Chapter 732: Great Black Heaven

Chapter 732: The Great Black Sky

A gentle breeze whispered across the withered grass, curling up a few desiccated blades.

The sky was heavy and gray, as if leaden clouds pressed low upon the earth—just like Li Huowang's mood at this moment.

After days of frantic travel, he had finally arrived in Qingqiu. But could what lay before him truly be called Qingqiu?

The boundless emerald carpet that had once stretched out like silk was gone. In its place stood scattered, yellowed grasses.

This state was even worse than when he'd first come. If the grass had merely turned yellow before, now it seemed as though the grassland itself were on the verge of death. He couldn't help but worry about Sun Baolu.

Yet compared to Qingqiu’s condition, Li Huowang had his own pressing troubles to resolve. He didn’t have time to ponder what had happened here.

With a light squeeze of his legs against the horse’s flank, the steed bearing the talismanic rune galloped toward the distant city.

That was the capital of Qingqiu. Its name, he remembered, had been mentioned once by someone, but now he couldn’t recall it. All he remembered was the road beneath his feet, packed solid with cow dung and sheep dung.

Though the Khan of Qingqiu had gone off to war, clearly someone still ran things in this stinking city filled with livestock.

As soon as Li Huowang stepped through the gate, several Qingqiu cavalrymen, eyes fixed on his high red hat, blocked his path.

Without opening his mouth, a deep voice came from one of them. “Where are you from? Where do you go?”

Li Huowang pulled out the official token from the Great Li Bureau of Celestial Observations and tossed it toward them. Then, with a finger pointing toward the imposing temple in the distance, he said, “I need to speak with your master of the Middle Yin Temple.”

While the cavalrymen carefully examined the token, the crowd around them parted to make way. They knelt prostrate on the ground.

Soon, two rows of lamas, wrapped in black fur coats, joined hands and slowly walked past him, stopping before Li Huowang.

They were obviously Qingqiu people—dark-skinned, lean, and all old men, their faces lined with age spots or wrinkles, nearly immobile with age.

Li Huowang had seen such lamas once before in Qingqiu. It seemed the Middle Yin Temple already knew who he was and had sent people to meet him.

They said nothing, bowed deeply to him, then turned and walked toward the peaked Middle Yin Temple.

Li Huowang glanced at the mounted soldiers who had dismounted, not daring to act insolently, and followed after the lamas.

A tentacle emerged from his crimson Daoist robe and snatched the token from the cavalryman’s hand.

Following behind the old lamas, Li Huowang passed through the vast crowd of kneeling pastoralists praying before the temple, climbing steps into the inner sanctum.

Though the exterior of the Middle Yin Temple appeared solemn and majestic, inside it was surprisingly spacious, with no excess statues. Instead, there were various leather murals and conical towers.

These leather paintings depicted strange and varied scenes—some related to the myth of Changsheng Tian.

But Li Huowang hadn’t forgotten why he’d come. He asked the leading lama, “I’ve come seeking help from your masters for something important.”

The lamas remained silent, as if they had always known what he would say. They continued walking deeper into the temple, passing through the bustling debating hall, until they stopped at the deepest room in the Middle Yin Temple.

The old lama spoke inside, and a response came back—but both sides spoke only in Qingqiu dialect, which Li Huowang couldn’t understand a single word of.

But soon, he heard again. “Li… True Man, long… admired your name.” As the extremely weak voice rang out, the black temple door slowly opened, revealing a pitch-dark interior.

As soon as Li Huowang entered, he saw several mummified corpses wearing chicken-crown hats hanging by ropes from the ceiling beams.

Their faces looked like skulls wrapped in skin, yet their ornate robes and intricate bone ornaments suggested they held high status within the Middle Yin Temple.

The room wasn’t smelly—it was filled with sweet, cloying fragrances.

Li Huowang looked up at these things, indifferent to whether they were alive or dead, and cut straight to the point. “Since you know me, let’s get this over with. I’ve fallen ill with a grave disease and need a medicine from Fengdu to save my life. My junior disciple said you’re familiar with that place. Please take me there.”

Fengdu was the domain of the Death God, the ruler of fate. Anyone connected to the Fates was trouble. Li Huowang didn’t want to risk himself in an unfamiliar land.

He’d already clashed with the Lion Dance Palace once—he didn’t want to do it again.

Since the Middle Yin Temple worshipped death itself, and since it was now allied with them against the Sect of the Law, there was no reason not to ask for their help.

Just as he finished speaking, Li Huowang noticed one of the mummies on his left begin to sway slightly, creaking softly.

“Impossible? That’s impossible?”

“It’s not impossible, True Man Li. Do you know that Fengdu is the realm of Kali, the living goddess?”

His words carried something Li Huowang couldn’t quite grasp.

“I know that perfectly well. If I wanted to find a living person, I wouldn’t come to you for help.”

“If you go to Fengdu, it may be hard to return.”

“That can’t be right. My friend went there before and didn’t tell me it was so dangerous. You’ll just have to use the Wheel of Rebirth to bring me back.”

Li Huowang remembered how Yang Xiaohai had wandered in without knowing what he was doing, yet he returned unscathed.

Though he had Red Zhong helping him, did that mean he, now, was less capable than a mere boy?

“Master Li, today is different from any other day. We say this for your own good. Go back.”

Hearing this, Li Huowang frowned. “Why is it different today? Has something happened in Fengdu recently?”

“The Great Black Sky has moved. It should have stayed forever buried beneath Qingqiu. It should never have stirred,” another mummy spoke.

“What did you say?” A sense of unease crept into Li Huowang’s heart. The Great Black Sky must be none other than the Death God, the ruler of fate.

“Our generations have offered human sacrifices and livestock offerings, giving our hearts, bodies, and emptiness, to keep the Great Black Sky at peace.”

“Perhaps fate has reached its end. Now, the Great Black Sky has left its former resting place.”

“And what does that have to do with Fengdu?”

He had ridden fast all the way here. If he simply turned around now, he wouldn’t be satisfied.

“No, True Man Li, you don’t understand. The Great Black Sky is the wrathful form of Mahakala. Every time he moves a finger, a village dies. Every step he takes, a town perishes. Every pace he walks, a city falls.”

(End of Chapter)