ATAVID CH38

Jiang Qunyu made no real objection to Wei Xun’s claim; in the cultivation world even “gods” didn’t exist, so a mortal city definitely had none.

Moreover, from what Shen Lin had said that day, the “immortal” they worshipped demanded live human sacrifices. Whatever this thing was, it certainly wasn’t good.

“Mm,” Jiang Qunyu thought aloud, “I suppose these people must have built a gilded statue for this so‑called god. Since we’re free for now, I’m curious to see what sort of creature they’re worshipping. Do you want to come with me, or go your own way?”

The inexplicable irritation in Wei Xun’s heart had already melted away by half—he didn’t fancy watching Jiang Qunyu flirting with every passerby, especially since Jiang Qunyu was using his own face. He couldn’t very well stand by and watch him scatter his affection everywhere.

After a brief pause, Wei Xun pressed his lips together and said, “I’ll go with you.”

“Oh,” Jiang Qunyu nodded.

He found a man by the lakeshore who was about to release a lantern and walked over, bending down courteously. “Big brother, is there a temple for this immortal in the city? I only entered a few days ago and would like to pay my respects.”

The man was kindhearted and, seeing that Jiang Qunyu was a newcomer, cheerfully pointed the way. “Young sir, just keep walking along the lakeshore, skirt that willow grove, and you’ll see it.”

He paused, as if remembering something. “But it’ll almost be midnight soon. You’re new here; you probably don’t know the city rules.”

“What’s the rule at midnight?” Jiang Qunyu frowned.

The man explained, “Young sir may not know, but every fifteenth day of the month the city lights lanterns for the immortal and everyone must return home before the hour of Zi. If anyone stays out after that, the immortal will be enraged and send down divine punishment, bringing endless calamity. Not long ago someone in the city died after returning too late and violating the taboo. No one dares to talk about it.”

Jiang Qunyu suppressed a sneer.

So many strange, confining rules, worshipping what kind of god? It was clearly meant to trick the people into staying indoors so that others could work freely. If anyone died, they could just blame it on “returning after midnight” and be done with it.

Unable to resist, he asked, “Is this really a god?”

“Watch your tongue!” the man straightened up, his face turning angry, even frightened at the implication. “If it weren’t a god, how could we even cultivate here? The so‑called three‑wish immortal is the wife of the very immortal who ascended twenty‑odd years ago. Many people in the city have seen her true form. Over the years, every wish ever made at the Temple of the Three Wishes has been fulfilled. You speak so rashly—if divine retribution comes, may you fend for yourself!”

So saying, the man brushed past him like he was avoiding a plague, not even bothering with the lantern he hadn’t released.

Jiang Qunyu: “…?”

He stood there, staring at the man’s retreating back, at a loss for words.

Slightly deflated, he turned and, expressionless, headed toward the direction the man had indicated.

After a while, he finally snapped, cheeks puffing in irritation. “I was just giving them a fair warning! That kind of demonic thing can be called a god?”

He bent down, picked up a handful of stones, and as he walked kept flinging them into the lake in frustration.

Behind him, Wei Xun followed, amused. “They’ve been worshipping that false god for a long time. If you suddenly tell them it’s fake, of course they’ll be upset.”

That was undoubtedly true, but Jiang Qunyu was still furious.

He had also learned something from the man. “So the Three‑Wish Lady is the god they worship? But why ‘Three‑Wish’?”

Wei Xun didn’t answer; he only tilted his chin ahead.

Jiang Qunyu followed his gaze.

Past the willow grove, half hidden in the shadows, the up‑curved eaves of a small shrine appeared, hanging a wind lantern whose pale light flickered in the dark night.

It illuminated three characters on the plaque—

San Yuan Ci — the Temple of the Three Wishes.

The scent of incense could already be smelled before they approached. Because it was nearly the hour of Zi, the hall was empty except for Jiang Qunyu and Wei Xun.

The temple was warm with years of constant offerings, and the building had been repaired neatly—blue tiles were clean, wooden columns were glossy, and there was no sign of decay.

In the center of the main hall stood a statue of the goddess, robes flowing like clouds, bearing a graceful, gentle posture. Her face was covered by a mask, soft‑lined, with the outer corners of the eyes slightly upturned. Expressionless, yet after a while staring at it gave the unsettling feeling of being gently watched.

Jiang Qunyu froze.

He stared at the statue’s masked face for a long time; only the outline of the eyes could be seen. At last he turned to Wei Xun. “Your eyes are a bit like hers.”

Wei Xun stood there listlessly and, hearing that, raised his gaze. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Jiang Qunyu said, “they’re both very pretty.”

