Instead, they stared at her with fervent eyes.
Nan Shan paused, hesitant to speak.
“What’s wrong?”
“Do… do you feel uncomfortable?”
Liu Jin Hua asked cautiously, “Like, dizzy?”
Just as Nan Shan was about to speak, she suddenly felt the world spinning.
Her breath stopped, and she looked at her parents, confused.
“Don’t be afraid, daughter. When you wake up, you’ll become a god,” Sun Jin said with a smile.
“Father and Mother are doing this for your own good. After waiting for so long, we’ve finally reached this day…”
Liu Jin Hua’s voice was full of emotion.
Nan Shan’s body fell heavily to the ground, but she didn’t feel any pain.
She closed her eyes and lost consciousness completely.
When she woke up again, she found herself in the temple the villagers had built for her, fixed in a statue-like position with silk threads binding her body.
She felt weak, her dantian empty, and she was utterly drained.
In front of her stood a large crowd of familiar faces, with her parents at the front.
Nan Shan’s thoughts were still heavy, and it took a while before she could hear her own voice.
“Father…”
“Don’t be afraid, Nan Shan,” Sun Jin said kindly.
“Don’t be afraid, we won’t hurt you. We just want to mold you into a golden body. Once the golden body is formed, you will become a god.”
A golden body… Nan Shan furrowed her brow in confusion.
Before she could ask more, the crowd parted, and several strong men approached her, carrying a large vat of boiling golden liquid.
In the bubbling liquid, fragments of bones could be seen.
“This is the golden liquid made from the bones of the last diviner,” Sun Jin said passionately.
“As soon as the golden liquid is poured on you, you will inherit the divine power and cultivation, becoming the true god of our village, protecting the people with longevity, peace, and eternal tranquility. You will be worshipped by us for generations to come, the only true god in this world!”
Sun Jin spoke with fervor, and the crowd nodded in agreement, their eyes filled with fanaticism and expectation, drawing closer to Nan Shan.
Nan Shan finally came to her senses and struggled desperately, indifferent to the pain as the silk threads cut into her skin.
As her body began to bleed, Liu Jin Hua gasped and rushed toward her, but was held back by the crowd.
The golden liquid was still approaching, and Nan Shan could feel the intense heat pressing down on her.
Her determination surged.
Ignoring the risk of having her limbs torn by the silk threads, she broke free.
The crowd, clearly not expecting this, scrambled to catch her.
Nan Shan felt a surge of heat in her dantian, and her spiritual power returned a little. Without thinking, she prepared to fight back.
“Nan Shan!”
A shrill voice rang out as a figure lunged at her.
Nan Shan instinctively withdrew her spiritual power and, in that moment of hesitation, ended up embracing her mother.
“Don’t be afraid, Nan Shan. It’ll be over soon,” Liu Jin Hua said, her voice full of tenderness as she pressed Nan Shan to the ground.
The others rushed in, pinning her arms and legs down.
Nan Shan was terrified and wanted to resist, but when she met Liu Jin Hua’s pleading eyes, all her strength seemed to drain away.
She slowly closed her eyes.
The boiling golden liquid poured over her.
The immense pain came before she lost consciousness.
When she woke up again, her body was clean, and it felt as if nothing had happened.
Behind her, the statue of her was covered in a golden glow.
Nan Shan looked at the statue indifferently, staring at the golden light, which seemed like clothing yet was firmly embedded in the statue’s texture.
She felt no emotion.
Suddenly, a sound like ants scurrying invaded her ears.
At first, it was just a few noises, then thousands and thousands of them, countless voices pleading and praying around her.
The sound tore at her eardrums, leaving her in agony.
She screamed, rolling wildly on the ground, but the temple was empty, and no one could help her.
She didn’t know how long she had stayed alone in the temple.
She only knew that when she entered, it was still early autumn, but by the time she left, snow had piled on her head.
Those voices did not disappear with time, but she gradually became accustomed to them as time passed.
She stood at the entrance of the temple, looked at the people kneeling on the ground, and then glanced at her father and mother kneeling at the front.
After a long time, she lightly smiled.
She had become a true god, with the ability to foresee disasters and bestow blessings on the people.
