Chapter 4: The Fruits of Heaven

I noticed something was off with Derek at Wuzhuang Church.

Of course, Wuzhuang Church itself was strange—a church full of little girls, all looking innocent, but many were pregnant. I asked Pastor Tom how they got pregnant. He said, Amen, ask Derek.

I turned to Derek.

Derek said, don’t worry, wait a couple days and you’ll see.

Sure enough, two or three days later, a bunch of old acquaintances from Heaven came down—Star Lord of Fate, Giant Spirit God—happily chatting with Pastor Warren, all heading to the backyard, each with a few little girls in tow. Their expensive suits and practiced smiles looked out of place among the playground swings and faded hopscotch lines.

My brow twitched. "Aren’t immortals and mortals forbidden to fall in love? What are they doing?"

Derek said, "Oh, they’re not in love, just fooling around. That’s fine. If, like my mother, they settle in the mortal world and break the boundary between immortals and mortals, that’s a capital crime."

I said, "Damn, you can stomach this?"

Marcus said nothing, but his grip on the bat was white-knuckled, veins bulging. He looked like he was about to break, jaw clenched so hard his teeth might crack.

I said, "What are we waiting for? Kill them all. Kill every last one."

That day I swung the Universe Ring, smashed the backyard wall, dust flying, Red Ribbon swirling with rosy light, freezing all those immortals in the house. You could hear the crack of brick and wood, the gasp of shocked girls.

But before I could stab with my spear, a familiar, disgusting voice came from outside.

"Demon, stop!"

Majestic, full of bluster, like shouting 'Glory to the Lord' at a Sunday revival—Mr. Jennings, with his family heirloom.

So that day I killed no one, but those immortals didn’t get to do anything dirty either. Only Pastor Warren came out smiling, said sorry to disturb the guests, these fresh miracle fruits are compensation.

Pastor Warren made miracle fruit before me—his knife flashed, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood and something sweeter, rotten underneath. He cut open a girl’s belly, took out an unborn fetus, child of immortal and mortal, from which a special aura could be extracted.

Using the miracle fruit tree’s power, it became a treasure for longevity and increased magic.

So this was the miracle fruit.

Star Lord of Fate and Giant Spirit God took the fruit, smiling politely, glanced at me. Their smiles were the kind you see from politicians shaking hands at a ribbon-cutting—polite, but cold as January. I was pinned to the ground, dirty and disheveled. Their smiles were full of disdain and arrogance. They said, a demon is a demon, going mad for a few lowly lives, locked up five hundred years, still lacks divinity. Mr. Jennings, what did you give birth to?

Pinned by the heirloom, eyes about to burst, I looked at Marcus. "Marcus, get up there. If you don’t kill these bastard gods, how can you be Great Sage Equal to Heaven?"

Marcus’s grip loosened and tightened, the golden band on his head digging into his skull.

I looked at Derek. "Aren’t you God of Justice? Do something!"

Derek’s voice was distant, as if from the Ninth Heaven. "I can’t. Miracle fruit doesn’t violate heavenly rules."

Mr. Jennings slowly landed beside Derek, still smiling. "Demon, you think everyone is as stubborn as you? It was Derek who reported your rebellious thoughts to Heaven, so I could arrive in time. This road trip west is to divide the West’s merit, to temper you and Marcus. Derek is so noble, just here to watch you. In the end, you demons will submit to the West, but the True Lord will return to Heaven above all but one."

I suddenly turned, shocked, staring at Derek.

Derek nodded. "Heaven’s rules are right. If not, my mother died for nothing."

I was furious. I knew I couldn’t move, but still wanted to slap that handsome face of Derek. My hands ached from restraint, my heart from betrayal.

Wind brushed my right arm—I suddenly found I could move.

My arm could lift.

I looked up. Mr. Jennings’s hand was empty—the heirloom that should be there was now in Pastor Tom’s hand.

Mr. Jennings: "..."

After so many years, the family heirloom shining with holy light, in Heaven no one could even touch it—he never imagined someone could just take it, let alone the preacher appearing at his side, leaving no trace.

Mr. Jennings’s forehead broke out in cold sweat. "Pastor, Pastor, please give me the heirloom."

Pastor Tom held the heirloom, looked it over. When Mr. Jennings reached for it, he jumped back, smiled. "Nope. Finders keepers."

Then the smile vanished, still staring at Mr. Jennings, but I knew he was talking to me.

Pastor Tom said calmly, "Didn’t you want to kill them all? What are you waiting for?"

I jolted up, the disdainful smiles of Star Lord of Fate and Giant Spirit God not yet gone, Fire-tipped Spear—

The world held its breath. This time, I wasn’t holding back.