Chapter 832: If You Screw It Up, Don’t Blame It on Me

Chapter 832: Chapter 832: If You Screw It Up, Don’t Blame It on Me

Squire Zhao’s madness was plain for all to see. He knocked over the talisman water he once treasured, grabbed his wife — who’d been at his side for years — and dragged her toward the inner courtyard.

The crowd moved to follow, but Squire Zhao bellowed:

"Nobody follow me! I need to speak with my wife alone!"

His wife had been with him for many years. Though their marriage hadn’t exactly been a model of devotion, there was still enough history between them. Her eyes showed little panic, and she smoothly told the others to stay back.

Squire Zhao didn’t speak. His body trembling, he paced a full circuit through the courtyard before finally settling in the room that held the ancestral tablets.

The door clicked shut. Red candles burned day and night, casting their glow.

Squire Zhao stared at his wife, face ashen. Tears spilled immediately. He leaned in close, whispering in her ear:

"L-Last night... I was summoned by the Zijun God through sorcery."

His wife’s eyes went wide with shock — this should have been a blessing, so why did he look like this?

Squire Zhao continued in a hushed voice:

"No... it wasn’t just me. It’s the talisman water — there’s something wrong with it."

"The Zijun God can control anyone who drinks the talisman water. It can pull your soul away, like luring someone into a dream."

"I was lucky. I woke up just in time."

His bloodshot eyes were wide, terror creeping back across his face. He trembled as he recalled what he’d seen, then recited it aloud:

"In the dead of night, beneath an ancient pagoda tree, the moon was bright as day. I... I watched the Zijun God cut a man open from throat to navel, reached one hand into his chest, and with a single tear..."

"I... I saw a still-beating, blood-soaked heart torn from the man’s chest."

"The Zijun God took a bite right there on the spot. It... it even said — ’Tender heart, good taste. This one’s too old.’"

His wife grabbed Squire Zhao’s hand. The moment she touched it, she found it drenched — as though he’d just fished it out of a river.

That single touch was enough. She instinctively began to believe him.

Squire Zhao gripped his wife’s hand in return, his face twisting:

"And then the Zijun God picked up a baby — barely a month old — and bit its head off in one bite."

Squire Zhao locked eyes with his wife, mimicking the Zijun God’s tone from that night:

"A head at this age — perfect for grinding teeth."

"Wife... you didn’t see it. The baby was still crying, and one bite later — silence."

"That talisman water..."

Squire Zhao gagged, tears and snot streaming down his face, his composure crumbling:

"That talisman water — it’s just the blood the Zijun God spat into the jar after eating the children, after eating their hearts, after wiping its mouth."

His wife’s thoughts churned, and she retched as well.

Squire Zhao had once been a devout follower of the Zijun God. He’d practically been drinking the talisman water daily, and his wife had consumed her fair share too.

If what he said was true...

Then that jar was nothing more than a spittoon after a meal?

The wife quickly seized on the crucial point and pressed:

"The Zijun God’s power should be immense — how did you survive?"

Squire Zhao blinked in surprise, then said:

"It seemed like a powerful figure... said they used the blessings of my remaining life to cast a spell and save me. If I want to live out the rest of my days in peace, I must not only stay away from the Zijun God but also do more good deeds, accumulate virtue, and replenish the blessings I’ll need for the rest of my life. The bad deeds I’ve done in the past must also be offset by good deeds."

His wife took his hand, her expression turning grave.

This matter absolutely could not be spread any further.

Even if the Zijun God truly was an evil deity — it was still a god. Not something they could resist.

In the early days of silence, the rot spread.

Squire Li. Magistrate Wang. Shopkeeper Qian.

Big and small notables who had never once stopped their incense offerings — they abruptly ceased.

And it wasn’t just the prominent figures. Ordinary people who had shown the most fervent devotion at the shrine also made sharp turns.

Even Blacksmith Tong — the one who’d been so earnest in his kowtowing that people called him the "filial son of kowtows" — never set foot in the Zijun Shrine again after a single day. When others asked why, he just looked panicked and deflected vaguely, too scared to say a word.

Half a month passed.

The Zijun Shrine, once bustling with endless streams of devotees and sandalwood smoke that never stopped, now visibly emptied.

Before, two jars of talisman water hadn’t been enough — after the two jars ran dry, people would queue all the way to the shrine gate.

The shrine keeper stood beside the idol, gazing out. The sun set, the evening sky blazed, and not a single new worshipper stood at the gate. The queue that once seemed to stretch into infinity was long gone.

He looked down into the jar.

Before, two jars wouldn’t suffice. Today, barely half a jar had been used.

The shrine keeper tossed his water ladle into the jar and turned his gaze to the Zijun God’s statue.

Mortals could only see the surface.

The place had once been thriving, and he himself had made no mistakes. By all logic, this shouldn’t be happening. And there were no reports of newly born incense gods competing for worship nearby.

When logic breaks down, someone has made a move.

The shrine keeper reached out and touched the edge of the jar. Then he withdrew a talisman strip from his sleeve and activated it. A murky yellow power drifted from the talisman.

It took only a moment.

A squat figure — gaunt but with skin folded thick across its face — scurried out from beneath the table where the Zijun statue sat, dressed in gray robes.

The gray-robed man’s limbs curled in a strange, cramped fashion. He looked up at the shrine keeper, and sure enough — his eyes were unmistakably rat-like.

The shrine keeper looked at this所谓的 incense god who, even after establishing a shrine, couldn’t shed its animal nature. The disgust he felt was beyond words. But disgust was disgust — the job still had to be done. He suppressed every trace of it from his eyes.

But before he could speak first—

The gray-robed man, not caring about the dirt, sat right on the ground. One of his curled hands raised a finger and jabbed it at the shrine keeper. His shrill, grating voice dripped with dissatisfaction:

"What’s been going on these past few days? Why is the wish-power dropping day by day? What kind of shrine keeper are you? I don’t know why they even picked you — something this simple, and you still manage to botch it? Can you even do this?"

The shrine keeper stared at this so-called rat-god Zijun, fighting the urge to crush the skull of this creature — a Foundation Establishment cultivator who hadn’t even stabilized yet.

He, a mid-Golden-Core cultivator, was serving as a temple keeper for this mangy rat.

And getting scolded by it to boot.

If he shed this shrine keeper’s skin, the rat wouldn’t just lose a layer of its own.

"Someone’s been causing trouble." The shrine keeper’s fury was a raging inferno inside, but his expression remained calm, his voice gentle. "We don’t know yet who’s behind it."

"I’ll go investigate the situation. In the meantime, I trust the Divine Lord will focus on its cultivation during my absence."

"Remember — do not leave the shrine. Don’t interfere with anything, not even if they come to tear it down."

"I’ll send word to the Divine Lord when I return."

These animal things didn’t understand how unpredictable the world could be. You had to be careful. If he was busy elsewhere and this damn rat ran off to cause a scene, it would be the death of him.

He had to warn the creature — if things went wrong, he had no intention of dying alongside it.

The shrine keeper saw the Zijun God’s dismissive expression and hardened his tone with a threat:

"After all, the Divine Lord knows this too."

"If the task entrusted to us from above fails, it won’t end with just stepping down from this role."

The Zijun God shuddered and nodded rapidly:

"Go, go... but if you screw it up, don’t blame it on me."

The shrine keeper said nothing. He simply cupped his hands and turned to leave.