Chapter Thirty-Two: The Church of the Night God...

“The second duty of a scholar is to become a sage.” The words had barely left He Chang’an’s lips before he froze in place.
Damn it, that wasn’t what I meant to say! I was going to say, the first duty of a scholar is to leave a name in history, and the second, well, is to leave a name in history again…
He Chang’an cursed inwardly. This was ‘Uncle Hao’s’ doing…
He tried to open his mouth to clarify, to deny that such an audacious, rebellious notion as ‘becoming a sage’ had ever come from him…
Was this a joke? In this mighty Tang, careless words could cost a man his life!
To claim that a scholar’s duty is to become a sage was as heretical as saying, “A soldier who doesn’t want to be a general is not a good soldier.” Would someone next infer, “A minister who doesn’t want to be emperor is not a good minister”?
He Chang’an’s mind raced as he desperately tried to deny his words.
But ‘Uncle Hao’ was too cunning, firmly sealing his lips shut…
…
“The duty of a scholar is to leave one’s name in history, to become a sage…”
Suddenly, the eyes of Dean Zhao Zheng, Du Shisan, Wen Taiyuan, Ma Dai, Li Yishan, and the other scholars shone with tears of emotion. They murmured to themselves, awash in an ever-rising surge of righteous energy.
Are they breaking through already?
Such collective breakthroughs at the drop of a hat—Tang scholars are truly sensitive souls.
He Chang’an watched in bewilderment. Why were these scholars so easily moved? Two mere sentences from him, and their eyes brimmed with tears?
Soon, he understood. The Confucian path of the sage had long lost its line of succession. For ages, these scholars had buried themselves in a sea of classics, racking their brains to “carry on the lost learning of the ancients”…
But it had backfired. The more they revered the sages, the more they were ensnared, unable to extricate themselves from the works of these venerated figures.
A single phrase, a single poem from a sage could send the scholars of Tang into ecstatic rapture, prostrating themselves in awe; to expect them to imagine they too might one day become sages was unthinkable—too heretical for them to even dare imagine.
Only someone like He Chang’an, ignorant, idle, and utterly irreverent—a true scoundrel—might, if given the chance, even dare utter something as blasphemous as “my fate is mine to determine, not heaven’s”…
And so, they broke through.
But that is a matter for academic discussion, and needs no further elaboration…
…
As the auras of Dean Zhao Zheng and Vice Deans Wen Taiyuan and Du Shisan surged, they soon broke through the fourth rank of Confucian cultivation and advanced to the third.
With a thunderous crash, the roof of the sacred hall at Weiyang Academy was blown clean off.
The towering stone statues inside—Confucius, the ultimate teacher of all ages, and beside him, Mencius, Yan Hui, Zisi, Zengzi, and other revered sages—split with deep cracks;
Rays of pure light spilled forth, circling the eaves three times, turning into multicolored clouds that shot into the sky, piercing the heavens…
What the hell, even they broke through?
He Chang’an, nearly suffocated by the righteous energy unleashed by the scholars’ breakthroughs, had just dashed out the lecture hall’s doors when he saw this astonishing sight.
No wonder these men became supreme sages and teachers—their insight, temperament, and learning were truly extraordinary!
He Chang’an shook his head with a bitter smile, feeling that he had gone a bit too far this time. He’d likely drawn attention, and for someone as weak as he was now, whether that was blessing or disaster remained uncertain.
“Boy, why aren’t you taking this chance to run?”
Suddenly, Li Yishan’s voice echoed in his mind, trembling with excitement.
Li Yishan and the little nun had also slipped out, following close behind He Chang’an.
Run? Why should I run? With great scholars guarding the academy, it’s the safest place in Weiyang County.
“Safe, my ass! Don’t count on those poverty-stricken pedants to save you,” Li Yishan urged. “Hurry, take me and the Taiping nun and get out—there’s still time!”
“Why should I take you two gluttons?” He Chang’an retorted.
“Old Li, what are you so afraid of? Aren’t you a scholar of the academy yourself?” He Chang’an pressed. “To bolt like this is a bit disgraceful, don’t you think?”
“You know nothing!” Li Yishan replied, glancing around nervously and casting anxious glances at the sky.
He Chang’an felt a twinge of suspicion. Is this old man up to something with me?
“Nonsense! Lewd, indecent… Just go! They’re coming!” Li Yishan snapped.
Damn, this telepathy is a loophole—he can read my thoughts any time…
He Chang’an dared not let his imagination run wild.
He hesitated, scanning the sky, but saw no sign of danger—no ominous clouds, ghostly faces, or eerie blood-red light.
“Who are they? Tell me clearly, and I’ll go.”
Li Yishan’s nervousness made He Chang’an uneasy.
“They… are from the Night God Sect…” Li Yishan’s words faltered, as if afraid to speak, his eyes darting about warily.
“The Night God Sect? Masters of those demons and ghosts?” He Chang’an felt a sudden chill, as though some terrifying force had set its sights on him.
But the feeling vanished as quickly as it came, and everything returned to normal.
Somehow, a wisp of spiritual energy appeared in his dantian.
“Don’t say that name lightly. Best not to even think it. Otherwise, their master will mark you…” Li Yishan’s teeth chattered as his face drained of color, a trickle of blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.

The little nun fared no better, glancing repeatedly at the sky, her eyes brimming with fear, unease, and confusion.
Damn, this is sinister!
Li Yishan, still gravely injured, had suffered a backlash just from mentioning that cursed name—this defied all reason.
Could it be some kind of evil mark placed on them in secret, like that ghostly woman before?
An idea struck He Chang’an.
He glanced at the sky, seeing nothing amiss.
“All right, let’s get out of here!”
He turned, grabbing Li Yishan’s arm and the little nun’s hand, and hurried away.
With both in tow, he quickly ducked into the roofless sacred hall.
“Stand still, the two of you. Wait here for a moment.” Hiding behind Confucius’s statue, He Chang’an activated his Spirit Eye technique.
So that’s it…
He rubbed his eyes, discreetly wiping away two tears, then picked up a stone and wrote six words on the ground: “No hearing, no seeing, no speaking.”
He winked his left eye, then his right.
It meant: Don’t be nervous, relax—I’ll handle this…
Sure enough, both Li Yishan and the little nun had mysterious marks on their foreheads, which only He Chang’an’s Spirit Eye could detect.
Each was different: Li Yishan’s was a bizarre idol, more terrifying than a ghost; the little nun’s mark resembled a scorpion demon, its claws and pincers bared, making He Chang’an shiver.
What’s more, these marks were far stronger and more concealed than the one that had once branded the female ghost, almost engraved into the very sea of consciousness…
In other words, these things were nearly carved into the deepest part of Li Yishan’s and the little nun’s souls.
No wonder even mentioning the Night God Sect brought such terrible backlash…
It seemed likely that even Dean Zhao Zheng and the vice deans had been branded on their souls without ever knowing it.
Damn, this Night God Sect is terrifying!
Have they ‘claimed’ the entire human race?
He Chang’an’s eyes flickered as he weighed his options. He was already plotting to follow the thread and shake up this so-called Night God Sect…