Both start in hell: but their talents are multiplied a hundredfold.

"Master Zuo."

Shen Jue spoke, her voice carrying an undeniable certainty.

"Judging from your appearance, you must have been traveling all night again."

"Since you're here, don't rush to leave. Stay at the temple for a few days."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the wear marks on the scabbard of the sword at Zuo Qianhu's waist, and then over the bloodshot veins in Zuo Qianhu's eyes that he could not hide.

"Jinshan Temple may not have much else, but it can afford to offer meat, which is not considered meat."

"Please rest for two days to recover your strength before discussing how to quell the chaos."

Zuo Qianhu was slightly taken aback.

He originally planned to leave after asking those few questions.

The body on the ruins of Lanruo Temple is still at the county government office, and the matter of Pudu Cihang cannot be delayed for even a moment.

"...Alright." Zuo Qianhu was silent for a moment, then finally nodded, his voice carrying a hint of barely perceptible relaxation.

"Then I'll have to trouble Abbot Shen."

Shen Jue didn't say much, but simply raised his hand and led Zuo Qianhu into the temple.

After Zuo Qianhu was settled, Shen Jue returned to the top of the Sutra Repository.

The morning breeze had not yet dissipated from the top of the Sutra Repository when Shen Jue sat down again on the eaves.

He did not immediately enter a meditative state, but simply sat cross-legged with his back straight as a pine tree.

Shen Jue closed his eyes, letting his senses spread out like a tide.

Jinshan Temple was his foundation for more than ten years. This temple was no longer just a place of meditation with ancient lamps and Buddha statues, but the foundation for Shen Jue to sweep through the chaotic world.

In the instant his senses expanded, he "saw" the true essence of Jinshan Temple.

At the foot of the mountain, in the boundless farmland, farmers with rosy complexions are pushing a seemingly simple yet ingeniously structured iron wheel.

The wheel drives the wooden gears, which mesh with the ceramic pipes buried deep underground, continuously pumping water from the mountain stream into the crisscrossing irrigation canals.

The water droplets shimmered with tiny golden light in the morning sun, sprinkling onto the lush green rice stalks.

This is not the crank-connecting rod and gear transmission that should exist in this era. It is something pieced together from his memories of his previous life and brought to life by the craftsmen of Jinshan Temple.

The farmers' faces did not show the usual signs of exhaustion and fear common in times of chaos; instead, they displayed focus during their work and confidence in their harvest.

Their children chased each other barefoot along the ridges of the fields, their laughter ringing out.

As the senses continue to extend, the back mountain of Jinshan Temple is hidden by a dense bamboo forest, which ordinary pilgrims would only regard as a place for monks to meditate.

However, behind the bamboo forest lies a huge training ground where the hilltop has been leveled.

Hundreds of warrior monks were clad in light armor, not the robes worn when worshipping Buddha, but black battle armor made of multiple layers of linen and inlaid with iron plates.

Holding long spears, they formed a strict military formation in the morning mist. Their footsteps were so synchronized that they made the ground tremble slightly as they advanced and retreated.

The shadows of the sticks danced, the killing intent lingering.

The leader was an old monk with white hair and beard, whose Dharma name was Huiming. He was originally a retired soldier from the border army and was now the martial arts instructor of Jinshan Temple.

He stood on a boulder, and each time he slammed his staff on the ground, it was a signal to change formation.

Shen Jue recognized most of the faces of those martial monks. Some were refugees whose families had been destroyed in the chaos of war, some were swordsmen who were tired of the killings in the martial world, and some were survivors he had snatched back from the mouths of little demons and monsters.

They showed no devotion to Buddhism, only an almost fanatical loyalty to Shen Jue.

Further outwards, beyond the temple wall, lies the valley surrounding Jinshan Temple, hidden by dense forests and mountains.

The place resounded day and night with the booming of hammers and the hissing of quenching.

Dozens of workshops were built along the mountainside, their chimneys billowing black smoke, making the morning mist even thicker.

