offerings, and votive prayers, and accumulate immense virtue — and yet the Imperial Preceptor had not presided at the Canglang Monastery to oversee the response. That was far too unusual.
To be sure, the Canglang Monastery had also boiled and distributed medicines to fight the plague. But if the nation-protecting Imperial Preceptor had been present, it would have been a powerful anchor for people’s hearts; the common people would have felt gratitude and deep devotion. Yet during the most terrible and panic-inducing disaster Great Dan had faced since its founding — he was absent.
Could it truly be, as the rumors said, that these catastrophes and calamities were the result of the Imperial Preceptor and the imperial family having provoked the wrath of heaven? Or had the Imperial Preceptor created this national crisis himself by cultivating some wicked and unorthodox technique?
The moment that thought rose in the round-faced Daoist priest’s mind, he felt the world go dark before his eyes — his divine spirit seemed to be seized and struck as if by something, and he crumpled to the ground.
That’s it. I’ve blasphemed the Imperial Preceptor. I’ve been struck down.
What he did not know was that the senior brother beside him had suffered the same fate — collapsed to the ground, lost to unconsciousness.
Lang Jiuchuan tossed down a few small paper figures and watched them grunt and strain as they dragged the two men away. Only then did she walk up to stand before the Imperial Preceptor’s life-size sacred statue.
The corpse-toxin plague had been breaking out since before the new year, yet the Canglang Monastery still had the heart and mind to commission a brand new gilded sacred statue for the Imperial Preceptor, so that it might receive the worship of the world — unaware that this very corpse toxin was something this very person had created.
He was not even afraid of being struck down by the backlash from those votive prayers!
“Since your disciple is so devoted and filial, let me spare you from the pain of being struck down by the votive prayers’ backlash.” Lang Jiuchuan laughed coldly. She turned a fire talisman between her fingers, tipped onto the toes of one foot, and as she flung the fire talisman toward the life-size sacred statue, she also vaulted herself up onto the rooftop.
A thunderous boom rang out, resounding with particular clarity in the stillness of the night. Many people deep in sleep were jolted awake and came out in the cold, lighting lamps and wrapping robes around themselves, peering outside to see what had happened.
By then, Lang Jiuchuan had begun invoking the seal sequences, murmuring the thunder incantation under her breath: “The three heavens nurture the primordial, the bright vault of the sky enacts its righteous punishment, the decree of creation is issued forth, responding above to the ranks of stars… the Supreme Sovereign of Taiyi, I summon forth your true spirit, to command and govern the soldiers of thunder — by edict!”
Her talisman writing brush flew from her hand to strike the rooftop.
Crack.
A blinding white bolt of lightning descended from the sky, striking the talisman brush. The brush landed on the rooftop — and with a tremendous, heaven-shaking crack, the fire talisman that had already ignited a flame on the offering platform within the hall was struck by the lightning and instantly erupted into a massive ball of fire. A great hole was blown through the entire Canglang Shrine’s hall, and pillars of fire leapt toward the heavens.
Lang Jiuchuan called back the talisman brush and concealed herself in the shadows, watching the tongues of flame engulf the life-size sacred statue with cold and steady eyes.
“Heavens — a thunderbolt from the sky! The Canglang Shrine’s hall has been struck by heavenly fire!” A Daoist priest caught sight of the blazing light and let out a howl. “Someone come — quickly, put out the fire!”
A clamor of voices erupted, and the entire monastery broke into turmoil.
Many people seized water buckets and began to fight the fire. Those with somewhat higher cultivation pinched off rain-summoning seal sequences, but the drizzle that fell could not withstand the vigorous and righteous raging of heavenly fire.
The flames were fierce.
Lang Jiuchuan watched the life-size sacred statue still standing unbroken within the inferno, and her gaze went cold. She cast out a single finger-seal.
With a sharp crack, the sacred statue — forged of copper and coated in gold lacquer — immediately exploded apart, crashing thunderously to the ground.
And in the moment that the sacred statue fell, she clearly saw a faint thread of votive prayers sever and be swallowed by the heavenly fire. She curled her lips in vicious delight.
At that very moment, the Imperial Preceptor — sitting deep in contemplation within a mountain cave — felt a surge of upheaval rise and roll through his chest. He coughed aloud, and a thin thread of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. He opened his eyes, and a flash of sharp, fierce light passed through them. His two fingers began moving swiftly through calculation sequences.
Another strand of the faith and votive prayers belonging to him had been severed — and it was the most important one.
After a careful calculation, he finally understood what had happened.
Something had gone wrong with the Canglang Shrine’s hall again.
A thread of irritation rose between the Imperial Preceptor’s brows. The corpse wraiths had been destroyed by that little wolf cub Lang Jiuchuan — and through his own primordial power she had struck him with a technique that injured him from across a great distance. He ought to have been keeping his mind still and closed in seclusion to restore his cultivation.
Yet recently, the obstructions he encountered had grown more and more frequent, causing his cultivation to be interrupted again and again, making it impossible to more effectively repair the damage to his primordial energy from the backlash he had suffered. In particular, this physical body was growing more and more ravaged by illness with each passing day — the day of its natural death was drawing ever closer. And with faith and votive prayers severed, it became increasingly difficult for his divine spirit to receive nourishment and recover. The body aged faster as a result.
What one lost, the other gained. If this continued, it would not only be greatly detrimental to his power — it would also cause his plans to deviate from their course.
The Imperial Preceptor inadvertently raised his gaze. Not far away, the Eight Trigrams Mirror reflected back the aged visage of this body — emaciated to nothing but a layer of skin over bone. A flash of irritation and revulsion crossed his eyes, and he murmured in cold displeasure: “That little wolf cub is quite adept at making trouble for me.”