Chapter 43: Even Gods Are Not Exempt

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Wangxian Temple is not actually located in Zhonghai City; strictly speaking, it lies within the jurisdiction of Gusu City to the north of Zhonghai, though the distance is not too great—about seventy to eighty kilometers.

In this era, Zhonghai City is considered one of the regions in Huaxia with a relatively high number of automobiles, yet the spacious roads rarely suffer from heavy congestion.

Leng Zhiheng’s driving skills were exceptional; despite the considerable speed, he swiftly headed toward Gusu, and surprisingly, Zhuang Lin, seated in the back, did not feel much bumpiness.

Covering nearly eighty kilometers, mostly on urban roads, they arrived in just over an hour—a speed not to be underestimated.

When the car reached the foot of Wangxian Mountain, it was just approaching noon.

Tourism development in this era seemed not especially vigorous, but Wangxian Mountain had long been renowned in the local and surrounding areas, naturally attracting visitors year-round. Moreover, due to the autonomy of Liu Shihao, Wangxian Temple had gained even greater fame in recent years.

Therefore, even on a weekday during the day, there were a few pilgrims preparing to climb the mountain nearby.

Leng Zhiheng had no intention of stopping; he continued along a winding road up the mountain on one side.

“This mountain road was donated and built by our boss. Originally, although Wangxian Temple had a steady stream of worshippers, it was just a dilapidated small temple on the mountain. But now, it’s been renovated quite grandly!”

“Is that so? So Wangxian Temple was originally just a small local shrine?”

“Not exactly. Wangxian Mountain is famous for its spiritual scenery, and Wangxian Temple itself has a solid reputation. Thanks to our boss, we’ve come to know a bit about its history. The temple dates back several hundred years; after renovation, the original ancient architecture was preserved. Even the gazetteers of the old Gusu dynasty recorded it—it’s been around quite a while.”

Zhuang Lin and Leng Zhiheng chatted casually, their eyes constantly scanning the scenery outside the window, sensing the near and far environment.

Clearly, the so-called spiritual mountain and water had little trace of true spiritual energy; perhaps occasionally there was a faint wisp in the sky, like drifting cotton, but it quickly dissipated.

“We’re here!”

Leng Zhiheng’s voice came as the car stopped at a parking lot on the mountain’s side. The parking lot was sizable but had only a few vehicles. After all, this was not Zhonghai City; private car ownership was lower here.

Zhuang Lin and Leng Zhiheng stepped out of the car. Leng Zhiheng took out a pack of cigarettes and, seeing Zhuang Lin, smiled and asked, “You don’t mind, do you? Want one?”

Zhuang Lin shook his head and walked toward Wangxian Temple, which was still some distance away. There were no walls here; the parking lot led directly to a plaza, at the far end of which stood a large hall.

Leng Zhiheng smoked beside the car, watching Zhuang Lin walk away, also noticing the curious glances cast by the few nearby pilgrims.

“Beep, beep…”

Leng Zhiheng, cigarette dangling from his lips, swept aside a side flap of his suit jacket and saw several messages flashing on his pager: “What are you doing? Call back when convenient to explain.”

He took a drag on his cigarette, opened the car door, and pulled out a heavy mobile phone. He began dialing.

“Hello! Yeah, the purchase is done. No, not in Zhonghai, at Wangxian Temple now. He said he’d leave after looking around here… Hold on, I have to follow up…”

Leng Zhiheng noticed Zhuang Lin had already gone far ahead, hurriedly finished his call, put away the phone, and quickened his pace to catch up.

At this moment, Zhuang Lin stood before the largest building in Wangxian Temple, the plaque above the door reading “Wangxian Hall” in bold characters. This was clearly newly constructed, not an ancient restoration.

Nearby, pilgrims whispered among themselves; some even speculated that Zhuang Lin might be a Daoist priest, given his somewhat unusual attire.

Inside the main hall, a few Daoist priests were explaining to some pilgrims, who, judging by their clothing, were likely the owners of the few vehicles present besides Zhuang Lin and company.

Leng Zhiheng hurried over but saw Zhuang Lin standing at the entrance.

“Master Zhuang, why aren’t you going inside?”

Zhuang Lin didn’t respond. Deep in his eyes flickered the shadow of Taiji’s yin-yang. His gaze was fixed on a statue inside the hall.

This place did not seem to enshrine the Three Pure Ones; instead, it honored a deity unfamiliar to Zhuang Lin, yet one who stood there with a commanding presence, holding a tablet.

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Yet to Zhuang Lin, the essence of the statue was immediately clear.

Indeed, this was an era of spiritual energy depletion, but there still seemed to be something within the statue, though it struck Zhuang Lin as very strange.

At the statue’s forehead, between the eyebrows, hovered a cluster of faintly shifting light, resembling a third eye. Most of it was pale gold, but other colors occasionally flickered through.

Nearby, pilgrims, having offered incense, repeatedly bowed to the statue. Zhuang Lin squinted, vaguely perceiving the aura drifting above their heads—gray, withered, and dim.

This aura quickly mingled with the incense smoke, faintly connecting to the light above. At such moments, the glow would writhe more intensely.

