Chapter 686: Worshiping Gods in Dreams

Chapter 686: Dreaming of Worship

West of the Jin Gate, the Tianmu Palace.

This place was once a Taoist stronghold, but it could not withstand the martial spirit of the Jin Gate's people. Few cared for prayer or worship.

Adding to that, the local sects and gangs held too much power. Those Taoist priests who dared to cause trouble were driven out, scattering like leaves. Only a half-decrepit old man remained to guard the gates.

Logically, the Tianmu Palace's location was prime real estate near the docks, a wind-and-water fortune no one could bypass. It should have been a hotspot for all factions.

Yet, after the Taoist priests left, no one rushed in. Some said it was because the Taoist sect's ancestral home, Wudang Mountain, still held prestige. The Jin Gate officials didn't want to make a mess, lest they anger Wudang and provoke a full-scale conflict.

Remember, during the Taoist sect's civil war, Longhu Mountain gathered a coalition of sects to challenge Wudang. They were crushed by Wudang's single-handed assault, from the mountain base to the Taoist Temple. Even the stone statues of immortals were beheaded.

After this, Wudang solidified its dominance in Taoism. The Jianghu never again saw a Taoist master from Longhu Mountain.

Others claimed the Tianmu Palace had always been in the eyes of Old Man Zhu of Tianque, but he never had the time to take it. Yet, he had already spread the word: anyone daring to attack the palace would clash with Tianque.

Opinions varied, but regardless of the truth, the Tianmu Palace, after leaving the Jianghu's chaos, saw its fortune improve.

Many laborers who earned by the docks came here before shifts to offer incense, not out of faith but for peace of mind.

Others, with a few crude moves and a knack for exploiting weakness, gathered here, using the crowd to rob strangers for quick cash.

Today was the birthday of the Heavenly Empress. The temple was packed, and even the old wall across the street had a crowd of rowdy youths.

Though thin and weak, they exuded a terrifying arrogance. Anyone who dared to meet their gaze would be attacked.

The early morning was still bright, and the temple's rituals hadn't started. Most worshippers were locals, making it hard to act.

The rowdy youths gathered, discussing recent events. Suddenly, someone lowered their voice, drawing attention.

"What? Who died?"

The person asked, confused.

In their line of work, being clueless was worse than starving.

"Did you mean Tianque?"

Someone sensed the hint.

"Surely not. But it's strange—how could an over-the-river dragon fight Tianque so fiercely? It's unbelievable."

"This isn't strange. The East Emperor Society is no good. I heard they're a deadly assassin group, killing many high-ranking figures."

"What big figures could compare to Old Man Zhu? Tianque is the top gang in Jin Gate, with many members. How could an over-the-river dragon challenge them? I think Old Man Zhu held back."

The speaker was a loyal Tianque follower, clearly worshipping Old Man Zhu.

"If I could join Tianque, I'd burn my ancestors' graves. I'd burn two more daughters for him to enjoy."

Someone scoffed, "Your father died by suicide for not completing that task. How can you stand now?"

"Stop talking nonsense! If you dare, I'll settle this!"

"Stop lying. I say Tianque isn't so easy to handle."

Amid the chaos, someone spoke firmly: "Don't think Tianque's power is limitless. Even with many weapons, if you can't find the target, it's a waste. Why has Tianque killed so many recently? Rumors say even Old Man Zhu's Mingguan's Mongu and Ao Hu were nearly killed!"

"This isn't a rumor. Last month, New An Warehouse was burned. I was there. I saw Mongu beheaded by a woman, and Ao Hu was slashed to pieces!"

The old wall erupted in outrage.

"Tianque isn't easy to provoke. That woman was killed on the spot. Before her death, she kept shouting about failing to avenge her husband."

"What woman? She had a name—Tianqu, called 'Hun King.' Her husband was 'Lu Qu,' killed by Tianque."

The crowd gasped, staring at the speaker.

The man was tall and muscular, his words carrying weight.

The group's center was a burly man, his muscles tense.

The speaker, though not imposing, had a strange mask on his waist, exuding an eerie aura.

He smiled humbly: "I'm Zhao Lin. Not a big figure, just a local with family in the court. I heard some news. I'm new here, so I can only offer trivial talk. Hope you'll be kind."

"Good. We're all down-on-luck folks. No need for favors."

A stranger joined, cooling the atmosphere. Some held their tongues, fearing trouble. Others asked, "Is this true?"

"People died. My relative wouldn't lie. The East Emperor Society is just after name and profit. They'll do better with a reputation."

"Brother, you see through it. This world is about name and profit. Who would want to die for it?"

"Exactly. We should negotiate. Peace brings profit."

"Impossible. Old Man Zhu is stubborn. Now that blood has been shed, money can't solve it."

"Tianque must crush the over-the-river dragon!"

The earlier pro-Tianque man roared: "Wait and see! Old Man Zhu will soon capture all of them, selling women and castrating men!"

Zhao Lin narrowed his eyes: "Brother, do you have inside information?"

"Tianque is Jin Gate's top. Not everyone can provoke them."

The man, rough and unrefined, shifted: "But if you have secrets, I know some."

"Enough. This is fate. We're just ordinary people."

The leader frowned, cutting him off.

"The Tianmu Palace's ceremony starts soon. Everyone, stop chattering. Think about finding food."

He waved, bowing to Zhao Lin.

"Brother Zhao, we're street beggars. No manners. If you see a fat target, act. We'll meet again."

