The City God, venerated within the Yanzhi County City God Pavilion, was none other than Shen Wen, a former Censorate of the Caiyi Kingdom. Renowned for his unyielding integrity, he bequeathed the timeless adage: “Live as a loyal minister, die as a steadfast spirit.” His temple had long thrived, a testament to his enduring influence.

Having previously explored the Pavilion with Xu Yuanxia and Zhang Shanfeng, Chen Ping’an knew its layout well. The Yanzhi County City God Pavilion was divided into four hallowed halls. Before the first gate, two once-majestic painted clay effigies of Heavenly Guardians stood watch, now defiled by the creeping presence of vermin and serpents.

Chen Ping’an paced along the wall, finding no corrupted souls within the Pavilion’s square. Hesitation banished, he conjured a yang energy talisman hidden within his sleeve. The yellowed paper shimmered, hovering before him, a beacon of righteousness. As he stepped forward, it drifted towards the gate, a guiding star. He felt a tranquil certainty; though the Pavilion suffered, the remnants of spiritual energy lingered within its walls, else the talisman would retreat.

The light talisman cast a gentle glow, bathing Chen Ping’an in its purity. Centipedes and scorpions, along with other venomous creatures, recoiled from his path. Approaching the gate, the talisman’s power disturbed the vermin clinging to the Heavenly Guardians, causing them to scatter, seeking refuge within the clay forms.

Holding his breath, Chen Ping’an continued, passing through the gate into the first hall. Above hung a plaque emblazoned with golden script. This hall was not dedicated to the City God, but to a seated effigy of a founding hero of the Caiyi Kingdom. To either side stood the civil and military judges, and eight celestial officials. The plaque, once inscribed by a late emperor of Caiyi, now peeled, the gold tarnished. A black serpent, thick as a bowl, coiled beneath, its head poised, spitting a sibilant warning.

Chen Ping’an stepped across the threshold. The serpent struck, fangs bared. Without raising his head, he twisted, seizing the serpent’s head, his wrist snapping. The beast went limp, and was flung aside, lifeless.

Following the swaying lamp talisman, Chen Ping’an passed through the hall into a smaller square, shadowed by an ancient tree. A stone tablet stood here, an edict of the Caiyi Emperor, enshrining the City God. Chen Ping’an lingered before it, concluding that the calligraphy was… lacking, even compared to the young Cui Feng.

It was fortunate that the Dali National Master, now called Cui Dongshan, was not present, or his ire would be kindled.

To the left and right of the square stood the Temple of Fortune and the Taisui Hall. In one, supplicants burned incense and bowed, seeking prosperity. In the other, they sought solace from the Taisui, hoping for a year free of disaster. The common folk seemed more devout here than in the main hall.

The light talisman flew onward, Chen Ping’an followed, never faltering.

Suddenly, Chen Ping’an glanced back. He saw a fleeting flicker of white near the stone tablet beneath the ancient cypress.

From the Taisui and Fortune Halls drifted faint whispers of women, chilling and playful, like echoes from the underworld. They pierced the boundary between worlds, mingling with the sparse sunlight, their influence lessened, yet audible.

Frowning, Chen Ping’an turned and strode forward.

A dozen more steps and he would reach the main hall, dedicated to the City God, Shen Wen.

Aside from the purely decorative wooden swords, his sword-raising gourd held his most potent weapons.

Then there were external aids, like the Yang Qi talisman from Li Xisheng’s ancient text, “The Original Book of Alchemy.” Chen Ping’an also possessed two golden pagoda demon-suppressing talismans, created after the umbrella incident. Finally, he had the remaining Yangqi lamp talisman and three earth-shrinking talismans, to be used with the Drumbeat of the Gods, or for a quick escape.

As Chen Ping’an turned his head, a figure materialized atop the stone tablet. A woman in white, hair obscuring her face, sat perched.

She raised a finger, bone-white and bloodless. It tapped the stone, and a crimson spring erupted, coating the ancient inscription in what seemed to turn into a bloody missive.

