Just don't blame me if you mess things up.

Anyone could see Squire Zhao’s frantic state. He knocked over the talisman water he had once treasured, grabbed his wife of many years who stood beside him, and strode toward the inner courtyard.

The crowd moved to follow, but Squire Zhao bellowed, “Don’t follow me! I need to speak to my wife alone!”

Madam Zhao had been by his side for years. While their marriage had never been perfectly harmonious, there was no shortage of old affection between them. Her eyes showed little panic, and she cooperatively signaled for the others to stay back.

Without a word, Squire Zhao trembled as he wandered the courtyard, finally stopping at the ancestral hall where the tablets of their forebears were kept.

The door closed with a silent thud. Beneath the flickering red candlelight that burned day and night, Squire Zhao’s face was pale as he looked at Madam Zhao. Tears streamed down his face, and he leaned close, lowering his voice to a whisper:

“Last night... Lord Zijun summoned me with his magic.”

Madam Zhao’s eyes widened in shock. That should have been a good thing, so why did he look like this?

Squire Zhao lowered his voice further: “No... it wasn’t just me... it’s the talisman water... something’s wrong with the talisman water.”

“Lord Zijun can control anyone who drinks that water, luring them away like in a dream.”

“I was lucky. By some fortune, I snapped awake at the last moment.”

His bloodshot eyes bulged, terror gripping his face once more. Shuddering, he recalled what he had seen and forced out the words:

“It was a dark night, under a huge locust tree, the moonlight bright as day. I... I saw Lord Zijun cut open a man’s belly, shove a hand into his chest, and with a single rip...”

“I... I saw a bloody, still-beating heart, dragged out by Lord Zijun.”

“Lord Zijun took a bite on the spot and said... ‘The heart is so tender and tasty, but this one is too old.’”

Madam Zhao saw the wild, vacant look on her husband’s face. She reached for his hand, and when she touched it, his palm was wet, as if he had just pulled it from water.

In that instant, she instinctively began to believe his tale.

Squire Zhao gripped her hand tightly, his face contorting with terror:

“Then Lord Zijun picked up an infant, barely a month old, and bit its head off in one gulp.”

He stared intently at his wife’s face, mimicking Lord Zijun’s tone:

“‘At this age, the head is perfect for grinding the teeth.’”

“Madam... you didn’t see it. A crying child—just one bite, and there was no more sound.”

“That talisman water...”

He choked on the words, gagged, and tears and mucus rolled down his face. His voice cracked as he continued:

“That talisman water is nothing but the leftover blood Lord Zijun spat into the vat after eating the child and the heart, wiping his mouth clean.”

At these words, Madam Zhao’s mind churned, and she too retched dryly.

Before this, Squire Zhao had believed devoutly in Lord Zijun, drinking the talisman water almost every day. And she had drunk plenty of it herself.

If this was true...

Then that vat of water was no better than a spittoon filled with after-chewed phlegm!

Madam Zhao quickly seized on the key question and pressed him: “Lord Zijun’s powers must be immense. How did you manage to come back alive?”

Squire Zhao was stunned for a moment, then began to speak.

"It seemed there was a wise man... who said he used the blessings of my remaining years to cast a spell and rescue me. If I want to live peacefully in the latter half of my life, I must not only stay far away from Lord Zijun, but also do more good deeds, accumulate virtue, and ensure I make up for the blessings I’ve lost. Moreover, the wrongs I committed in the past must be offset by good deeds."

Madam Zhao reached out and took hold of Squire Zhao’s hand, her expression also sinking into thought.

This matter could not, of course, be spread any further.

Even if Lord Zijun truly was a malicious deity, he was still a god, not something they could oppose.

Amid the early silence.

Squire Li, Magistrate Wang, and Merchant Qian.

Stewards of varying stature suddenly stopped the incense offerings they had never once ceased before.

And it wasn’t just these prominent figures; even ordinary people who had once displayed extreme devotion in the shrine underwent a drastic change in attitude.

