Chapter 87: Because This World Can Only Have One Protagonist

“Mo Yuyan isn’t at Soot-Stained Peak?”

“Could she still be back in Northfall Snow Village looking for He Yimo?”

“But that makes no sense… All the clues in Snow Village have been exhausted. What could He Yimo and Mo Yuyan possibly still be doing there?”

Perched high on a branch far from the Mountain God Shrine, Jiang Jinyue mentally commanded the messenger raven circling above Soot-Stained Peak. For while, it flew loops, spotting nothing but a certain useless ahoge-girl. Not a single trace of the Kensei.

Meanwhile, time ticked relentlessly onward. Down in the Mountain God Shrine, the Life Altar  had already been activated. Countless blood-red vines writhed and grew, drawn by the scent of blood, creeping steadily towards the boy bound at the center. Jiang Jinyue glanced back, seeing the sacrifice about to begin, and a bead of sweat trickled down her temple.

“Damn it… The prophecies clearly indicated a calamity involving Mo Yuyan and Gu Wanglan!”

“If I’d known Mo Yuyan would flake out at the critical moment, I should have prepared a backup plan!” Jiang Jinyue cursed silently, punching the tree trunk beside her, frustrated by this unexpected crisis. For years, she’d been secretly manipulating events within the organization, trying her best to sow chaos and push things against the predetermined prophecies. How ironic that now, she, the ultimate rebel against fate, had bungled her plans because she’d ironically believed in a prophecy too much!

It was too late now to call for other Wuji Sect elders to rescue Chen Jianxin. Her options were down to two:

One: Stand by and watch the organization’s mission succeed, allowing the Child of Prophecy to be eliminated.

Or… Two: Intervene personally and save Chen Jianxin.

“So… should I save him?” Jiang Jinyue stared down at the ordinary-looking boy, now entangled in bloody vines, his face contorting in terror. She clenched her fists… then slowly relaxed them with a sigh.

“Not worth it… not for Chen Jianxin.”

“If I make a move tonight, not only will my identity as a demoness be exposed, but Mu Yanran is definitely lurking nearby, observing. If she figures out who I really am, I won’t be able to explain myself to that bitch when I get back, and the organization will never trust me with future prophecies or missions again!”

“I can’t afford to trade a watermelon for a sesame seed…”

With that cold calculation, Jiang Jinyue stood up on the branch. Though her teeth were clenched and her eyes flashed with resentment at her plan’s failure, thinking long-term, she steeled herself and chose to withdraw.

But just as she turned to leave, a terrified scream echoed from the shrine below—

“NOOO—! Senior Brother Gu?! Don’t! Do whatever you want to me! Just don’t kill me, Senior Brother Gu!!!”

At the very center of the Life Altar, the sharp pain from the constricting vines jolted Chen Jianxin awake. Overwhelming, despairing terror gripped him, making him scream incoherently, grasping at straws. His terrified eyes darted around and, in the periphery, standing below the altar, he saw Gu Wanglan, holding a notebook, chanting ancient words with an ecstatic expression.

But then, in that moment of deepest despair, Chen Jianxin’s gaze flickered upwards, towards the roof of the ruined shrine behind Gu Wanglan… and he saw him. A black-haired youth, dressed lightly, perched nonchalantly on the rooftop. Chen Jianxin recognized him instantly!

“He! He Yimo—?!!”

“HE YIMO!! HE YIMO!!!”

“NO! Young Master He! Young Master He! SAVE ME, YOUNG MASTER HE!!!” Like a drowning man spotting a lifeline, primal survival instincts took over, and Chen Jianxin screamed himself hoarse, pinning all his hopes on the figure silhouetted against the blood moon.

However, as the black-haired youth slowly stepped out from the shadows, the initial excitement and hope on Chen Jianxin’s face gradually twisted into a deeper, more profound horror. Because the youth’s eyes… his black pupils… glowed with an eerie, malevolent blood-red light.

He walked calmly to the very edge of the roof, looking down upon the Life Altar in the shrine square below. There was no trace of pity or camaraderie for his fellow disciple in those eyes. Instead, they held a greed even more disturbing than Gu Wanglan’s, a chilling, inhuman indifference that plunged Chen Jianxin into absolute despair.

The youth stared down at Chen Jianxin, a sinister, knowing smirk slowly spreading across his lips. He snapped his fingers. Then, he slowly spread his arms wide. His left arm became encased in the blackish-red, reverse-scaled Abyssal Dragon Armguard. Simultaneously, in sync with his heartbeat, the veins beneath the skin of his limbs, even his neck, pulsed with that same eerie, dark red glow. Backlit by the blood moon, he looked demonic, terrifying. That smile wasn’t human. It was the look of someone eagerly anticipating a bloody feast!

“Ah… ahhh…” Chen Jianxin’s face went deathly pale. His last sliver of hope had dissolved into utter hopelessness. He could only make choked, whimpering sounds, the former spark of the genius disciple completely extinguished in his eyes.

