Chapter Twenty-Six: The God Anu

Compared to Zhou Bai’s single method of attack, every strike from the other two felled over a dozen beetles at once, and soon, only a few dozen of the swarm remained. Seeing this, Zhou Bai’s eyes burned with excitement, and his movements grew ever more fluid. Lin Dayan, watching him slaughter with abandon, could not suppress a shudder. As black beetle after beetle met its end at Zhou Bai’s hands, even his own lips curled into a smile.

From Lin Dayan and Wen Meng’s perspective, Zhou Bai exuded an aura of madness, entirely at odds with the cultured, gentle demeanor he had displayed before. Could it be that the murderous air about Zhou Bai really was honed by years of slaughtering pigs?

Before long, the last of the black beetles had all been slain by Zhou Bai. It wasn’t that Lin Dayan and Wen Meng had stopped fighting, but Zhou Bai’s desperate ferocity, combined with the blood spattered across him, made their own attacks involuntarily slow by half a beat.

When the fight ended, Zhou Bai closed his eyes, and a dense stream of messages appeared in the system log; his points increased by two. Without hesitation, he immediately allocated both points to the Blade Forging Technique. As long as he wasn’t ascending to a higher skill realm, improving proficiency would take little time.

A flood of memories surged through Zhou Bai’s mind. Aside from a few blade techniques, most were methods for forging long knives. What surprised him most was that his proficiency in the Blade Forging Technique did not instantly reach perfection, but only rose to fifty percent. This meant he would need two more points to master it fully.

“The points needed to upgrade different techniques must vary slightly…” Zhou Bai murmured, momentarily dazed, when a heavy slap landed on his shoulder from Lin Dayan.

“Zhou Bai, are you alright?”

“Oh, I’m fine.” Zhou Bai snapped back to himself and weighed his butcher’s knife in his hand. This time, it felt different in his grip.

The original creator of the Blade Forging Technique wasn’t much of a swordsman; he had simply forged long knives for years and practiced with them idly in his spare time. Yet decades of accumulated insights were not something Zhou Bai could compare to, and he immediately realized how poor his own habits had been when drawing and sheathing his blade. He never held back when swinging, which was why he had so often been injured in the previous fight.

“It’s getting late. We’d better hurry; if the sun sets, we’ll be in real trouble.”

Wen Meng glanced at the sky outside the window, and they immediately set out toward the spirit altar. The ancestral hall was draped with long strips of white cloth hanging from the roof, so much so that even Zhou Bai’s field of vision was somewhat obscured, to say nothing of Lin Dayan and Wen Meng. It was only when they drew very close that they could make out the altar’s details.

Upon it stood a multitude of human-shaped clay figurines, each only the size of a palm, their postures all slightly different, though their faces bore a striking similarity. At the very center of the altar stood a statue over three meters tall, its exterior wrapped in gold leaf, its features identical to the clay dolls—ordinary facial features, yet unnaturally pieced together.

Through Zhou Bai’s Yin-Yang Eyes, he saw the statue constantly absorbing the yin energy diffusing from the clay dolls. As soon as it sensed the presence of living humans, its expression grew even stranger. He had to avert his gaze; after only four or five seconds, he felt as if the statue were about to come alive.

Before he could warn the others, Wen Meng suddenly seemed to recall something, his face turning ashen. Grabbing both Zhou Bai and Lin Dayan, he pulled them toward the door.

“That’s the Anu God! How could such an abomination be here in Hangdu? Could the troubles with the River Ghost of Qinghe all stem from this?”

“What is the Anu God?” Zhou Bai immediately asked. Lin Dayan, hearing the name for the first time, looked at Wen Meng in confusion.

“I’ll explain outside. This isn’t something we can handle—we need to contact Magistrate Wang immediately.”

Wen Meng’s quick strides turned into a run, and Zhou Bai and Lin Dayan followed close behind. They could see a patch of dampness spreading on Wen Meng’s back, a sure sign of his anxiety.

Just then, a noise sounded behind them from the direction of the altar.

A clicking, rattling sound—like bones striking one another—echoed, sending chills down their spines. The statue that had been squatting atop the altar suddenly opened its eyes, its face now full of piteous compassion. At the same moment, cracks appeared on every clay doll surrounding it, from which thick yin energy poured forth, all rushing toward the statue.

The surge of yin energy was so intense that, even at some distance, Zhou Bai could feel the terrifying pressure bearing down on him. The statue swallowed the yin energy in great gulps, and then began to move.

Its joints seemed terribly aged, each movement rigid and unnatural.

The statue, dark gold beneath its gold leaf, looked for all the world like a corpse come to life. Unable to help himself, Zhou Bai glanced back—just in time to see the statue clambering down from the altar. Its movements were bizarre, its legs forming a right angle with its torso, as if someone had forcibly bent its legs backward. In such a position, it should have been impossible to move at all, but along the sides of its thighs and calves had sprouted more than a dozen pairs of baby-sized fists, which gripped the floor and propelled it forward at unnerving speed.

At this sight, an icy chill raced down Zhou Bai’s spine, raising goosebumps all over his body. This was no statue, but a monster—and its face, still twisted in mock compassion, was fixed on their retreating figures, its eyes brimming with bloodlust and slaughter.

The statue’s mouth gaped open into a dark abyss, and its throat began to vibrate rhythmically. A strange, amplified cicada-like shrilling poured from its mouth, echoing endlessly through the ancestral hall.

Stimulated by the sound, the clay dolls began to move, powder flaking off their bodies as, one by one, they came to life.

The three were already close to the broken window, but now over a dozen dolls ringed them in layers, blocking their escape. The dolls did not attack directly, but stared at them with lifeless, twisted faces.

“Damn it, Old Meng, what now? Do we fight our way out?” Lin Dayan’s eyes widened, murder in his gaze.

“We fight. We protect Zhou Bai,” Wen Meng said, his compass emitting a cold blue light as icy air swept out across the floor, freezing the dolls’ ankles and pinning them in place. Lin Dayan threw back his head in a fierce roar, activating his supernatural ability. His muscles swelled, and a flood of yin energy erupted from his heart.

With a stomp, the ground boomed under his feet as he charged into the ring of dolls. His massive fist smashed into one of their faces, splitting it wide open.

Zhou Bai’s expression was tense. The pattering footsteps behind them drew ever closer—the statue was coming for them, neither fast nor slow, but utterly relentless.