Chapter 89 Part 2

The elder said, “I saw you with that portrait earlier. Are you inquiring about the Pot God?” He looked eager to share, as if they just needed to say yes and he’d recite the Pot God’s entire biography on the spot.

“No!” Thinking he looked familiar, Tan Que seized the chance, grabbed the Painting Scroll, and unfurled it with a whoosh. “We’re looking for this one.”

Hearing it wasn’t about the Pot God, the elder clearly lost interest but still gave it a cursory glance for courtesy’s sake, stroking his chin. “You’re looking for someone. This painting shows her at around ten years old. If she’s alive now, she’d be over thirty. Searching with a childhood portrait—how would you find her?”

Shang Shan, who had been focused on battling the fish, perked up her ears at that and turned her head to ask, “I thought of that too. They said this was popular back then, but not anymore. Does that mean anyone with this kind of mark on their forehead must be from many years ago?”

After all, carving on the forehead was so conspicuous and frightening—not something just anyone with faith would do. So unless they’d followed the trend impulsively back then, no one in today’s world would choose such an extreme method akin to “branding punishment.”

Which meant this Little Baldy had likely been dead for quite some time.

With a chance to explain, the elder perked up again. “Exactly. This was at least ten, twenty—no, thirty years ago. Have you heard of the Porcelain Pot Three Venerables, perhaps?”

He asked if they’d heard but didn’t wait for an answer, launching into a fluent explanation on his own.

About thirty or forty years ago, evil creatures kept crawling out of the demon-ghost forest around Pot City, coming into the city to wreak havoc and disturb the peace. The people suffered terribly and tried to band together to resist, but how could human strength clash head-on with naturally powerful demons? Several stubborn attempts at resistance failed, and continuing would only lead to pointless casualties. So they hunkered down in the city, not daring to hunt in the mountains or venture out for leisure, hoping for an immortal to descend and eliminate the evil.

At that time, three immortals passed by, heard of the chaos, entered the city, and casually cleared out the demons and ghosts, bringing long-lost peace to Pot City. The people, relieved of their burdens, naturally cheered and adored them, offering many rare treasures as thanks.

The three immortals weren’t particularly notable outside but were elevated here and grew complacent, unwilling to leave. Seeing the place nestled deep in the mountains, almost isolated from the world, they decided to stay. The Pot City folk were overjoyed at their willingness to protect the city. With immortals guarding them, what was there to fear from demons and ghosts?

So at first, when they said they wanted to move away from town to a high place, the people had no objections. Then they demanded ongoing tribute—treasures and beauties included—and though the people grumbled inwardly, they still had no objections. Later, the demands grew larger, more precious, more outrageous. For lasting peace, the people tightened their belts; even if they had objections, they swallowed them.

But eventually, even without objections, objections had to arise. For those three had nurtured their greed beyond control, and though they rarely acted, they began levying protection fees on every person in the city, in exorbitant amounts that nearly emptied purses.

Having immortals in residence should have been a blessing, so why were days harder than before?

The common folk tried to talk to the immortals, but they had already gone to the high places. How could they hear the cries of the ants beneath their feet? To suppress the rising voices of discontent, the immortals gathered heavenly punishment. Those who did not hand over money or obey would have a bolt of thunder crash down from the sky, scattering them to ashes. This was even more terrifying than demons!

They finally thought to rebel, but they were the weak. They had been unable to resist demons before, and now they also could not resist the gods they had raised with their own hands.

And these three were the former folk gods, the Porcelain Pot Three Venerables.

The old man reached this point in his tale, his tone growing excited. “Now for the main point. The one who overthrew these three is the god above our heads today—Qi Xiaoxiao!”

She was the only daughter of the Qi family. Her household had originally been fairly well-off in Pot City. If they paid up in full, their days would have passed quite comfortably. But the Qi family had backbone. All of them were dissatisfied with the Three Venerables’ harsh rule and refused to submit. Many others who shared their discontent followed the Qi family and also refused to pay, gradually forming an unspoken force of resistance.

Unfortunately, the sharpest thorns were always pruned first. Courage without strength to back it only invited disaster.

One day, Qi Xiaoxiao went out to buy some pepper soup. On the way home, a bolt of lightning struck from a clear sky, burning her family and dozens of servants clean away.

This one thunderbolt shattered half of Pot City’s will to fight and ignited the other half’s burning obsession to overthrow the Heavenly Palace.

They could not abandon the land where their ancestors had lived for generations. Under this intense pressure, one group cowered and offered up all their wealth just to survive. The other group secretly cultivated right under the noses of the three immortals. If others could rely on cultivation to reach those heights and lord over everyone, there was no reason they could not do the same.

And Qi Xiaoxiao was among them.

In a single instant, she lost everything. Her family turned to scorched earth across the ground—not even enough left to bury. She vomited blood until her vitals rotted, shaved her head, carved words onto her face, and swore a venomous oath to lop off those three’s heads and avenge her kin.

