The Ferocious God in the Celestial Master's Mansion

Winter of the 25th year of the Republic of China.

The north wind was like a knife, whipping up heavy snow that raged across the barren mountains and wilderness of the North China Plain. The leaden sky hung low, as if to freeze this war-torn land completely. The crunching sound of horses' hooves crushing the snow was particularly jarring in the deathly silence of the wilderness, accompanied by the heavy panting of chestnut horses as they struggled to traverse the rugged mountain paths.

Zhang Zhiwei reined in his horse, causing it to rear up, its breath instantly dissipating in the cold wind. He pulled his thick cotton robe tighter around his shoulders, revealing a face that still retained some of the youthful handsomeness of his prime—sword-like eyebrows slanted sharply towards his temples, his eyes were as sharp as an eagle's, his nose was high and straight, and his lips were well-defined, though a layer of unyielding melancholy lingered between his brows. At this moment, he was not yet the venerable, otherworldly Celestial Master he would later become, whose every laugh and swear was imbued with Daoist charm. At twenty-five, he was the most dazzling disciple of Longhu Mountain, yet he bore a heavy responsibility that kept him awake at night.

"Huaiyi, where are you?"

His deep voice was torn apart by the howling wind. Zhang Zhiwei gazed at the snow-covered mountains ahead, their paths blurred, and his brows furrowed even more. The aftershocks of the Jia Shen Rebellion had not yet subsided, and the entire world of supernatural beings was filled with unease. Major sects distrusted one another, and unscrupulous individuals took advantage of the chaos to cause trouble. Zhang Huaiyi of Longhu Mountain, however, had dared to descend the mountain without authorization at this critical juncture, and even swore brotherhood with Wugensheng, the man who had stirred up the storm. When this news reached the mountain, his master, Zhang Qingjing, was so enraged that he vomited blood on the spot and fell ill in bed for many days.

His ostensible reason for descending the mountain was to find Zhang Huaiyi and persuade him to turn back from the wrong path. However, he was also acting on his master's orders to investigate the chaos within the world of supernatural beings and to see just how chaotic this war-torn mortal world had become. But along the way, all he saw and heard was human tragedy—displaced refugees huddled in the ruins of dilapidated temples, corpses of those who had frozen or starved to death were carelessly discarded by the roadside, and fertile fields were turned to scorched earth and villages reduced to ruins where the Japanese army's iron hooves trampled. The chaos within the world of supernatural beings was even worse; evil spirits ruled, the strong preyed on the weak, and many sects fought each other fiercely for resources, completely disregarding the code of their sects.

"Never mind, let's find a place to shelter from the snow first."

Zhang Zhiwei sighed softly and turned his horse around. The weather was truly terrible; the heavy snow had been falling for three days and three nights. If he continued to travel at this pace, even with his profound cultivation, he would inevitably be trapped by the wind and snow. Moreover, with the snow and fog obstructing visibility, finding the elusive Zhang Huaiyi would be as difficult as ascending to heaven.

His gaze swept across the surroundings, and he quickly noticed a dilapidated mountain god temple standing in a ravine not far away. The temple's roof had mostly collapsed, leaving only three crumbling earthen walls. The temple door hung askew on its frame, creaking mournfully in the cold wind. Though dilapidated, it at least offered some shelter from the wind and snow.

Zhang Zhiwei patted the horse's neck. The chestnut horse, seemingly possessing a spiritual connection, slowly walked towards the mountain god temple. After tying the horse to a branch of a withered tree outside the temple, he carefully checked the surroundings again, confirming that there was no trace of any strange person, before turning around and stepping into the temple.

As soon as he entered, a gust of cold wind, carrying the smells of mildew and dust, swept over him, causing the wisps of hair on his forehead to flutter slightly. He circulated his internal Qi, his gaze sharp as he scanned every corner of the temple. In the center of the dilapidated temple, several rotten wooden pillars leaned precariously against the rickety roof beams, and withered grass, pebbles, and scraps of cloth were scattered on the ground, clearly indicating that no one had cared for it for a long time.

But at that moment, a faint trace of energy entered his senses.

It wasn't the Qi of an extraordinary person, nor the stench of a wild beast, but rather... a life force. So faint it seemed it could be extinguished at any moment, yet it possessed a tenacious resilience, emanating from the pile of weeds at the corner of the temple.

Zhang Zhiwei's heart skipped a beat, and he became alert. In this chaotic world, dilapidated temples were notorious places for harboring filth and evil; they might house refugees fleeing from war, or they might be sinister individuals with malicious intentions. He tiptoed towards the waist-high clump of weeds, his internal energy circulating quietly, ready to respond to any unexpected situation.

Pushing aside the frozen, withered grass and thick snow, the sight before him made his pupils shrink and his steps come to a halt.

There, wrapped in a pile of tattered, stained cotton wadding, was a tiny baby.

The baby looked to be only a few days old, his body wrinkled and his skin an unnatural bluish-purple, clearly suffering from severe frostbite. The cotton quilt covering him was thin and tattered, offering no protection against the biting wind. His little face was red from the cold, his lips were purple, and his thin eyebrows were furrowed together. He let out a weak "woof woof" cry, like a kitten abandoned in the snowstorm, seemingly on the verge of death.

