Chapter 16: Ascension to Divinity

For the next two days, Zhang Kai remained secluded in the abandoned Taoist temple, cultivating in solitude. He did not venture into the village, but meals were delivered to him regularly, along with updates on the elderly teacher.

On this day, Zhang Kai finally left the temple and headed to the village, joining the villagers to greet the returning ashes of the old teacher at the roadside.

“Kai, why don’t you stay in the village? The mountains are full of mosquitoes, and it’s so inconvenient,” Yun Xi Yao approached him again, her expression full of concern.

Zhang Kai smiled. “I’ve long grown accustomed to solitary cultivation. Being around people makes me uneasy.”

“Was this always your life? Is being a Taoist really so hard? Have you ever thought of returning to secular life? You’re so young—you should be living in the city!” Yun Xi Yao looked at him with pity.

Zhang Kai only smiled, saying nothing.

If I returned to secular life, wouldn't that be to your benefit? Dream on.

“Hey, Kai, I noticed you look even better after two days. Your skin is glowing! Are you sure you’re not using any skincare products?” Liu Xiao Yue gazed at Zhang Kai in astonishment.

Yun Xi Yao paused and scrutinized him carefully—indeed, he looked even more attractive, his skin as flawless as if touched up by beauty filters, so enviably perfect it inspired jealousy.

Zhang Kai touched his face, a bit helpless.

There was no helping it. He had spent the past two days cultivating by the icy pond, its chill nourishing and regulating his organs. Not only had his cultivation advanced, but his skin had become more delicate, his pores nearly invisible, his face as fair as fine jade. Even Zhang Kai himself now avoided mirrors, for fear he might fall in love with his own reflection.

“Perhaps it’s because I’ve eaten vegetarian food for years and cultivated in the mountains, untainted by the distractions of the world. My skin may be a bit better, but it’s just a shell—don’t pay too much attention to appearances,” Zhang Kai said with a gentle smile.

The two young women were left speechless.

In this world, who doesn’t care about looks? Without that face, we wouldn’t be so warm toward you.

But his skin truly was beautiful—if one could have him, even at the cost of a shorter life, it would be worth it.

Both girls looked at Zhang Kai with a glint in their eyes.

Feeling uneasy under their gaze, Zhang Kai muttered to himself that perhaps he should study the art of disguise. Otherwise, showing his true face would make him stand out like a crane among chickens, dazzling like the moon amidst mere candlelight—an immense obstacle to his cultivation.

Just as he was admiring himself, Zhang Kai caught sight of several cars approaching in the distance. The people he had been waiting for had arrived.

Soon, the convoy stopped, and a crowd of villagers surged forward. Officials offered condolences, villagers shared their hearts, and mingled among them was the sound of weeping—a somber atmosphere.

Zhang Kai stood at the back, observing quietly.

The old teacher’s ashes were held by an elderly man, appearing quite ordinary.

But with so many people present, Zhang Kai could not act. Before long, everyone began to head back to the village.

In this atmosphere, the two girls could no longer continue their playful banter with Zhang Kai.

Once back in the village, the old teacher’s ashes were placed in a rather handsome building—the ancestral hall.

Known as the Yang Family Ancestral Hall, it had once belonged to the prominent Yang family. After misfortune befell them and only a few bloodlines remained, the hall, though still bearing the Yang name, had gradually become the resting place for respected elders from the village, regardless of family. An unwritten rule emerged: anyone who contributed to the village could be honored here after death, and every year the villagers would pay their respects.

The old teacher was now among them.

After the ceremonies, the villagers clustered around the officials to inspect village affairs and discuss the school, all while bemoaning their poverty.

Zhang Kai did not join them. He quietly slipped away, returning to the ancestral hall.

Now, with no one present, Zhang Kai took out the Divine Investiture List, his expression tense.

Though he’d seen the process on television, whether it would work in reality was uncertain—he was crossing the river by feeling for stones.

Regrettably, he still could not see ghosts, nor did he know if the old teacher’s soul lingered. Heaven help him, let him not be disappointed again.

With hopeful anticipation, Zhang Kai unfurled the Divine Investiture List, attuned his mind to it, and recited the lines he’d pondered for two days.

