I Am Your Natural Enemy

Wen Yan sized up the Zhongnan renegade and saw a new prompt.

Although the new prompt hadn’t changed much overall, it now included an additional sentence: ”The power of the Curse will plummet dramatically.”

The Zhongnan renegade could no longer use that Talisman, but his state as a Half-Ghost-God, having burned everything he had, persisted. This aspect wasn’t particularly related to talismans.

Wen Yan didn’t want to gamble on whether killing him now would lessen the danger; he only wanted to resolve the issue completely. He wished to visit the Nether Path again; it was far too useful for merely passing through. He also needed to visit the Styx River to handle certain matters, which was equally useful. If he could never return, Wen Yan would definitely be reluctant to lose access to them.

He was now beginning to understand why the corresponding Temporary Ability was ’Retrospection.’ Its purpose was to allow him to find the most thorough solution himself.

”How is it now? Is this acceptable?” Pei Tugou asked with some anticipation.

”Most of it has been resolved, but there should still be a slight problem.”

Upon hearing this, Pei Tugou prepared to continue.

Wen Yan hastily stopped him.

”Brother Pei, let me handle the rest. You rest for a bit and just keep watch.”

Pei Tugou said nothing. He found situations frustrating where killing someone didn’t resolve the problem.

”Pull him up.”

With a flick of the Blood Rope in his hand, Pei Tugou made the Zhongnan renegade stand. No matter how one looked at it, the man seemed to be forcibly hoisted up by his neck.

Wen Yan couldn’t bother with that now. He extended his right hand and placed it on the Zhongnan renegade’s shoulder, initiating Retrospection.

”Do you remember how you encountered the divine statue?”

As Wen Yan asked this, everything around him seemed to dissolve into smoke, instantly dissipating as if time were rapidly rewinding.

From the Zhongnan renegade’s perspective, time continuously rewound, and everything appeared incredibly blurry. The surrounding smoke sometimes transformed into a large truck with four front wheels and eight rear ones, sometimes into a forest, and at other times into a simple Earth Temple.

The smoke’s transformations quickened. Not much could be clearly discerned; many things remained very vague. But Wen Yan could roughly discern that these vague images were unimportant—things one would glance at and immediately forget.

Soon, the shifting smoke halted. The gray mist gradually solidified, forming a world that, though seemingly real, possessed only the three colors of black, white, and gray.

Deep in the mountains, hidden behind dense woods and shrubs, a decrepit wooden idol with an indistinct face stood on a rugged stone altar.

The Zhongnan renegade sat nearby, facing the morning sun. He was practicing his breathing and reciting scriptures, methodically completing his daily morning exercises. Even though he had been expelled from his sect, habits formed over many years were engraved deep within him, an indelible part of his life.

As the Taoist Chanted Scriptures daily, one day he heard a familiar voice.

”Little Taoist... Little Taoist...”

The Taoist’s body trembled. He suddenly opened his eyes, his face filled with rage.

”What Demon dares!”

Then, he hacked a path through the shrubs with a firewood knife. Holding the knife in one hand and talismans in the other, he charged towards the source of the voice.

He then saw the divine statue—initially only a little over a foot tall.

Initially, he wanted to destroy it immediately, infuriated that some Demon dared to mimic his lover’s voice. But after a few words, he realized the entity not only had her voice but also knew many things. It even knew his lover’s dying words, telling him to hurry and leave, that he didn’t need to stay by her side any longer.

The Taoist’s defenses gradually crumbled. He struggled internally, unable to discern if this was a Demon’s trick or if the lover he dearly missed had truly returned. He failed to act decisively on the first day, and afterwards, he could no longer bring himself to do it.

Unwittingly, they talked for a long time: about past events, regrets buried deep in their hearts, and his foolish, dumbstruck demeanor when they first met long ago.

He began Chanting Scriptures for it daily, intending to use righteous methods to restore its ability to move.

Gradually, he fell deeper, finding himself unable—or rather, unwilling—to turn back. He had come to truly believe this was the person he longed for.

The rotting wooden idol grew taller and larger. The Taoist began to use any means necessary to learn things he had never studied before. His talent was indeed extraordinary. He quickly understood the complex system of spiritual animation and how to interact with Ghosts without harming either party. He also began to learn how to be a Temple Keeper.

Thanks to the internet, he could find a vast amount of digitized resources, though ordinary people could rarely sift through them to find anything truly useful. A single book might contain only a few useful paragraphs, but the Taoist could discern them.

In just a few months, although he had not yet received the Impart Teaching, his proficiency in this art had definitely reached the standard of a Qingcheng Disciple eligible for it.

Unfortunately, the Taoists of Mount Zhongnan were celibate monks who had left their homes. This was especially true for disciples eligible for the Impart Teaching, for whom the requirements were extremely strict. Failing to meet any single standard would mean being stuck at the step just before the Impart Teaching. No matter how great their innate talent or how strong their abilities, they would be denied.

Those seemingly heartless rules were steeped in blood and tears. One advantage of an ancient lineage is that all conceivable pitfalls have likely been encountered at least once. These experiences are then recorded to serve as warnings for future generations.