The warm orange candlelight played over Wei Xun’s face, softening his features, as if a faint glow settled in the corners of his eyes.

He lowered his lashes, shading his expression so that nothing could be read. Jiang Qunyu once more sensed a kind of sorrowful feeling clinging to him.

Not long after, however, that shadow passed, and Wei Xun’s tone hardened back into its usual cold indifference. Jiang Qunyu decided not to pursue it, and suddenly remembering what the man had said, he asked, “If this Three‑Wish Lady is the wife of the cultivator who ascended twenty‑seven years ago, why is she still here in the city?”

Wei Xun looked at the smoky, ambiguous statue and smiled faintly. “Who says a god’s husband has to be the one who ascended? Maybe the one who stayed was the one who died, or the one who fell into forbidden arts. The one lauded by the people may not be the one who actually deserved it.”

Jiang Qunyu felt a pang of melancholy.

To ascend and leave behind a wife, then have that betrayed, trapped woman worshipped as a goddess and reduced to a little statue in this small shrine, repeating the same vow every night—there was something unbearably bitter about it.

They didn’t stay long in the temple.

The night was heavy, the wind chill against the skin.

Jiang Qunyu walked ahead, slightly dazed. He’d expected the “evil” being to be hideous, yet here it was a gentle‑seeming woman.

Beside him, Wei Xun cut in, voice cool and detached, “There’s nothing impossible about it. The more beautiful something looks on the surface, the filthier and more rotten it often is underneath.”

Jiang Qunyu felt Wei Xun was being snide again.

Only a moment later, Wei Xun’s mouth twitched into a cold, eerie smile. “Especially people. The ones who look the most harmless are often the worst.”

Jiang Qunyu: “…?”

If he’d only suspected it before, now he was quite sure.

Wei Xun had used the same line to insult Wen Xingyao earlier.

Jiang Qunyu rode the comment and said, “Speaking of which, it’s already dark. I wonder if Wen Xingyao’s found anything.”

The thought of the City Lord’s mansion made his head ache.

Earlier, when he’d seen the goddess in the shrine was a woman, Jiang Qunyu hadn’t avoided the thought that she and the City Lady might be one and the same. But the timelines didn’t line up: the temple’s statue had supposedly existed for twenty‑seven years, yet by the maid’s account the City Lady had died only a few years ago, and Cui Nian didn’t look older than seven or eight, so the idea seemed forced.

Wei Xun’s gaze turned dim and he didn’t reply, clearly in no mood to talk about Wen Xingyao.

Fair enough.

Jiang Qunyu decided to return to the City Lord’s mansion.

They walked on in silence. The night of East Mirror Lake City pressed down low, the lanterns dim, the wind itself seeming sluggish and cold.

They stopped under an old tree.

The trunk was gnarled, the branches twisted, and their shadows lay heavy on the ground. Beneath it huddled an old beggar, threadbare clothes wrapped around him so thin he nearly blended into the darkness.

He didn’t move, only murmured in a low, repeated, muddled voice, incomprehensible yet charged with a strange madness and despair.

The night was bitterly cold.

Although Jiang Qunyu wasn’t sure whether the “return before midnight” rule was just intimidation, he still walked over and squatted in front of the old man. “Old sir, it’s too windy here. There’s a temple up ahead that can block the wind; let me carry you there.”

The old man raised his clouded eyes, hesitated, then nodded.

Jiang Qunyu turned, hoisted the frail figure onto his back, and walked slowly forward.

The man was frighteningly light; through the thin rags, every bony ridge of his chest could be felt.

“Dead, they’re all dead,” the old man rasped, muttering nonsensically.

Jiang Qunyu, hearing that, assumed it was a son or daughter lost long ago and gently comforted him. “Old sir, the ones who’ve gone are gone, but those who are alive must live on.”

“Ah, ah, ah…” The old man sobbed, his shoulders shaking against Jiang Qunyu’s back, his throat gurgling with a stifled, broken cry. “Twenty‑seven years… twenty‑seven years… That bastard Cui Mingjin… When will he ever let my son go…”

Jiang Qunyu’s steps froze.

The old man kept babbling, his mind clearly long shattered, words circling back over and over.

A strange chill rippled through Jiang Qunyu’s heart.

Before he could ask, the old man cried out again, “Shuang‑er, my Shuang‑er, aren’t you the Three‑Wish Lady? Why, after all these wishes, haven’t you come to take your father? Have you abandoned him?”

Jiang Qunyu’s brows tensed, his pace quickening as he stepped back into the Temple of the Three Wishes.

