The Fated One’s power rushed madly into Jiang Luo’s body. Simultaneously, Jiang Luo’s qi was vanishing at an alarming rate.
The three characters Jiang Luo had written on the paper were: Worship Me.
He didn’t know how the Fated One had gained the power of worship—so why not make the false god worship him instead?
The word spirit possessed absolute power. The moment the Fated One saw those three words, it activated. The Fated One was compelled, his power surging into Jiang Luo in the form of worship.
Jiang Luo gritted his teeth as every meridian and cell in his body was flushed through by the overwhelming force of this worship.
Pain. Unimaginable pain.
It felt like all his bones were being shattered and reassembled. A human body was being forcibly filled with a power that did not belong to humans. This power was wild and overbearing, transforming his body into something far more formidable.
The fifteen minutes of the Harmony Talisman Water had already passed, but the Fated One had yet to break free from the control of the word spirit. He was still sending waves of worship power into Jiang Luo.
The Fated One’s face was equally pale, his head throbbing in pain. He knew clearly that he shouldn’t be worshipping Jiang Luo, but like those bound by a word command, he could not stop himself. Emotionally, he even inclined to obey Jiang Luo. His gaze toward Jiang Luo was complex—filled with reverence, admiration, and also wariness and pain.
His consciousness was clear. At this moment, Jiang Luo was to him what gods and buddhas are to their followers. His mind had split into two: one part struggling to resist the word spirit’s power, the other part willingly offering his strength to Jiang Luo.
The Fated One’s power was being continuously drained, like a spring with its bottom unplugged. He was too strong—so the more he resisted the word spirit, the more qi was needed to sustain it. Jiang Luo endured two layers of torment repeatedly: the agony of his body being overrun by worship power, and the searing pain of qi rapidly depleting.
He knew he was undergoing an earth-shattering transformation, and he had no choice but to move forward—any retreat meant destruction.
The incense burner on the table had already burned through three sticks, and then three more. Smoke blurred the entire room. The Fated One’s hand holding the incense trembled slightly. His heart pounded—this was the most dangerous moment he had faced since becoming a false god.
Jiang Luo’s spirit chaneling technique—what he summoned turned out to be a word spirit, a force comparable to word command.
How could the Fated One have foreseen this?
Jiang Luo was drenched in sweat, bracing himself against the table to stay upright.
He desperately wanted to drag the Fated One down from his pedestal and kill him—but how could he absorb two centuries of power all at once?
Even if he could, Jiang Luo wouldn’t survive it. Unless he wanted to die on the spot, his body exploding from the overload.
Both Jiang Luo and the Fated One looked increasingly haggard and wretched. After all, Jiang Luo was human—he couldn’t withstand too much divine worship. Instinctively, he knew that if he absorbed any more, he would die from the excess power.
And his qi… was nearly gone.
Darkness crept over his vision. At one moment, he felt powerful enough to transcend humanity, the next, weak enough to be beaten to death by a toddler. His body screamed in alarm, but the pain kept his mind razor-sharp.
He could feel exactly how much power he had taken from the Fated One—and what that power meant to him. From the moment the first trace of worship entered his body, Jiang Luo instinctively knew how to harness it.
It was like facing a mountain path with no way forward—once he took the first step, the rest of the route revealed itself naturally.
Before his qi was completely depleted, Jiang Luo forcefully shook the Yin-Yang hoop on his wrist.
Four shakes to summon the underworld—he shook it four times in total.
Once the Yin-Yang hoop was shaken, Jiang Luo’s qi was completely spent. The power of the Word Spirit abruptly disconnected. Jiang Luo didn’t even glance at the Fated One and staggered out.
The Fated One suddenly collapsed into his chair, the color drained from his lips, his fingers pale and powerless. His whole being looked as if he’d suffered a grievous wound—exhausted and weak.
In truth, it was nearly the same as being gravely injured. Jiang Luo had taken nearly half of the Fated One’s strength. The sudden loss of power triggered a chain reaction no better than a serious wound.