Yet, her white robes remained immaculate, untouched by the gore.

She lifted her head, still veiled, and began to sing. The melody might have been a forgotten folk song of the Caiyi Kingdom. Her voice, soft, rose and fell, her bone-white fingers twisting a lock of dark hair. Her feet, flesh intertwined with bone, swung, splashing the stone with blood.

In contrast to the laughter from the halls, the woman’s singing was clear. The ancient cypress rustled, as if joining in her lament.

She seemed content, then turned a skeletal hand, palm down.

The doors of the Taisui and Fortune Halls flew open, and a man emerged from each. The man from the Temple of Fortune was young, missing an arm, yet the bleeding had stopped. He dragged a Qingfeng sword, his face pale, his eyes vacant.

From the Taisui Palace shuffled a middle-aged man, his head lolling, barely attached to his torso.

At the woman’s gesture, the men moved with unnatural grace, beginning to dance. Threads of light, like snow-white spider silk, emanated from her fingertips, controlling their every movement.

White-clad women drifted from the halls, their forms billowing black smoke. They watched the dance, their faces filled with scorn and hatred. The sunlight was a barrier they dared not cross, yet some recklessly surged out, surrounding the men, their fingers trailing across pale faces, disappearing with each pass through the doorway.

Chen Ping’an stood at the threshold of the main hall. The yangqi lamp talisman struck an invisible barrier, buffeting in vain.

Its power waned.

Chen Ping’an reached out, feeling an icy resistance. He pushed, but could not break through.

He clenched his fingers, his wrist snapping. The talisman, its light dim, sped back into the square, circling the heads of the puppet corpses. They crashed to the ground, their light extinguished, blood spreading.

The woman withdrew her hand, unmoved. The women in the halls hissed with hatred.

Those fallen to the realm of vengeful spirits, are lost to any trace of compassion.

This was the will of the Gods.

Chen Ping’an gazed at the woman on the stone tablet and spoke softly, “Madam, let the dead rest. Whatever grievances you held, let them go.”

She ignored him, and resumed her song, this time in the Baopingzhou tongue, which Chen Ping’an could understand.

“The body is like a dead tree, the heart as cold as ashes… I know it, yet cannot hold it for this reason… The media is obscure, plans cannot be made without intention… Who is that person…”

Her tone was placid, absent of hatred.

Chen Ping’an understood the words, but not their deeper meaning.

He ceased his speculations. He was now separated from the main hall, the City God trapped, unable to patrol his county and aid Yanzhi County.

The main hall behind Chen Ping’an held three statues. The City God, more than three meters tall, stood at the center, forcing pilgrims to look up. The civil and military judges, two meters in height, flanked him, bearing an iron mace and an official seal.

Two centuries past, a Taoist priest from another continent, named Zhang, had traveled here. Moved by the simple folk of Yanzhi, he returned home, and soon the Celestial Master of Longhu Mountain granted a “Colorful Clothes Country Rouge County City God Xianyou Bo Seal.” The young priest was revealed as Huang Zi’s nobleman from the Tianshi Mansion. The story was told throughout the continent, though the golden seal was rumored to be in the treasury of the Caiyi Kingdom.

Inside, a mural depicted ninety-nine beauties in flowing robes.

“Ink as life, breath as life,” they said of it.

Seeing the woman’s indifference, Chen Ping’an patted the sword-raising gourd.

He turned, striking the “ice” with a punch. Ripples spread, and the three statues in the threshold seemed to tremble.

Chen Ping’an moved with six steps, striking the ice with the Drumbeat of the Gods.

He must remain wary of the woman on the stone tablet.

A sigh echoed from the ancient tree, a girl’s voice, “Fool, that is a formation set by two great monks of the fifth realm. Even my master could not easily unravel it. Why else would the City God be trapped? You are a martial artist, and you think to break it? Spare yourself. While she has no interest in you, leave, lest another fool stumbles in, and you become a dancing marionette.”

Perhaps Chen Ping’an’s blows lacked force.

The girl could not resist her contempt.

