Chapter Three: Who Is This Angry Youth?

Yang Meng realized he had been set up. After inheriting the legacy, he came to understand many truths, and at last it was clear why the previous Lord of Mount Tai had fled faster than a rabbit—he simply had no choice! Was the underworld ever a good place? Once upon a time, it truly was!

Just as the former Lord of Mount Tai had said, the underworld was established by the Great Emperor Pangu, and indeed, it contained the supreme cultivation techniques passed down from his lineage. Unlike the management system of those winged beings to the west, where the good ascend to heaven and the wicked descend to hell, in this land both good and evil souls entered the underworld after death. This meant boundless merit resided here! In the past, the underworld was a coveted prize among the immortals—so many ancient powers with connections had served as the Lord of Mount Tai, including the younger brother-in-law of the Queen Mother of the West, Jin Hong, and even the Jade Emperor’s grandson.

In plain terms, it was a place to earn a distinguished title, much like in the mortal world.

But all this was in the past!

Now, the underworld had become a place shunned by all. First, since the separation of the realms of immortals and mortals, the underworld had become a one-way path; countless lost souls wandered in, but merit and offerings could not pass through, so everyone worked for no reward. What was even more absurd: the underworld’s bureaucracy was now a tangled mess of Heaven’s Court, the Buddhist Order, and the Daoist sects. The Lord of Mount Tai had no way to command the underworld as once before.

So, when the former Lord of Mount Tai spoke so tactfully about commanding a million troops, it was only “in theory.”

The cultivation techniques of the Great Emperor Pangu were extraordinary, but required diligent practice. And the way to increase one’s power was through merit! Yang Meng, an ordinary man in his twenties, where was he supposed to find merit? Even if he added up every good deed since childhood—helping old ladies cross the street and such—it would barely suffice to learn the introductory techniques, only enough to perform the most basic spells like “Summoning Souls.” But these basic spells were tools for minor underworld messengers to earn merit among mortals. With the realms divided, how was he supposed to traverse the mortal world?

Now, Yang Meng’s mind contained the accumulated insights of all previous Lords of Mount Tai on cultivating the Pangu Emperor’s techniques. If he had enough merit, his advancement would be meteoric. But now, it was like possessing the skills to slay dragons with no dragons in sight—because he had no merit.

Yang Meng wanted to explore the underworld, but the Palace of Mount Tai floated in the sky, and leaving required the ability to walk the void. As for mastering “Void Transference”? The previous Lord of Mount Tai hadn’t even managed that!

And who was the “former Lord of Mount Tai” who had tricked him? None other than Huang Feihu, the Martial King of the Shang and Zhou era. When the Primeval Lord of Heaven forged the “Fengshen List” and handed it to Jiang Ziya, the old man appointed Huang Feihu as Lord of Mount Tai. Because he was a mortal elevated to deity, the heavenly mandate required the position always be filled by mortals. But with the divide between immortals and mortals, where could one find a living mortal to succeed as Lord of Mount Tai?

Huang Feihu, to put it kindly, “entered the Way through martial prowess”; less charitably, he was all brawn and no brains. With Pangu’s extraordinary teachings, he learned little, and not long after his appointment, the realms were severed. He had little merit and could not cultivate further. Three thousand years in the Palace of Mount Tai was little different from three millennia in prison. The underworld had declined; even his former subordinate, the Emperor of Fengdu, had moved up to become the Emperor Ziwei in Heaven, while he was left “doing time” in the Palace of Mount Tai.

After thousands of years, he finally saw someone mysteriously arrive at the palace—a mortal, no less. If this wasn’t a chance to escape, when would there ever be one? Thus, Huang Feihu swiftly passed the title of Lord of Mount Tai to Yang Meng and fled faster than a rabbit!

Now, Yang Meng was speechless. To this day, he couldn’t make sense of who had brought him to the Palace of Mount Tai.

The only consolation was the environment: it resembled a grand estate. Tsk tsk, if this were in the mortal world, he couldn’t earn enough in several lifetimes to buy such a place.

“Sigh, Mom, Dad, it’s not that I don’t want to be a good son—it’s just, who could’ve known I’d run into something so absurd?” Yang Meng lay on the lawn outside the palace, staring at the sky, utterly dejected—would he be stuck here for three thousand years as well?

“Who the hell brought me here? Which bastard put up that damned ad?” Yang Meng cursed furiously.

He was frustrated beyond measure, yet somewhere, someone was even more astonished.

