The faint scent of lotus in the air gradually dissipated, like starlight fading unnoticed into the silent night sky.
Mu Dezhong stared blankly at the devastated ruins, his mind in a daze. His chest felt hollow, and when he pressed a hand over his heart, a dull ache throbbed beneath his fingers.
He had been too late.
He hadn’t noticed the changes in Xiao Chuan.
This was all his fault.
His once neatly tied white hair was now disheveled, streaked with grime and dust. A single tear rolled down his weathered face, making him look decades older, as if all vitality had left him along with the vanishing lotus fragrance.
“River God,” he choked out, his voice trembling. He opened his mouth, but only one phrase came forth:
“The fault of the child lies with the father.“
“Xiao Chuan was my adopted son. Now that he’s gone, his sins shall be borne by me. Consider this the last duty I can fulfill as his father.”
With the resolve of a man facing death, Mu Dezhong knelt before Yuan Ji and solemnly declared, “Once I escort the young master back to the Mu family, I will atone with my life.”
Yuan Ji: “…?”
She blinked, giving the old man a puzzled look. What did she want with his life?
“System, what’s he saying?”
The system pondered for a moment before explaining objectively, “In simple terms, Mu Dezhong and Yue Tianchuan had a father-son relationship. So, he probably wants to take on Yue Tianchuan’s karmic debt and offer his own life in repayment.”
Yuan Ji’s eyes flickered as she caught the words “father-son relationship” and “karma.” After a brief pause, a complicated expression crossed her face.
“So… Mu Dezhong wants to acknowledge me as his father?”
“Exactly!” the system confirmed.
Wait, that didn’t sound right.
“Yuan Ji, you’re a girl—he can’t call you ‘father.’”
“No! He’s not trying to acknowledge you as his father!”
The system short-circuited for a second. It must be a glitch. This kind of tyrant behavior—making people kneel and call her “father”—shouldn’t be coming from its sweet, innocent host!
Clutching its tiny head, the system nearly crashed from sheer disbelief.
Meanwhile, Yuan Ji sighed in relief. Good. No one would want a child several decades older than themselves.
She retrieved the soul pearl from her storage bracelet. The faint red orb had lost most of its energy, leaving only a wisp to barely sustain Yue Tianchuan’s consciousness.
“Here.”
She tossed the pearl into Mu Dezhong’s palm, subtly taking a step back.
[Ding! Mission progress: 75% complete.]
Mu Dezhong stared at the soul pearl in his hand, bewildered—until it suddenly trembled, emitting a weak red glow. The familiar lotus fragrance wafted forth once more.
His hands shook violently as he clutched the pearl to his chest, his heartbeat erratic. “River God… is this… Xiao Chuan?”
When Yuan Ji nodded, overwhelming joy exploded in his chest. His blood rushed anew, drowning out all other sounds.
Xiao Chuan wasn’t dead. The River God had saved him.
Even when facing danger herself, she had spared Xiao Chuan’s soul.
Mu Dezhong had no words to describe his emotions. He pressed the pearl against his heart, whispering, “His soul is weak. Nurture it well.”
“His symbiotic plant is in the River God Temple. Place the pearl with it, and through years of cultivation, he can regain a physical form.”
Yuan Ji explained the method of revival, unaware of the sheer awe her words inspired.
Xiao Chuan could come back to life!
Mu Dezhong was stunned. He had thought preserving even a sliver of Xiao Chuan’s consciousness would be a miracle—yet the River God spoke of full resurrection as if it were nothing.
A sudden realization struck him: Had she planted Xiao Chuan’s red lotus by the temple walls all those years ago because she foresaw this day?
His reverence for Yuan Ji deepened tenfold.
Truly, the River God is beyond mortal comprehension.
Mu Dezhong kowtowed deeply, his forehead pressing into the gravel. The pain meant nothing compared to the gratitude swelling in his heart.
“Thank you, River God!”
A single tear fell, carving a tiny crater in the dust.
For some reason, the surrounding villagers grew silent. They exchanged glances before kneeling as one, kowtowing three times with utmost sincerity.
“Thank you, River God!”
The Dao was merciless, and cultivators cared little for mortals—easily crushed like ants.
But the River God was different.
She was the only one who would risk herself to protect them.
She was the only god they acknowledged—the true god.
“Rise,” Yuan Ji said, her expression unreadable. She stood tall, an untouchable figure bathed in their reverence.
The system watched the scene, then glanced at the rapidly increasing faith points in the pool. It hesitated.
Something feels off here.
“River God.” Qi Yan approached with a faint smile.
Yuan Ji turned her wooden face toward him: “…?”
His smile deepened. Seeing her annoyance, he cleared his throat and said seriously, “We should leave. This cave is collapsing.”