`[Merciful Mother, you are the Waning Moon’s radiance from the Western Regions…]`

Below the altar, Gu Wanglan continued his chanting, completely absorbed, oblivious to Chen Jianxin’s screams and struggles.

But… As he flipped through the pages of his notebook, chanting the ritual words, Gu Wanglan suddenly realized something was wrong. He looked up towards the altar, confused. According to the ritual, he should only be about a third of the way through the incantation, yet the Life Altar, already bristling with vines, seemed almost… seventy percent finished with the sacrifice?!

“This…?”

As a cultivator obsessed with power, Gu Wanglan had accepted the insurmountable gap in his innate talent years ago. Three years back, he’d decisively chosen a different path, joining the Waning Moon Cult. He’d spent years diligently studying the cult’s gospels from the Western Regions. The notebook he held now contained the complete version of the Mother Goddess invocation, personally transcribed by the cult’s Glass Holy Maiden  – the definitive, most up-to-date version Gu Wanglan had confirmed after countless trials and revisions!

Normally, sacrificing a single human life took about two minutes. Chen Jianxin, as the Child of Prophecy, possessed life force and destiny far exceeding ordinary people. Gu Wanglan had initially estimated it would take at least half an hour to completely consume him. But now… Less than ten minutes had passed since the sacrifice began! And it was already nearing completion?!

“Why…?” Gu Wanglan grew increasingly baffled. The speed itself wasn’t the most terrifying part. What was truly horrifying was that, just moments ago, distracted by his shock, Gu Wanglan had stopped chanting, yet the Life Altar, teeming with blood-red vines, had continued to surge and grow even faster. In just those few seconds of silence, the sacrifice’s progress had leaped forward another significant step!

Lost in confusion, Gu Wanglan faintly heard a soft humming sound, light and melodious, almost like a nursery rhyme. The voice was gentle, quiet, reminiscent of village children playing flutes while herding cattle… But when Gu Wanglan focused, truly listened past the innocent tune, he recognized the horrifyingly blasphemous, chillingly wrong lyrics hidden within the seemingly gentle melody.

`[Merciful Mother, you have fallen into the endless abyss…]`

`[Beneath your birth-moon’s blood, I offer this tender, plump virgin boy to your table…]`

`[Awaken now, from the Demon Abyss, I invite you… Feast well upon this blood-moon banquet, offered by your nine-times devoted believer, He Yimo!]`

Under the crimson glow of the blood moon, the black-haired youth on the roof slowly finished his eerie lullaby. A single tear, the color of blood, slid from the corner of his eye. He looked sorrowful, regretful almost, sighing softly as he lowered his gaze, facing the blood moon and performing a respectful Western Region knight’s salute to conclude his offering.

As he bowed his head, his eyes met Gu Wanglan’s, who was standing below, utterly dumbfounded.

“You… You are… How could…” Gu Wanglan stammered, his mind reeling, unable to articulate the shock overwhelming him. Forget who this guy was or why he was here… What truly baffled Gu Wanglan was that this youth, wearing standard Wuji Sect disciple robes, with a face that looked refined and scholarly… Why was this kid reciting Waning Moon Cult invocations more professionally, more effectively than Gu Wanglan himself?! He was so immersed, so moved by his own creepy singing, that he’d actually brought himself to tears?!

This was insane! Gu Wanglan had dealt with plenty of crazed cultists in his years with the Waning Moon Cult, but he’d never seen one who could make themselves cry while reciting the doctrine! Moreover… this wasn’t just reciting! It was singing! A nursery rhyme! With a gentle tune overlaying lyrics so disturbing they made Gu Wanglan’s skin crawl! `Tender, plump virgin boy`?! Was he talking about Chen Jianxin?! Did the legendary Mother Goddess actually prefer such… graphic… invocations?! The thought seemed utterly ludicrous to Gu Wanglan.

But when he looked back at the Life Altar, he saw that the countless blood-red vines had coalesced behind Chen Jianxin, forming a single, enormous Crimson Eyeball. The eyeball swiveled, glanced down at Gu Wanglan, then looked up towards the black-haired youth on the roof. At that moment, Gu Wanglan felt an undeniable wave of overwhelming favor, a palpable sense of the Mother Goddess’s delight, directed entirely away from him.

“It actually worked?! The Mother Goddess really LIKES this?!” Gu Wanglan stared, utterly flabbergasted.

As the Crimson Eyeball radiated pleasure, the vines on the altar surged with renewed frenzy. And suddenly, a far more critical, infuriating realization hit Gu Wanglan!

“WAIT A MINUTE!” he roared, enraged. “What gives him the right to claim this is his offering?! I’m the one who painstakingly captured Chen Jianxin and brought him back to Wuji Sect!” He glared furiously up at the youth on the roof, but He Yimo remained with his eyes closed, seemingly lost in ecstatic communion, softly murmuring praises to the Mother Goddess.