Leng Zhiheng noticed Zhuang Lin’s fixed attention on the statue and the pilgrims inside, yet he neither entered nor spoke. Feeling something odd, Leng Zhiheng chose not to disturb him—if he wished to observe, so be it.

“Pitiful, tragic…”

Zhuang Lin finally spoke, the sigh deepening Leng Zhiheng’s confusion.

“Master Zhuang, what do you mean?”

Zhuang Lin shook his head, saying no more. Nowadays, so-called deities lacked true spiritual energy, relying purely on the will of incense offerings to maintain some semblance of presence. Yet they were utterly enslaved by the incense.

People often worshipped their own desires, and over time, even the gods became twisted by such desires.

Perhaps devoid of reason, their only instinct was to preserve their own existence. How could one not feel pity? How could one not feel sorrow?

Zhuang Lin stood at the entrance for some time. Though the hall’s large doors were open, the Daoists and pilgrims inside grew curious.

Leng Zhiheng appeared beside Zhuang Lin, prompting a Daoist inside to react immediately, stepping briskly to the door with a pleased expression.

“Oh, it’s Venerable Leng. Has Master Liu arrived as well?”

The Daoist peered outside but saw no sign of Liu Shihao.

Leng Zhiheng shook his head with a sigh.

“Master Liu has passed away. Today, I brought this gentleman, Master Zhuang… uh, Master Zhuang here. He seems to have some business; if you can help, please do.”

The Daoist was somewhat taken aback upon hearing of Liu Shihao’s death.

“Alas, Master Liu was a great benefactor… Oh, might this be—what is your name, Dao friend?”

The Daoist scrutinized Zhuang Lin. His attire was unlike that of ordinary people—a style full of ancient charm, yet natural and composed, leading one to suspect he might be a Daoist with uncommon dress.

“Dao friend?” Zhuang Lin smiled at the remark.

“Hahaha… that fits well, indeed it does!”

Zhuang Lin had no need to feign or be cautious before others. After laughing, he looked at the somewhat astonished Daoist and spoke straightforwardly.

“Daoist, I have come for but one matter: the array diagram scroll left by Elder Jingyu. Please allow me to view it, or if necessary, I am willing to pay for it.”

His manner of speech was unusual, but upon hearing his request, the Daoist’s expression turned awkward. Glancing at Leng Zhiheng, he said,

“It’s inconvenient to discuss this outside amid the noise. Please, follow me inside.”

Without further hesitation, Zhuang Lin accompanied the Daoist into the hall.

At that moment, a sudden beam of light shone from the statue within. Zhuang Lin glanced up briefly, his eyes flickering with subtle spiritual light.

Whoosh—

The beam of light reversed course abruptly and struck the statue.

“Rumble, rumble…”

The statue inside trembled, causing the hall to shake slightly and dust to fall.

“What? What happened?” “What’s going on?”

“An earthquake?” “Quick, get out first!”

Everyone inside shouted in alarm and rushed out of the hall, including Zhuang Lin and company.

Outside, however, nothing seemed amiss except a layer of dust coating the hall’s interior—the recent commotion appearing almost illusory.

Several Daoists calmed the pilgrims, while onlookers murmured curiously, mostly confused.

Yet one Daoist who had greeted Zhuang Lin noticed something peculiar. Just moments ago, Zhuang Lin had glanced at the statue, and in his eyes, a fleeting halo of light appeared before the statue trembled and the hall shook.

This was no illusion!

“Dao friend… no, Daoist, may I ask your celestial name and where you practice?”

The Daoist’s tone became cautious. The person before him clearly possessed genuine ability. His master had said that since the Age of Decline, true masters were nearly unseen in a lifetime.

Some even speculated such encounters might be with immortals descended to earth, as mere mortals could scarcely cultivate visible power in these times…

Leng Zhiheng swallowed hard, watching Zhuang Lin. He too had seen the light, though he had tried to convince himself it was merely candlelight reflection.

But judging by the Daoist’s demeanor, perhaps he had noticed as well.

Zhuang Lin pondered the sensation just now. The light seemed harmless but carried intense yearning, causing a misunderstanding and an overreaction.

What was that yearning?

Looking at the anxious, whispering pilgrims around him, Zhuang Lin roughly understood.

Because he carried no trace of desire’s aura, even faintly radiating a righteous energy, such a person in this era was a true treasure to the gods inside—one might say the faith of such a person was the real treasure.

Hence, the instinctive effort to let him perceive something special?

Simultaneously, Zhuang Lin realized just how weak this god was.

Merely a backlash from a single divine light destabilized the statue’s halo—this was at Wangxian Temple, still considered to have flourishing incense offerings.

Then again, it would be surprising if it were otherwise. From another perspective, the mere fact it still existed was remarkable!

Since leaving Hidden Immortal Valley, Zhuang Lin had finally formed a relatively complete understanding of the harsh reality of spiritual energy depletion.

In a flash of thought, he looked at the Daoist before him. Seeing his nervous excitement, Zhuang Lin bowed slightly.

“My surname is Zhuang, given name Lin. I am but a passing traveler. Let us discuss the matter of the array diagram scroll, shall we?”

“Uh, very well, Daoist, please follow me,” the Daoist responded, his attitude considerably more respectful and eager than when he first saw Leng Zhiheng.

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