Finally…
The three - Tô Mạc Tà and the brothers - returned to the original courtyard.
By now, the great bell behind them had rotted through, split clean in two. The four trees were withered husks, and the stone lanterns carved with lotus motifs lay shattered across the ground. The once-closed doors of the main shrine now hung slightly ajar.
Tô Mạc Tà pushed them open.
Inside was a modest altar, draped in black veils. Before it stood three straw meditation cushions, each covered in a thin layer of dust. Behind them, mounted on the altar, loomed a two-meter-tall bronze statue, dulled by age. Ninety-nine lamps lined the side walls, their wicks burning with flickering blue flames.
Every minute, another flame sputtered to life. Only twelve remained unlit.
Tô Mạc Tà scanned the room, but found no trace of Lạc Trần.
The shrine was small, devoid of hiding places. In theory, Lạc Trần couldn't possibly be here.
"How strange," she muttered. "We all fell into the same fish pond. Where did he go?"
She remembered clearly: among the villagers cast into the Trial of Desire, there were ordinary mortals. This proved that thunderclap pagoda made no distinction between levels of cultivation. Everyone who entered was sent to that courtyard to face the rules of Desire.
Everyone had fallen into the pond - yet only Lạc Trần had vanished.
The more she thought about it, the more Tô Mạc Tà felt her head ache. The mysteries surrounding her old companion were piling up fast. The man who once journeyed with her across Godfell ridge now seemed like a stranger.
Across the room, the expressions of Kim Giác Tử and Ngân Giác Tử shifted subtly, likely communicating via soundless speech.
Though she couldn't hear their exchange, Tô Mạc Tà could guess what was being said.
The two shared the Immortal Body, so long as one remained alive, the other could resurrect from his brother's shadow. Because of that, they always acted in tandem: one took risks, the other played it safe.
In the Trial of Desire, Kim Giác Tử had rushed one of the doors, while Ngân Giác Tử had jumped into the dying tree. It had been a coordinated strategy.
They were likely searching the shrine now for a safe haven, so one of them could hide while the other went out to face whatever twisted rule thunderclap pagoda had concocted next.
Tô Mạc Tà shook her head and chose a cushion to sit on.
There was something unsettling about how the number of cushions exactly matched their group.
She didn't know what thunderclap pagoda was planning—but it certainly wasn't anything good.
They didn't have to wait long.
The ninety-ninth lamp on the wall flared to life.
That strange voice rang out again:
"Monks must strictly follow the monastic rules. All actions must be orderly and punctual. When the chanting begins, guests from afar must give up their cushion so the sangha may recite the Sutras. Only afterward may you sit."
Tô Mạc Tà leapt to her feet.
As the voice faded, their shadows on the floor suddenly writhed and pulled free from the ground. In the cold flickering light, three inky silhouettes pressed their palms together like monks, then slowly sat down.
The chanting began.
It was an unearthly language, sometimes like the howling of wolves, other times like frogs croaking in a murky swamp. Tô Mạc Tà couldn't make sense of it. She tried recalling the chants little Tathāgata used to deliver last rites at Godfell ridge, then shook her head.
No comparison.
Little Tathāgata's chanting might have been cryptic, but it was still recognizably human. The things these shadows were uttering sounded like they came from something that had never lived.
After a moment's thought, she retrieved a thin jade slip and infused it with her chi.
It was a Soundstone, crafted by a formation grandmaster. When activated, it could record the sounds in its vicinity for later playback. In Aparagodānī, Soundstones were used for teaching, knowledge storage, and even amusement. The audiobooks Tô Mạc Tà once gifted to the blind were made with this very tool.
She planned to record the ghostly chant and sell it to little Tathāgata after escaping dry sea. Buddhist texts from dry sea were rare—even in Aparagodānī, few had such things. There was no way that bald cockroach wouldn't cough up a fortune.
Time ticked by…
One by one, the blue candles dimmed and died.
When the thirty-third candle winked out, the chanting halted abruptly. The three shadows rose and silently left the shrine.
