Chapter 217: Inquire Here (45)
Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations
Editor: GaeaTiamat
Like the joy of escaping death, Yan Huan truly experienced the feeling of “a narrow escape” at that moment. His tightly wound body suddenly relaxed, and he was so drained of strength that he couldn’t even speak.
Liu Fuguang continued, “Did you smell it?”
Yan Huan still had a lump in his throat, so to cover it up, he took a few exaggerated breaths. Although his emotions were still surging wildly, his instincts remained intact. In the midst of the thick, pervasive fragrance, he caught a faint but undeniably sweet scent.
“…Divine blood,” he mumbled as he sniffed. “This anchor point is on the verge of becoming a god.”
Humans were truly fascinating creatures. As individuals, they were indeed weak, short-lived, and easily tempted, with various inherent flaws. However, when they gathered together, the immense power of their collective thoughts and ideas could indeed move mountains, change rules, and bend iron laws.
In that distant, ancient era, when heaven and earth hadn’t yet separated, the boundary between gods and the demon race wasn’t as sharply defined as it was now; as two opposing realms of black and white. It was because of human beliefs that everything was gradually altered. Gods or demons were merely definitions created by human hearts. If many clans collectively worshipped a demon race, that demon could transform into a god. Conversely, if a god became excessively cruel and was feared and rejected by humans, it could take on the appearance of a demon.
The anchor point in this small world had the audacity to try to carve out a hole in the net of the Heavenly Dao using the power of human thoughts.
Yan Huan asked, “What do you plan to do?”
“Challenge him,” Liu Fuguang paused and said thoughtfully, “I want to challenge him.”
·
Overnight, a simple altar appeared at the foot of Jiajiang Mountain.
It stood humbly on the ground, beneath a ginkgo tree. The only thing that hinted at the altar’s extraordinary nature was a large, bright pearl suspended high above like a molten gold orb, that illuminated the entire mountain.
When people saw the man’s figure at the altar, they could no longer move their feet.
“Who are you?” they asked.
“I am someone seeking immortality,” the man replied frankly. “Heaven has decreed that I must have more followers than there are drops of water in the sea. If I achieve that, I will ascend to immortality, soar high into the night sky, dance alongside dragons, and be accompanied by wind and thunder.”
He asked, “Do you want to be my followers?”
His words were so sincere and his smile so beautiful, that passersby were mesmerized by his presence. Yet, they bit their fingers and shook their heads with difficulty.
“We cannot do that. We are the children of the God of Many Faces, born with a vow to serve our deity with our bones, blood, and lives,” they said reluctantly. “Please leave, Immortal, for this is not the place you belong.”
The man smiled and said, “Since your god has a hundred different faces, why can’t I be one of them? Here, I do not need your wealth, your bones, or your souls. I don’t even need to possess your children or your children’s children. All I need is your faith, nothing more.”
The people gazed at him, enchanted. After a long time, someone dared to ask, “What do we gain in return?”
“Perhaps, I can bring you inner peace,” the man said. “Keep your wealth, your lives, and your time. I want you to achieve happiness and tranquility in this life without needing to trade it for the elusive promises of the next.”
The people looked at him, unsure of the Immortal’s rules. They knelt, bowed, clasped their hands, and closed their eyes in a chaotic mix of gestures. The man did not object. He smiled and accepted their worship, and bathed them in the warm glow of the pearl.
People came to the mountain in confusion and fear, but they returned home feeling loved and redeemed; their spirits lifted without a trace of anxiety.
Gradually, tales of the simple altar, the ginkgo tree with its golden leaves, and the white-robed Immortal seated beneath it began to spread like ripples in a pond.
At first, it was just a drop of water. Then, it became a spray from a swallow’s wings, and eventually, it turned into a misty spring rain. The rain spread, and soon the story was widely known among the followers of the God of Many Faces.
Believers began altering their pilgrimage routes, and headed instead to the foot of Jiajiang Mountain. Some were driven by curiosity, others by a longing in their hearts. Some were fueled by a desire to eradicate heresy, while others, like blood-sucking parasites, sought to latch onto anything profitable in the world.
The man didn’t turn away anyone who came, regardless of their intentions. He sat beneath the tree, smiled kindly at everyone and patiently listened to their troubles and desires. His words were filled with unmatched power, and it was like pure stars fell from his lips. He encouraged acts of kindness within one’s capacity, urged people to support each other and unite as one. He hoped his followers would value promises, understanding, and love. When someone challenged him, saying his teachings offered no tangible benefits and that they should return to the embrace of the God of Many Faces, he didn’t become angry but simply nodded in approval.
“People should have the freedom to choose,” he said. “Whether it’s me or the God of Many Faces, you should choose the one you truly love. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
The crowds grew larger, and even though he asked for no offerings, those who loved him sincerely filled every corner of Jiajiang Mountain with their most precious treasures.
Garnets red as roses, pearls as white and round as the moonlight, artisans crafting his lips from red jade and coral, sculpting his skin from ivory, and burning starlight into black crystals for his beautiful long hair. Yet the Immortal didn’t treasure these gifts. He promptly gave them away to many poor farmers, beggars who couldn’t afford food, or those who were barely clothed.
