Chapter 26

Chapter 26: One “Holy Shit” Rules the World

Except for Xie Yu Chuan, no one in the room managed to keep a straight face.

Xiong Jiu Shan’s posture had been loose, almost casual. Without realizing it, he crossed his arms over his chest—a defensive stance that came naturally when unease crawled up his spine.

Xie Yu Chuan’s “summon the god” act had hit harder than he wanted to admit.

He studied Xie Yu Chuan.

The young general seemed wrapped in a layer of mist now—mysterious, untouchable, and frankly dangerous.

Xiong Jiu Shan’s brows pulled tight. That this is not good feeling got heavier.

His sharp gaze tracked every small movement, every shift of breath, every flicker of expression, hunting for an explanation that made sense.

But the problem was simple:

The seal had disappeared.

And Xie Yu Chuan looked like a man who’d expected it.

Li Zhou Quan stared at the empty spot on the altar as if someone had punched him in the soul.

He rubbed his eyes viciously and stared again.

Still empty.

His finger trembled as he pointed. His mouth opened to speak, but the words jammed in his throat. The harder he tried, the worse it got, until his face turned red with sheer frustration.

Xie Yu Chuan rose, brushed his sleeves, and looked at the place the seal had been.

His expression didn’t ripple.

But inside, he was no steadier than the rest of them.

He’d always been the one receiving the Household God’s protection when disaster struck. He’d taken her grace with both hands, and every time he survived because of her, the debt pressed deeper. He didn’t know how to repay it.

And he still didn’t know what she truly was.

If the Household God wished it, she could speak to him anytime, anywhere, without anyone else hearing a word. She didn’t even need him to answer aloud—he could respond with a thought.

Mountains and rivers meant nothing to her. She came and went in an instant.

And those divine objects… those medicines with effects so absurd they bordered on blasphemy…

He searched his memory for every story Xie family elders had told, every record he’d read about the Household God.

None of it matched the real being hidden beside them now.

Xie Yu Chuan steadied himself and, calmly as if discussing the weather, said what Li Zhou Quan had been clawing for.

“Yes. It disappeared.”

The flush drained from Li Zhou Quan’s face in one sweep. He exhaled hard like a man surfacing from water, and his voice finally returned.

“Incredible! Astonishing! My ancestors must be blessing me from the grave—what did I do to deserve this…!”

Once he found his voice again, he couldn’t stop. He sounded like a man trying to pour his whole life into one breath.

Xie Yu Chuan turned to Xiong Jiu Shan. “I’m going to check on him.”

He didn’t ask permission. He didn’t need to.

Xiong Jiu Shan understood: after tonight, there were things Xie Yu Chuan had to do. He only nodded once.

Xie Yu Chuan cupped his hands to Li Zhou Quan. “Official, may I go see my old friend’s condition?”

Li Zhou Quan’s mind was still spinning on one thought: this exile had summoned an immortal.

And if that immortal was anywhere nearby… who was he to block the way?

“Please—please,” Li Zhou Quan said at once, too eager to be dignified.

He understood perfectly: as long as Xie Yu Chuan stayed within reach, he could wait. Better to earn goodwill now.

Xie Yu Chuan went next door. Xie Wu Ying hesitated, then followed. Xiong Jiu Shan came along too, unable to resist seeing how “resurrection” had happened.

Left behind, the yamen runners stared at each other with wide eyes. Under the county magistrate’s cold, warning gaze, they fled out of the room to wait outside.

Once everyone cleared out, Li Zhou Quan couldn’t help himself.

He shuffled up to the altar table and snapped at his trusted aide, “Incense! Hurry, bring me incense!”

“Official—here!” The aide moved fast, lighting three sticks in a blink.

Then, hesitating, the aide murmured, “Official… the Deity that Xie Yu Chuan summoned—does it even care about other people?”

That question landed right where it hurt.

Li Zhou Quan froze with the incense in his hands, his face twisting into a war between greed and fear.

Should he bow?

Should he not?

The thought spun once through his head, and he made his decision.

Whether the Xie family Deity cared about him or not, he was bowing.

A chance like this was rarer than a phoenix feather. He’d be damned if he let it slip.

He placed the three sticks into the incense burner with exaggerated reverence.

When the smoke rose, he stepped back two paces, dropped to his knees, and bowed low.

First: promotion and wealth.

Second: a thriving line of sons and grandsons.

Third: long life, preferably the kind that came with good knees.

The aide watched with envy, his own knees starting to feel suspiciously soft.

Tu Hua never left. She stayed in the side room, leaning by the window, studying the gold seal now tucked in her hand.

She was squinting at the strange carving and the tiny characters she couldn’t read when Li Zhou Quan suddenly threw himself to the floor like his bones had vanished.

Tu Hua nearly dropped the seal. “What is he doing now?”

“Praying for blessings,” the System answered.

Tu Hua stared. For a second, she forgot how to blink.

Then she shoved the seal into the System inventory, jammed both hands into her pockets, and watched Li Zhou Quan’s lips move nonstop. His voice was barely a buzz.

“What’s he even saying?” she asked.

The System paused for a beat—and then, as if turning up a volume knob, fed his whispered prayer directly into her ears, crisp and clear.

Li Zhou Quan was practically chanting his resume.

He called himself a humble man blessed by ancestors and heaven, said he served as Song Jiang Town Magistrate under the Great Liang Capital Guard Office. He lamented he wasn’t brilliant and hadn’t built much merit, but insisted he did his job properly: no bullying, no throwing his weight around, kind treatment of commoners. When disaster struck, he said, he donated money and porridge, eager to build good ties through good deeds.

Then, brimming with awe, he begged the Immortal for mercy and pleaded for his wishes to be granted.

By the time Li Zhou Quan finally finished, Tu Hua was almost crying with laughter.

This county magistrate was incredible. He’d caught one rare chance and tried to cram every wish he’d ever had into it. His mouth ran like a river in flood.

Without the System translating, Tu Hua never would’ve guessed how much helpless frustration and sweet misery could fit inside one official.

She laughed so hard she exhaled a little too sharply.

The incense smoke—three straight lines—wavered.

Bent.

Curled.

Li Zhou Quan saw it.

His whole body stiffened like he’d been turned to stone.

The aide beside him pointed at the altar with shaking hands, stammering, “O-Official! The smoke—smoke—smoke!”

Li Zhou Quan didn’t move for a full heartbeat. Then he turned his head slowly, like a creaking door.

“Just now,” he asked in a soft, deadly voice, “did the smoke drift?”

The aide nodded so hard he looked like he might snap his neck.

Li Zhou Quan drew a slow breath and turned back.

His expression became something unreadable, like a man trying to decide whether he’d just been blessed… or marked.

Tu Hua leaned aside, still grinning, and asked, “Does incense he burns for me earn points too?”

“No,” the System said.

Tu Hua nodded, suddenly full of sympathy.

He’d listed a lifetime of wishes, and none of them would come true. Poor man. He’d bowed for nothing.

She took out her phone and sent Xie Yu Chuan a message, laughter still in her voice: “Song Jiang’s Official Li is hilarious. The moment you left, he lit incense and started kowtowing to me and making wishes.”