Wu Gou stood up as well. The golden light on his bald head had not yet fully dissipated, but the calm expression from moments ago had vanished from his face.
“The Wanchuan River? The Wanchuan River governed by the Northern Great Emperor? That ancient River of the Underworld that carries the cycle of the Six Paths of Reincarnation?”
Su Xue covered her mouth in shock. Hong Ling set down the bamboo slips in her hand, her brow furrowed as if she were deep in thought. Tao Tuantuan, who had been slumped in her chair playing dead, suddenly sat bolt upright, her sleepy eyes going wide.
Though Poison-Wing didn’t fully understand, he could tell from everyone’s reactions that this was an immense matter.
For once, he didn’t interject. Instead, he sat quietly, a fire igniting in his eyes.
Chen Zhou’s gaze swept over everyone present before finally resting on Shitou.
Shitou was now at the peak of the sixth-stage, only a step away from breaking through to the seventh-stage. Chen Zhou didn’t speak but simply gave Shitou a nod.
Reading his master’s meaning, Shitou clenched his fists and nodded back forcefully.
Seventh-stage—he had to break through as soon as possible. With Duke Martial’s guidance, he was now very confident.
Chen Zhou then glanced at Cang Yu and Tuoba Feng. Although these two had only recently submitted, Tuoba Feng was a Grave-keeper by birth who had fought the black spots for years and was already at the seventh-stage. Cang Yu was a merman emperor who had lived for ten thousand years, a peak seventh-stage powerhouse who had suppressed the sea eye for decades; both had the seniority and strength required.
“Do you understand?” Chen Zhou asked.
The group answered in unison, “We understand!”
The Plague Rat was already spinning in circles with excitement, counting on his fingers as he muttered, “Godhead fragments, godhead fragments... If Lord Rat can catch a single godhead fragment, won’t I soar to the heavens?”
Everyone knew how precious a godhead was. If they could obtain one from the Wanchuan pond, it would be a literal gift from the heavens.
Wu Gou shook his head. “Little mouse, this monk advises you not to get your hopes too high.”
“In the Wanchuan, those above the seventh-stage can only fish once per major rank. Furthermore, the fishing rewards are influenced by one’s own cultivation and fortune.”
“Look at you. Your cultivation has only just entered the seventh-stage first symbiosis contract, and as for your fortune...”
He didn’t finish the sentence, but the implication was clear.
The Plague Rat immediately bristled. “What did you say?! What’s wrong with Lord Rat’s fortune?”
“Lord Rat is an Auspicious One incarnate, a man of great fortune!”
Wu Gou pressed his palms together, smiling broadly. “Amitābha. This monk has just made a vow, hoping to catch a handy artifact tomorrow.”
“As for a certain someone, this monk would like to make a vow on his behalf as well.”
“What vow?!”
“I vow that a certain someone will catch a loach.”
“You—!”
The Plague Rat rolled up his sleeves and prepared to charge, only to be held back by Poison-Wing.
“Brother Rat, stay calm! Stay calm!”
“Don’t stop me! Today, Lord Rat is going to teach this bald ass a lesson!”
The courtyard descended into chaos once more.
Chen Zhou watched it all quietly, the corners of his mouth curling up slightly.
The three provinces were pacified, and the journey to Qingzhou was imminent. There wouldn't be any major battles in the short term.
Next came the time for rest and recovery. This table of people was the strongest hand he held.
He glanced at the Black Sludge Pond information on his system panel.
The Black Sludge Pond was bound to his divine soul. The inheritance items obtained through fishing were influenced by the fisher’s cultivation and fortune. The fishing mechanism followed the Wanchuan rules: it could not be forced, and one could not be greedy.
Above the seventh-stage, one could fish once per major rank.
In other words, one could fish once at the seventh-stage, once upon entering the eighth-stage, and once more upon reaching the ninth-stage.
That was a total of three opportunities, and each one could potentially change a person’s destiny.
These people needed to grow, and the Black Sludge Pond was the perfect catalyst.
Chen Zhou withdrew his thoughts, stood up, and raised his wine cup.
The noisy group in the courtyard fell silent instantly, everyone turning to look at him.
Even the Plague Rat, who had been grabbing Wu Gou’s collar, let go, straightened his crooked robe, and stood tall.
“Everyone.”
Chen Zhou said only that single word before draining his cup in one go.
Everyone stood up together, raising their cups in a shared toast.
The sound of clinking cups echoed through the courtyard. The fragrance of sophora flowers drifted out from Dingnai Hall, mingling with the aroma of wine to create a warm, inviting scent.
Chen Zhou set down his cup.
“After today, return to your posts. Guard your territories, and guard your people.”
He paused, then added one more thing.
“But tonight, have a blast first.”
The group roared their agreement, and the atmosphere reached a fever pitch once again.
Duke Martial dragged Jinghe back into a finger-guessing game. The Plague Rat, feeling slighted because Poison-Wing had just held him back, began scuffling with the eagle instead.
Hong Ling finally set down her bamboo slips to discuss the fishing rules of the Black Sludge Pond with Duke Wen. Tao Tuantuan took advantage of the chaos to curl back into her chair and resume her nap.
Wu Gou carried a cup of wine to Chen Zhou’s side, looking up at him.
“Big Demon, what are you going to make this monk do tomorrow?”
Chen Zhou looked down at him. The bald four-year-old’s face was written with suspicion.
“Don’t worry. It’s a good thing.”
“The last time you said it was a good thing, this monk was nearly worked to death by you.”
Chen Zhou smiled but offered no explanation.
The night was still long.
...
The next morning, before the sky had fully brightened, the streets of the City of the Wrongfully Dead were already bustling.
A circle of people had gathered by the moat; almost everyone above the seventh-stage had come.
The Plague Rat had been squatting on a stone bollard by the river since before dawn, clutching a fishing rod he had stayed up all night crafting from death qi.
“Lord Rat is going to catch a godhead fragment today no matter what.” The Plague Rat cast his line with total confidence, the black water surface rippling.
Jian Huaishuang followed closely behind, sitting on the opposite bank with a rod of his own.
His rod was far simpler—just a bamboo pole and a hemp rope. It didn't even have a hook; he had simply tied a knot, which floated lazily on the water.
The two faced each other across the river. The Plague Rat rolled his eyes at him, and Jian Huaishuang returned a cold, deathly stare.
Su Xue and Poison-Wing arrived a bit later.
She hesitated for a moment and decided not to use a rod. Instead, she found a clean stone to sit on and slowly dipped several wood-attribute spirit plants into the water, seemingly trying to adapt to the Wanchuan’s energy.
Cang Yu stood by the river, his aura completely restrained. His merman eyes stared into the dark water, his thoughts unknown.
Tuoba Feng still carried that stone coffin on his back. He sat by the river, picked out the thickest fishing rod, and rubbed his hands together, ready to do some heavy lifting. Xiaoyun cheered him on from inside the coffin.
Shitou couldn't make it. He had run back halfway through the drinking last night; Hong Ling said he had gone into seclusion to charge for the seventh-stage.
Chen Zhou stood behind the crowd, watching the scene without stepping forward to disturb them.
In front of the Bone Altar, Wu Gou looked up at the towering white structure and suddenly sighed.
“Big Demon, I have a feeling you’re about to sell me out.”
“Am I that kind of person?”
“You are.”
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