Chapter 593 | Demonic Beings? Obviously Auspicious Omens!

Below the high platform, the Seven Evils craned their necks, staring intently at the light screen beneath the dome.

Inside the screen was a desolate Gobi desert. Sand and wind filled the sky, and brownish-yellow dust was whipped up by the gale, rolling across the ground like earthen dragons.

The sky was a murky gray, making it impossible to tell if it was day or dusk. Only a thin line of dark red light, like blood-stained horizon, peeked through the distance.

Taotie stood in the center of the desert, his face a mask of reluctance. His brows were knit together, the corners of his mouth turned down, and his stout body stood as firm as a rock amidst the sandstorm.

He had already suppressed his cultivation to the second symbiosis contract, level with Wu Gou.

Wu Gou stood opposite him, his small frame appearing exceptionally frail in the wind and sand.

His cassock whipped violently in the wind, and a layer of yellow sand had settled on his bald head. Yet, his expression remained composed. With palms pressed together and eyes slightly lowered, he looked like an old monk deep in meditation.

Taotie hesitated for a moment before cupping his fists in a salute, his voice muffled.

“I am Taotie. In life, I was a victim of the Great Yan Dynasty’s famine. When the land was covered in starved corpses, I was shared and eaten by my fellow villagers. After death, I entered the Xuandu Ghost Mansion to cultivate, and it has been one hundred and ten thousand years since.”

Wu Gou opened his eyes, glanced at him, and returned the salute with palms pressed together. “Amitābha. This humble monk is Wu Gou. Please.”

Taotie took a deep breath and tapped his toes against the ground.

His stout body lunged forward at a speed completely inconsistent with his size, striking a palm toward Wu Gou’s shoulder.

He only used thirty percent of his strength in this strike, and the angle was off by three degrees. Though it looked imposing, it wouldn’t even touch Wu Gou’s cassock.

Wu Gou stepped aside, and Taotie’s palm swept past him, bringing a gust of wind.

Taotie felt a sense of relief. He planned to exchange a few more perfunctory moves before finding an opportunity to reveal a flaw, allowing the little monk to defeat him by luck. Then, this damned trial could finally end.

But before he could withdraw his palm, he caught sight of Wu Gou’s movement from the corner of his eye.

The little monk’s right hand emerged from beneath his cassock, fingers spread wide, and a cluster of golden Buddhist light ignited in his palm.

The light wasn’t large—only the size of a fist—but it was incredibly pure, like a miniature sun plucked from the Pure Land.

Taotie’s pupils constricted, instinctively sensing danger.

Without time for thought, his stout body twisted violently, forcing a change in direction as he rolled away.

The golden Buddhist light grazed his shoulder and struck the desert floor behind him.

Boom—!

With a dull explosion, a crater about a zhang wide was blasted into the ground, sending gravel and sand flying into the air.

Taotie scrambled up and brushed the dust off his clothes, his face turning somewhat grim.

The little monk’s Buddhist light was far more powerful than he had anticipated.

He had assumed that a junior at the second symbiosis contract, even with some tricks, couldn’t be that formidable.

But the power of that single strike had clearly exceeded the bounds of the second symbiosis contract. Taotie cursed inwardly, Where on earth did this little monk come from?

Failing to land the hit, Wu Gou didn’t rush. He withdrew his palm, pressed his hands together again, and began chanting an obscure scripture.

Golden characters flew from his lips, hovering in the air and swirling around him like butterflies.

The chanting grew faster, and the golden characters multiplied, gradually forming a golden light screen around him.

Watching the screen, Taotie’s brow furrowed even tighter.

In his one hundred and ten thousand years, he had seen hundreds, if not thousands, of Buddhist cultivators, but he had never seen a style like this.

The golden characters contained more than just Buddhist power; they held a force he had never encountered before—like the collective vows of all beings, or the primordial proverbs of heaven and earth.

The warm vow power triggered a memory, causing his body to shudder involuntarily. Waves of evil thoughts rapidly swarmed his mind, making him suddenly want to skin and debone the tender little monk before him and devour him whole.

Taotie shook his head forcefully, casting those intrusive thoughts aside, and took a deep breath as his ghost qi began to circulate.

Whatever. He’d fight first and think later.

Regardless, he just had to make sure he didn't actually hurt the little monk.

Taotie gripped the air in front of him, and two massive hammers as black as ink materialized from the void. The hammerheads were covered in cracks, looking as if they might shatter at any moment, but the aura radiating from the spikes on them was sharp enough to make one’s heart palpitate.

This was his weapon from his living days—Severed Thought.

He hadn’t used it in one hundred and ten thousand years, but as he gripped the handles once more, that familiar feeling returned.

