After Failing to Influence the Protagonist Chapter 42
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Chapter 42 God
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They entered Zhuangyuan Temple, each person wearing a mask. It was still early in the morning, and the temple was filled with smoke. The candlelight, shining brightly, revealed the face of the God of Literature, illuminated by the red candles. The shaman instructed them to enter one by one and kneel closely together.
Even though everyone had masks on, Pei Jing knew the person beside him was Yu Qinglian because they had come in together. Amidst the shaman’s strange, slightly hoarse voice, Pei Jing heard Yu Qinglian whispering quietly.
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“I found this mask odd from the start. It looks like some kind of demon. When the God chooses someone, the mask moves. I think it’s possessed by a ghost.”
They communicated silently, using their divine awareness, while the people nearby remained unaware.
Pei Jing: “Well, you won’t be chosen anyway. Why bother worrying about all this?”
Yu Qinglian: “Who says I won’t be chosen? We have concealed our cultivation and hidden our presence. We are cultivators, and this temple is filled with low-level ghosts and demons. They might even find us more tempting.”
Pei Jing: “Let’s just wait and see.”
It was the village’s custom that those chosen must take part in the imperial examination the following spring. Some of the selected youngsters weren’t even scholars, yet they often found success and climbed the ranks of scholars along the way.
After the shaman finished her song, she instructed them to stand up and form a circle around the statue. The crowd became disorganized, causing Pei Jing and Yu Qinglian to be separated. Pei Jing stood directly in front of the statue, looking up and glimpsing the expression on the God of Literature’s face—a subtle mix of pity and mockery, made more real in the haze of swirling incense.
Suddenly, there was a loud bang as firecrackers outside exploded, followed by a gust of wind that extinguished all the lights. The temple, nestled in a valley, was now engulfed in complete darkness. Pei Jing closed his eyes and heard faint sounds, almost like the sound of chewing, spreading from beneath the ground. When he first put on the mask, he had a strange sensation, but now it grew suffocating, as if he were buried alive, his breath stifled by the dust.
It felt exactly like being buried alive.
The prayer began.
With his eyes tightly shut, the presence of the living people around him vanished, leaving him alone in an empty, desolate world. The doors of Zhuangyuan Temple swung open, and a powerful light came from above, compelling him to open his eyes and silently lift his head. It was the gaze of the God of Literature, bearing a hint of mockery and weariness with the world.
Silence enveloped them as their gazes locked.
Initially, from Pei Jing’s viewpoint, he could only see the statue’s chin and expression.
But now, the statue lowered its head.
The God of Literature had come alive, but it remained silent. Pei Jing stayed still, feeling as if the mask on his face tightened and melted, as though it wanted to fuse with his own skin, replacing his true face.
Intense white light shone from above, forming a radiant halo, with only Pei Jing standing within it. The light even faded the figure of the God of Literature.