“Martial King Huang Feihu has left the Palace of Mount Tai?” Countless celestial powers in Heaven sensed the change in the palace’s personnel, leaving them all shocked. They all knew the situation there: if Huang Feihu had left, it meant the Lord of Mount Tai had been replaced. But with the divide between immortals and mortals, where could he have found a successor?

Had the barrier between the realms been pierced?

Yet, no matter how they probed with their divine arts, the barrier remained intact—more baffling still!

All the immortals were at a loss. Even those who tried to divine the truth received nothing. Now, countless deities who had old ties to Huang Feihu were trying to contact him, hoping to uncover the truth, and some were already plotting to visit the Palace of Mount Tai to see for themselves.

But the Palace of Mount Tai was unique, an independent plane, and without the Lord’s invitation, none could even find it. As for the new Lord of Mount Tai, no one knew him, and with no way to contact Yang Meng, they could not set foot in the palace.

High above Kunlun Mountain, in the void beyond the Ninth Heaven, a tremendous crash rang out as a massive suspended stone split apart. Seated cross-legged in the heart of the stone was a middle-aged man, bare-chested, with long hair drifting in the wind and muscles gleaming.

The man opened his eyes; had anyone seen them, they would have been terrified—for within his gaze swirled the stars of the cosmos!

He smiled faintly into the void. “Little one, you’ve done well. Since you freed me, I’ll lend you a hand in return!”

He extended his right hand, and a cluster of black flames formed in his palm, burning fiercely. With a flick, he sent it flying. “Go!”

The black fire soared into the sky, burning a hole in the very fabric of space. Watching the passage open, the man’s figure flickered and vanished into the void.

Meanwhile, in the Palace of Mount Tai, Yang Meng faced a crisis of his own—he was starving!

Seriously, don’t immortals eat? Although Yang Meng was now in the underworld and bore the title of Lord of Mount Tai, he was still very much alive, and hunger was only natural.

He decided to search the palace for something to eat—even a celestial fruit or immortal brew would do.

“Tch, this enormous palace, and not a single steward, guard, or maid? Clearly, TV dramas are all lies,” Yang Meng muttered as he walked into the palace.

If there was no food to be found, it would be truly ironic—a new Lord of Mount Tai, starved to death.

As for the lack of attendants in the palace, well, that was also Huang Feihu’s doing!

Originally, the palace bustled with maidens and guards, as befitted a great emperor. But Huang Feihu, desperate to escape the position, exhausted every connection and avenue, offering treasures to anyone who might help him leave that cursed place.

In the end, his treasures were gone and his dignity lost. In a fit of rage, Huang Feihu dismissed everyone, becoming a true “solitary ruler.”

While Yang Meng worried about starving, a miraculous scene unfolded: a hand appeared out of thin air, tearing open the very fabric of space, and a muscular man stepped out.

“Er... immortal elder or fellow Daoist, how should I address you? Is that some kind of spell?” Yang Meng’s eyes sparkled with excitement. What an entrance! Far more impressive than Doraemon’s Anywhere Door!

He was fearless in his ignorance.

To tear open space like that—fewer than five immortals could manage such a feat! Even more astonishing, the Palace of Mount Tai was a unique realm; not even the Primeval Lord of Heaven could enter so effortlessly.

But Yang Meng was unaware, assuming all immortals were capable of such things.

The man didn’t answer, but looked Yang Meng up and down before finally asking, “So, you’re the new Lord of Mount Tai?”

Yang Meng nodded vigorously. “That’s right! By the way, Daoist friend, your contact lenses are amazing! Where did you get them? Your eyes are like twin galaxies—so deep and dazzling!”

The visitor was none other than the man who had been trapped within the stone above the Ninth Heaven. At Yang Meng’s words, he shook his head. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

Yang Meng blinked. So much for all that flattery—of course, immortals wouldn’t know about contact lenses. Hmph! What kind of immortals were these? So unsophisticated!

Though he thought it, he kept a straight face. “Well, it’s hard to explain. I’ll go look for something to eat. To be honest, Daoist friend, I’m new here and not familiar with the place. Don’t immortals eat?”

The man chuckled. “Who says immortals don’t eat? Otherwise, who would the kitchen gods, stove gods, and wine gods serve? There are three chief kitchen gods in Heaven, with countless disciples and followers! Immortals are always telling others not to indulge in food and drink, but as for themselves? Dragon liver and phoenix marrow are common dishes on their menus. The most hypocritical of all are those so-called immortals—severe with others, indulgent with themselves, the very definition of hypocrites!”

Yang Meng was stunned. Where had this angry “youth” come from?

No, not an angry youth—an “angry god”!