Immense suffering often brought inconceivable power. After ten years of cultivation, she led the other minor achievers in storming the Heavenly Palace. They fought for three days and three nights. Blood rained from the sky, and then the weather cleared. Amid the Pot City common folk’s eager anticipation, Qi Xiaoxiao descended with three eyeballs floating in tow.

She had successfully slain the Porcelain Pot Three Venerables!

The old man told the story vividly. “Shaved head and carved words, ten years of bitter cultivation. One day she stormed the Heavenly Palace and razed the three immortals’ nest! She is now the Pot God, Five-Eyed Xiaoxian.”

What kind of fierce battle had raged for those three days and nights? How had she endured those ten years of bitter cultivation? If fate allowed, could they catch a glimpse of the immortal?

Still immersed in the story, the old man drew a protective talisman from his sleeve and sighed. “If not for Xiaoxian, who knows what sort of days we would still be suffering through.”

No wonder they revered her so deeply. But Tan Que still had a question. “She overthrew the Heavenly Palace, so why does she still live up there? Why not come down and live with you all?”

The old man blew out his beard and glared, flipping the protective talisman to show her the front. “To maintain balance!”

Everyone carried one of these protective talismans. The front pattern was divided into three layers. The top layer depicted an ornate Golden Palace, the middle showed a pot-shaped town nestled in the mountains, and the bottom blazed with hellfire. Even without explanation, anyone could guess their meanings: the immortal realm, the human world, and Hell.

“Xiaoxiao said those demons and ghosts actually crawl up from below. When she was on the ground, she feared she couldn’t see clearly. From the Heavenly Palace, she can survey a wider area. Besides, this maintains a balance between immortals, humans, and ghosts. Only like this is truly appropriate!”

Mu Qian Tan murmured the word in repetition. “Balance.” The corners of her lips curved slightly—unclear if it was sarcasm or amusement.

A bowl of pale, tender meat suddenly appeared by her hand. As Mu Qian Tan glanced over, the perpetrator slipped back to her seat and resumed eating her vegetables as if nothing had happened. She even asked, “I figured it out. Everyone admires Qi Xiaoxiao, so some people imitated her by carving words on their foreheads, right?”

Mu Qian Tan lifted the bowl and tilted it slightly. She poked at it with her chopsticks and recognized the contents: fish meat with every bone—big and small—painstakingly picked out, mixed in with a few red shrimp that had been shelled clean.

The old man nodded in approval. “That’s right. Right after Xiaoxian first ascended to the Heavenly Palace, lots of children tried imitating her by carving on their foreheads. But that was quickly brought to a stop.”

Shang Shan asked, “Was it her who stopped it? Why?”

The old man waved a hand without elaborating. “Mainly because it wasn’t appropriate.”

That made sense. When it came time to overthrow the evil gods above, carving God-Slaying onto one’s forehead was no problem. But now the heavens had new masters—a new god. If the folk below still carved those two words on their foreheads, what kind of spectacle would that be? Indeed, not appropriate.

Mu Qian Tan picked up a chopstick of the fish meat. Now it slid smoothly and softly into her mouth, with no bones to prick at the tender flesh.

She had to admit, only this stupid dragon had the patience for something like that. If it had been her, she would have flipped the table and diced the fish into eight segments long ago.

Shang Shan shot her a quick glance, smiled, then pursed her lips. When Mu Qian Tan looked her way, she pretended to still be upset, lifted her chin, and asked, “So if I want to know who all carved words on their foreheads back then, can that be found out?”

The old man replied, “Sure. You could check the government records there.”

From the entire city down to that tiny fraction who had carved the words, the search scope had narrowed dramatically. Perfect!

The old man fell silent for a moment. He stroked his protective talisman and sighed. “Pity I’m too old. Otherwise, if I could ascend and serve as a tea-pouring little immortal, that wouldn’t be bad at all.”

Shang Shan said, “Are there gatekeeper little immortals, demon-exorcising little immortals, and tea-serving little immortals too?”

The old man replied, “That’s the mark of Xiaoxian’s enlightenment. Unlike the Three Venerables, who monopolized the heavens all alone, she selects certain people to ascend alongside her. Gatekeeping, demon-exorcising, tea-serving, sweeping floors, and more—little immortals of all sorts. As long as you’re devout enough, praying day and night without cease, you might get chosen!”

Shang Shan asked, “So what counts as devout?”

Assuming she wanted to ascend as well, the old man answered enthusiastically. “First and foremost, the person must have courage and be upright and kindhearted. They must hold utmost reverence for the Pot God in their heart. It’s hard to explain clearly, so let me give you an example. That Demon-Exorcising Little Immortal—before he became an immortal, back when he was still a mortal—once bravely drove away an evil immortal!”

Mu Qian Tan’s heart stirred faintly. She looked up. “Evil immortal?”

The old man said, “That’s right. Have you heard the tale of Yao’e Immortal ‘Fire Burning Infant Spirit Manor, Resentment Soaring to the Heavens’? That incident happened right here!”