My Enemy Became My Cultivation Companion-Chapter 799 - 498: Ghost Death Makes a Stir

What exactly is going on here?

It all started after Chen Yi and Yin Tingxue watched those three ghosts enter the Cave of Reincarnation.

Crack.

Back inside the City God Temple, the overgrown weeds visible between the cracks of the floorboards seemed even wilder. The state of decay within was nearly identical to yesterday—no, perhaps even worse than yesterday.

Yesterday was the Lantern Festival, the fifteenth day of the first lunar month. At least there had been a few people offering incense in the City God Temple. But today, not even a single stick of incense was burning.

The incense burner was spent, leaving behind a thin layer of ash, no more than two layers deep. The painted colors on the City God's statue had flaked off, exposing the clay beneath. Yin Tingxue curiously observed this scene, unsure what Chen Yi was doing here.

She didn't know why Chen Yi drove those people into the Cave of Reincarnation, either.

Chen Yi turned his head toward Yin Tingxue. As if noticing her confusion, he said, "There's hardly anyone worshiping the City God here, because the City God isn't effective. But most people have a habit of worshiping any deity, no matter how minor. Even if the Five Bandit Gods were powerful, it wouldn't make sense for people to skip worshiping the City God. Unless…"

Yin Tingxue pieced some of it together. "You mean to say, worshiping the City God… isn't just ineffective?"

"It might even bring misfortune," Chen Yi replied blandly, throwing out those five words.

Yin Tingxue was taken aback. It was the first time she'd heard of worshiping a god not only being ineffective, but also potentially bringing calamity.

Unable to hold back, she asked further, "How did you come to this conclusion?"

Chen Yi didn't rush to answer. In fact, wanting to show off a bit in front of Yin Tingxue, he deliberately held his composure in check.

She watched as he circled around the incense burner, moving to the back of the City God statue. There, stuck to the statue's back, was a worn talisman bearing a bold character: "Seal." Next to it hung a string of copper coins.

The people here… had sealed the City God as if sealing a ghost, sticking a talisman on him.

Chen Yi drew his blade. With a single strike, he sliced through the talisman. It trembled, emitting faint greenish-blue light, before splitting apart like paper being cut.

Statues of gods in this world were often hollow. Having lived two lifetimes and seen countless Secret Realms across different dynasties, Chen Yi had observed that since the Han Dynasty, most divine statues were hollow. A light knock would echo inside.

This hollowness was meant to store something inside the statue—a practice known as "spiritual endowment," introduced by the Buddhist Sect.

Initially, spiritual endowment appeared only in Buddha statues, often containing Shariputra relics. According to Buddhist principles, "rely on the teachings, not the teacher." Buddha statues were inanimate objects; the Buddhist Law was the true path. Statues were merely tools for meditative visualization and understanding the Buddha's teachings. Focusing solely on the Buddha's image was considered being "attached to form." Through the statue, one was meant to grasp the essence of Buddhist Law.

Spiritual endowment symbolized the infusion of Buddhist essence into a statue. Without it, a Buddha statue was as lifeless as a dragon without eyes painted in.

After the Han Dynasty, as Buddhism spread across the Central Plains, when the Taoist Sect rose to prominence, their divine statues also began incorporating spiritual endowment. Over time, almost all statues across the land contained this practice.

When Chen Yi stripped away the thin outer layer of the City God statue, he froze for a moment at what he saw inside.

It was a piece of yellow paper depicting the City God bound in shackles.

Beneath it was written a single phrase: "Exiled eight thousand miles to Qiong Tai."

Qiong Tai, as Chen Yi remembered, referred to Hainan—a place riddled with miasma, unbearably hot like a furnace in summer. Any mortal officials exiled there had a seventy-percent death rate during their term.

"This is literally exiling the City God," Chen Yi mused, stroking his chin.

The people here seemed to both fear and hate the City God.

"Exiling the City God?" Yin Tingxue chimed in at just the right moment.

