Chapter Fifty-Two: The Torrential Rain

The frenzied waves crashed against the unyielding reefs, leaving behind glistening trails of moisture. Atop the rocky outcrops stood water demons clad in armor and helmets, their forms resembling fish, shrimp, turtles, and crabs.

Along the island’s outer beaches, as the tide receded, water monsters of all shapes and terrifying visages left wet footprints in the sand, surging toward the cliff at the island’s center.

At the very heart of the island rose a precipice lofty enough to overlook the entire landmass. At its summit, there were no towering forests or ancient trees—only a solitary, imposing structure.

The Prison of Pi Zhen.

The sky was choked with thick, oppressive clouds. Torrential rain poured down as if the heavens had split open, each drop striking like a shot of steel. The branches and leaves of shrubs and trees had long since been battered and broken.

Such relentless rain quickly filled the prison with water, reaching above a man’s knees in no time. A prison guard’s corpse, still clad in uniform, floated lifelessly in the rising flood.

No one cared.

The prison temple’s flying eaves had already lost a corner, and the xiezhi statue atop it had vanished, its whereabouts unknown. Only a wind chime remained, swept to the corner by the rushing water.

Within the temple, the ancient effigy of the sage Gao Yao was broken in two—the torso had fallen to the floor, the blue-painted face shattered, the eyes ground to powder. At some unknown time, the base beneath the statue had been hollowed out.

“To think a treasure was actually hidden inside this statue. Didn’t you study appraisal? Come, have a look and see what sort of artifact this is.”

“This item exudes spiritual light. With my third-degree spiritual appraisal, I can’t determine its quality. A pity it’s a book—if it were some other weapon or treasure, it might fetch more spirit stones or profound crystals.”

“Spirit stones and crystals! Let’s just take it to the Hidden Immortal Market and exchange it. If your third-degree appraisal can’t identify it, it must at least be a spiritual-grade item—perhaps even of the immortal essence level.”

“Books aren’t easy to trade unless their contents happen to be exactly what someone needs. Only then can you barter for something of equal worth.”

“If not, we can settle for something a grade lower. In any case, this job’s reward is already generous—this treasure is just an unexpected bonus.”

Two figures, garbed in prison uniforms of deep ochre, sat cross-legged before the altar, excitement in their voices as they discussed a book shrouded in faint azure light. Iron chains etched with red runes bound their wrists.

“The Demon-Binding Chain is undone. Who would’ve thought that illusion pill we bought could actually fool the guards.”

One of the men, gaunt to the point of emaciation, swung the chain from his wrist. Though it no longer restrained him, its twenty pounds still weighed heavily and uncomfortably upon his body.

“Alright, they have no time for us now. Let’s head to the Warden’s Office, set fire to the records vault, and finish our task.”

The other, a man broad as a bear and thick as a tiger, stretched his arms wide. The red runes on his chain remained inert, and with a twist of his wrists, he snapped the iron links apart.

“These unremarkable-looking runes—one red, one blue—are enough to suppress the powers of cultivators and monsters alike. Yet use them wrong, and they’re utterly useless. Fascinating.”

The gaunt man held out his wrists for his companion to break the chains, marveling at the red markings.

“Forget it. Let’s find our weapons at the designated spot. We won’t get far empty-handed—the warden’s men are not as easy to deal with as common guards.”

Tiger-back urged, glancing at the blood pooling beneath their feet.

“Let’s go, before the filthy blood of these corpses stains the treasure’s aura.”

The gaunt man scooped up the glowing book, casting a sidelong look at the still-warm corpse in the shadows of the temple.

“Another windfall for us—more pills and spirit treasures to advance our cultivation. I’ve never understood how those ascetics can sit for decades in the mountains, unmoving.”

Tiger-back stretched, eyeing the rain pouring beyond the temple’s threshold, as the floodwater crept toward the door.

“They possess talent and enlightenment, value tranquility and detachment, without desire or conflict. But it’s for the best—keeps them from contesting these fortunes with us.”

The gaunt man chuckled derisively, glancing at the shattered effigy of the ancient sage.

Heaven is unkind, treating all beings as straw dogs; the sage is unkind, treating the people as straw dogs. This world belongs to cultivators like us—the gods and sages should step aside.

“If they won’t contest, we must! It’s time to fight once more!”

With that, Tiger-back strode into the deluge. The tempest swallowed him in an instant, rain and wind erasing his form.

“You’re right, Nanming. Nothing in this world is decreed by fate—all is shaped by human hands!”

With wild laughter, the gaunt man called Youzhong stepped out. His figure flickered and, in the span of a few heartbeats, vanished from the prison temple.

The rain fell in torrents.

Pat, pat.

Footsteps mingled with the drumming rain, water splashing in every direction, impossible to tell which droplets were kicked up by feet and which by the storm.

Outside the pitch-black gate of the Underworld Dungeon, there was no sign of Zhuang Xiaocheng or Xu Weiyang. The bronze demon-revealing mirror embedded in the lintel had been flipped, its surface shattered into pieces, useless now.

“A pity about this demon-revealing mirror—at least a spiritual-grade artifact. Who knows who broke it?”

Nanming gazed mournfully at the shattered mirror above the black gate.

“Take it down. Even if we can’t repair it, I know how to split it up—perhaps the shards and the bronze can fetch a price.”

Youzhong patted Nanming’s back in reminder.

Their ochre prison clothes were soaked, clinging tightly to their bodies, revealing a strange insignia on their left hips.

“Wait, someone else is coming.”

Youzhong pressed himself against the black gate, craning his head toward the end of the alley, where a wall of black and crimson loomed.

“The Lingyun Pavilion said there’d be at least ten participants in this operation. Maybe it’s someone else who stirs the rankings as we did.”

Nanming had already pried the shattered mirror from the lintel. Peering through the downpour that obscured the end of the alley, he spoke with indifference.

The rain grew heavier.

At the end of the alley, the black-and-red wall suddenly rippled, faint waves spreading across its surface. A foot emerged from the wall, followed by a strikingly handsome man.

The torrential rain instantly soaked his dark yellow robe, the drenched fabric clinging to his body and outlining a form as immaculate as if sculpted by a master artisan.