He even watched Jiang Luo leave with wide eyes, yet couldn’t immediately pursue him.
The Fated One held his head with one hand, his breathing faint. His sleeve draped over his face, cold sweat at his temples dampening his white hair.
It had been a very long time since he had been this disheveled.
But what was even more disconcerting was that—even though the Word Spirit had lost its effect—the feelings he held for Jiang Luo still rippled faintly.
Complex and tangled—he had never felt such a biased perception toward anyone. Not even for Feng Li or Ji Yaozi. Toward them, he had always maintained the principle of equality among all beings.
It took several minutes before the swelling in the Fated One’s brain subsided enough for him to regain clarity. He whispered, “Lian Chun.”
Half a minute later, Daoist Elder Wei He rushed in. “Fated One, what are your orders?”
“Use every method possible to bring Jiang Luo back immediately,” the Fated One closed his tired eyes. His snow-like face became even more devoid of life, as if encased in ice. “Go.”
Daoist Elder Wei He turned and left at once.
Jiang Luo staggered away, leaving No Worldly Thoughts before the Fated One could react.
The sunlight outside was blinding, making his vision spin. Not a trace of qi was left in Jiang Luo’s body. Pain radiated from the inside out. Even lifting a hand or taking a step made him grit his teeth in agony. Just when he thought he couldn’t hold on any longer, he collapsed into someone’s cold embrace.
He caught the scent of Chi You and exhaled in relief. Before losing consciousness completely, he struggled to say, “Take me away. Plug the faucet… don’t let the Fated One… recover…”
Then he sank into total darkness.
…
Who knew how much time had passed before Jiang Luo slowly regained consciousness.
Drip. Drip.
The sound of water reached his ears first.
Jiang Luo didn’t open his eyes right away. He calmed his breathing and pretended to still be asleep, assessing his surroundings. The air was damp and chilly. His body was weak, the pain in his organs had eased somewhat, but his qi was still completely gone.
Judging by his physical condition, he must have been unconscious for a full day.
He laid on a soft bed. At the tip of his nose was the strong scent of blood, with a faint sweetness of cloying wine.
More information trickled into his mind through his senses.
Amid the dripping water, a low hum suddenly joined in.
Jiang Luo’s ears twitched—he instantly snapped to attention. It was Chi You.
He slowly opened his eyes.
He didn’t know where he was, but it looked like a dungeon. The humidity was heavy, like being in a limestone cave. The door was made of iron, tightly shut with no windows. Aside from the four walls, there was only the bed beneath him.
Jiang Luo scanned his surroundings and then looked toward the door.
A malicious ghost sat on a sofa by the door, eyes closed and softly humming. He held a glass of red wine, swirling it lazily. The ghost’s smile stretched wide, as if he’d encountered something delightful.
Jiang Luo watched him for a moment and tried to sit up—but didn’t have the strength. He coughed lightly.
There was a rusty, metallic taste in his throat.
The malicious ghost took a sip of wine. The humming stopped. He opened his eyes slowly and looked at Jiang Luo.
Chi You’s pitch-black eyes shimmered with a trace of deep red, adding an eerie and dangerous aura.
Jiang Luo sensed something off about him. His voice was dry and hoarse: “So, the ‘underworld’ summoned by Four Shakes of the Yin-Yang hoop… was you?”
Chi You suddenly laughed. “I never thought there was anything in this world that could summon me.”
He released his grip. The wine glass shattered on the floor. The malicious ghost stood up and walked slowly to the bedside. He looked down at Jiang Luo for a few seconds, and his smile gradually disappeared, replaced by a blank expression.
“Let me think… what should I ask of you?”
Jiang Luo’s eyelid twitched. The function of the Four Shakes was to summon the most powerful malevolent ghost to perform one task—but in return, the summoner must grant that ghost a request.