Taotie tightened his grip on the shafts, stomped the ground, and lunged toward Wu Gou like a black shadow.

Wrapped in black ghost qi, one of the Severed Thought hammers smashed against the golden light screen surrounding Wu Gou.

Clang—!

The golden light screen vibrated violently, but it didn't shatter. Instead, it sent the hammer rebounding.

Taotie’s wrist went numb, and Severed Thought nearly flew out of his hand.

His eyes widened as he stared at the screen in disbelief.

What is this thing? How can it be this hard?

The corner of Wu Gou’s mouth curled slightly as his chanting accelerated.

Golden characters shot out from the light screen, repeatedly striking at Taotie. Taotie dodged and weaved, his stout body rolling and lunging across the desert, looking as disheveled as a bear being chased by bees.

He cursed inwardly as he dodged, and the evil thoughts in his mind surged again. He hurled one of the hammers; the pitch-black ghost qi exploded, directly smashing a web of cracks into the light shield.

Taotie gasped for air, and when he regained his senses, cold sweat broke out on his forehead.

It was close. He had almost lost control.

If that throw had been any more accurate and actually hit Wu Gou, that full-strength strike would have left the little monk severely injured, if not dead.

When that happened, how would he explain it to Lord Xuandu?

How would he explain it to the Young Palace Master?

At that thought, Taotie’s back was drenched in cold sweat.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.

He couldn’t keep fighting like this; he had to control his strength.

The problem was, the little monk’s strength was far greater than he had imagined.

If he didn't use his full power, he couldn't win at all.

But if he did, he feared hurting the boy, and he also had to divert his mind to suppress the evil thoughts constantly gushing from within. This was truly going to be the death of him.

Below the high platform, Dongming let out a cold snort.

“Does Taotie really think I can’t see through such petty tricks?”

His voice wasn’t loud, but everyone in the hall heard it clearly.

“To hold back to such an extent—does he take me for a blind man?”

The Seven Evils shuddered in unison, shrinking into the corner and wishing they could squeeze themselves into the cracks of the walls.

Suwei and Zhaoye glanced at each other and simultaneously took two steps back.

Zhaoye whispered to Suwei, “Old Dongming’s temper is flaring up. We’d better stay clear.”

Suwei nodded repeatedly. “Right, right. Stay clear, stay clear.”

The two retreated another two steps, ending up directly behind the Seven Evils.

Forced to stand in front of the two Ghost Emperors and face the pressure of the third, the Seven Evils shook like sieves.

They dared not show anger or speak; they could only tremble in fear.

As usual, Xuandu ignored Dongming’s dissatisfaction. He casually raised a Ghost Domain, and a dark cyan light spread from his body, blocking Dongming’s pressure.

Incidentally, he very considerately included Chen Zhou within his protection.

Feeling the icy pressure vanish, Chen Zhou turned to Xuandu and gave a slight nod of acknowledgment.

Xuandu nodded back, then spoke.

“I have given it some thought.”

His tone was flat, but there was a faint, almost affected trace of tenderness in his voice, making him sound like a completely different person from his usual cold self.

“If you possess any techniques that can empower your subordinate god, you may use them.”

“Your abilities are considered a part of your subordinate god’s strength; it is not a violation of the rules.”

Chen Zhou was slightly taken aback.

Xuandu continued, “In these three trials, I only care about the result. I do not care about the process.”

Chen Zhou understood.

This was a blatant green light.

A slight smile touched Chen Zhou’s lips. Without ceremony, he directly spent Evil God Points, selected the Saint Wu Gou, and activated Faith Conferment.

A golden radiance erupted from Chen Zhou’s body, piercing through the void and the light screen to land on Wu Gou.

Wu Gou’s body jolted.

Divine seals circulated over his skin, and his cultivation aura began to skyrocket.

Taotie also sensed the change in Wu Gou’s aura. His eyes widened, and then he let out a long sigh of relief, feeling overjoyed.

Finally, he didn't have to fight with his hands tied!

The little monk’s cultivation was now a full stage higher than his; surely he could defeat him easily now?

Let this damned trial end already.

Taotie prayed silently: Little monk, oh little monk, show some mercy and send me out quickly. If you can make me lose without it looking too bad, so my colleagues don't mock me later, that would be even better.

While he was daydreaming, he unconsciously lowered his guard.

Right then, Dongming’s cold snort pierced through the light screen and reached his ears.

Taotie’s body froze instantly.

Crap.

Lord Dongming had seen that he was holding back earlier.

Cold sweat instantly poured down Taotie’s face, his mind went blank, and his heart hammered wildly.

