Elsewhere, Ji Yaozi, after three days of travel, finally returned to his hometown, weary and dusty from the journey.
He stood at the village entrance but found the place strangely unfamiliar—there wasn’t a trace of recognition.
But that was understandable. Ji Yaozi had only lived in this village with his mother for three years. What could a three-year-old child possibly remember?
Step by step, Ji Yaozi walked into the village, his eyes filled with nostalgia and confusion.
Forty years had passed; he and the village were complete strangers to each other. He searched all around but couldn’t find the brick house from his childhood—not even the river where his mother had drowned.
He spotted a man carrying manure along the road and quickly stopped him. “Brother, do you know where Zhao Zhirong’s house is?”
The man set down his shoulder pole and scratched his head in confusion, his accent thick. “Zhao Zhirong? Never heard of her.”
Ji Yaozi patiently added, “She was a local. She passed away over forty years ago. Brother, do you really not remember the name?”
“Zhao Zhirong, Zhao Zhirong…” The man muttered the name repeatedly but still had no recollection. “I really don’t remember. Maybe try asking Uncle Zhao at the end of the village?”
Ji Yaozi looked disappointed, then asked, “Brother, where’s the river in the village?”
“There’s a river to the west and one to the east. Which one are you looking for?”
Ji Yaozi said, “The one where someone drowned.”
The man was startled and grew angry. “You outsider, how can you speak such nonsense! No one’s ever drowned in our village’s river—don’t curse us!”
With that, he ignored Ji Yaozi and stormed off with his shoulder pole.
Ji Yaozi stood frozen.
That couldn’t be right. How could no one have drowned?
He felt increasingly uneasy, a faint sense of wrongness creeping up. He walked a bit further and stopped another villager—this time, he deliberately chose an elder.
But the old man also had never heard of Zhao Zhirong, and said the village river had never drowned anyone.
Ji Yaozi asked seven or eight people in a row and got the same answer each time. An emptiness grew inside him. No drowned river, no Zhao Zhirong, not even his original name, Zhao Zhen, was known by anyone.
How was that possible? Back when he was still Zhao Zhen, hadn’t seven or eight neighbors escorted him to the county town?
Where were those neighbors?
His memories and reality were at odds. Ji Yaozi grew dazed, sweat covering his forehead. He wandered to the riverbank. Looking at the gently flowing water, his fingers trembled uncontrollably. A chill rose from the soles of his feet and shot straight up to his crown.
Was his memory fake? Did his mother never exist?
Then who was he?
Was he really the Fated One’s son?
Under the warm sun, Ji Yaozi broke out in a cold sweat.
***
Sunlight bathed the earth.
Jiang Luo, unwilling to spiral into anxious overthinking or waste time waiting idly for Chi You to return, tried to keep himself as busy as possible every day.
The next day, he brought his companions with him to Dazhao Temple.
After so many years, Ge Zhu, now knowing the truth of Ge Wuchen’s betrayal of the Buddhist path back then, couldn’t help but tear up upon seeing Master Chengde again.
Master Chengde’s eyes also grew moist at the sight, but being a steady and composed man, he suppressed his emotions with a breath and said, “Come with this old monk.”
This was Jiang Luo’s second visit to Dazhao Temple.
The last time had been during a snow-covered winter—layer upon layer of snow. Now, it was spring: everything was lush and full of life, like a child in March, exuding a natural, unhurried beauty.
Master Chengde led them to see the temple abbot. When they arrived at the meditation room, the abbot had already prepared tea, waiting for them.
The fragrant steam from the tea was refreshing and soothing—but only four cups had been prepared.
Hearing footsteps, the abbot opened his eyes. His sharp gaze turned toward them. “Benefactor Jiang, Benefactor Cyril, please come in.”
Jiang Luo curved his lips in a faint smile and led a confused Cyril into the meditation room. Just as he stepped over the threshold, he suddenly turned back and whispered, “There are a few newly built but unused temples within Dazhao Temple—go find the one with the best feng shui for me.”
Zhuo Zhongqiu and the others exchanged puzzled glances. Why pick a temple?
But since Jiang Luo said so, they simply nodded without question.
Master Chengde gently closed the door behind them.
