Chapter 107: Frostblight (2/2)

Its fiery red fur seemed ablaze with flames. When it lowered its massive head and bumped against me, I could feel a wave of heat radiating. An odd thought rose in my mind.

I thought of Jiang Shiyu — I want to save her, even if it means damnation.

But then, images from the Hundred Ghost Night parade flashed in my mind, the scenes of ambulances hauling away bodies by the dozens. I couldn't help but shed tears. Though filled with regret, I was powerless.

While lost in my own thoughts, the Golden-haired Hou suddenly let out a deafening roar toward the sky. At that moment, I understood the meaning of this formation — it tests the heart; the wicked cannot enter.

The roar rang so loud it made my ears buzz, but the sound gave me the idea to break the formation. The Golden-haired Hou is also called the "Morning Roar." Legend says it's the Dragon King's son, who roars to heaven, delivering divine will, judging loyalty, good and evil.

This roar guards the formation: only those upright and honest can pass. The only thing blocking me is my guilty heart — knowing the consequences yet still hoping for a lucky escape, which led to this catastrophe.

If I can sever my guilt, the formation will break. But now, there's only one way.

I pulled out the Seven Star Sword and bowed to the Golden Hou: "Respected One, great disaster has come. Zhang cannot forgive himself and offers his death as atonement!"

With that, I drove the Seven Star Sword deep into my chest.

I was gambling — if I won, the formation would break. If I lost, I would die on the spot. The stabbing pain was real. Gritting my teeth, I forced the sword in.

As I spat out a mouthful of blood, the darkness vanished. I felt faint; the chest pain lingered. Looking ahead, the place where the Golden Hou stood was now a small stone door.

I pushed hard — it slid open.

I couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship of folk artisans.

Beyond the door was a pitch-black tunnel. Using my phone light to probe, I finally passed through. As soon as I stepped out, I realized this wasn't the pagoda's underground chamber, but another one.

The walls were carved from some material that absorbed light; my phone's faint glow reflected off them, lighting up the space brightly.

The chamber was at least five meters wide, resembling a coffin. At the door sat a monk's corpse in lotus position.

The corpse surprisingly smelled of sandalwood. Though dried, there was no sign of decay. The monk's robes were tattered, and the walls were carved with all the Bodhisattvas and Buddhas of the Western Paradise.

What shocked me most — the monk faced the wall! A thought struck me: did this old monk commit some error, choosing to face the wall and die here?

The Black Tortoise, the monk, the Golden Hou, the Frostblight, and the vengeful ghosts kneeling earlier — are they connected?

I took a deep breath. The problem seemed only to worsen. But if this was the monk's place of contemplation, how could there be relics here? Without relics, how could Jiang Shiyu be saved?

Recalling the Golden Hou formation below the well, I thought about the thunder strike. The statue on the stone slab had absorbed Yin energy; otherwise, how could the Bodhisattva's wrathful expression exist?

The Bodhisattva originally suppressed the evil below. But dirt covering the statue weakened its power. The evil, not yet dead, gradually merged with the stone wall.

When I came, a drop of my blood unintentionally activated the evil in the carving. Because the Bodhisattva statue was fully exposed, heaven's displeasure led to the thunder punishment.

I don't know what that evil was exactly, but though it was destroyed, the lingering resentment accumulated into the Frostblight.

The Frostblight, lacking spirit, was not within the thunder's judgment, which led to the later fight among ghosts and the current havoc.

Looking up at the monk's back, I bowed respectfully and said earnestly: "Master, I come only out of necessity to save someone. I mean no disrespect to your body. I only wish to borrow your relics. After use, I will return them to the pagoda for proper reverence."

I am a Daoist and he a monk; no matter the grace, we do not kneel to each other — that's the rule.

After bowing, I inhaled deeply and approached the monk's golden body. Just as I touched him, a hoarse voice whispered beside me, "Donor, you need not touch this old monk's body. You may take the relics."

I turned around sharply.