An idea struck Gu Wanglan. He whirled back towards the Crimson Eyeball on the altar. “Great Mother! Don’t listen to his lies! I caught Chen Jianxin!” he yelled desperately, his composure completely shattered.

But only silence answered him from the shrine, broken only by the youth’s devout humming and the wet, slurping sounds of the Mother Goddess eagerly consuming her offering. Chen Jianxin was now almost completely engulfed by the vines, only his gaunt, lifeless head visible, eyes vacant.

“BASTARD—!!!” Gu Wanglan screamed, clenching his fists, his face flushing purple with rage. But he wasn’t a complete idiot. After a moment’s hesitation, he remembered the Waning Moon Cult’s teachings!

“Great Mother, please hear me…”

“Your devout believer, Gu Wanglan, hereby offers you…” He snatched up his notebook again, chanting frantically, trying to compete with the youth’s humming, trying to win back the Mother Goddess’s favor. But no matter how quickly or skillfully he recited the verses, the Crimson Eyeball on the altar never once glanced his way. In stark contrast, the youth on the roof remained unperturbed, humming his eerie lullaby at a calm, leisurely pace, yet effortlessly commanding the Mother Goddess’s complete attention.

Time trickled by. As Chen Jianxin’s life force drained away, a swirling mist of blood-red energy began to gather around the youth on the rooftop, bestowed by the favored gaze of the Crimson Eyeball. The youth’s expression grew even more rapturous, as if basking in a warm embrace, feeling his own fatigue vanish, his cultivation being nourished.

“SON OF A BITCH!” Gu Wanglan finally snapped. “What kind of bullshit Western Region Mother Goddess IS THIS?! BLIND! I DON’T FUCKING BELIEVE THIS ANYMORE!” Seeing his ritual chants lose out to a nursery rhyme, seeing the prize of his sacrifice about to be stolen so effortlessly… Gu Wanglan’s last shred of sanity fractured. He cursed violently, threw down his gospel notebook, drew his sword, and leaped furiously towards the black-haired youth still lost in his blissful trance on the roof.

But in that same instant, as Gu Wanglan’s sword flashed, a thick, dark, blood-colored vine erupted violently from the youth’s back—

CLANG!

“Wh—?!” Gu Wanglan gasped. This vine was different from the ones on the altar – darker, almost blackish-red, with a smooth, almost metallic sheen, far more sinister than mere plant matter. With a single, whip-like motion, the metallic vine lashed out, swatting Gu Wanglan aside with absurd, monstrous strength. He flew several meters, crashing hard against the chest of the large, dilapidated statue in the main hall of the shrine.

“Heheh…” Bathed in the blood-red mist, feeling the power of the Mother Goddess’s favor flowing through the vine sprouting from his back, He Yimo couldn’t suppress a dark, triumphant smirk. He opened his black-and-red eyes, licked his lips, and cast a pitying, almost bored glance at the sprawled figure of Gu Wanglan.

“Overreaching fool…” he murmured contemptuously. “You studied that drivel for a mere three years… How could you possibly compete with the devout heart of my nine lifetimes of faith?” Recalling the countless painful nights spent grinding through challenges on邪道_ (xiédào – ‘evil path’) character builds in his past life, He Yimo let out a soft chuckle. He’d never thought being tortured by game developers could feel so… satisfying. Back then, the late-game righteous bosses had seemed unbeatable. He Yimo remembered actually buying a crucifix and some candles online, performing mock rituals in front of his screen before challenging bosses, hoping some bizarre luck might make the Kensei forget a key skill…

“Oh, Great Mother…” He Yimo whispered, his voice filled with genuine reverence. “Your humble servant, He Yimo, truly rejoices… that even after nine rebirths… you still favor this devout believer just as you did back then!”

Smiling faintly, He Yimo continued murmuring praises to the Mother Goddess as he took two steps forward and leaped gracefully down from the roof. He walked steadily towards the vine-covered altar, finally stepping onto it under the doting gaze of the Crimson Eyeball, coming to stand before the dying Chen Jianxin once more.

Chen Jianxin was barely breathing now, his body almost entirely consumed, only his withered head remaining visible. Seeing He Yimo approach, his dull eyes refocused slightly, glaring up at He Yimo with undiluted bitterness and resentment. The initial terror and despair had faded, replaced by the cold certainty of death. But even now, there was one thing he still couldn’t understand.

“Wh… Why…?” Chen Jianxin rasped, his voice barely a tremor.

He Yimo’s expression remained impassive. He reached out, gently stroking a tendril extended by the Crimson Eyeball, then turned his cool gaze back to Chen Jianxin.

“You ask why?” He Yimo echoed, a flicker of curiosity in his voice. He crouched down, looking directly into Chen Jianxin’s defiant, dying eyes. He paused, pursing his lips, a strange look that might have been pity crossing his face for a fraction of a second.

“Because,” He Yimo stated simply, his voice chillingly calm.

“This world can only have one protagonist.”

“…?!”

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