She was no longer a mere cultivator with a divine title.
Day and night, spring passed and autumn came, and the only thing she needed to do was turn every prayer and wish whispered into her ears into reality.
Nan Shan lived in the temple, rarely returning home.
Her father and mother came to visit once, but when they saw her indifferent attitude toward them as well as to others, they left with reddened eyes.
Since then, they had only watched her from afar, never like the others who sought anything from her.
Nan Shan, too, never heard their voices among the many prayers.
Oh, but she did hear them once.
That was a deep night when the surroundings had quieted a little.
She was about to fall asleep when she heard her mother’s low voice:
“The believer asks for nothing, only wishes for my child to be happy, at peace, and safe.”
Nan Shan opened her eyes but saw no one.
Days went by, one after another.
She didn’t know how many years had passed this way.
One morning, Nan Shan once again lost all her cultivation and her ability to bestow blessings and divine insight.
And so, the nightmare repeated, becoming even more intense.
When everyone rushed toward her with twisted faces, questioning her as to why she refused to bless the world, Nan Shan suddenly felt an overwhelming surge of resentment.
The moment her gaze lifted, her pupils turned blood red.
The crowd recoiled in fear but refused to leave, as though certain that even as mere mortals, they would not lose to a god in a contest.
After all, it was they who had created the god.
After all, it was they who had worshiped the god.
Without them, there would be no god.
They were the true masters of the god.
Nan Shan looked at those who still refused to repent even as death loomed over them, looking at faces both familiar and strange.
The emotions she had forcefully suppressed for so long exploded in an instant.
She could no longer bear it.
Her lost cultivation returned in a flash, gathering into sharp threads in her palm.
Kill.
Kill them all.
Once they were gone, it would all be over.
A strong urge guided her, and she could no longer control herself.
With a roar, she rushed toward them.
But time froze.
The expressions on everyone’s faces froze in terror.
Nan Shan was suspended in mid-air, trying to break free from the inexplicable restraint.
Cold fingers pressed against her elbow from behind, easily interlocking with her fingers.
“Nan Shan, wake up.”
It was the familiar, gentle voice.
Nan Shan suddenly opened her eyes.
A mass of black-red energy rushed toward her, but was shattered by the sunlight streaming in through the window.
It was still the temple, but no longer her temple.
The golden robes of the statue were no longer tight, and the sea of corpses had vanished.
Ji Yue stood quietly before her, like a bamboo stalk, exuding a clear and resilient aura.
Nan Shan stared at him for a long time, gathering spiritual power in her palm and aiming it at him.
Ji Yue seemed to anticipate this.
Seeing her, he simply closed his eyes.
A powerful gust of wind surged toward him, with the force to split bamboo, but in the end, it only tousled the hair on his forehead.
Ji Yue slowly opened his eyes and, after gazing at her for a long time, spoke softly, “Why don’t you strike?”
“… A friend of mine once told me, there was a god in the past called the Diviner Immortal, who could read the past and foresee the future. But three thousand years ago, he fell along with his followers, and since then, only diviners remained, no more Immortals,” Nan Shan fixed her eyes on him, searching for any hint of emotion on his face.
“Ji Yue, are you the fallen Diviner Immortal?”
Ji Yue remained silent for a long time, and finally, he simply told her, “I once saw you.”
Nan Shan smiled, and with a flick of her fingers, her spiritual power easily pierced his throat, leaving behind a grotesque scar.
In the distance, the barrier surrounding Eastern Yi trembled and cracked open slightly, but soon repaired itself.
Nan Shan stared at Ji Yue’s skin, which healed instantly.
She was not surprised at all, but instead, felt an absurd and ridiculous sense of finality.
And then, she laughed.
“You’re late,” Ji Yue remained gentle, not questioning her sudden laughter, but patiently explaining, “It’s daytime now. You cannot kill me.”
He spoke as though explaining each line of poetry when teaching her lessons.
“Why should I kill you?”
Nan Shan asked, but there was no curiosity in her eyes, as if the answer no longer mattered to her.
Ji Yue silently met her gaze, his eyes gradually shifting from warmth to pity.
“Haven’t you already understood? I am the cage, and the cage is me.”