Chapter Thirty-Eight: Despair

Yang Fan was terrified—truly terrified. In that instant when the Mountain Buddha Master erupted in fury, a surge of energy as brilliant as the sun exploded from within him, distorting and nearly shattering Yang Fan’s “earth sense” divine power. It was utterly terrifying, plunging his heart into despair.

“How dare you make this Buddha kill? Such nerve!” The Mountain Buddha Master’s roar was thunderous, rays of light shooting from his eyes. A crushing aura descended, making Yang Fan tremble and his body involuntarily bend beneath its weight.

But the next moment, that oppressive force quaked violently and then vanished as if it had never existed.

Yet Yang Fan saw the master slowly raise a massive palm, wide as a fan, its lines crossing and fracturing like ancient fissures.

“Master, there was no killing, absolutely none! I wouldn’t dare!” Yang Fan hastened to explain loudly.

“Then where did the heart come from?” The Mountain Buddha’s gaze was fierce, his brows drawn in anger.

“It’s from…” Yang Fan gulped. “It’s possible to hunt wild beasts, ferocious creatures, demon beasts!”

“Outrageous! You dare feed Little White the heart of a beast? You’ll be the death of him!” The Mountain Buddha Master grew even angrier, rising to his feet with a tidal surge of power that left Yang Fan gasping for breath, as if the very air was being pressed from his lungs.

Staring into those cold, pitiless eyes, watching that raised hand, Yang Fan’s heart pounded, death’s shadow looming over his soul.

“You bastard! You say taking a human heart is killing, but taking a beast’s is murder for Little White? Damn you! Are you trying to kill me? If I have to die, I’ll take a piece of your flesh with me!” Rage flared within him, his desperation turning to defiance. With a furious roar, he unleashed his “Intimidation” divine power.

A formless might seemed to reach across time and space, striking at the Mountain Buddha Master. The old man staggered, his deeply wrinkled face showing a rare moment of struggle, and from his throat came a hoarse, shattered voice: “Go… go, quickly… leave…”

Yang Fan was stunned, but his reaction was swift.

“Swift Escape!”

He activated his divine power and turned to flee, but had hardly taken a step before a giant hand seized his throat, lifting him like a helpless chick.

Despair flooded Yang Fan’s face.

The power in that hand was overwhelming. He couldn’t shake it off, and it was tightening.

“So this is how I die?”

Frustration, unwillingness, fury—all kinds of emotions surged through him.

Last night, he had planned to kill the county constable Liu Kaizong to rid Nanshan Town of its worries, settling an old score. After that, the world would be wide open—no more attachments.

But Liu Kaizong had summoned an evil god, and Yang Fan had nearly been dragged into madness, barely escaping disaster.

Just as he was leaving, Xiang Yangkai began to hunt him down—a man Yang Fan didn’t even know.

He’d barely survived, managed to strike back, obtained precious items, and his awakening rate had reached thirty percent, with plenty left over.

And yet, before he could enjoy his fortune, he encountered this bizarre, neither ghost nor god, neither demon nor sage, utterly deranged being. Had fate itself cursed him?

His luck was abysmal.

There were rumors Ghost Marsh was dangerous, but it shouldn’t be this deadly—no tales spoke of some ancient monk lurking here.

This was truly a nightmare.

A flurry of thoughts raced through his mind as he steeled himself for death.

No, something was wrong.

With earth sense earlier, there had been no sign of an old monk in the temple.

Why hadn’t he noticed the master’s arrival?

“My memory has been tampered with!”

Despair deepened, but with a final effort, Yang Fan unleashed another strike of intimidation.

He felt the grip on his neck loosen, as if to throw him out the door, but then it tightened again—and hurled him instead through a small gate leading to the meditation courtyard.

Yang Fan tumbled inside.

The inner court.

He remembered it as a ruin, overgrown and wild, but now it was spotless, not a single weed in sight.

A strange haze clouded his mind.

It was as if a voice whispered to him: this is how it should be.

