The various oddities within the inn plunged Chen Yi into deep thought.
You reap what you sow—plant lons, get lons; plant beans, get beans; eat lamb legs, grow human legs...
No wonder even Deng Ai, the Ghost Lord, found this little town so mysterious and unsettling.
Even in the underworld, this kind of occurrence is... too much underworld.
Even the feminized Four Heavenly Kings on the wall are nothing more than child’s play.
Not to ntion the reverse-walking waiter, and the shopkeeper—never seen, only heard.
From the limited clues, it’s evident that the origins of this ghost town are anything but simple.
But the question is... how did it co to be?
Almost as inexplicable as the entirely different turn of events from a past life—how did everything end up like this? Where does its source lie?
Chen Yi couldn’t help but ponder, though he couldn’t arrive at any conclusions for the mont.
Just then, the long-slumbering Mad Monk scratched his neck, opened his eyes, and woke up.
Chen Yi looked up and saw the Mad Monk turning his head back toward him.
"Amitabha Buddha, an old acquaintance, eh!"
The Mad Monk, as though just awakening, opened his eyes and spoke enthusiastically.
The two Daoists traveling with him heard his words and glanced toward Chen Yi.
"Does old master know this gentleman..."
Before the Daoist could finish his sentence, the Mad Monk flexed his arms, stomped across the chairs in a few leaps, and landed in front of Chen Yi, casually pulling up a long bench.
The Mad Monk clasped his hands in a gesture of respect and, with a wide grin, said:
"It’s been too long, far too long! Amitabha Buddha, even the Taichua Goddess is here!"
Seeing that the Mad Monk had noticed her, Yin Weiyin calmly returned a respectful bow and chanted, "Blessings of Infinite Heavenly Venerable."
Deep within the underworld, running into an acquaintance when least expected—it felt like a chance eting amidst a sea of strangers, which put the Mad Monk in high spirits.
But Chen Yi had no intention of indulging in idle chatter. He got straight to the point:
"Do you know sothing about this ghost town?"
With soone as direct and fiery as the Mad Monk, the simpler the talk, the better. The more disrespectful one acted, the happier he seed.
The Mad Monk scratched his head and replied:
"I know, yet I don’t know."
Chen Yi furrowed his brow and asked:
"What does that an? Do your companions know anything?"
"Them?" The Mad Monk gestured toward the two Daoists, then scanned briefly for the Martial Artist’s silhouette. Finding none, he gave up, turned back, and said, "They’re not companions. These two—a brother and a younger sibling—set up a Daoist Temple to wreak havoc in one area, cheating others out of money and even tricking decent won into ’child-giving’ sches. So, I captured them and made them my ox and horse to work for ."
Seeing evildoers at work and directly apprehending them for servitude—this aligned perfectly with the Mad Monk’s character.
Chen Yi had no reason to doubt him. He followed up:
"Then what do you an by knowing yet not knowing?"
The Mad Monk pointed upstairs to the second floor of the inn.
Chen Yi gazed up in confusion.
The Mad Monk directly answered: "’Not knowing’ is because I haven’t yet beaten the shopkeeper to a pulp."
"And ’knowing’?"
"’Knowing’ is beating the shopkeeper to a pulp, having him confess everything, then knowing." The Mad Monk replied matter-of-factly.
Chen Yi was speechless.
The idea of beating the shopkeeper had also crossed his mind, but who could foresee the series of consequences it might set off—like beating the younger one and bringing out the elder, or beating the woman and inviting the man, or even unleashing an unpredictable butterfly effect?
While Chen Yi pondered, the Mad Monk had already stood up and begun stretching his muscles and joints.
Realizing what the Mad Monk intended, Chen Yi’s mind raced.
Turning around, he signaled Yin Weiyin with his eyes to cast a divination.
The female crown noticed and silently grumbled to herself—he evidently possesses a Golden Core but can’t even perform a basic divination; his actions revolve around Martial Artist techniques, utterly wasting the potential of his Golden Core—a tragic misuse of great talent.
Grumble though she did, Yin Weiyin dared not voice her thoughts. She pinched her fingers lightly to calculate.
The divination showed harmony.
However, Chen Yi recalled how the two four-legged Daoists nearby had divined before eating and reached a "harmonious" conclusion.
In this eerie inn, divinations could be deceptive.
As Chen Yi reflected on the divination, a knock sounded abruptly from the door.
The waiter shuffled out from the kitchen, calling out, "Coming!"
When Chen Yi looked back, he saw a man and a woman entering the inn—opposite to his pairing with Yin Weiyin, it was a male Daoist accompanying a female Martial Artist. The man was strikingly handso, while the woman was exceedingly ordinary, their coupling evoking the image of a loyal wife who never left her husband’s side.
The waiter shuffled backward out of the kitchen, warmly greeting them:
"Welco, are you here for a al or lodging?"
"Both a al and lodging." The Daoist replied.
Yin Weiyin recognized from his robes that the Daoist hailed from True Martial Mountain.
The waiter acknowledged with an enthusiastic "Got it!" and proceeded to ask what they wanted to eat.
"What do you have?" the female Martial Artist inquired.
"aty, vegetarian, so pastries too." The waiter let his gaze linger on the female Martial Artist.
She shuddered slightly, disturbed.
The gaze seed lascivious, and while the True Martial Daoist’s face showed displeasure, he refrained from making a fuss, respecting propriety. He rely shifted slightly to block the view.