Seeing her curiosity, Chen Yi smiled. "Little fox, do you know the legend of expelling a City God?"

Yin Tingxue shook her head.

At moments like this, even if she knew, she'd shake her head anyway. If necessary, she might feign partial understanding—this way, Chen Yi would be more inclined to tell the story. And when he finished, an admiring look would seal the moment. She had long since mastered these tricks, all self-taught. This time, though, she genuinely didn't know.

"The tale usually starts with a child—a prodigy, a prodigious talent, or perhaps an Immortal descended to the mortal world. Something akin to the story of Ma Liang and his magical brush. The child has some mana and power, their words manifesting as reality. The child would worship the City God, but the City God, in arrogance, ignores them. Enraged, the child would stick a seal on the deity, write a date, and exile the City God thousands of miles away."

Chen Yi picked up the yellowed piece of paper and continued, "This is that kind of seal. Once stuck, the City God is exiled far away. When the seal is removed, the god returns. But the people in this town put it inside the statue itself… They want the City God never to return.

It's not that the City God isn't effective; it's that they're afraid the City God actually is!"

At these words, Yin Tingxue froze. A City God, as a Yin Official, was meant to protect the land, ensure safety, reward virtue, and punish evil. Most were upright individuals during their lives, elevated to City God after death. Why would anyone fear an effective City God? Unless…

"What kind of people would both fear and hate a City God?"

The edict in Chen Yi's hand caught fire spontaneously, burning to ash that scattered in the air.

"Ghosts," he replied.

A chill ran up Yin Tingxue's spine. She trembled as fear prickled her nerves, her knees growing weak.

If that were true...

Then every living person they'd seen in this town...

Were all ghosts!

Instinctively, her legs propelled her toward Chen Yi at a run. She didn't even realize what she was doing until she clung to his side.

"Don't be afraid, don't be afraid," Chen Yi reassured her, patting her back.

Yin Tingxue snapped out of it, her face flushing red. Yet she still gripped the hem of his robe tightly. Thinking of the inconsistencies, she asked, "But didn't we witness a ghost marriage earlier?"

"That was a ghost that had already died," Chen Yi said calmly. "Humans die and become ghosts; ghosts die and become 'nian.' A ghost's death creates 'nian,' feared by all ghosts."

This knowledge was so obscure that Yin Tingxue had to search the depths of her memory, finally recalling a story called "Zhang Aduan" in the *Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio*.

After burning the edict, Chen Yi stared into the hollow interior of the statue, lost in thought. It wasn't surprising Yin Tingxue hadn't figured it out. If not for the Old Saintess' earlier hint, he wouldn't have either.

Humans die, become ghosts, and enter the Underworld for reincarnation—this had been the order of things since the Han Dynasty… since the introduction of Buddhism during the Han Dynasty.

Before the Han Dynasty, it was a different story. Life and death were treated alike, as evidenced by the underground palaces and ancient tombs he'd seen. Back then, death wasn't binary reincarnation but a spectrum—ghosts upon death became 'nian,' then 'xi,' then 'yi,' then 'wei,' until finally, they faded into formlessness, merging with the Heavenly Dao. Death was a descending staircase, not a cyclical reincarnation.

This town's eeriness lay in its utter lack of reincarnation. Instead, it mirrored the ancient ages, where life and death were truly alike. But looking further back to pre-Han practices, perhaps it was the modern cycle of reincarnation that was truly bizarre.

Chen Yi's thoughts quieted as he stared at the empty interior of the statue. A smile tugged at his lips as he retrieved the crimson-gold Shariputra from his robes.

This crimson-gold Shariputra had been with him for ages, infused with his spiritual energy and mana.

The golden-red light seeped into the statue, surging with brilliance. The clay City God statue began to glow from within, radiating vibrant hues. With a single stroke of Chen Yi's finger across the statue's fissures, it was as though he were sewing up wounds—the cracks slowly closed.

Before long,

The clay statue of the City God slowly opened its eyes.