Chapter 63: The Three-Headed Beast

Is this really coming to solve the problem? More like taking advantage of the situation, these bald frauds.

Yet, despite the monks’ words, a hint of unease flashed in the middle-aged director’s eyes. He agreed without hesitation, “Very well. Once this is over, we’ll send the statue to your temple for purification.”

The two monks immediately looked satisfied.

The Taoists, however, exchanged glances and shook their heads without speaking. How could such greed pass for mastery? Has the Buddhist order truly fallen so low?

They continued deeper inside.

Before long, the group arrived outside a secret chamber.

Here, the director spoke, “Masters, the bronze artifact inside is extremely malevolent. Anyone who touches it suffers misfortune—even those who simply spend a night here die suddenly the next day. Our time is short. We must leave before nightfall. I hope you have a way to resolve the matter of the bronze.”

“Do not worry. All demons and evils fear the Buddha’s law. Once the two of us recite sutras and perform rites, the evil will be cleansed,” the head monk replied, brimming with confidence.

“I’ll leave it to you, then.”

The director unlocked the door with his fingerprint.

As the heavy iron door swung open, shadows burst forth, hideous faces clad in armor and wielding long spears, their expressions savage.

“My god!” The boastful head monk turned pale and bolted.

“There are ghosts!” The other monk trembled uncontrollably, terror-stricken.

The Taoists started to reach for their tools, but before they could, the apparitions suddenly shattered, dissolving into black mist.

The director’s face darkened.

Weren’t they just full of confidence? How could they lose their composure at the first sign of trouble—worse than me! Are these really masters?

“Masters, those were only spectral illusions, unable to harm anyone. They’re merely meant to frighten—there’s no need for such a reaction…” He trailed off as he saw that one of the monks had wet his pants, the stench quickly filling the room.

The director was left speechless.

How utterly useless! Where on earth did the higher-ups find these oddities?

“Spectral illusions…”

Hearing this, the two monks froze, their embarrassment evident.

They were used to a life of comfort, reciting cryptic sutras and speaking in mysterious terms. Who could have imagined they’d one day encounter something truly supernatural?

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be!

“Ahem, it’s nothing. We were simply caught off guard. Director Zhang, rest assured, we’re fine now,” the head monk quickly tried to recover, adopting a calm demeanor.

For a moment, he even seemed to have the bearing of a high monk.

But who could possibly believe him now?

With an expressionless face, the director said, “Then go ahead. The bronze is inside.”

Uh…

The monks’ faces froze, paralyzed by fear once more.

“We’ll go in first,” one of the Taoists said, unable to watch any longer, and strode inside.

The director watched the Taoist’s back, then looked at the monks and asked bluntly, “Masters, what exactly is the meaning of this?”

With forced laughs, the monks could only grit their teeth and follow behind.

Zhang Kai, who had been quietly observing, also stepped inside.

The chamber was small, a single room with a safe.

The director moved to open the safe.

“Wait,” Zhang Kai said.

The director turned to him, puzzled.

Zhang Kai stared at the safe for a moment, then said, “It’s alive.”

A collective gasp went through the room.

A bronze artifact—alive?

“What do you mean?” the director asked, his voice trembling.

“There’s no way to explain it. This thing isn’t like anything from our legends. You should leave. This isn’t something you can face,” Zhang Kai replied.

“Amitabha. That’s going too far. Banishing evil and protecting the way is Buddhism’s duty—why is it yours alone?” the head monk protested, suddenly emboldened, staring fiercely at Zhang Kai as if seeing him as a rival.

Zhang Kai gave the monk a speechless look, then smirked. “Fine. If you’re so capable, you do it.”

He stepped back, unconcerned.

The monk, seeing nothing unusual about the safe, regained his courage. Surely there are no real demons or monsters in this world.

He still needed to do something to earn that ancient Buddha statue.

“Alright, I’ll open it.”

He approached the safe. “Director Zhang, what’s the code?”

The director recited the eleven-digit code.

The monk entered the numbers, one by one.

Meanwhile, the three Taoists, having taken Zhang Kai’s warning to heart, opened their packs and pulled out an assortment of ritual tools: peachwood swords, coin swords, talismans, spirit-nailing spikes, bronze bells—some of which were clearly authentic, their lineage unmistakably rooted in true cultivation, though their sects had declined.

The password was entered. With a click, the safe unlocked.

Before the monk could open it himself, the door of the safe suddenly swung open with a bang, striking him and sending him flying several meters. He hit the ground covered in blood, barely clinging to life.

But the others scarcely noticed him—for from the open safe, the bronze artifact was now revealed.

Just as Zhang Kai had said, it was alive.

A small bronze piece, barely half a meter tall, twisted its body within the compartment. Three heads stretched out, each face twisted and menacing, black flames flickering around its form—grotesque and vicious.

“It’s alive! It’s alive!” the director shrieked, stumbling backward in terror.

With a guttural snarl, the three-headed beast fixed its blood-red, fiendish eyes on them.

Then, in a sudden leap, it hurtled toward the director.

Bang!

Zhang Kai moved in a flash, intercepting the beast. He seized it by the neck.

Unleashing the energy he’d cultivated for nearly two centuries, he found the beast’s bronze body was like iron—he couldn’t crush it.

This only enraged the monster further. It lunged, snapping at him.

In the next instant, Zhang Kai’s body shimmered into gold.

The three-headed beast bit down but failed to pierce him.

It seemed stunned, then looked up at the golden-skinned Zhang Kai.

He grinned, slamming the beast to the ground and began to pummel it with his fists.

In this golden state, his internal strength surged, striking even harder.

Yet the beast showed no sign of injury.

Zhang Kai stretched out his hand, and the Seven-Spiral Slash whirled in his palm, spinning rapidly as he pressed it to the creature’s heads, slicing down.

A screech of grinding metal and a shower of sparks filled the air.

Everyone in the chamber was dumbstruck.

They’d thought themselves the main characters—now, in the blink of an eye, they were mere bystanders.

But nothing shocked them more than the sight of a man transforming before their eyes—his body gleaming gold like a Buddhist Arhat, wielding a purple spinning blade. Who in the world was this?

With a furious roar, the three-headed beast’s rage erupted. Its body began to swell, forcing Zhang Kai to release his grip.

In the blink of an eye, it grew to over two meters tall, looming over them.

Just as Zhang Kai braced for its next move, the monster fixed its gaze on him and, to everyone’s astonishment, spoke in human language: “Which world are you from? How can you wield divine powers beneath the prohibition?”