“Achoo!” Song Qian Ji turned his head and rubbed his nose.

All the serving girls leading the way laughed together.

The youngest and liveliest among them couldn’t help saying: “It seems Master Song is truly visiting for the first time and still not accustomed to the scent of the ‘Mortal Realm Wine.’ After drinking a few more cups, you’ll get used to it.”

The moon climbed to the center of the sky, and the night was still long. As the auction ended, the banquet was only truly beginning.

When Song Qian Ji reached the third floor, he happened upon a group of sturdy servants carrying vats of strong liquor, pouring them over the railings into the lotus platform in the hall below.

The waterfall of flowing liquor filled the lotus platform, transforming it into a crimson pool of wine.

Male and female dancers dressed in thin gauze with colorful ribbons flew through the air like swings. The entire hall of guests drank heartily, sang wildly, laughing and getting drunk.

The strong, pungent aroma of wine mixed with various floral and cosmetic scents made Song Qian Ji feel slightly short of breath.

“Pardon me, I don’t normally drink,” he said.

Another serving girl said: “The Mortal Realm Wine is specially crafted by Golden Palace. Many wine-loving enthusiasts travel thousands of miles to the Western Sea for just one sip. Master Song should try it. I didn’t like it either when I was at home, but now I drink it every day.”

“When you were at home?” Song Qian Ji frowned slightly.

Through this casual conversation, he examined the group of women again and noticed they all spoke with different accents and habits, clearly not people raised by Golden Palace since childhood. Moreover, their elegant manners and confident demeanor showed no trace of timidity, unlike typical servants.

Song Qian Ji asked what cultivation techniques they practiced and where they came from, growing increasingly angry with each answer.

—These young women all came from distinguished families, practicing orthodox cultivation methods. Though not as prominent as the Hua Wei Sect, they were from families and sects with respectable reputations.

Had Meng He Ze forcibly seized these young women, kidnapping female disciples to serve as concubines? Or were those medium and small powers, under the tyranny of the Unorthodox Path’s master, forced to offer people as tribute?

Well done, Meng He Ze! At Thousand Channels you were a senior disciple who seduced Hua Wei Sect’s outer disciples.

Now as a great demon lord in the Western Sea, you’re seducing daughters from other families?

As they were speaking, more than ten prisoners bound in chains, their human forms unrecognizable, were escorted into the hall and forced to kneel beside the lotus platform.

A person wearing a black robe, with an elegant posture and a relaxed expression, slowly carved off their limbs with a bone-scraping knife, enjoying their screams of agony.

The fragrant, intoxicating banquet was overlaid with a layer of blood, yet the drunken crowd became even more excited by this bloody stimulation, breaking into waves of cheers.

Song Qian Ji watched coldly: “Is the executioner Jin Lü?”

The serving girl smiled: “That’s right, it’s Right Protector Lord Jin Lü.”

“Most of these assassins died in the punishment hall; a few are kept for entertainment at the banquet.”

“Let everyone see that daring to invade our Golden Palace results in this fate.”

The host shouted: “Long live the Evil Buddha.”

The unorthodox masses responded in unison, and even the serving girls leading Song Qian Ji stopped in their tracks and solemnly said: “Long live the Evil Buddha.”

In the wild revelry of wine pools and forests of flesh, a chill ran up Song Qian Ji’s spine.

These beautiful female cultivators were young and inexperienced—their hospitality was genuine, but so was their cruelty and frivolity.

Looking around, all those under the Evil Buddha were like this. Perhaps with just one command from Meng He Ze, these young women who were now treating him with kindness and warmth would immediately rush to push him onto the execution platform.

Finally reaching the top floor, a sudden cool breeze brushed his face, and the air instantly became fresh.

Due to the formation arrays, the noise seemed isolated far away, with only the faint sounds of string and flute music audible.

It was as if completely separated from the lower floors into two different worlds, with no smell of blood or wine, only faint smoke and sandalwood incense.

Quiet, even solemn, like an ancient temple hidden deep in the mountains.

The lead serving girl pushed open the door and said softly: “Master Song has arrived.”

Song Qian Ji stepped onto the snow-white long-pile carpet as if walking on clouds.

While the lower floors were resplendent with gold and bright with red lanterns and green wine, this room was extremely plain. White carpet, white walls, and white gauze curtains hanging in the air, like the ice cave beneath Blood River Valley.

A delicate, boneless hand lifted the hanging gauze and pulled him inside.

“You’re now the most valuable man in the entire cultivation world. Let me have a good look at you.” Madam Golden Peach circled Song Qian Ji, lightly waving her peacock fan. “Ah, truly handsome. This money was well spent.”

The serving girls couldn’t stop giggling.

Song Qian Ji stepped back twice: “Where is the Evil Buddha?”

“You’re quite clever, voluntarily standing on the stage. Otherwise, if Jin Dao had to bind and escort you, you would have suffered,” said Madam Golden Peach.

Song Qian Ji ignored her and used his sword hilt to push aside the floating white gauze curtains, heading straight toward the depths.

His fearsome reputation preceded him; how could Meng He Ze not be on guard?

Madam Golden Hairpin was putting on an act. If he took the bait, it would be convenient for them. If not, there were still ambushes inside.

Unexpectedly, he was overly cooperative, volunteering to be tonight’s final auction item.

This room was extraordinarily large, and the gauze curtains made it like a maze.

