Chapter Fifty-Six: I Behold the Empty Halls of Hell—Who Says the Righteous Are Mere Butchers of Dogs

The bright moon startled the magpies from their perches, and the clear breeze carried the cicadas' song halfway through the night. Under the cold and luminous moonlight, a mountain wind rose, as if it might blow down the laughter of the moon palace fairy.

Halfway up the winding Sheepgut Mountain, atop a protruding boulder, a large lingzhi mushroom shook off the fresh dewdrops that had just settled on its cap, basking in the moonlight. Beneath the lingzhi, a snow-white fox circled around, stretching out its delicate tongue to lap up the dew dripping from the mushroom.

This lingzhi was no common plant; in a thousand years, only this one had gained sentience under the mountain’s spiritual nurture. The dewdrops themselves held a trace of spirit, and as they absorbed the thousand-year-old lingzhi’s aura, over time, the little white fox too achieved enlightenment. With each full moon, she would kneel and worship, cultivating her spirit under the silver light.

The thousand-year lingzhi took the mountain as its surname, but having not yet attained human form, had no proper name, and thus called itself Old Mountain. Old Mountain was pure and kind by nature. Seeing that the little white fox had opened her mind, he often offered her guidance in cultivation.

Day after day, year after year, the little white fox gradually gained intelligence. She cultivated through spiritual energy, abstaining from blood and flesh; with time, she no longer even needed the dew from Old Mountain’s cap.

Old Mountain, ever thoughtful, saw how lonely the little fox was in her solitary cultivation. He cast a spell to separate his own shadow, letting it accompany the fox in her practice. Wood and stone may become spirits, while shadows may transform into phantoms—such beings are born at dawn, dead by dusk—but Old Mountain bestowed half his thousand years of cultivation upon his shadow.

Thus, the shadow, having gained a century’s worth of power, broke free of the usual constraints and lingered in the mortal realm. Since the shadow originated from Old Mountain, it too was gentle and pure, taking the same surname, but without a name, simply called Young Mountain.

The little white fox and Young Mountain cultivated together, both feeling grateful for Old Mountain’s kindness. They became sworn siblings, taking Old Mountain as their father.

Having witnessed countless cycles of cold and warmth, bloom and decay, Old Mountain was used to solitude after a thousand years of cultivation. Now, blessed with a pair of children, his joy knew no bounds.

Under Old Mountain’s careful teaching, the little white fox and Young Mountain progressed with astonishing speed, and after only a few decades, each succeeded in taking human form.

However, Old Mountain, though deeply cultivated, was still of the grass and wood kind; should he wish to become human, he would have to endure the tribulation of heavenly thunder and earthly fire. Only by surviving this ordeal could he gain true human form and attain enlightenment.

Yet the will of Heaven is not so easily defied—how could a mere thousand years’ cultivation suffice against such forces? Old Mountain grew fearful and dared not cross the line of thunder.

Now that his children had taken human form, Old Mountain could no longer reside openly in the wild. After much deliberation, he used his great powers to cast an illusion, creating a mountain manor. This protected them from mortal disturbance and allowed for focused cultivation.

The years passed swiftly. The little white fox and Young Mountain saw that Old Mountain had reached a bottleneck; he could not progress further unless he transformed into human form. Though they wished to help, their own powers and experience fell short.

Heaven is not to be deceived. Old Mountain’s thousand years of cultivation were finally noticed by the Heavenly Dao, which sent the envoy Qiongyuan to urge him day and night to accept his tribulation.

Old Mountain, consumed by dread, grew increasingly despondent.

Young Mountain, anxious, went out day and night in search of a solution, while the little white fox tried to beguile Qiongyuan with her charms, hoping he would leave on his own. But how could a mere white fox ensnare the envoy of Heaven? As the day of the tribulation drew near, the three spirits were mired in despair.

Heaven rewards the diligent. Just as Old Mountain was about to perish and dissipate, Young Mountain truly discovered a way to avert disaster.

It turned out that, in a thousand years, no temple had ever been built on Sheepgut Mountain, and Old Mountain, ever kind, had done countless good deeds. This was why the Heavenly Dao had only dispatched Qiongyuan as a reminder, rather than unleashing heavenly punishment.

Young Mountain learned that if mortals helped build a temple for Old Mountain and spread his name, the incense and worship he received would allow Old Mountain to achieve the position of Earthly Immortal, as the mountain god. In this way, the tribulation would retreat, and Old Mountain would attain the mountain god’s status.

With Old Mountain’s pure heart, he would surely bring blessings to the land. This method was a triple blessing, and after hearing Young Mountain's plan, Old Mountain’s worries eased.

Time was short; since he had not yet taken human form, Old Mountain entrusted Young Mountain and the little white fox with finding someone to build the temple.

