Whatever dreams lay behind Ji Jue could be set aside for the moment.
Yet overnight, everyone across the whole of Huangliang suddenly felt as though a nightmare were snapping at their heels.
There was no helping it; it was simply too terrifying.
Without the slightest warning, the central city of a parish that massive had inexplicably suffered divine retribution!
A mere month prior, their archbishop had still been going on daily about how things were "thriving and flourishing." Yet before any budding vigor could flourish and all things could vie in vitality, without even going through the motions of due process, the entire upper hierarchy was wiped out. A full third of the city's populace had vanished, cast straight into Limbo!
They were even condemned to burn for all eternity, without the slightest possibility of absolution.
Nor were the remaining two-thirds spared; every last one was reduced to a sinner, sentenced to a century of penal labor to atone for their sins of sacrilege and impurity.
The first reaction of anyone who heard about it was to report the blabbering bastard before them to the Church for spouting alarmist bullshit. How could something so outrageous possibly happen? But after careful confirmation, faced with the ironclad truth, cold sweat was already breaking out. What kind of madness was this? What on earth had happened? How had Tiancheng suddenly set up a heavy sniper and started spinbotting?
At the same time, a harsh reprimand bearing the seal of Tiancheng's Pope was delivered to every sanctuary and laid before every hierophant across the Western, Southern, and Northern Parishes.
The missive furiously denounced the sloth that had crept into the Order in recent years, as well as the widespread irreverence toward sacred rites and neglect of the divine majesty, which had allowed blasphemous acts to occur repeatedly and the winds of corruption to spread unchecked until matters deteriorated to such a deplorable state. Effective today, all sanctuaries were required to conduct self-inspections and rectify misconduct, submitting periodic reports. Any laxity or defiance would be punished without mercy!
The minimum sentence began at fifty years of hard labor.
As for the events in the Eastern Parish, the proclamation also provided an explanation—Saint Yidela, during an investigation, had discovered that the upper hierarchy of the entire Eastern Parish had rotted to the core. Not only had they neglected holy rites and defiled the sacred, but they had also openly conducted a multitude of sacrilegious rituals within the sanctuaries, even scheming to siphon away faith, equate themselves with the gods, and fracture the Order.
Such depraved acts had moved even the merciful Holy God to tears.
Therefore, the Saint had acted with thunderous resolve, purging all malignant tumors and hidden perils to preserve the purity of the Order. For this meritorious deed and honor, he had received the commendation of the Holy God and was elevated to an attendant at His side, thereby transcending the mortal realm to ascend to the kingdom of heaven and attain eternal life. From this day forward, every sanctuary was required to erect his holy icon beside the emblem of the Holy God.
The rebuilt Eastern Parish would also bear his name, displaying magnanimity and grace to this land that had once fallen into degeneracy.
Subsequently, a new Saint was selected and crowned in Tiancheng—
In short: a minor issue cropped up, but fret not, everyone; it's merely a temporary adjustment.
Our divine kingdom is thriving and flourishing as always!
At any rate, they made it sound thoroughly convincing. And since no rival media existed in this world, Ji Jue certainly couldn't just pop up and call bullshit.
Backed by absolute discourse power and public credibility, the turmoil quickly settled down.
In fact, the Eastern Parish's sacrilege and the Absolute Sentence it suffered actually stimulated the motivation and devotion of the other parishes. Believers strained with every ounce of their might, and the anticipated shortfall in faith was somehow forcibly plugged by the sheer fanaticism of countless zealots!
The spectacular array of ascetic mortifications and performances was truly an eye-opener.
Under this harsh campaign of rectification, a large number of bottom-ranking hierophants were sacked and purged, while the believers promoted on account of their piety became all the more steadfast.
Furthermore, defensive forces across all parishes and vital institutions were bolstered to an unprecedented degree. Legions of angels descended from Tiancheng into the mortal realm; these walking miracles further fueled the fervor and faith of the flock, while completely shutting down any thoughts Ji Jue and his allies might have had about looting amidst the chaos or fishing in troubled waters.
One rebel camp after another was uprooted, and one heretic after another was tied to the stake during public trials. With the Order's machine of faith running at full throttle, the stability of the entire world climbed to a whole new tier—to the point where even Ji Jue couldn't show his face anymore.