Even the coppersmith and blacksmith, who had knelt and knocked their heads with such sincerity that others mockingly called them "filial sons kowtowing," never visited Lord Zijun’s shrine again after that one day. When asked why, they merely evaded the question with a panicked, vague reply, utterly unwilling to discuss it further.

Within about half a month.

The once bustling Lord Zijun’s shrine, where incense burned day and night and sandalwood smoke drifted endlessly, saw a noticeably dwindling crowd.

In the past, two vats of blessed water were far too few, and even after two vats were emptied, people still lined up all the way to the temple gate.

The shrine keeper stood beside the statue, his gaze sweeping outward. Under the sunset and the canopy of twilight, no new worshippers arrived at the temple entrance. The line that had once stretched endlessly was now completely gone.

He looked down into the vat.

Where two vats once weren’t enough, today even half a vat had barely been used.

The shrine keeper tossed the water ladle into the vat, then turned his gaze to Lord Zijun’s statue.

Mortal eyes could never see the truth.

In the past, the place had been bustling, and he himself had made no mistakes. By all logic, this sudden decline shouldn’t have happened. And he hadn’t heard of any new incense-gathering deity emerging nearby to compete for worshippers.

When logic fails, someone must have meddled.

The shrine keeper reached out, touched the edge of the vat, and then drew a talisman from his sleeve, activating it. A murky yellow energy drifted out from the talisman.

Moments later.

A short, wiry man clad in gray, whose face seemed to consist of folds of skin, scrambled out from beneath the table under Lord Zijun’s statue with surprising agility.

The gray-clad man had his limbs oddly curled, wore a shabby gray robe, and looked up at the shrine keeper. His eyes were truly like those of a rat.

The shrine keeper looked at this so-called incense deity, who, even enshrined in a shrine, couldn’t shake its beastly habits. A deep aversion rose in his heart, an aversion beyond words. But no matter how disgusted he was, business was business, and he had to handle it properly. So, he did his best to suppress the contempt in his eyes.

Before the shrine keeper could speak first.

The gray-clad man sat down on the ground without a care for the dirt, raised one of his curled fingers, and pointed it at the shrine keeper. In a sharp, grating voice, he complained:

"What’s going on these past few days? The power of devotion keeps dropping day by day. How are you managing as the shrine keeper? I don’t know why they thought you were worth it. For such an easy job to turn out like this—can you even do it?"

The shrine keeper stared at the wretched rat-like Lord Zijun before him, barely suppressing the urge to crush the head of this pest, who hadn’t even stabilized his Foundation Establishment stage.

He, a Golden Core mid-stage cultivator, had to serve as a shrine keeper for this pathetic excuse of a rat.

And on top of that, he had to endure this damned rat's accusations.

If he ever shed this temple-keeper's skin, that rat wouldn't just lose a layer of hide either.

"Someone's stirring trouble," the temple keeper raged inwardly, though his face remained calm and his tone gentle. "For now, I don't yet know who's causing the disturbance."

"Over the next few days, I'll go investigate the situation. I ask that you, Lord, devote yourself quietly to cultivation while I'm away."

"Remember—do not go out, and do not meddle in anything, even if this temple is about to be torn down."

"I'll send word to you, Lord, when I return."

Wretched beast—you know nothing of the world's fickle changes. You must act with caution. If I can't extricate myself from this and you, dead rat, go out and cause a fuss, that would truly be the death of me.

The temple keeper couldn't help but warn him. After all, if matters were botched, he had no desire to die alongside this blasted rat.

Seeing the utterly unconcerned look on Lord Zijun's face, the temple keeper strengthened his tone, threatening:

"After all, Lord understands."

"If the task handed down from above is ruined, it won't end just by stepping down from this divine post."

Lord Zijun shuddered instantly upon hearing this, then nodded repeatedly:

"Go on, go on... But if you mess things up yourself, you can't pin the blame on me."

The temple keeper said nothing, simply clasped his hands and turned to leave.