In that split second, his mental defenses crumbled, and evil thoughts gained the upper hand. A long-buried memory surged from the depths of his mind without warning.

It was the scene of the final day of his life.

Something unknown had happened to the Great Yan Dynasty; years of drought had left the land barren.

The surrounding villages all said it was because the neighboring Southern Tang had failed to respect the divine laws and offended the deities in the heavens.

The gods’ wrath had brought ruin to the nation. From the ruins of Southern Tang, a great demon called the Drought Demon had emerged. It was ruthlessly cruel and caused the entire outer province to suffer year after year of drought, with not a drop of rain in sight.

Back then, he wasn't called Taotie. He was just an ordinary farmer named Zhao Daniu.

He had a wife, a three-year-old daughter, and a mother in her sixties.

When the famine came, he took his family to flee the disaster, traveling west from their hometown in hopes of finding a bite to eat.

But everywhere they went was barren land and starved corpses.

The bark on the trees along the road had been stripped, the grass roots dug up, and even the Guanyin clay had been eaten clean.

He watched helplessly as his mother starved to death before him, then his young daughter, then his wife.

In the end, only he was left.

He didn't know how he had survived—perhaps it was luck, or perhaps he was just too stubborn to die.

But that night, he was caught by a group of people.

He knew them; they were fellow villagers from his own town. They had once drunk together, farmed together, and exchanged New Year’s greetings.

But they were so hungry their eyes had turned green. They didn't look at him as a person; they looked at him as a piece of meat.

“Daniu, you’re not going to make it anyway. Let us eat you.”

“That’s right, Daniu. Your wife and children are all dead. What’s the point of you living alone?”

“Daniu, don't blame us. We have no other choice.”

He didn't resist—perhaps because he no longer had the strength, or perhaps because he also felt he deserved to die.

Those people pinned him to the ground and slit his throat with a stone knife.

He remembered the sound of blood spraying from his neck, like someone relieving themselves.

He remembered those people surrounding him, tearing at his body like a pack of hungry wolves.

He also remembered that when he took his last breath, the corners of his mouth were turned up.

He was finally free from the suffering.

He thought death would be a liberation, that he could reunite with his family.

But death was not the end; it was only the beginning.

Zhao Daniu didn't know why his soul hadn't been collected by the rumored ghost bailiffs. Was it because the gods’ wrath had thrown the Six Paths into chaos?

He was just a farmer; he understood nothing. He drifted up from his mangled corpse, hovering in the air and looking down as his body was shared and eaten by his former neighbors.

The sound of flesh and bone tearing, the sound of chewing, and the sound of people arguing because they couldn't grab a piece.

Those sounds burrowed into his ears like insects. He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream, but ghosts and the living already belonged to two different worlds.

He could only watch—watch himself turn into a pile of white bones, watch those neighbors wipe their mouths in satisfaction after eating their fill, and watch them toss his bones into the wilderness to be carried off by wild dogs.

Then, his soul began to change.

Resentment surged from deep within his spiritual form, like ink dripping into clear water, rapidly spreading.

His originally blurry soul began to condense, becoming solid and hard.

His eyes turned blood-red, the corners of his mouth split to his earlobes, his teeth grew sharp, and his fingernails became as long as knives.

He had become a man-eating vicious ghost.

Zhao Daniu didn't remember when he started eating people.

Perhaps it was the third day after becoming a vicious ghost, or perhaps the seventh. He only remembered that on that night, he drifted back to that village and saw the neighbors who had killed him huddling around a fire, sharing a corpse.

He silently watched the scattered meat on the ground for a long time before barely recognizing it as his wife, who had died a few steps before him. He had buried her hastily in a desolate spot, with only a tattered grass mat to accompany her.

But now, his wife had also been dug up. Her hair was disheveled, her limbs broken, and her face covered in blood, showing none of the gentle and bright appearance she had in life.

He pounced.

The first person he ate was the neighbor who had led the others to kill him.

He bit open the man’s stomach, spilling his innards everywhere. The warmth of the blood splashing on his face made him tremble with excitement.

The second, the third, the fourth.

He devoured the entire village in a single night.

Then he went to the next village, and the next, and the next.

He ate his way along the path, leaving neither chicken nor dog alive. His fearsome reputation began to spread throughout the outer province.

People called him Taotie, saying he was a beast of greed, gluttonous without limit, never to be satisfied.

He was indeed never satisfied.

He had eaten thousands upon thousands of people, and his soul-body grew increasingly solid. But every time he finished eating, he would remember that night he was shared and eaten.

That feeling of betrayal, that sense of helpless despair—it was like a thorn driven into the deepest part of his soul, one that could never be pulled out.