Seeing this, Chen Yi wasn’t initially bothered until sothing clicked in his mind, sparking doubt.
Yin Weiyin’s beauty far outshined that of the female Martial Artist,
Yet when the two of them had entered earlier, the waiter hadn’t spared Yin Weiyin a second glance.
Instead, he had fixed his eyes directly on Chen Yi.
Could the waiter’s gaze really be lustful?
Chen Yi considered the one similarity between himself and the female Martial Artist—they were both Martial Artists.
Furthermore, the waiter’s earlier victim was a Martial Artist as well. Piecing together these coincidences, could it be that this inn’s eerie entities feared not Daoists but Martial Artists?
A plausible thought.
Moreover, those two Daoists had divined their food beforehand, deed it "harmonious," and decided to eat.
Weighing everything, Chen Yi felt his lingering doubts dissipate; he decisively nodded toward the Mad Monk.
Then, to avoid raising suspicion, he turned to the waiter and said:
"Waiter, I’d like a room."
Using the guise of lodging to buy ti and investigate upstairs.
"Sure thing, sir. Let finish serving this table first."
The waiter responded politely before returning to attend the pair.
The True Martial Daoist, having divined the al, casually ordered so at, vegetables, and inquired about pastries.
"We only have wife cakes here." The waiter eyed him.
The True Martial Daoist nodded slightly and said, "Fine, bring us so."
The waiter obliged and shuffled back, gesturing toward the upstairs rooms, letting Chen Yi and his group proceed on their own.
Chen Yi glanced at the couple. They were murmuring softly, mostly trivial, idle matters. Amidst their chatter, he caught snippets revealing that the male Daoist from True Martial Mountain had entered the underworld to complete a sect-ordained trial.
True Martial Mountain, worshippers of Emperor Zhenwu, the Nine Heavens Demon-clearing Venerable, stood in stark contrast to Taihua Mountain’s isolated cultivation practices. True Martial disciples dedicated themselves to vanquishing evil.
After enduring nurous close shaves and vanquishing countless demons, the Daoist regarded the inn with so vigilance, albeit not much.
Chen Yi studied him profoundly.
The True Martial Daoist noticed and frowned quizzically, turning back.
Seeing he couldn’t grasp Chen Yi’s intent, Chen Yi simply turned away without a word—the glance alone, planting a seed of caution, was sufficient.
Three parts effort to save others, seven parts left reserved for oneself—this was a chance encounter, and risking one’s own plans for the sake of others was hardly worth it.
Chen Yi signaled the Mad Monk, and the two began ascending the steps, Yin Weiyin closely following.
..........................
Inside a small room on the second floor.
Through a black-veiled window, one could look down at the Four Heavenly Kings Inn below.
From the two Daoists divining their al, to the True Martial Daoist and his wife, to the sword-and-blade-bearing Martial Artist and female crown, and lastly—the old Monk...
Monk?
A sticky, rounded hand clutched a string of prayer beads.
The hand, upon closer inspection, was smooth and translucent—round, like a newborn’s hand.
"Monk isn’t good, Monk isn’t good."
A mouth murmured softly.
"Why isn’t he good? Why isn’t he good?"
A second mouth to the left chid in curiously.
"Don’t you rember? The Original Vow Official said the Monk wasn’t good."
The left mouth couldn’t understand: "But wasn’t the Original Vow Official once a Monk himself? Why would he say they’re not good?"
"Because the Original Vow Official was a Monk."
"What gibberish! Explain yourself properly."
"You’re the one spewing nonsense. The Original Vow Official gave up Monkhood after his son was killed by an old Monk. Ever since, he renounced it." The right mouth elaborated.
Curious, the left mouth asked: "Which Monk did the killing?"
"Lower your voice—don’t spread it around... The old Monk who killed his son went mad, babbling nonsense. Karma cycles, one for one. That Monk had a son, too, who was eventually killed."
"Did the Original Vow Official cause it?"
"Shh! Watch what you say!"
"If we can’t say it plainly, how should we speak?"
"You can’t say it directly," the right mouth admonished.
The left mouth suddenly understood: "Oh! The Original Vow Official didn’t kill the mad Monk’s son!"
"Exactly, exactly. Otherwise, how would it be called karma? One for one." The right mouth praised.
The left mouth pondered a new question, perplexed: "But we don’t believe in Amitabha Buddha—we worship a different Buddha. Which Buddha was it again? I forgot..."
"Great Ming Venerate Buddha! Look at you, so forgetful! Still, we can’t say it openly—we must disguise it gradually." The right mouth explained.
"Speaking of nas, what do they call us?"
The left mouth’s mory was fading—having lost its soul, even its na escaped it. All it rembered was the duo dying together in a deep mountain, their deaths swift.
"I’ve forgotten too—probably nobody rembers anymore."
"Do you think the ones who killed us rember?"
"...Likely not." The right mouth reflected on the Capital City’s power struggles before concluding: "We were extras—cannon fodder."
"Then we must’ve had great camaraderie!" The left mouth was oddly cheerful. "Why else would we have died together?"
The black-veiled window slowly shut, and the faint glow inside illuminated the shopkeeper’s ghastly form.
Two heads fused together, a central eye splitting the boundary; below it, the faces stretched open, forming two mouths—left and right—as grotesque as a drowned corpse.
Even more unnerving was the thin, baby-like neck supporting this dual-headed monstrosity, seemingly on the verge of snapping.
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