At some point, one of the straw cushions had vanished, swallowed whole, it seemed, by the shadows.
Tô Mạc Tà lunged forward, snatching one of the remaining cushions, hands raised in a defensive stance. Her eyes flicked warily toward the gold horn and silver horn Taoists.
She could see them glancing covertly at the bronze bells bound to their wrists.
Without hesitation, Ngân Giác Tử leapt onto the remaining cushion and sat.
Kim Giác Tử, ever the reckless one, strode up to the statue and pulled back the black veil - revealing a massive bronze monkey.
Two meters tall, seated cross-legged, arms resting on its knees. Its head drooped forward, and in the ghostly candlelight, its eyes were clearly gouged out. The armor it wore was ragged, barely clinging to the frame. Two peacock feathers were tucked into its helm—bent and brittle with age.
An iron staff lay across its lap, broken in two. One half remained, the other was gone. The staff's shaft gleamed, its tip capped with gold, exuding a strange aura of majesty.
Kim Giác Tử let out a grotesque screech - and exploded.
Blood and flesh struck the ground and twisted into a school of silver-scaled fish, thrashing and flailing wildly. Their eyes locked onto Tô Mạc Tà - eyes disturbingly human, just like those she had seen in the pond at Phù Trúc.
Tô Mạc Tà turned away, unwilling to look. Her gaze landed on the wall, and she noticed something.
The candles had stopped going out.
By now, she was starting to grasp the rules of this final "game."
In both previous trials - Desire and False Speech - the pagoda had killed using precepts and rules. The only way to survive was to turn those laws back against it, using the dogma of thunderclap pagoda itself as a weapon.
But this time… it was different.
Thunderclap pagoda had discarded its precepts, opting for something that resembled a children's game instead.
Tô Mạc Tà gritted her teeth. This pagoda was even more treacherous than she thought.
Three cushions. After every round of chanting, one would disappear. Ninety-nine candles, the extinguishing only began when the chanting started. The first round had snuffed out thirty-three.
When the last cushion vanished, all the candles would be gone. That, most likely, was when the game would end.
She looked at Ngân Giác Tử.
Kim Giác Tử was already climbing out from his brother's shadow, resurrected. He cast a glance at the altar, shuddered slightly, and took a half-step back.
Tô Mạc Tà lowered her head, masking her thoughts.
This game of death seemed simple, unlike the previous trials, it had clear rules and even a visible condition for survival. In the earlier rounds, escaping meant thinking outside the box. But this time, it looked like someone could survive just by playing along.
Whoever claimed the last cushion and waited out the last candle would live.
But…
Trusting the pagoda was a fool's game. And then there were the brothers.
The Immortal Body gave them an overwhelming edge.
They didn't need to fight each other. They wouldn't betray one another. And they had the numbers advantage. Tô Mạc Tà had a higher cultivation level, yes, but their magic items gave them the upper hand. The Gold Coin Sword pierced through almost any defense - the Armour of the Awakened wouldn't hold. The banana leaf fan was made for ambushes, and its ghostly flames emerged from nowhere, impossible to predict.
If it came to a real fight, she'd be buried before the next round began.
Kim Giác Tử drew the Gold Coin Sword, flooding it with chi. He was ready to act.
Ngân Giác Tử lifted the banana leaf fan, poised to strike, clearly waiting for his brother's signal.
Tô Mạc Tà clenched her teeth and rose from her cushion.
"Alright. I yield. If you two want the cushion, it's yours."
"You surrender? Just like that?"
"What else can I do? If I back down now, I might still live a little longer. But if you both attack, I'll be dead before the next chant even starts."
"Swear it."
"Fine. I, Tô Mạc Tà, saintess of Floral Valley, swear not to compete for the final cushion. Satisfied?"
"Good. Since you dared to swear on your sect's honor, we won't touch you."
Kim Giác Tử sheathed his sword, chuckling darkly.
Both brothers looked smug - triumph painted across their faces.
Just then, the shrine doors creaked open. The three shadows glided in and knelt once again before the altar.
The chanting resumed.