From Chi You’s tone and demeanor, Jiang Luo could tell it wouldn’t be anything good. He absolutely couldn’t let him make that request now. Jiang Luo quickly changed the subject: “How’s the Fated One? I took almost half his power of worship. You need to suppress his followers immediately—don’t let him get any new worship. As long as he can’t receive worship, he can’t recover his strength.”
And a Fated One who had lost half his power would be much easier to kill.
Jiang Luo was thinking through the details, but then he heard Chi You say: “I nearly killed him.”
Jiang Luo was shocked. He looked up at Chi You in disbelief.
Chi You curved his lips. “After being weakened like that, how could I let him go? It was earlier than I planned, but it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. If he hadn’t run so fast in the end, he’d already be a corpse.”
As he spoke, he ran a cold fingertip over Jiang Luo’s temple, sending shivers down his spine.
“Come to think of it, it’s all thanks to you.”
A day ago, when Jiang Luo had fallen unconscious into Chi You’s arms, Chi You had instantly been consumed with towering rage—and a mad urge to kill.
He held Jiang Luo’s collapsing body, his fingers trembling with rage.
There was also a trace of fear he didn’t quite understand himself.
Madness suppressed reason. The malicious ghost cradled Jiang Luo, and after confirming he had only fainted, went to find the one responsible for putting Jiang Luo in such a state.
No Worldly Thoughts was completely destroyed by him. The Fated One, at his weakest, was unable to withstand Chi You’s violent assault and was quickly defeated and gravely injured, only managing to escape at the last moment.
Chi You had stared coldly at the spot where the Fated One disappeared, flicking the blood off his hand.
Next time, he would make sure the Fated One would beg for death but be unable to die.
From Chi You’s expression, Jiang Luo could tell he wasn’t lying.
The Fated One had almost been killed?
He was still dazed, unable to fully process it. When he had lost consciousness, the Fated One had just had half his power taken. Now, upon waking, he had been severely injured by Chi You as well. Chi You had even taken control of the majority of the Fated One’s followers. Judging from the current situation, they suddenly held an overwhelming advantage.
Was this real? Was he dreaming?
Just as this thought formed, pain surged through Jiang Luo’s body again. The agony was unbearable—so intense it made him curl up instinctively and suddenly cough up a mouthful of blood.
Thick blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, flowing off the edge of the bed onto the floor.
Drip, drip—so that was the sound he had heard; it was his blood. And the strong smell of blood—it came from him.
His vision went black. It hurt so much. Jiang Luo’s thoughts blurred.
Blood at the corners of his mouth was wiped away. Suddenly, he was lifted, blanket and all, into someone’s arms. The searing pain made his breath ragged. The pain was so intense it pushed his consciousness to the brink of numbness.
But as abruptly as it had come, the pain began to fade as Chi You carried him out and opened the iron door.
The taste of blood still strong in his throat, Jiang Luo looked up and through his blurred vision saw Chi You’s neck and jawline. The malicious ghost’s jaw was rigid, his lips tightly pressed together, ghostly energy chilling.
Jiang Luo’s blood had soaked through the collar of his clothes. Looking down sluggishly, he realized he was no longer wearing the same clothes as before. That meant he had likely coughed up blood several times while unconscious.
Taking in so much worship power with a human body all at once—his body couldn’t bear it. Though the offering power was transforming his body, it was also damaging it at the same time. If the transformation didn’t complete before his body failed from the overload…
Jiang Luo’s heart sank.
The smell of blood outside the door was even stronger, pulling him back to awareness. He looked toward the hallway—and suddenly stopped breathing.
Dozens of people were hanging from ropes along both sides of the corridor. Their hands were tied high above their heads, bodies covered in wounds, tortured to the brink of death. Blood flowed from them into the drains at the base of the walls.
There were men and women, young and old. Among them were a dozen faces Jiang Luo found familiar.
Daoist Elder Wei He, Lian Xue, Lian Bing, Lian Qiang, and several young children from No Worldly Thoughts…
All of them were from the Lian family.