Sunlight was slowly pushed out through the narrowing crack. Finally, with a creak, the door shut fully, leaving only four people in the room.
The abbot smiled warmly at Jiang Luo and Cyril, his eyes occasionally flashing with sharp insight. Cyril, made uneasy by the gaze, instinctively leaned closer to Jiang Luo.
Jiang Luo carried himself with poise. Calm and composed, he sat there, lifting his teacup and slowly savoring the taste of the tea. He praised, “The tea at Dazhao Temple is always this fragrant—slightly bitter at first, but leaves a sweet aftertaste. One sip makes you want another.”
“This is just some nameless wild tea, nothing special. We grow and harvest it ourselves up in the mountains,” the abbot said kindly. “If you like it, take some home with you. It clears the eyes and lungs—good for the body.”
Jiang Luo didn’t stand on ceremony. He thanked them graciously.
Cyril also murmured a quiet thank-you. He mimicked Jiang Luo and took a sip, only to scrunch up his entire face from the bitterness.
Jiang Luo asked, “Why did the two Masters invite only me and Cyril for tea?”
“Because you two are the most different,” the abbot replied slowly, his aged voice calm. “But this old monk’s eyes are dull—I still can’t see where exactly you come from.”
Jiang Luo had guessed as much.
He was now a living corpse—part of the less-evil branch of the malevolent beings, never to become a god. Yet within him was a power of worship—almost at the level of a false god. As for Cyril, he was unmistakably a Bai Wuchang. The two Masters couldn’t see through them, but they could tell they weren’t ordinary.
Jiang Luo smiled, unfazed, and asked, “Then do the two Masters have something they wish to discuss with us?”
Though he already knew what they wanted, he pretended not to. Master Chengde smiled and shook his head, answering plainly, “What we wish to speak about is precisely the matter of dealing with the Fated One.”
Jiang Luo feigned surprise. “Does Dazhao Temple have a grudge against the Fated One too?”
The abbot rotated the prayer beads in his hand and said blandly, “If the Fated One hadn’t tampered with the prophecy to deceive others, our Buddhist sect wouldn’t have lost three elders and three juniors. Ge Wuchen wouldn’t have had to flee in disgrace. He wouldn’t have burned the entire scripture library. If anyone has a grudge with the Fated One, Dazhao Temple is definitely at the top of the list.”
Jiang Luo said, “Ge Wuchen claimed everyone who knew the truth of his betrayal back then is dead. How do you two know what really happened?”
Master Chengde gave a cold laugh. “The night Master Chengwen and the other two made the prophecy, they perished in the fire. Ge Wuchen killed and fled from the Buddhist order. It all happened so suddenly—we didn’t need him to tell us. We could guess it ourselves.”
Jiang Luo let out a sympathetic sigh and silently sipped his tea, not saying a word about cooperation.
This wasn’t how they imagined it. Master Chengde realized Jiang Luo hadn’t yet trusted them and couldn’t help but ask, “Benefactor Jiang, what would it take for you to trust us?”
“So long as you’re willing to let me write a few words on you, I’ll believe you.”
Master Chengde hesitated, having never heard of such a method. “Write words?”
But the abbot responded without hesitation, “Go ahead.”
Jiang Luo used his finger to write three characters—“Loyal to me”—on the backs of their hands. As the final stroke was completed, the expressions of the two Masters subtly changed—their eyes grew more honest, more trusting.
Master Chengde chuckled and asked, “Benefactor Jiang, do you have a plan for dealing with the Fated One?”
Now that they were on the same side, Jiang Luo didn’t hide it. “I do.”
“What’s the plan?”
“I’ll need Dazhao Temple’s help,” Jiang Luo said. “I plan to disguise myself as a true god, ‘descend’ at Dazhao Temple, and lure the Fated One out. He has an obsession with becoming a god. No matter how vague or suspicious the rumor, even if he suspects a trap, he’ll come check it out.”
A cold glint flashed in Jiang Luo’s eyes. “If it came down to a fight, I wouldn’t lose to him. But even defeating him like that wouldn’t be cruel enough.”
“When he comes to Dazhao Temple, I’ll make him believe I really am a god. Once he believes that, he’ll think he needs to seek my divine guidance in order to ascend. Whatever I say, he’ll do.”