The blacksmiths, shirtless, toiled by the furnace, forging not farm tools, but spears, swords, armor plates, and arrowheads.

On the other side, carpenters were making crossbow arms and chariot parts from hardwood that had been dried for many years.

Rows of assembled crossbows stood in neat rows, their cold metallic gleaming with a chilling light under the glow of the furnace fire.

This is not the power a temple should have, nor the ambition a head monk should have.

But in this chaotic world, demons disguised as humans control the court, and monsters run rampant in the countryside.

Without weapons, how could Shen Jue have protected this pure land?

As for the so-called feudal dynasty's manufacture of armor and crossbows, which was a capital crime punishable by the extermination of nine generations of one's family, Shen Jue had already replaced the officials around Jinshan Temple with his own subordinates.

This world of Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio has warriors, sorcerers, and also demons, monsters, and evil spirits.

Moreover, bloodthirsty demons and monsters are now the mainstream of this world.

As for gods and Buddhas, Shen Jue had never seen them in this world.

That terrifying perception allowed Shen Jue to see the truth of this world.

This world of Liaozhai has no Heaven or Underworld.

When he first came to this world, he searched through every yellowed scripture in the Jinshan Temple's library and looked for every ascetic monk and spiritual practitioner who had traveled here.

Immortals, Buddhas, and Yama have never revealed their true forms in the world.

Occasionally, so-called miracles are reported, but upon investigation, it is found that they are either the work of spirits or the trickery of sorcerers.

The underworld, on the other hand, is a state of utter chaos.

After a person dies, if their soul does not have the opportunity to dissipate into the world, it can only become a vengeful ghost in resentment and obsession, or be devoured by the great demons that occupy the places where yin energy gathers, becoming their nourishment.

There is no reincarnation, no cause and effect, only the naked law of the jungle.

In this land where gods and Buddhas are absent and yin and yang are out of balance, demons have become the true rulers.

Shen Jue slowly opened his eyes, his gaze piercing through the morning mist, looking towards the direction east of Jinshan Temple.

That place is the ruins of Lanruo Temple, and also the territory of the Tree Demon Granny.

Grandma Tree Demon is an ancient locust tree that has grown for countless years and has become a spirit.

In the widely circulated story of "A Chinese Ghost Story," she was merely a demon who occupied Lanruo Temple and used female ghosts to seduce men and drain their yang energy.

But in this chaotic world, her roots were far deeper and wider than anyone could imagine.

She was not a lonely tree spirit, but a demon king who occupied a territory.

The mountains and forests within a hundred miles of Lanruo Temple are all extensions of her body, and every root is connected to the Yin Cave deep underground, drawing on the resentment and essence of countless people who died unjustly on this land.

She had more than just Nie Xiaoqian as her subordinate, but dozens or even hundreds of female ghosts, all of whom had died unjustly and whose souls she had captured.

During the day, these female ghosts are trapped in urns of ashes and cannot be reincarnated.

After nightfall, she transforms into a seductive ghost to lure passersby, using her beauty and illusions to drain their yang energy.

The scholars, merchants, and woodcutters who were drained dry were left with no chance of liberation; their souls were swept away by the tree demon's roots and transformed into nourishment for her even greater power.

The Tree Demon Granny rarely takes action herself.

Her strength lies not in direct combat with people, but in the pervasive network of roots that spread throughout the mountains and forests.

The demonic energy and resentment accumulated over hundreds of years by the souls she controlled.

Even those who cultivate the Tao and trespass into her territory cannot escape the fate of being entangled by roots, bewitched by illusions, and drained dry by the female ghost.

Above the Tree Demon Granny, there exists an even more terrifying being.

Universal salvation.

The Imperial Preceptor who held a grand gathering in the capital and recruited many disciples.

That living Buddha who was treated with great courtesy even by the emperor and whose officials and ministers vied to curry favor with him.

The true form of Pudu Cihang is a centipede spirit that has cultivated for countless years.