"Sorry for the intrusion. Later."

Zhao Lin saw the man's suspicion but smiled.

As the man turned, a cold light flashed, piercing his back.

Crunch.

It wasn't just him; the surrounding people who were about to disperse all froze in place.

Thin as strands of hair, threads of silk inserted into their necks, while another segment wound around Zhao Yin's five fingers.

The mystical martial arts known as the String-Pulling Theater.

With a flick of his fingers, Zhao Yin commanded the crowd to gather again beneath the old, dilapidated courtyard walls, where life erupted anew.

Just then, a carriage approached from the distance, halting before the Heavenly Empress Palace.

Before the vehicle had even settled, two figures leaped out, circling the rear door with practiced ease.

"Meng Cong. Ao Hu."

Zhao Yin, now encircled by the trio, took in the scene with a whispered murmur.

At that moment, a tall, handsome man with long hair cascaded over his shoulders stepped forward.

"Shen Li."

Shen Li bowed, opening the door to reveal a figure in flowing robes yet sporting a sleek, oil-glossed tonsure. Though the sky blazed clear, he clutched a black umbrella, his smile deceptively gentle yet radiating an aura that made eyes dare not meet.

"Zou Four-Nine has arrived—truly a fortunate day, with plenty of prey in sight."

Zou Four-Nine entered the palace first, followed by Meng Cong and Ao Hu.

As the others moved inside, Shen Li lingered, gaze fixed across the street at the ruffians loitering there.

"This area isn't open today—move along."

With a wave of his hand, the crowd scattered, Zhao Yin among them, cowering and slipping away.

Once the bothersome rabble vanished from sight, Shen Li turned, umbrella in hand, and strode into the temple.

The Heavenly Empress Palace bloomed with a profusion of peonies, their peak season in full display.

The "Jian Shi Mu Yu" and "Zi Ban" varieties clashed in vibrant splendor, though by now the late-blooming Zi Ban had claimed dominance.

In another fortnight, the entire palace would erupt in the classic verse: "Only the peony, the true imperial color, paints the capital in motion."

Zou Four-Nine, having entered the main hall, bypassed the altar and instead wandered to admire the scenery.

"Master Zou, we've found no suspicious targets."

Meng Cong's voice whispered behind him.

"Patience—the right people always arrive in their own time. It's a pity these flowers and plants might not survive the day."

Zou Four-Nine snorted, leaning close to sniff a bloom in full splendor before striding toward the main hall's entrance.

Inside, the eaves hung thick with incense, packed with worshippers, their offerings obscuring the emperor's seat.

Zou Four-Nine showed no interest in the throng, standing beneath the hall's open pavilion.

"Master Zou, shouldn't we burn incense at the Guandi Temple instead? Why come here?"

Ao Hu's gruff tone carried conviction, his presence far from the cowardly figure they'd been made out to be.

"I dreamed last night that our entire world is itself a dream."

Zou Four-Nine's words hung in the air, bewildering even the sharp-witted Meng Cong, let alone Shen Li and Ao Hu.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't concern yourselves—just know that in my dream, I met the Heavenly Empress and was told to call her 'older sister.' She warned that the deity she's battling is formidable, and she fears she can't hold out. If we don't resolve the Eastern Emperor's Court's affairs soon, chaos will ensue."

Shen Li rolled his eyes. "Master Zou, have you been under too much stress? Perhaps I could arrange for you to vent with my sister?"

"Cut the crap. If you want to die, don't drag me along—I've quit that habit."

Zou Four-Nine gazed steadily at the swirling incense, hands clasped in prayer.

"Whether dream or prophecy, we're using someone else's domain to strike down enemies. Let's first pay respects to the host."

"Yes, Master."

With that, the three bowed and prostrated themselves before the altar.

The moment the ritual ended, the sky darkened ominously.

A torrential rain fell without warning, screaming through the temple as worshippers fled.

A fortune-teller's stall, perched at the front plaza, froze as he tried to read a young lady's fortune.

He abandoned his rigged game, frantically packing his wares, shouting all his slips of paper, warning that the sudden shift was a divine omen demanding sacrifice to avert disaster.

But his words met silence—when he looked up, the young lady had vanished.

"Hey! Money, money!" he screamed, waving his hands, cursing the heavens. "How could people be so heartless! Be careful—the gods might snatch your soul!"

More refugees sought shelter under the eaves, including the street ruffians who'd earlier lurked across the way.

They crouched in shadows, avoiding Shen Li's gaze.

"The rain came so suddenly—it's so unpredictable. Lucky I brought my umbrella."

"Careful with your words—do you think the heavens might strike you dead with lightning?" came a mocking reply.

Zou Four-Nine turned to spot a man in his fifties, his temples whitened, his piercing eyes like a bottomless pit.

"Who is your master?" Zou Four-Nine asked, halting their advance.

"The Eastern Emperor's Court—Zhai Chong."

"Ah, so you're the 'Warlord of the Fallen'!" Zou Four-Nine's eyes widened. "No wonder those eyes are so strange—it must be the 'Tian Fang' martial technique! Truly formidable!"

Zou Four-Nine's face brightened. "Are you here to fight rather than sneak about? Or perhaps even the gods are impatient of our affairs?"

"Now that the gods are brawling, they've no time to notice us. Zou Four-Nine, let's be honest—what do you want?"

Zhai Chong's faint smile brooked no refusal.