A dim room.

Master Zhikong did his best to keep his questions gentle, but the man huddled in the corner clutching the wet crotch of his trousers. After every answer, he couldn't help shooting a terrified look at the figure by the wall.

The young man in black sat still on a wooden chair, his gaze drifting, seemingly paying no attention. But every soft tap of his fingertip on the tabletop made the man shudder, and he would hurriedly turn back to Zhikong, wishing he could tear out his heart to prove every word was true.

Shen Yi had no interest in the Bodhi Teaching's affairs.

Mostly because he couldn't follow them.

He gazed quietly at the altar in the gap in the wall, at the kindly, benevolent-looking rat-headed idol, and gradually sank into thought.

Master Zhikong was a Pilgrim on par with a seventh-rank True Immortal. Put him in Hongze, and he would stand as high as Shi Ren had, holding the power of life and death over countless living beings. Yet the way he handled things was as green as a child's.

To Shen Yi, that was actually a little alarming.

The reason was simple.

Shen Yi had noticed that after only a single day out here, because of what he had seen and heard, he was slowly letting his guard down.

He was like a refugee from a war zone who had suddenly wandered into a golden age of peace, and for the moment couldn't tell whether he was the one who was wrong or the golden age.

None of it made sense to him. He couldn't figure any of it out.

Take this idol, for example.

Shen Yi knew a fair amount about accumulated faith. What he couldn't understand was this: any evil creature Zhikong was chasing in person couldn't possibly be below the Dao Realm, however weak it was.

A being that powerful, running off to preach alone in some household in Jianyang Prefecture?

It wasn't even up to the River Deity he had run into back in Qingzhou.

What use could this pinch of…