Immortal's Coffin Lid Technique

Some might say that the Ghost-headed Ape was lustful by nature, so wouldn't going west to fetch the scriptures be exactly what it wanted?

Turning a hobby into a job—wouldn't that give it the best of both worlds?

No, no, no. Wrong.

There was a saying that made sense: don't casually turn your hobby into your work, or your hobby would likely become disgusting along with the job.

Liking to drive was a good thing, but if you made driving your job, you became an old driver. After a while, the sight of cars and roads alone would make you sick.

Liking to cook was also a good thing, but if you made cooking your job, you became a chef. After a few days, the cooking fumes would smoke away every bit of your interest.

The same went for storytellers, singers, and writers.

There were exceptions, but they were as rare as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns.

This was a matter of quantity.

Once quantitative change came into play, the operation warped, became mechanical, and turned into an assembly line.

The Ghost-headed Ape had run into exactly this problem.

Fetching scriptures from the west did not mean giving it a hole to poke. That was far too inefficient, and it was not conducive to collection.

So what did they do?

They directly hooked up a tube, one end plunged into its kidney, the other connected to a bucket.

Twelve two-hour periods a day, all year round without rest—it worked every minute and every second.

See that?

In an instant, all pleasure was gone. Only pain remained.

Ever since entering the Demon Suppression Division, the Ghost-headed Ape had completely entered another state—an unbroken state of sagehood.

The sewer's function had since become singular. It had all but atrophied.

Two words: utterly