Chapter 57: The Evil Bodhisattva Sets Out

Over a hundred Jinyiwei officers, sixteen Zhao family members, and even the Golden Core stage expert Zhao Yanliang pursued Chen Shi, Li Tianqing, and Black Pot but failed to catch them. The trio managed to escape.

Chen Shi was exceptionally familiar with the geography of Qianyang Mountain, while their pursuers, being from the provincial capital, were utterly clueless about the terrain.

The mountain's changing topography, abundance of caves, streams, and dense forests made evasion relatively simple. After searching for a long time without success, the group encountered an attack from malevolent spirits, losing more than ten men. Frustrated and frightened, they hastily retreated to their camp.

Time seemed irrelevant—whether it was day or night was unclear. The sky glowed faintly red, providing dim but uncertain light. In such weather, visibility was poor, and wandering too far could easily result in death or becoming hopelessly lost.

Upon returning to the camp, they found Zhao Yanlong—who had already turned into a porcelain doll—sitting blankly at the edge of a table. No matter how others tried to comfort him, he refused to move. Now fragile like porcelain, a fall could shatter him completely. Yet his overwhelming sorrow rendered him inconsolable.

“Don’t bother him,” Zhao Yanliang said to the others. “My elder brother is, after all, the Lord of Xuanying Manor. Though deeply grieved, he is resilient and will recover.”

Everyone sighed at the sight, lamenting how good people often met untimely ends. Zhao Yanlong remained lost in thought, seated at the table’s edge.

His eldest son, Zhao Ziyu, was not the most outstanding among his nineteen children, nor was he the one Zhao Yanlong loved the most. However, during this demonic crisis, Zhao Ziyu's leadership brought comfort to his father’s heart, affirming that the tiger indeed had no worthless cubs.

Though Zhao Yanlong had been transformed into a porcelain doll, Zhao Ziyu managed the camp efficiently. While others who ventured out to hunt frequently returned dead or injured, Zhao Ziyu always came back successful, sometimes even with his servant girls, their efforts yielding rich spoils.

His excellence filled Zhao Yanlong with pride. He had even decided that once he retired, Zhao Ziyu would inherit Xuanying Manor, allowing him to enjoy a leisurely old age.

But such a remarkable son had been killed! Killed by some ragged youth with a short sword—right before his eyes, in front of everyone in the camp! Zhao Ziyu didn’t resist, didn’t activate his Golden Core, didn’t use his spells or talismans. If only he had fought back, he might still be alive.

The grief was unbearable. Porcelain tears rolled down Zhao Yanlong’s lifeless cheeks, his sorrow cutting like a blade.

Then Zhao Minrou suddenly spoke, “Father, the one who killed Big Brother... I think it was Chen Shi.”

“What?” Zhao Yanlong’s eyes flickered. “I didn’t catch that.”

“It was that guy who tricked me into the kiln factory. That cunning little honest face,” Zhao Minrou replied, her voice shaking with rage. “I’d recognize him anywhere, even if he turned to ash! The first time I met him, he seemed so naive and pure. It’s laughable how I believed him. He looks taller now, but I’m sure it’s him!”

Chen Shi? Chen Yindu’s grandson? The one who killed his sons Zhao Yue, Zhao Xue’e, Zhao Yan, and Zhao Rui, along with countless others from the Zhao family and Jinyiwei? He had even slain Iron Pen Scholar and Xuanying Manor’s steward!

Why such hatred? Why such cruelty? Wasn’t Zhao Cunyi sent to deal with him? How was he still alive? What had Zhao Cunyi been doing?

Rage consumed him. “Chen Shi! You killed two of my daughters, four of my sons! If I don’t grind your bones to dust and annihilate your clan, I swear I am no man!”

On Qianyang Mountain's northern slope, the serpent Xuan Shan coiled atop the peak, its massive head suspended like a stationary cloud in the sky. Its breath transformed mist into dew, nurturing the valley below.

Beneath the shadow of the giant serpent’s head, Chen Yindu and a black-clad youth had stopped playing their game of chess. The outcome was unclear.

“Your grandson is exceptional,” Xuan Shan remarked. “Even after so long dead, his rebirth far surpasses your achievements back then.”

Chen Yindu smiled faintly. “He’s clever, quick to learn, and sensible. When I was part of the Scattered Sect, I was always busy, rarely returning home—only once a year. But Xiao Shi never forgot me. Every time I came back, he’d rush to greet me from afar, calling for his grandfather to hold him. He was only three or four then.”

Xuan Shan pondered briefly, finding human emotions puzzling. “Even after his rebirth, he remains brilliant, making others pale in comparison. Can you truly let him go?”

Chen Yindu shook his head, his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed at the distant mountains. “Let go of family? Never. Not in this life.”

Xuan Shan loomed behind him. “Sometimes, you have no choice but to let go.”

Chen Shi and Li Tianqing returned to the valley where Mr. Ye and the scholars had died. They buried the bodies to prevent wild beasts from devouring them. Chen Shi fashioned incense from grass, placing it before their graves of piled stones. Bowing, he murmured, “I hope you can continue your studies in the underworld and become ghost scholars or officials.”

They then descended Qianyang Mountain, using a different path than before. Familiarity with the mountain’s confusing terrain was key to their survival.

On the way, they saw a woman holding an infant, her face grief-stricken, crying softly for help. However, from the forest behind her, a booming voice like thunder rang out, mocking her calls for aid. It was the Hundred Infants, a grotesque entity composed of countless baby-like heads, feigning desperation to lure prey.

The creature eyed Shanyang Village, but the Godmother Tree deterred it. Frustrated, it turned away. Only after the Hundred Infants left did Chen Shi and Li Tianqing emerge from hiding.

“Fortunately, the villagers were smart,” Li Tianqing said, trembling. “Otherwise, it would’ve been a massacre.”

“It still thinks it’s the same as before,” Chen Shi replied. “It doesn’t realize its tricks are now laughable.”

Further along, the ground began to tremble. At first, they thought the Hundred Infants had returned, but the shaking grew stronger. As they peeked out, an enormous porcelain leg appeared—then a figure.

It was the Evil Bodhisattva.

Towering over ten zhang tall, the eight-armed monstrosity moved like a living porcelain mountain, its surface adorned with vibrant blue floral designs and coiled dragons. Cracks marred parts of its body, but it remained terrifyingly whole.

Chen Shi broke into a cold sweat. The Evil Bodhisattva’s eyes glowed faintly, etched with complex talismans. A kiln worker crawled from its eye socket, seemingly repairing a fracture.

Suddenly, the Evil Bodhisattva turned, its talisman-imbued gaze sweeping the forest. Chen Shi froze. It was a Heavenly Eye talisman, capable of seeing spirits and ghosts. If activated, no amount of hiding could protect them.

But just as they were about to flee, the Evil Bodhisattva shifted its attention, lumbering toward Shanyang Village. Everything it touched became porcelain, including the Godmother Tree.

After inspecting the village, it returned briefly to scan their hiding spot but found nothing. Finally, it left.

“We’re not safe anymore,” Chen Shi said, his face pale. “It’s hunting survivors, turning everything to porcelain!”