He commanded trees and thorns to grow into tall, majestic houses, and filled them with gold and silver. Anyone who was suffering from illness or facing unspeakable hardships could take what they needed from there to ease their troubles.
Strange demons arose from the mountains, black as shadows, black as cherries rotting from over-ripeness.
They were sent by the God of Many Faces as messengers, for more and more believers were turning toward the small altar on Jiajiang Mountain. No longer did they bow their heads in worship but instead walked tall and straight, since they found it a fresh and comforting experience. They no longer fervently believed in the God of Many Faces, and instead turned their attention to themselves, their friends, and their families. They saved their money, bought well-fitting clothes, and good food. Their self-indulgence seemed akin to a form of release, and this indulgence made it impossible for them to serve the gods with exhausted bodies and minds.
The God of Many Faces felt a growing anger burning slowly within Him. Demons emerged from His trembling shadow, and circled the altar on Jiajiang Mountain.
“This is contempt!” they shouted in unison, as they fanned the flames of chaos. “How can the Immortal you serve treat your offerings with such disdain? Look at the God of Many Faces, who uses the swirling incense smoke to support His temple like clouds, who carves gold, melts silver, adorns Himself with precious jewels, and meticulously crafts His divine form. The milk and honey offered by His worshipers flow through paradise as a sweet river. Aren’t these more sincere and a greater expression of divine love than your Immortal?”
In the face of such malicious clamor, the Immortal remained exceptionally calm. He picked up a blood-red gem, which, in his hand, resembled a drop of exquisite dew.
“This gem,” he asked the follower before him. “Does it bring you more joy to hold it yourself, or to give it to me?”
The young follower was filled with fear, but her gaze was captivated by the gem’s brilliance. She suddenly remembered her mother, who had joined the ranks of weavers to raise her. Her mother worked day and night to weave a carpet for one of the God of Many Faces’ temples, a task that took 300 people 300 days to complete, until her eyes blurred and she could no longer see even the closest thread. With that gem, her mother would no longer need to worry about her old age.
Her throat was dry and she couldn’t speak. The Immortal placed the gem in her hand, and whispered, “Hold it in your hand, and then smile with joy.”
The flying demons screeched like tearing silk, then scattered like tattered fabric in the wind.
The God of Many Faces was furious.
He sent His temple guards and His most devout followers to form a massive army, born for conquest.
The admiration and reverence for the Immortal spread like a wildfire that ignited the dry, tangled grass. He had no name, so Jiajiang Mountain became his alias. The God of Many Faces forbade anyone from uttering the words “Jiajiang Mountain,” erased its existence from writings, books, murals, and even spoken language. Yet, apart from Jiajiang Mountain, there was still the altar, the ginkgo tree, the Immortal, white robes, pearls, the sun, and the alien god…countless names, as numerous as the stars, that represented his presence.
The God of Many Faces forbade everything and restricted everything, yet in the end, it was merely a simple word, “he,” accompanied by a knowing glance, that quickly spread the faith of the immortal Jia Jiangshan.
He had to eliminate that opponent. On the path to becoming a god, it was a life-and-death struggle with no room for compromise.
The vast army set out at dawn, crossed ninety-nine roaring rivers and ninety-nine towering mountains along the way, as it swore to exterminate the heretic god and His followers. They advanced fiercely, and the masses who believed in the Immortal wept. They had briefly gained the freedom to love, and now they had to take up arms to defend it, to plunge into a war without surrender or deserters.
They knew well that the fervor they once held for their god was the same fervor the enemy now felt. To defend their faith and their dignity, the God of Many Faces’ army would gladly watch the world burn.
At that moment, the Immortal sighed. He rose from the altar, and from his wide sleeves, he released a pitch-black dragon.
“Fly,” he said. “And end this war.”
The black dragon circled him three times, then soared into the sky, and turned the heavens into a sea of blood.
The God of Many Faces’ army had never seen something so grand, so terrifying. It was as black as a question with no beginning and no end; as black as a star that had died eons ago; yet it was also so colorful and dazzling that it made one sick.
The white-clad Immortal was as ethereal as the most beautiful dream, while the black dragon was as hideous as all nightmares combined, and even those paled in comparison to its depravity.
The war ended quickly. In the face of such an extraordinary creature, the God of Many Faces’ army was as fragile as paper, and just as easily crushed.
“Spare us!” Those who still had their wits about them, as they drowned in a sea of sin in the Underworld, cried out. “Devoutly serving a god is not a sin!”
The black dragon spoke in human language, as he let out a thunderous laugh, hoarse like the screams of ten thousand people.
“You had a choice. You could have chosen a happier, more beautiful path,” it said. “As for now, you may serve me.”
The entire army was annihilated. The God of Many Faces rose from his temple, so distraught that he stared in terror, and no longer resembled the dignified, solemn deity he once was.
He had already recognized who had come.
Thank you both for the chapter.