Chapter 829: It’s Not a Lifesaver

Chapter 829: Chapter 829: It’s Not a Lifesaver

Northern Julu Continent, Guye Ting.

A brand-new temple had been erected in this place of winding streams and maple groves, where late autumn painted everything gold.

Crimson overhanging eaves. Golden pillars.

Dragons and phoenixes carved into every surface. Vermillion gates.

Before the entrance stood a towering stone statue of a divine beast. Inside, deity statues with expressions alternating between wrath and mercy held stone whips raised to strike.

Beyond the inner sanctum stood a massive incense cauldron, its surface engraved with nine coiling dragons, fangs bared and spirits ablaze.

This cauldron, large enough to fill a doorway, was now packed with incense—almost no gaps remained.

And in this temple, there were seven such cauldrons, each in the same state.

Incense smoke drifted upward. The clamor of voices was ceaseless.

Countless wishes and prayers gathered within that noise.

The main hall’s bells rang clear and bright.

The enormous temple grounds were packed with devotees clutching incense sticks.

Ash and embers scattered from the incense, each speck scalding hot. Though no hand could fit inside the cauldron, devotees persistently reached through the smoke to place their wishes within.

The main hall’s doors stood open. Seated high upon the altar, the deity statue wore a majestic expression, eyes inverted beneath a fierce brow, dressed in intricately painted battle armor, a long sword held upright in one hand.

At first glance it looked human, but closer inspection revealed it was merely shaped like one.

Beside the statue.

An amiable old man in coarse hemp robes stood before a large crimson cauldron, his thin, dry hand gripping a ladle. From within the cauldron wafted a faint, nauseating stench of brine.

"With the incense set and the heart sincere," the old man spoke with deep emotion, his voice lilting in a way that was strangely pleasing to the ear, "the Lord Zijun blesses Guye Ting and bestows his grace."

"One strand of incense, one ladle of grace."

"Sickness is cured, misfortune is dispelled."

"Miracles are the presence of the divine. Sincere hearts are rewarded with peace."

The old man’s gaze swept over the devotees before him—those who had offered incense and now stood with bowls of every size held expectantly in their hands.

Many displayed arms blistered and burned, as if proving their devotion through fearlessness of pain.

A pity.

The Lord Zijun didn’t care. The old man didn’t care either.

He reached with his ladle into the cauldron, scooping up the faintly reddish water, and poured roughly three mouthfuls into each bowl offered before him.

His lips kept repeating the same words, his hands never pausing.

Some received the water and drank it on the spot, then bowed with refreshed expressions before departing.

Others received theirs and carefully guarded the bowl of blessed water, their faces wary and relieved.

This bowl of water had cured the dying.

This bowl of water had eased the terrible suffering of the gravely ill.

One bowl of water was worth a hundred years at the pharmacy.

One stick of incense was cheaper than medicine, yet its effects seemed to surpass it.

The Lord Zijun—a brand-new deity of unknown origin—had taken root in this central crossroads, a critical junction where news flowed to every direction, starting with nothing more than a bowl of talisman water.

He had built an enormous temple and gathered a devoted flock.

The old man’s ladle, which had been moving in a steady rhythm, suddenly paused. He stopped reciting the worn words. His gaze locked onto a figure in tattered clothes, holding a broken bowl, their face covered in soot and grime—impossible to tell if male or female, roughly fifteen years old.

And a stench clung to the youth as if it had fused with their very flesh.

The youth bowed their head and raised the bowl.

"This is before the Lord Zijun." The old man lifted his ladle slightly but did not pour the remaining talisman water into the obviously poorly washed bowl.

The youth held the bowl high and tried to lower their voice, though it still trembled with urgency:

"I... my heart is sincere."

The old man narrowed his eyes. The voice was deliberately pressed low and well-practiced—ordinary people might truly mistake it for a boy’s. But he could hear the subtle undertone. This youth was unquestionably a girl.

But whether male or female made no difference to him.

The old man’s tone remained gentle, tinged only with mild puzzlement: "A sincere heart, yet no incense?"

The girl’s hands trembled slightly around the bowl, but she didn’t set it down.

Seeing this, the old man reached out and seized her thin wrist, dragging her behind him.

The girl had no strength to resist and stumbled after him, nearly falling. The old man steadied her, then gently pushed her back, his tone turning cold:

"If your heart is sincere, then I won’t punish you this time. You know the rules. Leave quickly."

The girl steadied herself, her face showing alarm. She was about to speak when she suddenly felt her fingertips inside the bowl grow damp. She froze, looked down, and found that at some point the bowl held two mouthfuls of talisman water.

She looked up again, but the old man had already turned back to distributing the blessed water.

The girl’s gaze shifted to the deity statue that barely looked human. Something shimmered in her eyes like flowing light, but she immediately lowered her head, cupping the bowl of talisman water to hide it from the others, and bent low to squeeze through the crowd.

The old man listened to the girl’s departing footsteps alone, the corner of his mouth curving into a faint smile.

An added flourish on brocade was nothing compared to charcoal in the snow.

He didn’t care who the girl was going to use the talisman water on. But someday, there would come an opportunity to use her.

For a temple lacking foundation, the most important thing wasn’t these devotees thirsty for incense.

It was this kind of rare, exceptional grace for someone with nowhere left to turn.

When blood and storms came in the future, this girl would certainly step forward to defend some pathetic rat spirit.

The old man’s ladle resumed its smooth rhythm, his lips once more reciting the well-worn words. The angle of the ladle was just so—neither too much nor too little talisman water poured out.

Leaking Water Alley—Guye Ting’s most infamous slum.

Crumbling, leaning houses that looked ready to collapse at any moment stretched in a continuous line, situated at the lowest point where all the drainage flowed.

After a heavy rain, the entire area reeked of filth, the ground littered with refuse.

Year after year, this was how it was. The roads here were pitch black, and people joked that the surface was just layers of ancient grime washed into place.

A hunched figure stumbled into the alley, clutching a bowl protectively to their chest.

The girl who had obtained the talisman water pushed open a door that looked on the verge of collapsing. She peered into the pitch-black interior, walked with familiar steps to a tattered bed, and reached out to touch the equally gaunt figure lying upon it.

"Little sister... I got it..." The girl’s voice trembled with barely contained excitement. "Come on, listen to your sister. Take the medicine and you’ll get better. You’ll be able to go in the water and catch fish and shrimp for me again."

"Mm..." A faint, gentle voice responded from the bed.

The girl lifted her frail sister, then held the bowl to her lips.

The younger sister lifted her head with effort, opening her eyes wide to gaze at the infinite hope in her sister’s eyes. Without another word, she obediently pressed her lips to the rim of the bowl.

*Sigh...*

A helpless male sigh sounded from the doorway.

Both of them froze simultaneously, their gazes sharp with wariness and anger turning toward the entrance.

A young man in fine clothes stood outside the door. The pitch-black interior seemed to pose no obstacle—he looked straight at them.

The young man cupped his hands and spoke with a note of helplessness:

"I just agreed not to act on your own and to discuss things first. And now, the moment you step out to take a look, you nearly get snared."

He muttered to himself for a moment, then adopted a serious expression:

"That water isn’t a lifesaver."

"Drinking it will kill you."