My words have become law; I truly have no desire to display my divine power before others.

The local earth god snorted, strode over, and plopped down in the rocking chair.

The chair wobbled and creaked, then settled.

It leaned back in its chair, rested its hands on the armrests, crossed its legs, tilted its head back, and looked smug.

This chair is quite comfortable to sit in, much better than its hard, bony chair. It wobbled a bit, and the chair creaked and groaned, a sound it found rather pleasant.

Lu Yang squatted down next to the stone table, watching the local earth god sitting in a rocking chair with his legs crossed, and his lips twitched.

Is this evil spirit out of its mind? How dare it sit in the position of a celestial master?

Miao Gui held his teacup, looked at the Earth God, and couldn't help but smile.

He glanced at Lü Yang, and the two looked at each other, both seeing the same thing in each other's eyes—an anticipation of a good show.

The immortal master will definitely not let him go.

The local earth god sat in the rocking chair, swayed a few times, and suddenly felt that something was wrong.

It's not the chair that's wrong, it's the body that's wrong.

It looked down at its own hand—a grayish-white, wrinkled hand that was fading.

It's not fading, it's becoming lighter, like a painting being soaked in water, the colors gradually dissolving and dripping down.

It paused for a moment, then looked at its other hand, which was also fading.

It panicked and tried to stand up, but it had no strength left in its body.

"What's going on? What is this? Let me go!"

It struggled desperately, but its body grew paler and paler, from grayish-white to light gray, and from light gray to translucent.

It sensed the divine seal within its body crumbling.

The sacred land seal that it had painstakingly occupied for decades was crumbling little by little.

It wasn't taken away by someone else; it broke on its own.

It was as if something was suppressing it, making it unable to bear it, and it cracked on its own.

"No—impossible—I am God—I am—"

Its sound grew softer and softer.

Its body had become so transparent that it was almost invisible, leaving only a blurry outline. It sat in the rocking chair, still struggling.

The last soft sound—"crack"—was like something breaking.

The figure of the earth god vanished completely.

The rocking chair was empty; there was nothing on it.

Only a few wisps of black smoke drifted out of the chair, which were then dispersed by the wind.

A moment later, Yun Songzi began his journey back.

Although he gained nothing from this trip, he was not discouraged at all.

Before leaving, he warmly invited the senior to visit the Hidden Mist Sect.

Although the senior did not agree, he told him that if there were any strange legends or things, he could tell him, especially those related to the dragon.

He immediately made up his mind that once he returned, he would gather everyone in the sect.

We're not going to look for the Mountain God's Seal anymore!

Collect all this information.

......

Late at night.

Yunniang sat alone in the mourning hall, facing the cold, lifeless memorial tablet.

The flame of the eternal lamp flickered, casting the words on the memorial tablet on and off—"The Spirit Tablet of My Late Husband Zhou Decheng".

She had been looking at those words for a year, and she remembered the direction of every stroke clearly.

The character "德" (virtue) had a slightly crooked horizontal stroke on the right. The man who carved the memorial tablet had a shaky hand and wanted to recarve it, but she said it wasn't necessary, that it was fine as it was crooked, and that he had written crooked characters when he was alive.

The man glanced at her, said nothing, handed her the memorial tablet, took the money, and left.

She reached out and touched the crooked character "德" (virtue).

My fingertips touched the wood grain; it felt cool and smooth.

Her eyes stung a little, but she didn't cry.

She didn't know what she was waiting for. Waiting for someone who would never return, waiting for footsteps that would never sound again, waiting for words that would never be spoken again.

But she just sat there, not wanting to go to sleep.

The bed was too big, the blanket was too wide, the pillow was too high—nothing was right.

She would rather sit in this hard chair, facing this cold memorial tablet, than go back to that room.

A gust of wind blew against the window, and the paper windowpane rattled.

She didn't look up, thinking it was just the wind.

Then she heard footsteps, very light, coming from outside the door. They walked to the door, paused for a moment, and then the door was pushed open.

She looked up and saw someone.

He wore a blue robe and a square scarf, and held a scroll in his hand.

He was fair-skinned and handsome, standing at the doorway. Moonlight streamed in from behind him, casting a long shadow. There was no shadow at his feet.

Yunniang's heart skipped a beat.

It wasn't the first time I'd seen him, but I still get flustered every time I see him.

She took a deep breath, suppressing her panic, and looked at him: "You're here."

The scholar walked in and sat down on the threshold.

He didn't sit on a chair or a cushion, but sat on the threshold, leaning against the door frame, with the book on his lap.

The moonlight shone on his face, making it appear pale and bloodless, but his eyes were bright, like two stars.

"You're sitting here all alone again," he said. His voice was neither loud nor soft, clear and melodious, like a mountain stream.

Yunniang did not answer.

She lowered her head, looking at the crooked character "德" on the memorial tablet, and gently stroked it with her fingers.

The scholar looked at her for a while, then suddenly asked, "You love him very much?"

Yunniang's fingers paused. She didn't look up, nor did she speak. She remained silent for a long time, so long that the scholar thought she wouldn't answer.

"Mmm," she said softly, as if afraid of waking someone.

The scholar did not press further.

He turned his head and looked at the moonlight in the courtyard.

The shadow of the osmanthus tree fell to the ground, motionless.

The night breeze stopped, even the chirping of insects ceased, and the whole world seemed to have been put on pause.

"What do you like about him?" the scholar asked again. This time, his voice carried something indescribable—not curiosity, but...envy.

Yunniang raised her head and looked at the scholar's back.

The moonlight shone on him, making his blue robe glow with a faint silver light.

She suddenly realized that this ghost was different from the ghosts she had heard about before.

He is not scary, he does not harm people, and he does not even frighten people.

He just sat there quietly, like someone who hadn't spoken to anyone in a long time and had finally found someone willing to listen to him, wanting to say everything he had been holding back for a year.

Yunniang thought for a moment, then slowly began to speak.

"He's not very capable," she said. "He can't do business, he can't farm, and he can't even chop wood properly."

The first time I met him, he was carrying a bamboo basket on his back, and his clothes were covered in mud. He said he had gone up the mountain to collect herbs, but he had tripped and fallen, breaking his basket.

The medicine had spilled, so he squatted down to pick it up, but after a long time he still hadn't finished, and he was sweating profusely with anxiety.

The scholar's lips curled up slightly.

"Later, he treated me to a meal at the cheapest noodle shop in the village. He ate a bowl of plain noodles with gusto, and I asked him if it was good."

He said it was delicious, and I said I wanted to try some, but he wouldn't let me, saying it was his and that I should order a bowl myself.