“Mm.” Yuan Ji nodded. Their goal had been to find Yue Tianchuan, and now that he was—sort of—found, it was time to go.
But…
She gave Qi Yan a suspicious look. “Aren’t you forgetting your junior brother?”
The moment she spoke, Song Yingzi—who had been quietly wiping tears—jolted upright. “Oh no! Senior Brother Lin!”
“Eldest Brother, we haven’t found Senior Brother Lin yet!” Panicked, he scanned the crowd, but the man was nowhere in sight. Desperate, he pressed his ear to a crevice in the stone wall and yelled, “Senior Brother Lin! Are you in there?!”
As if that would summon him.
Qi Yan took a deep breath. “Let’s go. He’s not here.”
Song Yingzi blinked. “Oh.”
Qi Yan: “…”
Maybe I should just purge this disciple.
…..
By the time Yuan Ji led everyone out of the cave, dawn had broken—it was already the next morning.
The moment they stepped outside, the entire cave collapsed behind them, sending up a cloud of dust.
The villagers exhaled in relief, exchanging smiles. A shared thought arose in their hearts:
Wang Dazui said the River God saved him at the temple…
Could we go there too?
Yuan Ji, currently examining the third bronze swastika token she’d obtained (how had it turned into a mask?), suddenly felt countless eyes on her.
Tucking the token away, she looked up to find the villagers staring at her with hopeful expressions.
Yuan Ji: “…?”
“River God,” Wang Dazui stepped forward as the villagers’ representative, scratching his head sheepishly. “We’ll never forget your kindness in saving us. But some of us aren’t from Yan Village… Can we still come to the River God Temple to pay our respects?”
Yan Village was the only one that still upheld the tradition of worshipping the River God. The other villages had long abandoned their altars when cultivators arrived.
Now, having witnessed the River God’s mercy firsthand, the villagers burned with shame.
They had trusted those outsiders who oppressed mortals—while forgetting the god who had protected their ancestors for generations.
Yet she had saved them anyway.
Their hearts swelled with devotion. They had to honor her properly.
Come to the temple to worship?
Yuan Ji frowned, recalling how Wang Dazui and the others had offered their meager food—starving but refusing to touch a single bite.
After a moment’s thought, she shook her head. “No need.”
The villagers’ hopeful expressions crumbled. Hands clenched tight now hung limp, eyes reddening with unshed tears.
The River God wouldn’t forgive them.
Seeing their sudden despair, Yuan Ji was baffled.
Why are they crying just because I told them not to waste food on offerings?
The system, hearing her thoughts: “…”
Its silence was deafening.
Don’t ask me. I don’t get it either.
“Fine.” The endless sniffling grated on her nerves. She massaged her temples. “Come if you want.”
“But no offerings.” She held firm on that point.
“Thank you, River God!”
The villagers burst into relieved laughter. Her permission alone was a blessing—and her refusal of tribute only proved her boundless compassion.
Every cultivator they’d met had demanded food and drink. The slightest oversight brought cruel retribution.
But the River God? She protected them and asked for nothing in return.
This was a true god—one who cared for the world.
Tears in their eyes, they silently vowed: We’ll spread word of the River God!
She said no altars… but a statue in our homes shouldn’t count, right?
One villager, skilled in carving, committed Yuan Ji’s likeness to memory. Night and day, he worked until a lifelike statue emerged—her serene gaze stirring devotion in all who saw it.
Unbeknownst to Yuan Ji, her image would soon spread like wildfire.
Late one night, shadowy figures gathered at the village entrance.
“Auntie, do you have another carving?” A woman pulled another aside, whispering. “My child had nightmares last night. I want one to place by their bed.”
The other woman glanced around before carefully pulling a wooden figurine from her robes. “Here. Old Liu carved this one—it’s ninety percent accurate.”
“Ninety?!” Gasping, the woman hid it in her clothes. “Thank you! I’ll take it home now.”
As she turned, she froze—several villagers stood behind her, grinning eagerly.
A burly man whispered, “Auntie, do you have any more… river—”
Her eyes widened. She clamped a hand over his mouth.
“—carvings! I mean carvings!” He corrected hastily. “I’ve been having nightmares too.”
“Here.”
She handed him a wooden statue—ninety percent accurate. “Remember, it’s just a decoration. Don’t call it—”
“I know.” He nodded fervently. “No one will find out.”
Similar exchanges repeated throughout the night.
The system watched the faith points skyrocket and wept silently.
Yuan Ji… I think I’ve caught a virus.
But Yuan Ji remained oblivious. As Guan Muping led Ai Xiang toward her, the girl extended her hand.
“River God… this is for you.”