“Here is Cheng Aimin of the mortal realm—an educator, upright in virtue, whose merits are complete. I, acting in accordance with heaven, confer upon him a divine appointment: to be the Sage of Literature for Great Willow Village, to spread wisdom through learning, to achieve sanctity through scholarship. Cheng Aimin, return to your position.”

With these grand words, he waved the Divine Investiture List, which floated into the air.

At once, golden light shimmered from the List, and a line of golden script appeared:

Sage of Literature, Great Willow Village: Cheng Aimin.

It worked!

Zhang Kai’s eyes shone.

Then, a golden radiance emerged from the urn containing the old teacher’s ashes, condensing in midair into human form—a thin, white-haired elder with a goatee and reading glasses.

At first, he was bewildered, then seemed to receive some information. Descending, he clasped his hands and bowed to Zhang Kai. “Cheng Aimin, humble spirit, greets the Immortal.”

He could see it clearly—a true ghost, exactly as in the photograph.

Damn, he had really created a god!

Thrilled and astonished, Zhang Kai struggled to maintain his immortal dignity, suppressing his emotions as he looked at the old man and waved his hand. “No need for formalities, Sage. Your merit is complete—do you have any thoughts?”

Cheng Aimin smiled bitterly. “Forgive me, Immortal. To die suddenly and then become a god—it’s bewildering. I never imagined that gods and immortals truly exist, or that I might stand among them. It’s both awe-inspiring and overwhelming.”

Zhang Kai laughed. “You spent your life educating and enlightening, bringing benefit to your community. This reward is well deserved. Don’t worry—may you steadfastly fulfill your divine duty, safeguarding the path of learning.”

Cheng Aimin grew solemn. “Rest assured, Immortal. I will not fail the heavens’ charge and will care for the students wholeheartedly.”

Zhang Kai smiled with satisfaction. “Excellent. For now, return and familiarize yourself with your responsibilities. I will remain here for some time; should you have any questions, you may find me.”

“As you command, Immortal,” Cheng Aimin replied, transforming into golden light and returning to the urn.

Zhang Kai turned and soared away from the ancestral hall, leaving the village and heading straight for the abandoned temple.

After the investiture, not only did Cheng Aimin benefit, but Zhang Kai himself received a wealth of information—feedback from the Divine Investiture List.

There was much to process.

Back at the temple, Zhang Kai sat cross-legged, sorting through the information.

After some time, he opened his eyes, gaze intense yet tinged with gravity.

The investiture of gods, it seemed, was not entirely a blessing.

He distilled several key points from the information.

First, the investiture succeeded, the divine path opened. It was a new creation, yet it must adhere to reality—random investiture would not be acknowledged by the List. The Sage of Literature, a new god based on education, was within reason, thus recognized by the List, which extrapolated a hierarchy: though all called Sages of Literature, their rank differed, much like grades of teachers—from elementary to university. The highest would be granted the title of Literary Saint and oversee all Sages.

Second, with the divine path opened, spiritual energy would revive—but only at the lowest level, depending on the investiture. The higher the divine rank, the greater the spread of spiritual energy; when investiture is complete, spiritual energy will erupt fully.

Though seemingly good news, granting Zhang Kai control over the revival, it also had drawbacks: remnants of gods, buddhas, demons, and monsters persisted, each preserving themselves by various means. Now, with spiritual energy returning, they too would re-emerge. Yet, having lost their divine positions, what they might become was uncertain—a hidden danger.

Third, to confer high-ranking gods, one must seize the positions held by ancient powerful deities. Only with corresponding positions can gods be invested, a constraint of the world’s rules. It is innovation built upon the old foundation, not detached from it.

This third point was troublesome. It meant that in the future, Zhang Kai would have to actively seek out and confront ancient gods, seizing their authority; otherwise, spiritual revival would stagnate, and his dream of immortality would be curtailed.

Additionally, gods invested by the List had a time limit—short as a hundred years, long as a thousand—depending on virtue and achievement. If unqualified, the position would be revoked.

In summary, the mythic Divine Investiture List now combined with the real world’s laws to form new rules, which he must gradually explore.

However difficult it might be, it was better than having no path at all.

If he could make good use of the resources from movies and television, the future would be boundless, and immortality within reach.