Jiang Luo continued, “And then—I’ll make him utterly ruined. I’ll rip off the mask of his false godhood.”
Master Chengde couldn’t help but slap the table. “Excellent!”
The abbot’s hand trembled slightly as he held his prayer beads. His eyes, clearer than ever, sparkled with excitement, though he quickly calmed himself. “The Fated One has lived over two hundred years. He’s the only known false god. Benefactor Jiang, how do you plan to convince him you’re truly divine?”
Jiang Luo smiled faintly and gently set his teacup down on the table.
The cup clinked softly as it touched the surface.
Jiang Luo closed his eyes.
Just as Master Chengde and the abbot were starting to feel puzzled, an overwhelming force suddenly burst from Jiang Luo’s body. A torrential flood of faith-based power poured out, instantly and dominantly engulfing the entire meditation room.
The two old men stared in disbelief, eyes wide.
The young Director of the Scientific Research Bureau reopened his eyes. They were filled with mirth—and his entire being radiated a divine aura that was both awe-inspiring and magnetic.
“Will this do?” he asked.
Master Chengde and the abbot looked at him in stunned silence. Their faces shifted to expressions of shock and delight, even a little helpless awe.
“T-this—” Master Chengde was ecstatic. “You actually—you actually—?! The Fated One may truly not be able to see through your plan!”
The abbot silently chanted the Heart Sutra several times to steady his wildly beating heart. “We can’t reach your level, nor do we know if the Fated One can detect whether you’re truly divine or not. Benefactor Jiang, are you certain you can deceive him?”
Jiang Luo curled his lips into a smirk. “I’m certain. Even if he doesn’t fully believe I’m a true god, he won’t fully believe I’m fake either. His obsession with godhood runs too deep—he wouldn’t let go of even a sliver of hope.”
“He’s never seen a true god. So how would he know what one looks like? I won’t face him directly, either. As long as I gather enough worship power and channel it all to disguise myself when he comes—he will be fooled.”
“As long as he’s even a little deceived, even slightly convinced, everything afterward will be easy.”
Jiang Luo looked at Cyril. “Besides, Cyril is a bona fide god. He’ll stay by my side at all times. For example, if I ‘descend’ into one of the temples of the Dazhao Monastery, Cyril will be there too. That way, even if the Fated One uses divination to check whether there’s a god in the temple, the answer will still be yes.”
After all, Cyril was Bai Wuchang.
Jiang Luo intended to use Cyril’s identity as Bai Wuchang to build himself a flawlessly convincing persona of a true god and completely fool the Fated One.
Cyril looked at Jiang Luo with admiration. “Jiang, wherever you go, I go!”
Master Chengde and the abbot slowly began to understand. Their eyes grew brighter and their bodies trembled slightly with excitement. Jiang Luo said calmly, “This plan really can’t work without the help of you two.”
Master Chengde’s face lit up. “What do you need from us? Just say it!”
“Just like I said before—give me a temple to use as the place of divine descent, and then help me heavily promote it under the Dazhao Monastery’s name,” Jiang Luo flashed a brilliant smile. “You two are representatives of the Buddhist sect, and everyone knows monks don’t lie. So if you say a true god has descended upon the monastery, people will believe it. As the word spreads, the Fated One will definitely come to investigate.”
“At that point, a lot of people will also come to worship me, and that’s all worship power delivered straight to me—no reason to turn it down. So the temple needs to have a statue and incense burners. Whether we can fool the Fated One or not will depend mostly on your ability to spread the news.”
The two elders smiled bitterly. “You’re asking us to lie.”
Jiang Luo looked at them directly. “For revenge—are you willing?”
Master Chengde and the abbot fell silent for a moment but quickly made their decision.
It was hardly a question at all.
“We’ll do as you say,” Master Chengde stood up, full of energy and ready to head out. “A lie’s a lie. As long as we can make the Fated One pay, I’d do it even if it cost me my life. Wait here—I’ll go pick a suitable temple for you.”
Jiang Luo said breezily, “No need, Master. I’ve already sent someone to scout for one.”
Master Chengde: “…”
He stared at Jiang Luo oddly, who returned an innocent look.
Master Chengde couldn’t hold it in any longer—this brat Jiang Luo really had a thick skin!