Before he could set the old man down, the man let out a low, hoarse growl. Realizing his intent, Jiang Qunyu hastily lowered him. The old man staggered to the statue, wrapped his arms around it, and wailed, “Shuang‑er, Shuang‑er…”

The voice, rasping and raw, rang through the empty hall.

Jiang Qunyu stood where he was, staring at the sight.

There was no need to ask anymore.

He remembered what he’d heard from the maids during the day—the City Lady’s name was Yun Shuangyi.

The old man hugged a statue and called it “Shuang‑er.” The face beneath the mask was almost certainly her.

Earlier, the maid’s words about “a few years ago,” plus the look of Cui Nian, had misled him into thinking a twenty‑seven‑year‑old statue couldn’t be Yun Shuangyi.

But he’d forgotten her memories were already broken. And Cui Nian—seeing Jiang Qunyu clearly—could he really be an ordinary child?

Twenty‑seven years ago…

That meant Yun Shuangyi had already died twenty‑seven years past, yet twenty‑seven years later her son was still a child.

Who exactly was this “god” the city worshipped? And Cui Nian—what was he now, and what had he become?

Jiang Qunyu’s lips pressed into a thin line. He gave the old man one last, heavy glance, then turned and left the temple quickly.

From behind, the old man’s voice leaked out, like a ghostly wail on the wind:

“Shuang‑jian… my daughter Shuang‑jian… When will you come to take your father…”

*

*

The night was like spilled ink.

Jiang Qunyu walked fast, his head still filled with the old man’s heart‑wrenching sobbing and the kindly‑masked statue in the Temple of the Three Wishes.

The gate to the West Courtyard creaked open under his hand.

Inside, Wen Xingyao, on watch, lifted his head. His face brightened as he hurried over, while the several Xuanjian Sect disciples standing under the corridor blinked in surprise and also turned to look.

Jiang Qunyu didn’t stop, striding straight to the disciples, breath a little quickened from his run, voice icy: “On the day you entered the city, did you hear of the Three‑Wish Lady?”

The disciples glanced at one another, startled, then recalled the earlier incident with Lan Shixiong and Su Shidi, their faces shifting colors. One finally answered, “We did hear of it that day, but only as idle gossip. Who would believe in some mortal city’s god?”

Another disciple added, “But the Three‑Wish Lady’s legend is interesting. The city folk say you can make three wishes, and any wish will come true. Only the third wish must not be made lightly, because when you make your third wish, the Three‑Wish Lady will come and take you away.”

“Did Cen He mention anything that day?” Jiang Qunyu already had a guess in mind.

The disciple thought, “If he said anything at all, he said it was no more than some evil spirit, and that he alone was enough to deal with it.”

Arrogant, for a mere Golden Core cultivator to boast like that.

Jiang Qunyu’s brows knitted tighter. Without another word, he turned and strode toward the room where Cen He had last lived.

The door flew open under his hand, a chill gusting out.

His gaze swept the room, settling on the writing desk, where a yellowed sheet of paper lay.

He had seen it before, but back then he hadn’t known what it was.

Now he understood.

The handwriting was mediocre, even a bit sloppy, as if the writer hadn’t fully believed, and had just dashed down a few lines on a whim:

First wish: a smooth path, quick breakthrough into the next realm.
Second wish: that the two bugs in the courtyard die.
Third wish: to see the Three‑Wish Lady in person, to gaze upon the true god.

Jiang Qunyu’s expression darkened.

The “two bugs” in the second wish were clearly Wei Xun and Wen Xingyao.

Behind him, Wei Xun sensed what must have happened just from Jiang Qunyu’s face. He stepped forward swiftly, clamped his fingers around Jiang Qunyu’s wrist, and his voice went cold. “Switch back. Now.”

Before Jiang Qunyu could speak, the world in front of them twisted.

The walls rippled like water, the desk, candle stand, and doorframes all melting into a blurred, wavering light. The next instant, the ground vanished beneath his feet and he fell into empty darkness.

The sensation of falling lasted only a moment.

When Jiang Qunyu regained his senses, he found himself standing in a narrow, freezing underground passage.

Darkness stretched endlessly in both directions. The walls were damp, droplets sliding down the stone and dripping steadily into the silence.

Wei Xun, Wen Xingyao, and the Xuanjian disciples had all been swept in with him.

“Wh—where is this?” Wen Xingyao’s voice trembled.

No one answered.

The next moment, there came a rapid, delicate drumming on the floor, as if something were crawling fast along the ground straight toward them.