This Demon King was a clever one.
He had chosen a rather subtle way to test me. Even if he proved no match, since he hadn't burned his bridges, there would still be room to maneuver.
He wasn't some reckless fool who would come charging over and brazenly tear down my temple.
Lin Xiaoyao felt a measure of admiration. As expected of a Mahayana Demon King who had lived for who knew how many tens of thousands of years.
I couldn't afford to underestimate him. I would have to meet each move as it came.
But despite all that, he did nothing.
Are you kidding? I was a Sage! Never mind that, after more than ten years of checking in, my cultivation had returned to the Mahayana Realm just two days ago.
Even if my magical power was still at the Qi Refining Realm, my cultivation level spoke for itself. Forget a Mahayana Demon King offering a single stick of incense or bowing with cupped hands—even if a Great Luo Golden Immortal knelt before me three times, kowtowed nine times, and slammed his head against the ground until he was bleeding...
Wouldn't that be only proper?
It was only right and proper!
Of course I could accept it.
In fact, it still wasn't enough!
The other party had merely bowed once. That was far too rude.
Ignorance was no crime, but since he had come to test me, Lin Xiaoyao wasn't about to let him off so easily.
How dare you show such disrespect in the presence of a Sage?
So Lin Xiaoyao used the statue to send over a touch of his might.
Just a touch, of course.
Less than one ten-thousandth of a Sage's might.
There was no helping it. He couldn't send too much, or a mere little Mahayana demon wouldn't be able to withstand it.
The other party had been somewhat discourteous, brazenly daring to test me.
But Lin Xiaoyao considered himself a magnanimous man. Since they hadn't burned their bridges, a small lesson would do.
After all, cultivating was no easy task. If he released even a little more of a Sage's might—say, two or three ten-thousandths—the fellow might have his soul scattered and be blasted to nothing in an instant.
What would be the point?
As the saying went, Heaven has the virtue of cherishing life... All right, Lin Xiaoyao admitted that, as a Sage, even Heaven's will had to listen to him.
So what the saying really meant was that I was broad-minded, kind, and magnanimous.
Look. A mere Mahayana demon came to offend me, and I only taught him a lesson instead of taking his life. Shouldn't that make him grateful to the point of tears?
Of course, this was also because it was his first offense, and he had used a relatively mild approach: offering incense and bowing to test me. The ignorant were not guilty, so I would give him a chance to mend his ways.
Otherwise, if he'd been the sort who didn't know when to quit, Lin Xiaoyao would have scattered his soul long ago.
Different enemies called for different methods.
The clever and sensible could be spared for the time being.
As for those crude fools who dared to offend me?
Sorry, you could go back and be reborn.
Lin Xiaoyao had his own code of conduct.
Now, as for the Mahayana Demon King: as the stick of incense in his hand burned down, the demonic aura on his body had formed a faint, mystical connection with the energy of the entire temple.
He had made his move.
Now all that remained was to see how the other party would respond!
Was he truly as miraculous as the legends claimed, even believed to be a True Immortal descended into the mortal world?
Or was he really just a fame-seeking fraud, raised to lofty heights by ignorant juniors and common folk?
A faint smile played at the old man's lips.
He had quite an impressive background.
He was the River God of a great river nearby, the Mutang River.
Not only did he enjoy the incense offerings of the people living along its banks, he also cultivated in earnest, and his magical power had reached Mysterious Mastery!
However, for a long time, this River God had been in seclusion.
So he knew nothing about the upheaval caused by the Locust Wood Immortal Sword two years ago.
It was only after he came out of seclusion not long ago and heard his subordinates' report that he learned of it, and he couldn't help being greatly astonished.
When he heard that quite a few shrimp soldiers and crab generals in his underwater palace had also been caught up in that calamity and slain by the immortal sword, he flew into a towering rage.
Now two years had passed, yet the immortal sword had not appeared again. Its whereabouts were unknown, leaving him no way to search for it.
Much less could he track down the master behind the sword.
But he couldn't swallow his anger.
Fortunately, Heaven had left him a way out. He soon heard that some of the common folk who had benefited from this man's kindness had built him a temple, sculpted a golden statue, and offered him incense.
That was how he'd found a lead.
Whether or not the other party would accept the people's incense offerings like a mountain spirit, river monster, local earth deity, or City God, he could use this opportunity to test him.
He was angry, but he wasn't reckless.
According to his subordinates, though the immortal sword didn't look like much, its power was truly extraordinary. During the days it rampaged unchecked, the demons had been helpless; not one of them could withstand a single blow.
He was a River God and an Orthodox God, a Mahayana Demon King. He believed he could do the same.
But one mustn't forget: the person behind that sword had never made a move. From beginning to end, the only thing that had left the demons trembling and helpless was one of his magical treasures.
That was rather terrifying.
That was why he'd chosen this mild way of testing him.
He hadn't burned his bridges, so even if he proved no match, there would still be room to maneuver.
After all, as a Mahayana Demon King, he had lived for more than ten thousand years. He wasn't a brute, but a demon of great cunning.
At that moment, his demonic aura was already linked to the temple's energy. If the other party was only a fame-seeking fraud, he would soon have a hard time.
Receiving a bow from him would cost the other party several years of life at the very least. In a more serious case, it could even scatter his soul.
All he had to do was wait.
Wait for the result.
The next moment...
Buzz!
It was as if a great bell had rung. The Mahayana Demon King, who had just been smiling with confidence, suddenly felt as though he'd been struck by lightning.
He stood rooted to the spot, utterly dazed.
The world spun around him, and endless visions rose before his eyes.
He seemed to see flowers blooming and withering.
He seemed to see grains of sand and stars.
He seemed to see world after world perish and be reborn...
Time seemed to stretch on for hundreds, even thousands of years.
Yet it also seemed to pass in the blink of an eye.
Thud, thud, thud...
The old man suddenly staggered backward three steps.
Then a mouthful of blood sprayed from his lips.
His face turned as pale as paper, his expression filled with terror.
It was as if he had returned to his childhood, when he was still an insignificant little demon, trembling in fear whenever thunder struck.
No. This was ten thousand times more terrifying.
Then he did something astonishing.
With a thump, he fell to his knees and repeatedly bowed toward the statue in the temple, silently pleading in his heart, "This little demon was so brazen as to offend a True Immortal. I beg you, Immortal, to forgive me."
Though that was what he said aloud,
what he truly thought was different.
After all, he was a Mahayana ancestor. Even if the other party really were a True Immortal descended into the mortal world, a little test from afar, through a statue, shouldn't have left him in such a wretched state.
So he came to an even bolder—and more terrifying—guess... Could the person behind all this be no ordinary True Immortal, but a far more powerful, far more frightening existence?
Of course, it was only a guess.
Though he was almost certain the other party was stronger than a True Immortal, he didn't dare voice that suspicion.
After all, the other party had remained hidden, which meant he didn't want others to discover his identity. Under the circumstances, even if he'd found the tiniest clue, how could he dare expose it? He could only pretend not to understand, kowtowing like a pestle pounding garlic.
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