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Facing an Ancient God for a Year

Chapter 239 - Chapter 239: Chapter 238: Pure Land Volume (Part 1)_1 (Page 1/2)

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Chapter 239: Chapter 238: Pure Land Volume (Part 1)_1

The cause of death for Demigod Herrom?

The new mission prompt left Fu Qian momentarily stunned.

Just moments ago, it had claimed there were no Transcendents here, yet now a demigod had died in this very place?

This shift in tone happened rather abruptly!

Demigods aren’t easy to kill compared to others; to actually put one down is quite the challenge.

To put it plainly, even if they lose the power to resist, you wouldn’t see them being killed by a mob of farmers with pitchforks.

...
The description wasn’t wrong, this place is indeed more peculiar than it seems.

While his thoughts raced, Fu Qian casually observed his surroundings.

Simplistic and serene beauty, birds chirping and flowers fragrant, with passersby strolling leisurely—it truly was an ideal vacation spot.

Yet in this picturesque locale lay the power to bury a demigod.

As for the aversion to Transcendents, he had heard such a thing for the first time.

Looking at Chief Harry’s expression, however, it seemed very much taken for granted, apparently a long-standing tradition.

What an intriguing place.

Even though he knew danger lurked beneath the calm, Fu Qian remained relaxed.

One should be adept at finding the joys of life, after all, this work environment was at least much better, right?

A quiet town in the evening, now the ideal vacation would be to find a bookstore and stay until dusk.

Just as he thought this, Fu Qian caught sight of a black sign in his field of vision.

Is there really a bookstore?

It appeared to be an old shop with a small facade, almost the same size as the one he had in Shangjing.

Logically, he should have gone to a hotel to settle down and then try to gather information from around.

But Fu Qian wasn’t in a hurry, he directly headed towards the bookstore with his suitcase in tow.

With a creaking noise, Fu Qian pushed open the door and entered.

The bookstore was even smaller on the inside than it appeared from outside, with a chaotic arrangement of books piled in heaps in the corners.

At the sound of the door, a middle-aged man with hair like a bird’s nest looked up, his dead-fish eyes glancing over.

“Sorry, we’re closed!”

The man spoke with a cigarette in his mouth, his voice somewhat muffled.

And even from such a distance, a strong smell of alcohol was detectable.

Indeed, a belly full of poetry gives off the fragrance of literature.

Fu Qian couldn’t help but praise inwardly and promptly found a chair to sit down on.

“I’m not here to buy books.”

“This is a bookstore, no entry if not buying books.”

The bookstore owner seemed to have no desire to communicate.

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“But if you’re closed, how can I buy books?”

…

The owner was taken aback for a moment, then his eyes widened.

“Right, we are closed, so why don’t you just leave?”

“I’m not here to buy books, what does closing have to do with me?”

“What on earth do you want!”

Staring down at Fu Qian, the bookstore owner’s lips trembled for a full minute before he finally asked, exasperated.

“I was here to buy books originally, but since you’re closed, I might as well reluctantly ask about something,” Fu Qian said.

“Has anyone died in town recently?”

Fu Qian stared into Teacher Yu’s eyes, asking bluntly.

“A dead person?”

The bookstore owner clearly hadn’t expected Fu Qian to ask this and immediately scoffed.

“This is an old town, death is nothing out of the ordinary; just stay by the cemetery over there, and you’ll often bump into them.”

“Where is the cemetery?”

“Right next to the hospital, I swear if you ask me where the hospital is, I’ll kill you!”

Oh.

Fu Qian acknowledged with an “Oh,” paused for two seconds.

“Where is the hospital?”

Ah!!!

With a roar, the bookstore owner began to slap a leather-bound book, easily weighing over two pounds, against his forehead.

Fu Qian shook his head and glanced at the nameplate, twisted and askew on the man’s chest.

“Just kidding, Manager Bernard.”

…

“Now that I’ve answered your question, can you leave now?” Bernard said and put down the book, his forehead already swollen.

“Certainly.”

“Great, also, could I ask a favor of you?”

“What favor?”

“If it’s possible, could you die near the graveyard?”

That was actually quite possible.

Fu Qian rose smilingly, thinking secretly to himself.

“Farewell then!”

Seeing Fu Qian truly getting up to leave, Bernard sighed in relief, slumping into his chair as if liberated.

He flicked ash from his cigarette and took a swig from the bottle of liquor beside him, indescribably comfortable.

I should do the same on my way back to Shangjing.

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