The blood-seal of the ancestral shrine finally cracked.

  The red threads turned to dust, and the air—thick and sour like old grime—suddenly cleared.

  Outside, sunlight poured through the doors.

  In the courtyard, the villagers of Qushan—those same short-leg, long-leg folks who yesterday worshiped me like I was divine sacrificer and today like I’m divine salvation—were rushing this way.

  The village elders dropped to their knees, robes in tatters, faces pale, eyes blazing with something dangerously close to religious mania.

  “The Lord is truly mighty! The century-old curse is undone!”

  “The ancestors are freed! Heaven bless—our village is innocent!”

  I sat stiffly on that creaky elmwood chair, wondering when exactly I’d signed up for this “Godhood Internship.”

  Honestly, the seat felt way too hot for my mortal backside.

  Lian stood beside me, silent, eyes calm as ever.

  Hua lounged on the other side, leaning against a pillar, tapping his folded fan against his chin. He yawned.

  “Well,” he drawled, “seems even ghosts have refined taste—they didn’t find me appetizing.”

  Me: …You make it sound so easy.

  I rubbed the raw marks on my arm, glanced at the red welts around my ankle, and thought bitterly that if this kept up, I’d have to publish a manual:

  ‘Run-For-Your-Life Cultivator: A Survival & Detox Guide.’

  Then an old woman crawled forward on her knees. Her voice trembled:

  “Since my Lord has lifted the curse, may we beg you to stay a few more days? We will burn incense, set up feasts, wash your feet, carve your statue—”

  I shot up.

  “No need!”

  Absolutely not. Staying in this village was like clicking every “hidden side quest” at once. Who knew what horror DLC they’d load next?

  “I have urgent matters,” I said firmly. “The seal’s broken, fate fulfilled. Keep quiet about it.”

  The elders nodded tearfully.

  “We understand… my Lord is a recluse beyond the dust of the mortal world—free and unbound.”

  Me: “Uh… sure. Let’s go with that.”

  And so, the three of us left amid tearful thanks and a small parade of bowing villagers.

  At the edge of the village, a child ran up holding three incense sticks—each as long as my arm.

  “My Lord! Please take these—your blessing will protect us!”

  The incense smoke hit me right in the face, singeing my sleeve embroidery.

  “Thanks, kid. The Lord doesn’t take tips—uh, incense.”

  Hua clicked his tongue.

  “He just doesn’t want to get invited back to the shrine on a permanent contract.”

  Lian turned, took the incense between slender fingers. A faint trace of blue qi flickered there.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “They don’t know what you did,” he murmured. “But I do.”

  For a moment, I couldn’t speak.

  I had so many things I wanted to say—about the one hundred and eight lashes, the cold dungeon walls, the water colder still, and how even my dreams had frozen solid.

  Three nights in that pit, and my knees still trembled when touching stone.

  But then I remembered—

  I’m a paused-update protagonist.

  Questions don’t always have answers.

  Pain doesn’t always have purpose.

  And this novel doesn’t even have a proper ending—love, hate, redemption? The author probably forgot to outline that part.

  Hua’s voice cut in, lazy as ever:

  “If you’re done brooding, hand that incense here. I can open an altar for you —‘Gong’s Temple of Reasonable Offerings.’”

  “Say one more word,” I snapped, “and I’ll swear an oath so you spend every New Year making offerings and singing hymns!”

  We bickered all the way out of Qushan.

  The mountain wind rose; the old road unfurled ahead.

  I twirled the dying incense between my fingers and sighed.

  “Break a formation, dodge a ghost, and suddenly I’m the village god. Not divine grace, not destiny—just a poor fool who took the wrong turn and got stuck doing side quests.”

  Hua claped his fan.

  “If that’s your title, I’ll believe it.”

  Lian smiled faintly.

  “If you are a god, then I—this humble cult leader—must yield.”

  That made my hair stand up.

  “Hold up—what’s that supposed to mean?”

  He looked at me with that same calm smile.

  “You saved them. You earned it.”

  “And if I run away?” I asked.

  “Then we’ll bring you back,” they said in unison.

  …Great.

  When I’m done with this ridge trip, I’m retiring from all divine business, forever.

  [Later — On the Road North]

  The path wound endlessly. We trudged from one nameless town to the next—wind by day, silence by night.

  By dusk, a weathered sign appeared ahead:

  “Shenmu (Divine Wood) Town.”

  “We rest here tonight.” Hua suggested.

  I eyed the place suspiciously.

  “Why do all these towns sound like boss stages?”

  “Relax,” he said. “It’s ‘Divine Wood,’ not ‘Divine Con.’ Just a roadside stop.”

  Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling something would jump out of a teapot.

  That night, we found an inn called Falling Osmanthus. The owner was a hunched old man with a limp, smiling too wide.

  I froze.

  “Sir… your leg…”

  “Broke it as a child,” he chuckled. “Not born that way.”

  Relief flooded me so hard I nearly bowed.

  “Thank you for clarifying.”

  The night passed quietly—no footsteps, no ghosts, not even system messages.

  By morning, I was genuinely confused.

  “What, no hauntings? No cursed mirrors?!”

  Hua yawned.

  “You’ve got a horror addiction, my friend.”

  He didn’t get it. After all these glitchy plotlines, silence itself felt unnatural.

  Even the system had gone quiet—three full days without sarcasm or “urgent survival notifications.”

  Naturally, that’s when something went wrong.

  Lian coughed by the window, his face pale.

  I rushed over, trying to remember how people “check a pulse” in novels.

  “Lian, are you poisoned again?”

  He nodded faintly.

  “Old poison. Cold wind stirred it. I need rest.”

  “Then rest!” I barked. “Hua, hot water, herbs, blankets—move!”

  Hua arched a brow.

  “Look at you fussing. You sound like the cult leader’s sweetie.”

  “Watch your mouth,” I snapped. “I’m his guardian, not his—whatever you just implied.”

  “Oh? Guarding the door, guarding the body … or guarding the heart?”

  I kicked him.

  “Keep it up and I’ll send you back to the shrine as the next offering!”

  Lian gave a quiet cough—maybe laughter, maybe not. The corner of his mouth twitched.

  Later that day, when he’d finally fallen asleep, I thought I could sneak out for some air.

  “Where are you going?”

  I froze. Lian sat upright, robe draped loosely, gaze sharp.

  “…Drying laundry.”

  “The innkeeper already did.”

  I turned toward the door—and a fan came spinning down from above, blocking my face.

  Hua leaned on the window, grinning.

  “Weren’t you supposed to guard the cult leader today?”

  “I was going to get herbs!”

  “Bought two baskets this morning.”

  “…Then I’m going to the outhouse.”

  “There’s a chamber pot in your room.”

  …That day I tried to escape seven times.

  Lian blocked three, Hua two, and the inn’s dog bit me once for good measure.

  By sunset, I limped back inside, soul crushed.

  Hua sat beside me on the steps.

  “Why keep running?” he asked softly.

  I hesitated.

  “I’m not trying to run,” I said. “I’m just… afraid someone else will.”

  Silence.

  Behind us, Lian’s voice drifted out, quiet as dusk.

  “It’s cold. Come inside.”

  I turned. He sat under the lamplight, smiling faintly, eyes calm as the wind.

  And for the first time in a long while, I thought—

  Maybe this road, crooked as it is, isn’t such a bad one after all.