Since his fight with Ma Kuxuan, Chen Ping’an’s intention has grown more restrained. He practiced slowly, embodying the principle of “warmth and nourishment.” The reason why some practitioners are said to “attract evil spirits” is that they cannot grasp the method, therefore the more they practice boxing, the more harm they inflict upon body and soul.

Chen Ping’an’s movements are now like a courier sending a message at 800 miles in the blink of an eye.

This state of “shutting down” cannot be understood unless the person is at the 6th or 7th level of martial arts.

The woman ceased singing and turned to face Chen Ping’an’s eighteenth punch.

It resonated like a bell, vibrating the air. The blood-soaked stone tablet cracked.

She shrieked, a command to the floating women. They transformed into swirling smoke, reinforcing the formation with their spectral essence. Black tendrils shot towards Chen Ping’an, attempting to disrupt his rhythm and prevent his nineteenth strike.

“Rash fool! If I die here, we will walk the underworld road together, and I will curse you until I die!”

From the tree, the girl complained, “A follower, that’s the formation set up by two great monks of the fifth realm, even my master would be unable to do anything for a while, otherwise how could the City God not be able to come out. Come on. You are a martial artist, and you want to break it? Save some effort. While the female ghost is not interested in killing you, leave here early, otherwise another fool will break in, and you will be Pianpian The dancing marionette is here.”

The woman’s face was still covered by black hair but on her face was sarcasm.

Her pale hands gently clapped each other.

In the main hall, the statues of the civil and military judges stirred, dust billowing. They stepped down, their clay feet thudding on the bluestone. The statue wielding the mace lunged, aiming for the youth’s head, while the other brandished the seal.

The true danger did not reside with the woman, but within the City God Hall itself. Where was Chen Wen, who should be defending the city?

Inside the City God Hall, the tallest statue, dull. Golden fragments littered the floor, leaving only golden rays emanating from its eyes. This was the “Golden City God” of Rouge County.

The county magistrate from a century ago, who had built the statue, had fundraised with the wealth and power in the county. He was later lauded, a monument erected in his name.

“Go quickly,” the City God whispered, his voice hoarse, “These evil demons are numerous. If you escape, seek the Immortal Masters of Shengao Sect or the wise men of Guanhu Academy. Tell them Caiyi Kingdom is doomed, and no surrounding nation will be spared.”

This City God Pavilion could not even save itself.

Outside the main hall,

First, the girl with the silver bells deflected the black smoke, light golden flowers blooming. She was struck by the smoke, and bled, but she was able to survive and was near the rash ghost, shaking her wrist, ringing sounds, and golden petals, continuing to eliminate the mixed feelings bit by bit. The wailing black smoke.

Chen Ping’an unleashed his nineteenth punch.

Smoke poured into the “ice surface”, fortifying it against the Drumbeat of the Gods.

The two clay statues rushed forward. One raised the mace and the other readied the official’s seal.

Chen Ping’an delivered his twentieth punch, shaking the formation. He could not unleash the 21st, nor could he allow the girl to perish.

His feet cracking, Chen Ping’an vanished, dodging the mace and the seal, reappearing beside the statue of the civil servant, striking with an iron cavalry. This punch was to save lives, using every ounce of strength, surrounding his arm in snow-white qi.

The statue was sent sliding, gouging a path through the ground.

The girl turned, understanding dawning in her eyes.

Chen Ping’an raised his hands, preparing to strike, yet instead, he slipped out two golden pagoda demon-suppressing talismans. The clay general swung again.

Chen Ping’an moved with blinding speed.

He was now before the statue, leaping onto its forehead.

Golden light erupted!

A golden pagoda appeared, trapping the statue.

The clay form struggled in vain, the talisman holding it fast.

Chen Ping’an bounded off, flying towards the girl and the statue of the civil servant. The golden talisman affixed itself to the seal.

The statue swayed.

He stepped on the statue’s head, looking at the woman in white.

Without hesitation, he leapt towards the stone tablet, drawing the locust wood sword.

He unleashed a single strike.

A flawless, elegant dance.