There was no avoiding it. Tiancheng had activated some unknown apparatus that monitored the entire dream of Huangliang twenty-four hours a day; the moment a ping sounded, it would lock on with auto-aim.
The second Ji Jue stepped out from the crevices and showed his head, he would be met with massive encirclements and relentless suicide attacks made at any cost.
The first time, Ji Jue thought it was some kind of fluke. By the second time, he sensed something was off. By the third time, he realized that the Order had completely locked onto him, keeping at least three Saints on standby at all times just to counter him.
It was lucky the Rabbit Hole existed; otherwise, there was no telling how grievous a loss he would have suffered.
Yet after several consecutive escapes, when Ji Jue went back to Bao Dachai to restock, the old geezer objected—everything leaves a trace, and the Rabbit Hole wasn't all-powerful.
"Haven't you noticed? In these past few encounters, they always massed huge armies and set up massive blockades, yet hardly made a move to actually attack?"
Ji Jue had an epiphany. "You mean they're deliberately baiting our people into using the Rabbit Hole?"
"Bingo."
Bao Dachai sighed and patted the cloth pouch, which was already showing cracks. "At its core, the Rabbit Hole is a type of spirit. Guiding people to traverse dreams freely was designed to emulate the supreme Celestial Craft of the Eternal Gate. In this Huangliang, its effectiveness may have received a boost, but that also means it's not impossible to counter. If I'm not mistaken, Tiancheng has someone—or something—specifically watching for it now. Every time the Rabbit Hole appears, it leaves a trace. If this keeps up and they completely grasp those traces, they might just patch it out like an exploit. When that happens, we'll all be screwed."
Ji Jue pondered for a long while. "How many more times can it be used?"
"If it isn't spotted on the spot, roughly eight or nine times. If it's being watched..." The old fossil mused for a moment. "Three. No, to be safe, two at most."
"Understood." Ji Jue nodded without hesitation. "Then keep using it. Just don't give it to me. Since they're fixated on me, someone else can take my place."
Bao Dachai stared blankly for a second. Instead of berating Ji Jue for squandering their chances, he asked curiously, "Who are you planning to dump the job on?"
"Yeah, who indeed?"
Ji Jue's hand swept casually across the camp. Ignoring Yan Fei, who was itching for action, his finger finally pointed at a dazed, dumbfounded face. "You'll do."
"...Me?" Covered in dust and currently moonlighting as a bricklayer, Yu Shu pointed at his own face, utterly bewildered.
Yan Fei panicked as well. "Why him?! I'm clearly way stronger than he is!"
"Aside from throwing punches whenever your temper flares up, what else can you do?" Ji Jue was amused and asked bluntly, "Liaising with other rebel camps? Sneaking into the parishes to establish safehouses and underground cells? Communicating with church personnel or turning believers against them? Can you do that? Alright, drop the pout. There'll be work for you later anyway. Besides, if you leave, who's going to handle my protection?"
"Me? Really me?!" Yan Fei's crestfallen face instantly bloomed with joy, an invisible tail practically wagging behind him. "Right! Yeah, that's true! I have to protect Mr. Ji's safety—"
Kids were really far too easy to handle!
'Me? Really me?!' Yu Shu complained internally, breaking into a cold sweat.
"Who else? Sister Wen? I can hardly imagine Sister Wen doing this sort of thing." Ji Jue scratched his head, casually calling out the former camp leader who, now that supplies were plentiful, spent every day soaking in liquor under the guise of official business.
If they really sent her out for diplomatic and underground work, chances were everyone would have a falling-out on day one, and by day two, the underground supply depot would be blown to smithereens in mutual destruction.
"Apart from you, is there anyone else who can handle this? Just take your past experience working in the Church of Chongguang and flip it in reverse. After all, you don't lack organizational or operational skills, and your communication ability is top-notch. Sure, your combat power is a bit lacking, but a bit of gear will patch that right up. Alright, stop trying to dodge it. It's you."
Dumping the task without giving him a chance to object, Ji Jue turned to look at the old geezer. "Got a minute?"
"Ah, when you get old..." Bao Dachai prepared to slack off as usual, but catching Ji Jue's dangerous glare, he pivoted immediately: "...when you're old, you've got plenty of free time! What's up?"
