Chapter Fifty-Two: Spring Dawns

“What clever plan do you have next?” Morgana demanded of the eldest disciple, Zhang Zhiheng, standing before her.

“Of course, we must expand our sect and spread the faith!” Zhang Zhiheng declared with conviction. “With your divine power, your name will surely become renowned, surpassing all other deities!”

Morgana burst into laughter. “Excellent! King Odin has commanded me to sow discord among the faiths of the East. With your aid, success is certain!”

Suddenly, a villager barged in through the door, startling Zhang Zhiheng. Morgana hastily resumed her angelic guise.

“Who goes there?” Zhang Zhiheng shouted as he raised a thunder talisman behind his back with his left hand.

“My name is Dachun—He Dachun!” The honest villager dropped to his knees, not daring to look up, his posture full of reverence.

“You heard everything we just said, didn’t you?” Zhang Zhiheng kept the talisman hidden, ready to summon lightning and slay the villager should any secrets be leaked.

“I…I heard… No, I didn’t hear anything!” stammered He Dachun, trembling with fear.

“If you heard, you heard. If you didn’t, then you didn’t—why pretend?” Zhang Zhiheng’s voice rang with authority.

“I don’t care for the quarrels of gods or their battles over heavenly domains. That’s beyond me. But I wish to become an immortal’s disciple. My wife and children—all perished at the hands of that bull-headed monster the other day!” He Dachun’s voice quivered as he spoke, and then he began to kowtow, his head striking the floor with resolve. “If the gods above turn a blind eye, then I wish to become an immortal myself. If the immortals above won’t intervene, then once I become one, I will!”

“Why not just kill him—!”

“Well said!”

Zhang Zhiheng had been about to speak when Morgana interrupted him sharply.

“Well said!” Morgana clapped her hands. “I wholeheartedly approve!”

“My lord god, I—!” Morgana’s enthusiasm seemed to startle the villager.

“Ahem!” Morgana noticed her own indiscretion, but continued, “I, too, am well aware of the hardships of the people and the suffering of the common folk. Your words have struck a chord with me. Therefore, I shall grant you one ten-thousandth of my power—that should be enough for you to deal with—or, well, bully—some lesser demons!”

“Is that wise? Shouldn’t you consider it more carefully?” Zhang Zhiheng gently reminded her.

“What’s there to consider? I find the villager’s words reasonable. Besides, you said yourself we need to grow the church—having someone to assist you makes sense.” With that, Morgana raised her right hand, and a surge of dark power flowed from her palm into He Dachun’s body.

He Dachun’s whole body shuddered, pain seizing him as his head threatened to split apart.

“Endure it. It will make you strong,” Morgana said softly.

As the power merged with his flesh over time, He Dachun’s body underwent a transformation. His muscles swelled, and strength shone in his eyes.

“May you and High Priest Zhang Zhiheng together build up the Church of Morgana.”

“I, He Dachun, obey your command!”

Elsewhere, in a mountain cave, Fang You and Bai Ling emerged from the entrance. After several days of rest, Bai Ling’s wounds had nearly healed, and she had regained her mobility.

Fang You, with some knowledge of medicine, had spent those days gathering herbs, preparing poultices, and brewing decoctions—a considerable effort.

“I must return to White Mountain. Thank you for your care these past days,” Bai Ling said, bowing her head in gratitude.

“As fellow cultivators, it was only right. Besides, you risked your life to save me in the tomb. Should fate allow us to meet again, let us share a drink together!” Fang You replied, hands clasped respectfully. “I am Fang You, fortune-teller from the northeast corner of the Northern Market.”

“Bai Ling of White Mountain.”

Having exchanged names, they parted ways.

Fang You soon returned to his fortune-telling shop, which had been closed for nearly a week. Fortunately, the thirty thousand gifted earlier by the wealthy patron remained. Twenty thousand had gone toward the rent, leaving ten thousand for his own use.

He settled back into his shop as dusk fell—there would be little business at this hour. He picked up his uncle’s “Miscellanea of Paper Rituals” and the “Art of Moving Mountains” recovered from the tomb—an incomplete manuscript, just a few dozen pages, left unfinished by the Moving Mountain Daoist, Fang Zhong.

With his “Mystic Arts of Qimen Dunjia” in hand, Fang You had always intended to travel, collecting rare techniques. It seemed he might now complete the Moving Mountain treatise himself.

He studied for a long while, gradually growing sleepy, and before he knew it, had dozed off at his desk.

A chilly wind swept through. Fang You shivered and lifted his head—only to find himself standing in a vast wasteland, nothing but emptiness in all directions.

He looked around in confusion. Hadn’t he just been in his shop? How had he ended up here in an instant?

As these thoughts drifted through his mind, a chorus of snarls rose behind him. He turned to see several vicious wolves, fangs bared, eyes gleaming hungrily.

Terror seized Fang You. He edged away quietly, but suddenly one of the wolves lunged at him. Fang You reached for his twin peachwood swords, only to find they were not strapped to his back.

Panicked, he could only turn and flee. But the path ahead crumbled into a sheer cliff. Something felt wrong, but before he could react, a wolf leapt and knocked him over the edge.

“Aaaah!” Fang You jolted awake, wiping cold sweat from his brow. It had all been a dream.

Yet his body was drenched as if he had truly lived those moments. He glanced at the night sky, feeling the chill of the sweat on his skin. The recent tomb-robbing adventure must have unsettled his mind.

Night was deepening and the air was growing cold. Fang You rose to close the shop’s door—only to find a small hand barring his way.

Blinking in surprise, he saw Zhang Shengnan, whom he hadn’t seen in a long time, standing before him.

“What brings you here at this hour?” Fang You asked in puzzlement.

But Zhang Shengnan just stared at him, saying nothing.

As Fang You grew more bewildered, Zhang Shengnan spoke, her voice filled with resentment.

“Since you foresaw that my life would be short and my great calamity was near, why did you not try to save me?”

Fang You was at a loss for words. It was true—when they first met, he had casually read her fortune, and her face bore all the marks of a life filled with peril. A fatal tribulation loomed over her. If she survived it, her lifespan might increase by three years. But in Fang You’s eyes, this was her destined calamity—a punishment from Heaven, not something he should interfere with. It was her own karma to resolve; he could only protect her from other evil spirits.

With this in mind, Fang You replied honestly, “This tribulation is fated in your life, a karmic test you must unravel yourself. I can only shield you from other sinister influences.”

Unexpectedly, Zhang Shengnan drew the pistol from her waist and aimed it at him.

“Die!”

“No!”

Bang!