This place was always so clean and serene.

Creak…

The sound of a wooden door opening echoed. Ahead, the meditation room swung wide, and from within emerged a young maiden in her prime.

Her youthful beauty glowed; her delicate arms like ivory, lips painted crimson, every step measured and graceful, head bowed, the peaks of her bosom just visible as she walked.

“Beloved, you’re home!” she called softly, her voice gentle as a spring breeze, brushing against his ears and heart, tickling him as a cat’s paw might his soul.

Yang Fan, unable to resist, walked toward her, an involuntary smile of tenderness on his face. In that moment, it seemed she was everything to him.

She was his wife.

No matter how far he wandered, she was the gentle harbor to which he must return.

Yang Fan’s steps were light, his smile soft, but his tongue was already bleeding where he’d bitten it.

Even in his daze just moments before, he’d sensed something was wrong.

That sharp pain snapped him awake.

He immediately activated his earth sense.

What his eyes saw and what he sensed were utterly different.

In his senses, there was no young maiden.

The meditation courtyard was desolate, overgrown with tangled grass, the half-broken door hanging askew.

Piles of white bones lined both sides—some from beasts, but most chillingly human, many still bearing the marks of canine teeth.

A chill swept Yang Fan’s heart.

As he pressed forward, his fear only grew.

Behind him, a white fox appeared, standing upright, blood-red eyes glaring, drool dripping from its gaping mouth.

Its jaws opened wide, aimed straight at his neck.

“Intimidation!”

Refusing to die so easily, Yang Fan forced down his fear and, in a flash of desperate inspiration, unleashed his power at the critical moment.

The white fox froze, body trembling, paralyzed.

“Gale Slash!”

In one fluid motion, Yang Fan spun, drawing the Black Cloud Blade and bringing it down hard on the fox’s neck.

A flash of steel, a spray of blood—the fox’s head flew from its body, blood gushing several meters high.

“That was… easy?”

Yang Fan was astonished, but leapt back, dodging the falling blood.

The world twisted before his eyes.

The spotless courtyard vanished, revealing its true colors and making his brow twitch violently.

Bones were everywhere.

He’d stepped on one, crushing it to fragments.

Worse, beneath the earth lay even more rotting remains, the sheer number making Yang Fan’s skin crawl and his hair stand on end.

His scalp prickled, and it felt as though countless eyes were watching him from the darkness, sending shivers down his spine.

“What kind of hellish place is this?” he cursed.

His eyes narrowed as the Mountain Buddha Master entered the courtyard, looking down at the white fox’s corpse. Red light gleamed in the master’s eyes, killing intent rising in tidal waves.

The oppressive aura warped the very air.

“Who the hell are you?” Yang Fan raised the Black Cloud Blade toward him.

Once again, he scanned the surroundings with earth sense.

No other anomalies.

“I am… am… Little White’s master… no, the Buddha… no, a demon… not even that…” The Mountain Buddha Master rambled in a delirious tone.

But the murderous intent only grew stronger.

“Who am I really? If you don’t tell me, I’ll eat you!”

The master grinned, revealing two rows of razor-sharp teeth.

Flesh seemed stuck between them, red and glistening.

Something like maggots squirmed in his throat.

Yang Fan involuntarily took a step back, his face contorted with fear.

“Is my mind being tampered with?”

Terror gripped him even tighter.

“You are the Mountain Buddha, yes, you are the Buddha in the mountains, the Buddha that holds back all the peaks, the Buddha over the myriad mountains…”

At the edge of life and death, fear could spark a person’s deepest potential. Yang Fan’s thoughts raced—he recalled what he’d seen in the Buddha hall.

There seemed to be two souls inside the master—one good, one evil. The good was suppressed, but could still struggle now and then.

Otherwise, he would have been killed back in the Buddha hall.

He decided to try awakening it again.

But as the words left his lips, Yang Fan suddenly froze, struck by a possibility, his eyes filling with disbelief.