"Lend me your workshop. Besides that, there's something I need to talk with you about." Ji Jue walked toward the Chicken-leg hut. "Consider it a demonstration of Tale Alchemy. Old man, show me your limits!"
Bao Dachai's expression twitched. He finally understood why his knuckles itched whenever he looked at this little bastard Ji Jue. When it came to dumping chores on people, he was the spitting image of Nie's Supreme Commander!
The old man could barely hold back a torrent of profanity. Yet he knew for certain that if he didn't comply, this scoundrel Ji Jue would undoubtedly find ways to make his life miserable...
Left with no choice, he resignedly followed behind.
'When I'm awake, I work overtime for Nie; when I'm asleep, I work for you, Director Ji, and still have to do fucking overtime! What a grand privilege I've been blessed with!'
With Ji Jue lying low, the Order's round-the-clock vigil seemed to slacken, though the laxity was purely surface-level while the tension beneath only grew tighter.
Unfortunately, their angling skills left much to be desired. No matter how much bait they chummed the water with, the bastard simply refused to bite.
By all rights, the rebel camp should have quieted down. Yet the Rite of the Heavenly Eye continued to blare alarms from time to time, and traces of the Rabbit Hole cropped up every few days.
Meanwhile, in parishes far and wide, modded sacred seals began flooding the scene once again. Even though the sins of abusing sacred seals and corrupting divine grace hung prominently from crooked boughs among the Order's Ten Cardinal Sins, once people tasted a shortcut, it was hard to walk the straight and narrow again.
Especially when the Order itself couldn't tell the difference between the faith offered through arduous prayer and the output of a fully automatic prayer machine. No matter how vigilantly they guarded the secret or how loudly they preached its perils, it remained impossible to eradicate.
Zealots, after all, were a minority. And however numerous pious believers might be, they still couldn't mask the rotten wood and filth making up the rest...
There was no helping it; as the very foundation of this dream of Huangliang, the countless souls within came from vastly disparate backgrounds.
From the Thousand Islands, the Mid-Continent, and the wildernesses of the Federation and Empire, while one couldn't say it was a dance of demons, they certainly possessed every eccentric trick in the book. Most were living from one day to the next just waiting to die, steeped in all sorts of vices. Calling every single one of them a despicable scoundrel rotten to the core might be stereotyping, but calling them kind and merciful would be talking in one's sleep with eyes shut.
These unruly ruffians bred from unforgiving lands might simply have lacked the chance to be good people in the past, but far more were just used to slacking off or instinctively seeking the easiest way out.
Sloth was ingrained in human nature. No amount of diligent indoctrination could ever truly cure it, let alone such crude brainwashing.
Perhaps out of fear of the Order's might, or perhaps out of sheer revulsion toward the endless, mind-numbing monotony, countless weary believers repeated their daily prayers solely to secure the bare minimum of survival—deeming it a victory so long as they weren't tossed into Limbo. Even with the Realm of Ultimate Bliss dangled right before their eyes promising delayed gratification, those capable of exercising patience were an extreme minority.
Before, they had no choice. Now, they just wanted an easy way to pray. While one couldn't exactly tell the hierophant, did anyone really need to be told how handy the sacred seal was? What was more, Ji Jue was behind the scenes running a buy-one-get-one-free deal regardless of cost, and had even published the crafting method and clever substitute tricks—there was no need for him to intervene in person anymore.
Booklets paired with free starter packs began flooding every parish. Some people, having tasted success, even started innovating on their own.
Residual spirits of angels hard to come by? No problem, we've got budget substitutes—the remains of Faceless Ones who went mad praying work just fine! There are piles of them around anyway. Over all these years, what sanctuary doesn't have a hundred or so displayed for show? Who's going to notice if a corpse is missing a single strand of hair? To the point that when the Order cracked down on a syndicate manufacturing profane seals, they discovered the Faceless Ones in one sanctuary had been plucked almost entirely bald!
The priests of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith nearly burst blood vessels time and again, unable to catch them all. Some sanctuary hierophants even feigned ignorance despite knowing full well their flock used seals. After all, everyone had quotas to hit! So long as people didn't take things too far, life could go on.
Yet the resulting chain reaction had already left every investigator tearing their hair out—the poisonous fruit had begun to show.
