Chapter Forty-Two: Divine Powers Manifest the True Form

As they spoke, a clamor arose from within the temple.

Accompanied by the creaking sound of friction, the massive brass doors slowly opened.

Zhou Bai's brow furrowed slightly. Wang Zhen had withheld many secrets about the cultivation practices of the Department of Nether Rites, and Zhou Bai had hoped to seize the chance to inquire further. Yet, all of a sudden, the situation shifted.

The rat demon walked out from inside, its face expressionless as it regarded them. "Please, come in. The guests and host of the banquet have not yet arrived. You two little demons may take your seats first."

Sanhuo Monk and Zhou Bai exchanged a glance and hastened inside.

Seen with ordinary mortal eyes, the entire Grand Hall of Treasures dazzled with gold and jade. The walls were adorned everywhere with precious calligraphy and paintings or statues of the Buddha, each likely layered thickly with gold leaf.

But through the gaze of the Yin-Yang Eye, it revealed a different, decayed tableau: everywhere lay animal and human bones, and the Buddhas were nothing but fierce asuras and evil spirits.

A vast carpet covered the floor, depicting a scene of the Buddha saving the world, upon which sat over twenty meditation cushions, though the hall itself was empty.

After entering the hall, the rat demon seemed intent on welcoming other guests and turned to leave, closing the grand doors behind him as he went.

Zhou Bai's expression grew tense; every aspect of the current situation exuded an eerie strangeness, and he couldn't help but feel uneasy.

Beside him, Sanhuo Monk rose and surveyed the surroundings. The arrangement of the hall struck him as familiar, though even more lavish than before.

He mused silently to himself, "This tiger truly acts as a disciple of the Buddhist sect. It must be destroyed, lest it tarnish the reputation of our Thunder Sound Temple."

Zhou Bai was already preparing himself, drawing out a piece of white cloth to wipe the dust from his two blades, honing them like a soldier ready for battle. "What kind of demon is this South Mountain King?"

"A tiger turned demon—quite intriguing. This creature has an unusual connection with your Department of Nether Rites. It practices one of your sect’s cultivation methods, refining its tiger eyes into its own demonic artifact." Sanhuo Monk’s face showed a hint of wariness.

"Demons can cultivate human techniques?" Zhou Bai asked in curiosity.

"Of course," Sanhuo Monk replied, seizing the opportunity to enlighten him further. "You know, monsters, demons, and ghosts aren’t merely born that way—humans can transform into them as well."

Zhou Bai paused, recalling scenes he had witnessed in Nether Street—it was as if he had stepped into the very den of monsters and demons.

Wang Zhen had said something similar: "Within the Department of Nether Rites, cultivation is a process of drawing closer to one’s true form of divine power."

---

Only now did Zhou Bai begin to understand: for example, Lin Danian had transformed into a guardian ghost to battle Anu God. Lin’s next cultivation goal was likely to master this so-called true form.

The path to mastering one's true form seemed to offer two divergent choices: one, like Lin Danian, to temporarily shift into the true form; the other, to fully transform oneself into a monster or demon.

Perhaps Wang Zhen had withheld these truths from Zhou Bai for fear he would grow impatient and stray from the right path.

Sanhuo Monk, sensing Zhou Bai had grasped his meaning, nodded quietly. "Divine powers are a double-edged sword. When you face a choice in the future, I hope you will remain true to yourself."

"I understand. Thank you for the warning."

Having formed a bond of goodwill, Sanhuo Monk’s mood brightened, and a faint smile appeared as he explained further. "That South Mountain King was raised in Panshan Temple decades ago. At that time, the temple had several dozen monks."

"The abbot then was Master Huile, and he raised the tiger demon from its infancy."

Zhou Bai was taken aback. "A temple raising a tiger? What did it eat?"

"Vegetarian fare, of course. There’s no meat or fish in a temple."

Zhou Bai’s lips twitched. Feeding a tiger vegetables—what sort of mindset could come up with such a notion?

Sanhuo Monk, however, saw nothing odd and continued, "During Master Huile’s tenure, the temple relied on donations from devotees and cultivated crops nearby for sustenance. Life was fairly comfortable, and it was not difficult to support a tiger."

"But after his death, with no one to restrain the tiger, disaster struck."

"For reasons unknown, the South Mountain King transformed into a demon, slaughtered everyone in the temple, then vanished. When it reappeared, it had become a minor demon—moreover, it had mastered the cultivation method of the Department of Nether Rites."

Though Sanhuo Monk had rebuilt Panshan Temple after inheriting it, his primary purpose was to await the right moment to destroy the tiger demon; he had no interest in running the temple, and its reputation in Hangdu had long since faded.

Zhou Bai sensed there was something being concealed. How could a tiger demon possibly learn the Department of Nether Rites' cultivation techniques?

But before he could press further, a commotion sounded outside the temple. The doors were opened once more by the rat demon, and a throng of monsters poured in.

There were mountain fiends who walked upright in Daoist robes.

Towering bull-headed demons over three meters tall, wielding enormous clubs.

Toad demons covered in festering sores, emitting strange odors.

---

Among them was a monster that particularly caught Zhou Bai’s attention: a salamander with a palm-sized pouch hanging from its waist.

...

Various monsters gathered in the temple courtyard, exchanging pleasantries—it almost gave the uncanny impression of an ordinary Dharma assembly.

Once the rat demon beckoned them inside, the crowd of monsters surged in, each choosing a meditation cushion in the Grand Hall of Treasures.

The monsters paid Zhou Bai and Sanhuo Monk little mind; it seemed the monk’s charm-infused water was indeed effective.

After a short wait, the rat demon clapped its hands, and from all corners of the Grand Hall, swarms of mice poured forth.

Each carried a jar of wine, placing them before every monster. The rich aroma of liquor filled the hall, seeping into the air.

Though the South Mountain King had yet to arrive, the banquet had already begun without notice. The monsters toasted one another, played drinking games, gambled with dice—the scene was lively indeed.

Zhou Bai, meanwhile, observed the salamander demon from the corner. The creature casually hung the pouch at its waist.

The pouch shifted constantly, as if something alive were inside, and the demon regarded its treasure with great care, frequently lowering its gaze to check on it.

Just then, a demonic wind swept across the floor, and the crowd of monsters instantly fell silent, the hall enveloped in stillness.

The candle flames flickered gently, and a dense, distinct sound of footsteps approached from outside.

Four ghostly figures carried a throne, upon which sat a burly giant, moving at an unhurried pace toward the hall.

The giant stood nearly four meters tall, bare-chested, muscles taut, his rugged face adorned with only sparse yellow hairs.

Even with Zhou Bai’s Yin-Yang Eye, he could only discern the outline—a tiger demon, whose throne was borne by its ghostly retainers.