The sun blazed overhead.
The standoff on the altar froze the air in place.
The townsfolk watched the two opposing figures with bated breath, too afraid to even exhale loudly.
On one side stood the Fat Priest, who had long presided over the town’s rituals, wielding authority as the self-proclaimed mouthpiece of the Witch Spirit. None dared defy him.
But the other side… seemed even more formidable!
For starters, these three newcomers had descended on clouds and mist, their auras otherworldly, like immortals stepping into the mortal realm.
And… asleep for ten thousand years?
Not even a dynasty had lasted that long. What kind of ancient era was that? Yet the way they spoke of it was so casual, as if they’d merely taken an afternoon nap.
The thought sent chills down the townsfolk’s spines.
These were poor, hardworking people struggling to make ends meet. Neither side was one they could afford to offend, so they could only wait and watch.
“You dare impersonate a deity? You’re courting death!”
The Fat Priest was so furious he nearly burst a vein, but all he could muster was this feeble retort.
His opponent’s words were far more polished, making him seem like the more legitimate one…
With a cold snort, he decided to stop wasting time arguing.
Biting his tongue, he activated the divine summoning ritual. A spray of blood from his tongue landed on the bronze Witch Spirit statue, stirring the accumulated power of the masses within and awakening the lingering ancestral spirit.
Instantly, a shadowy figure emerged from the totem—a vividly lifelike Feilian taking form.
This was the ancestral spirit of the Feilian clan, summoned through the power of the masses, exuding immense pressure. But the cost of invoking it alone was steep.
Behind Li Mo, Ling Yuangou and Manbo exchanged glances, as if preparing to intervene.
After all, the Fat Priest was at the eighth aperture of the Observation Divine Realm and had tapped into the power of the masses.
They weren’t worried about Li Mo losing—they just didn’t want to ruin the “Heavenly Venerable’s” imposing image.
“Falsehoods are just that—illusions, like flowers in a mirror or the moon reflected in water.”
Li Mo lowered his gaze, his expression unreadable.
“To think you’d use the bloodline power I once bestowed against its true master…”
Suddenly, his form shifted.
A deer’s head, a bird’s body, wreathed in swirling mist—his divine aura burned like the sun, pure and unmatched.
The transformation, conjured through the Seventy-Two Changes, was indistinguishable from a true Feilian.
The Fat Priest’s eyes bulged as if he were staring at the ancestral spirit itself—far more lifelike than the one he’d summoned with the power of the masses.
After all, totems were merely manifestations of ancestral spirits through collective belief, striving for realism.
But this was still just a construct of bloodline power.
How could it possibly attack its own origin?
So, without surprise—
Poof.
The ancestral spirit, formed from the power of the masses, dissipated into nothingness.
“Well?”
Li Mo calmly reverted to human form.
The Fat Priest was drenched in sweat. Glancing at the wavering townsfolk, he knew his authority in their eyes was crumbling.
No matter how lifelike his summoning was, it couldn’t compare to a living “deity” standing right before them.
Impossible. Absolutely impossible…
Every disciple of the Divine Calling Sect knew that with the fall of the Great Shang’s fortune, none of the ancient deities could remain intact in this world.
Except for one—the patriarch of the Qingluan clan.
And this young man was only at the Observation Divine Realm. How could he be a pure-blooded Feilian incarnate?
“A true deity can command wind, clouds, rain, and mist. Can you?”
The Fat Priest forced a show of confidence.
“Child’s play.”
Li Mo snapped his fingers.
Somewhere, someone sneezed.
Boom—
Hidden in the shadows, Wu Qing received the signal. Shang Qinqing tickled her nose with a feather, prompting a thunderous sneeze.
Instantly, clouds churned overhead, darkening the sky.
Manbo, ever in sync with Wu Qing as her best friend, activated her own bloodline power.
Lightning snakes danced wildly within the roiling clouds, thunder rumbling like a celestial war.
Whoosh—
Torrential rain poured down without warning.
“H-how…?”
The Fat Priest stood dumbfounded in the downpour.
Since when could an Observation Divine Realm cultivator pull off something like this?
Honestly, at this point, even he was starting to doubt whether he was the fraud.
Had he joined the wrong Divine Calling Sect?
“No! What nonsense is this ‘Myriad Phenomena Immortal Sect’? What ‘Heavenly Venerable’? I’ve never heard of any of it!”
“The people here have survived and thrived solely by the grace of the Witch Spirit’s divine mercy! What does any of this have to do with you?”
Li Mo narrowed his eyes. He could’ve killed the Fat Priest long ago, but the man’s death was meaningless compared to solidifying the Heavenly Venerable’s image.
So he gazed at him with pity, as if looking at an ant:
“A mortal, blind to the vastness of the heavens.”
“You’re a Demon Calling cultist, aren’t you?”
“?!!”
The Fat Priest panicked, his identity exposed.
“But since you’ve asked so sincerely, I’ll enlighten you.”
“The Myriad Phenomena Immortal Sect is a branch of the Celestial Court. In the primordial era, we governed the cosmos. I devoured the stars of heaven, holding dominion over life and death, creation and destruction.”
“Your so-called Demon Calling Sect merely inherited fragments of the Celestial Court’s legacy. Yet you dare flaunt it before me? The audacity.”
This was the Heavenly Venerable’s plan—
Fight fire with fire. Replace gods with gods.
The Fat Priest shuddered, disbelief written all over his face.
But then he remembered Li Mo’s cultivation level. Before he could voice his doubts—
Seven mysterious orbs flew out from Li Mo’s dantian, orbiting in an arcane pattern, indistinguishable from actual stars.
The Fat Priest’s mind went blank. His bronze staff clattered to the ground.
Everything Li Mo said… it all made sense.
In fact, it sounded even more terrifying and profound than the doctrines he’d learned in the sect.
Seeing the townsfolk’s gazes fill with awe, Li Mo decided to deliver the final blow.
His eyes swept toward one of the three great mountains in the distance:
“Do these mountains imprison your people?”
“Divine One, they do!”
The old village chief, standing in the rain, was already ninety percent convinced.
After all, summoning storms and transforming into a deity’s true form was proof enough.
Actions spoke louder than words.
Most villagers shared his sentiment. Some even fell to their knees in reverence.
Li Mo’s eyelid twitched, but he didn’t step aside. With a sigh, he said:
“Though you’ve been deceived, your faith is sincere. Very well…”
“I shall intervene.”
He fixed his gaze on the central mountain and commanded:
“Open!”
His voice boomed with authority.
One second. Two. Three…
…Nothing happened.
The villagers exchanged confused glances. What was the Heavenly Venerable up to?
Li Mo: “…”
Don’t tell me Elder Guo Chuan of the Giant Whale Tribe… fell asleep again?
The Giant Whale Tribe’s nature was to slumber. Their immense size and long lifespans meant they conserved energy by sleeping deeply—often mistaken for islands by humans.
Fortunately, Li Mo had prepared for this.
"This kid is a smooth talker when it comes to fooling people..."
"If only the Summoning Demon Sect had learned a thing or two from him, they wouldn’t be stuck at this level today."
Shang Qinqing spat out two melon seed shells, her figure darting through the void as she headed toward Guo Chuan’s location.
She arrived in an instant.
Sure enough, Guo Chuan was fast asleep, sprawled beside a thick, deep-sea bronze chain as thick as a barrel, snoring loudly.
"Dumplings are ready!!"
"Huh?!"
Guo Chuan jolted upright, standing at attention like a rigid board.
.......