A tiny sacred seal acted like a magnifying glass, drawing believers to scrutinize everything they had once taken for granted.
The moment a concept like "cost-effectiveness" infiltrated faith, every sacred meaning was utterly deformed beneath utilitarian deconstruction.
Even if zealots remained unmoved and pious believers could persevere day after day, how could resentment not brew when they saw others leisurely enjoying their time while they themselves had to spend agonizing hours in daily meditation?
In fact, one didn't even need to use a sacred seal; the moment someone began questioning whether enduring the daily monotony was worth it, that very calculation and hesitation was enough to spark corruption.
Thus, amidst compounding friction and conflict, an invisible storm gradually gathered within the Order.
It started with an entirely ordinary report—an envious believer accused their peer to the hierophant of secretly using a corrupted sacred seal. The Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith dispatched investigators and found the charge baseless, only for the accuser to view this as a cover-up. Growing even angrier, the accuser went over their heads to report it to the archbishop. As the affair escalated into an utter mess, it was hastily wrapped up with a stern warning to the reporting believer.
Yet the ripples it generated spread ever wider. For the tip-offs received by the Congregation grew by the day.
More and more people began suspecting those around them of using seals, questioning each other's piety. Some grasped at shadows; some brought solid evidence; and others... were purely malicious conjecture.
One deacon was reported by a colleague, and corrupted sacred seals were found in his quarters, though he couldn't explain their origin. Even though it was later proven to be a frame-up and false accusation, he still suffered prolonged torture and interrogation, his faith shaken, while also losing a critical opportunity for promotion.
And the reports kept multiplying, more and more.
When an item lands in consumers' hands, how it gets used is hardly up to the manufacturer—for instance, once people discovered that beyond being a godsend for slacking off, it was also a priceless tool to frame rivals and eliminate thorns in their side... things spun completely out of control.
With the conclusion of the rectification campaign, the parishes did not usher in peace; instead, a roaring witch hunt immediately kicked off!
Yet the more witches they hunted, the more witches appeared. What a bizarre paradox!
Friction and animosity previously concealed beneath calm facades and pleasant smiles surfaced rapidly under the catalyst of the sacred seals, gradually degenerating into a fight to the death.
If one had to describe the experience, it was vile—vile to the absolute extreme!
The Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith was practically ready to vomit.
Handling so many accusations made them reviled by more and more people as pests and psychotic villains. Yet if they turned a blind eye, the methods used on heretics today might be turned against themselves tomorrow.
The shifting situation was like rising freezing water, beginning to suffocate everyone. Bone-chilling cold, yet terrified of the "warmth" of the stake, people vacillated in endless torment.
Amidst accusation after accusation, arrest after arrest, more and more believers began to ponder once again: The meaning of faith, and the price of faith.
A single speck of rat droppings was spoiling the entire pot of broth at visible speed. The glorious, resplendent dream was gradually souring beneath the creeping shadow of Stagnant Rot...
And as the initiator of it all, the mastermind pulling the strings, Ji Jue suddenly felt that his prior understanding of Stagnant Rot had been too shallow.
Sometimes, decay did not stem from an external cause, nor was stagnation merely the fruit of malicious creation. This terrifying, uncanny power had perhaps existed all along, unnoticed by anyone, waiting only for eyes that could perceive it and hands that could guide it—
"Things are getting more and more interesting."
Inside the camp workshop, Ji Jue skimmed through the intelligence summaries Yu Shu had delivered piece by piece. Chuckling, he tossed them into the furnace, watching the flames leap up.
Inside the stone cauldron, bubbling sounds echoed as an enticing fragrance drifted out.
Meanwhile, the original owner of this workshop had put on a gas mask and cowered in the corner. Bao Dachai complained in a muffled, nasal voice, "It's a fucking waste that you didn't go to the Profound!"
"Tell me about it." Ji Jue tapped his knee with a finger, waiting with complete nonchalance.
Soon.
The heat was about to reach the right point—
That very day, urgent intelligence from the Subjugation Legion was dispatched to Tiancheng above the clouds, reaching the Papal Court. Passed along by cardinal archbishops, it was ultimately laid before the Pope.
It included a piece of good news, a piece of bad news.
And a "corpse."
Chapter 518