Zhang Zhiwei crouched down and carefully reached out to check the baby's breath. The breath was so faint it was almost imperceptible, but the baby was definitely alive. He then touched the baby's forehead; it was ice-cold, and his fingers could even feel the subtle trembling beneath the skin.

"In this chaotic world of war, how did a child end up here?"

Zhang Zhiwei was filled with doubt. This mountain god temple was located in the middle of nowhere, far from any village or shop, and there was no sign of human habitation for miles around. Judging from the baby's clothes, it didn't seem to be a child from a wealthy family; it looked like it had been deliberately abandoned. But who would be so heartless as to leave a newborn child in such a place, letting it fend for itself in the wind and snow?

He scrutinized the baby closely, growing increasingly puzzled. Though the little creature was pitifully thin, its eyes were unusually bright. Perhaps sensing someone approaching, the baby laboriously opened its eyes, its dark pupils staring directly at Zhang Zhiwei without the slightest fear. Instead, it displayed a calmness beyond its years, as if sizing up this suddenly appearing stranger.

Just then, the baby suddenly coughed violently, its little face turning red, its cries becoming weaker and weaker, and its breath almost ceasing. Zhang Zhiwei's heart tightened. Although he had cultivated Taoist arts for many years and emphasized a life of tranquility and detachment, he ultimately could not bear to watch an innocent baby die.

"Never mind, meeting is fate."

Zhang Zhiwei sighed softly, took off the thick cotton robe he was wearing, still warm from his body, and carefully wrapped the baby in it. The robe was large, completely covering the little one, leaving only his tiny face exposed. Feeling the warmth, the baby's cough gradually stopped, and his crying subsided, but he still kept his eyes open, quietly gazing at Zhang Zhiwei.

Holding the little one in his arms, Zhang Zhiwei felt as light as a feather, causing him to soften his movements. He stood up, his gaze returning to the wind and snow outside the temple, and his thoughts subtly shifted. Finding Zhang Huaiyi was important, but the life of the child in his arms was equally precious. In this chaotic world, with bandits and monsters roaming freely, traveling with an infant was inconvenient and extremely dangerous. It would be better to take the child back to Longhu Mountain and hand him over to his master. This would ensure the child received proper care, and also allow him to report back to his master on the journey down the mountain and request instructions on the next course of action.

Having made up his mind, Zhang Zhiwei no longer hesitated. He held the baby tightly in his arms, shielding him from the oncoming wind and snow with his arms, and turned to walk out of the dilapidated temple. Untying the reins, he mounted the horse, placed the baby in front of him, and wrapped him tightly in his cotton robe, leaving only a small space for him to breathe.

"drive!"

With a soft shout, the chestnut horse reared up, pounding the snow, and galloped south towards Longhu Mountain. The cold wind howled, and the snowflakes stung his face, but they couldn't dispel the warmth in Zhang Zhiwei's arms.

The baby, wrapped in a warm cotton robe, was experiencing a profound and upheaval in his consciousness.

I'm alive?

Zhang Yulei's consciousness seemed to float in a chaotic body of water, both blurry and clear. He remembered that he was already dead, dead in that dark and damp alley, killed by an "accidental" beating.

Zhang Yulei's past life was a complete tragedy. He was born with superandrogenic syndrome, with a rare 47,XYY chromosome. This chromosomal abnormality made him different from ordinary people from a young age. While other children ran and played in the sun and grew up healthily, his body was unusually thin and weak, as if a gust of wind could blow him over. He had a low immune system and was plagued by various diseases all year round. The hospital was practically his second home.

In stark contrast to his frail physique was the latent volatile nature within him. Hyperandrogenic syndrome brought not only physical defects but also psychological distortions. He was prone to emotional outbursts, easily angered, irritable, and even exhibiting uncontrollable aggressive impulses. For years, he had struggled to suppress his emotions, living cautiously, fearing he might lose control and hurt others, and also fearing being seen as a "monster."

Even so, he couldn't escape the fate of being isolated. Because of his frail physique, he was bullied and ridiculed by his peers; because of his occasional emotional outbursts, he was estranged and disliked by his family; because of his rare illness, he was pointed at and stared at like a monster by those around him. He was like an outcast, living alone in this world, without friends or family, only endless pain and despair.

That day, his condition suddenly flared up; he convulsed, became delirious, and his volatile temper erupted uncontrollably. He staggered through the alley and accidentally bumped into a passing thug. The thug, already irritable from losing money gambling, flew into a rage upon seeing him, assuming he was being deliberately provoked, and began punching and kicking him.

He had lost the strength to resist and could only curl up on the ground, letting his assailant beat him. Fists and feet rained down on him, bringing wave after wave of excruciating pain, but he didn't even have the strength to cry for help. Finally, a heavy fist slammed into his temple, and everything went black; he completely lost consciousness.

He thought he would disappear and vanish into nothingness. But to his surprise, when he regained consciousness, he had become an infant, held in the arms of a strange man, speeding through a blizzard.