Old Mountain, with his millennium of experience, knew well the fickleness of human nature; he therefore instructed his children to seek help only from mortals who had once benefited from his kindness.

Young Mountain and the little white fox did as told, seeking out those whom Old Mountain had aided. Upon hearing it was to build a temple for Old Mountain, each was eager to help.

However, constructing a mountain god’s temple required vast quantities of silver and timber. Timber was easily found on Sheepgut Mountain, whose ancient trees could be harvested without much trouble. However, silver was scarce; these people were all destitute and had no spare wealth for the temple.

Old Mountain was not troubled. Though there was no silver in Sheepgut Mountain, there was abundant yellow water-gold! Since ancient times, white water gives birth to yellow—yellow being pure gold.

Sheepgut Mountain, rich in spiritual energy, had a spot that Old Mountain revealed to Young Mountain and the white fox. It lay beneath the waterfall, where the waters ran calm.

When the group arrived, their eyes were nearly blinded by the sight: beneath the sunlit stream lay a thick, dazzling layer of fine gold sand. The gold’s purity was rare in the world, and the quantity was unheard of—estimations ran into tens of thousands of catties.

Old Mountain carefully warned them: this water-born gold was seven or eight-tenths of Sheepgut Mountain’s spirit; it must never be entirely taken. Only enough for the temple should be used, and the rest could be shared for a better life.

But human hearts are easily swayed by greed. Those who had benefited from Old Mountain’s kindness were not immune to temptation. Though they agreed on the surface, dark thoughts grew in their hearts.

With the gold sand and timber, the temple’s framework was quickly raised. Old Mountain, the white fox, and Young Mountain, trusting these helpers, let their guard down. One day, the mortals proposed sculpting a statue of Old Mountain for the temple.

The enshrinement of an image was a matter of great importance. The mortals kindly suggested traveling five hundred li to hire a renowned stonemason whose works possessed a divine likeness.

But mortals, being weak, would take at least two or three months to transport a heavy stone image that weighed tens of thousands of catties. The white fox and Young Mountain, suspecting nothing, set out at once to fetch the statue.

With the two spirits away, the mortals flattered Old Mountain and urged him to reside in the temple and allow a physical statue to be made from his own body.

Reluctant to refuse their enthusiastic request, Old Mountain reluctantly agreed. As soon as he revealed his true form, someone threw a red rope drenched in dog’s blood, binding him tightly. Though Old Mountain possessed a thousand years of cultivation, as a being of grass and wood, he was powerless against the rope, and his powers were stripped away. A group of mortals dug out his true form.

Despite their advanced cultivation, the white fox and Young Mountain had to travel a thousand li and transport a statue weighing thousands of catties; even hurrying, it took them seven full days. When they returned to Sheepgut Mountain, the place had changed from a spiritual paradise to a barren, desolate land.

Upon reaching the mountain manor, they found Old Mountain gone, and the gold sand under the stream had been completely looted.

Realizing they had been deceived, Young Mountain and the white fox immediately sought out the temple builders. Yet Old Mountain’s whereabouts remained unknown.

In their fury, the white fox and Young Mountain went on a rampage in Changning County; only one mortal managed to escape, while all the others met their end.

Changning County, plagued by demons, drew the attention of a wandering master. This man was highly cultivated; after hearing the entire tale, he did not seek to punish the white fox and Young Mountain, but instead acted as a mediator.

Ultimately, the white fox and Young Mountain, being kind at heart, committed no further killings. In the end, a Fox Spirit Temple was erected in Changning County, and peace reigned for a hundred years.

...

“I am that little white fox, and my brother is Young Mountain.”

Zhao Yueshu finished recounting the tale from a century past. Beneath her clear eyes lay a sorrow deeper than the moonlight.

“The one who escaped back then was the Zhang family’s ancestor?” Tang Yi’s voice had softened.

Zhao Yueshu nodded, saying nothing.

“And the people who’ve died recently in Changning County—they’re all descendants of those temple builders?” Tang Yi pressed.

“That’s right, they are all descendants of those wicked men.” In Zhao Yueshu’s eyes was an emotion difficult to read—whether satisfaction at vengeance or sorrow for renewed bloodshed, it was hard to tell.

Song Mo now understood. The Zhang family were truly despicable; clearly, the gold and lingzhi obtained through the conspiracy of those temple builders ended up solely in the Zhangs’ hands.

More obviously, the Zhangs had not shared even a fraction with the others—that explained why the Zhangs became a great family for a hundred years, while the others remained poor and destitute.

Suddenly, Song Mo seemed to realize something and said coldly, “The ancestor of the Zhang family truly deserved to die—he even cheated his own kin!”