Song Qian Ji stopped and called out loudly: “I haven’t come to kill you. Do you still remember me? Meng He Ze!”

As soon as the three words “Meng He Ze” were uttered, all the lights in the palace suddenly extinguished.

The clear, cold moonlight penetrated through some unknown window. The shadows of the curtains fell on the white walls, like intertwining water weeds or ghosts walking in the night.

“The Evil Buddha’s name is Meng Zheng Xian. Who is Meng He Ze?” Madam Golden Peach shouted. “The more patient one is, the greater one’s ambitions. You endured the humiliation of being bid upon tonight—what exactly do you intend to do?”

She waved her sleeve, and ten gauze curtains shot out like iron chains, binding around Song Qian Ji’s body.

Just as Song Qian Ji was about to draw his sword, a voice suddenly sounded from the depths of the room: “Let him come in.”

The voice was extremely calm, like a deity untouched by mortal dust.

Madam Golden Peach withdrew her hand in response, not saying another word.

The curtains parted layer by layer, clearing a path. Song Qian Ji walked forward alone for more than ten zhangs until he first saw a window.

This window was as tall as three people, completely open, directly facing the full moon in the western sky.

A person wearing a red robe sat cross-legged beneath the moon, eyes lowered, slowly fingering Buddhist prayer beads.

Snow-white hair fell to his knees, lifted by the surging night wind, like layers of snow waves.

Bathed in moonlight, he loosely wore a dark red robe, revealing a chest like white jade.

He should have been a jade Buddha statue untainted by worldly dust, yet from his hand to his chest were covered with strange dark red tattoo patterns, like some terrifying living creature growing inside him.

A demonic aura rushed toward him.

This was the Lord of the Unorthodox Path, Meng Zheng Xian. Even though Song Qian Ji had seen him in his previous life and was mentally prepared, it was still difficult to accept.

“You…” Song Qian Ji asked, “Do you remember me?”

“How could I forget?” Meng Zheng Xian’s hand counting prayer beads stopped, and he suddenly raised his eyes. “This Seat thanks you. It’s been a long time since we parted at Hua Wei Sect.”

Blood-red pupils, snow-white hair.

Song Qian Ji was startled. Repaying evil with kindness? Was the Evil Buddha so sweet?

Meng Zheng Xian returned the prayer beads to his wrist and stood up, shaking his sleeves: “If not for you giving me a push back then, I would still be digging spirit stone mines at Hua Wei Sect, waiting bitterly for an opportunity. Even if I had entered the inner sect, I would still be the lowest-ranked ordinary disciple. When would I have ever risen above? Without you, there would be no me today. So not only do I not hate you, I must thank you. You have given me a rebirth!”

“You… thank me?” Song Qian Ji found it absurd.

“Because of you, I am now the Lord of the Unorthodox Path ruling over the Western Sea! Regardless of why you’ve come, drink a cup with me first.” Meng He Ze raised his hand, and a wine cup flew into it.

He handed one to Song Qian Ji.

“No, that’s not right.” Song Qian Ji thought for a moment, still feeling something was wrong with this logic. “You shouldn’t thank me, because you’re not doing well now, not happy.”

Meng Zheng Xian seemed to have heard the greatest joke and curled the corners of his mouth: “What do you think this place is?”

“The peak of Golden Palace, a red dust gathering place.”

“Listen to the sounds outside. What do you hear?”

“Noise.”

“It’s laughter.” The Evil Buddha held his wine cup and drank a cup himself. “This is the place with the most laughter in the world.”

Song Qian Ji listened carefully.

Women’s silver bell-like laughter, men’s hearty laughter, gamblers’ frenzied laughter, loud laughter, coquettish laughter, seductive laughter, embarrassed laughter—he was almost drowned in laughter.

Young cultivators new to the path, if blinded by the prosperity, would think that even ascending after attaining the Dao couldn’t be better than this.

“Here, once you cast off the hypocritical human skin, you can enjoy extreme pleasure.” The Evil Buddha walked step by step closer, his voice like an enchantment. “You can stay by my side.”

Song Qian Ji suddenly understood.

The Evil Buddha used the illusion of a bit of tenderness amidst brutality to lure those young women to rush like moths to the flame.

He shook his head: “If this is truly the place with the most laughter in the world, why don’t you laugh?”

Why are you cold and gloomy, killing people at the slightest disagreement?

Why are you still in such pain?

“You say I don’t laugh?” the Evil Buddha chuckled lightly.

Song Qian Ji continued: “At Hua Wei Sect, you didn’t laugh like this. I’ve seen it. Meng He Ze, I’ve come to save you.”

The Evil Buddha stared at him: “I had nothing. You pushed me into hell. Now I rule over the Western Sea, and you say you’ve come to save me. Song Qian Ji, do you think I’m unwilling to kill you?”

Song Qian Ji felt an invisible pressure. The temperature around him suddenly dropped.

The Evil Buddha had killing intent.

“Trust me.” Song Qian Ji felt these words were extremely unconvincing. “As long as you can trust me, I can do anything.”

“Is that so?” The Evil Buddha’s killing intent slightly dispersed as he lowered his eyes and said, “Drink this cup of wine.”

He had investigated and found that in certain aspects, Song Qian Ji, this independent cultivator, was more self-denying and joyless than those from orthodox sects.

He didn’t drink, didn’t gamble, wasn’t interested in beauty, and abstained from all worldly pleasures.