Chapter Sixteen: The Assembly of the Gods (Part One)

There has always been a legend about the Temple of the God of Food: it is said that the temple does not end at one hundred floors, but boasts a secret one hundred and first floor never revealed to the world.

Yet, all the patrons who have entered the Temple of the God of Food scoff at such tales. As those who have once climbed to the very top, they are convinced the temple contains only one hundred floors. If there truly were a one hundred and first floor, surely they would have discovered some trace of it upon reaching the hundredth—some clue, a crack in space, or a hidden barrier. But they have never found the slightest sign of anything beyond the hundredth floor.

Does this not prove that the legendary one hundred and first floor is mere fantasy and rumor? Even when so-called inside information from the temple circulates, no one truly believes in the existence of this fabled floor. In matters such as this, all beings trust their own strength and experience more than the words of others—even if their power is not as great as they imagine.

But in truth, while the Temple of the God of Food stands one hundred floors tall, there is indeed a one hundred and first floor. It is simply not built above the hundredth, but rather lies beneath the earth, a secret sublevel.

Accustomed as they are to soaring above the world—gods and immortals who reign from on high—who among them would ever suspect that the true one hundred and first floor is hidden below?

The Temple of the God of Food, the one hundred and first floor.

The infamous God of Food and Demons, known as Fatty, sat carelessly upon his Devouring Throne, clad in his signature divine robe emblazoned with a huge character for “Food” on the chest. He lazily tossed a few divine fruits into his mouth.

Before Fatty stood twelve divine thrones arranged in a semicircle. His small, dark eyes gleamed with mischief as he surveyed the seats, the corners of his lips curling into a cold smile. He plucked another fruit and chewed it thoughtfully.

Suddenly, one throne began to radiate a gentle white light. A young man in white robes, holding a feathered fan, materialized atop it, smiling serenely at Fatty.

“You’re always the first to arrive, God of Literature and Demons—Fang Yan,” Fatty bellowed with laughter.

Fang Yan, the white-robed youth, unfolded his fan and waved it leisurely. Drawing a cup of divine wine to himself with a flick of the wrist, he sipped delicately and his eyes shone with delight. “Fatty, you truly live up to your title as the God of Food and Demons! Your wine grows finer with each batch!”

With that, Fang Yan drained the cup. The jug beside him floated over to refill his glass automatically.

Fatty, long accustomed to Fang Yan’s jests, merely watched him drink in silence.

“Fatty, what is this opportunity for advancement you promised us? Tell me now,” Fang Yan asked, eyes bright with curiosity and impatience.

Fatty shook his head, smiling. “I’ll explain once everyone has arrived. Otherwise, where’s the fun in that?”

Fang Yan fell silent, settling into his throne to wait for the others, pondering Fatty’s intentions.

Three years earlier, in the East Sea’s Hall of Literature:

Fang Yan was teaching his disciples when a letter arrived from Fatty, inviting him to the Temple of the God of Food. At first, Fang Yan had no intention of going, but Fatty promised an opportunity for advancement to share among the gods. The specifics were vague, but Fang Yan trusted Fatty enough to believe the opportunity was real—Fatty would never dare deceive the proud gods.

Still, he suspected the opportunity would not come easily. Perhaps some primordial demon gods would even fall in pursuit of it.

Hesitant, Fang Yan gazed across the East Sea, thinking of the golden figure who dominated the realm and the ever-strengthening Dragon Clan. After the nine thunderclaps, the dragons had only accelerated their expansion and were poised to conquer the East Sea. Once that happened, lesser powers like his own Hall of Literature—those who refused to submit—would face annihilation.

Of course, Fang Yan could move his hall elsewhere to avoid the dragons’ unstoppable advance. But where could he go? Across the vast wilderness, after the nine thunderclaps, all the great clans and powers were waging war to expand their territories. The land was engulfed in flames of conflict.

As a proud and noble primordial demon god, Fang Yan cared little for his own life or death. But he could not accept the extinction of his literary path. He knew there was only one way to break this deadlock and preserve the Hall of Literature: to break through swiftly to the rank of Divine Lord.

Only with a Divine Lord anchoring their ranks could a power hope to survive the coming war that would sweep across the world.

But how could one hope to break through to Divine Lord? Among all the myriad beings and races, how many had reached such a realm?

As a primordial demon god at the peak of the Divine King stage, Fang Yan could sense an invisible barrier to the Divine Lord realm, one that should not exist. In his view, only overwhelming fortune and a heaven-defying opportunity could enable one to break through.

Countless Divine Kings, long since prepared for advancement, had failed to reach Divine Lord for lack of fortune and miraculous chance. The great clans and powers waged war precisely to seize greater fortune, hoping their own would break through.

Just as Fang Yan agonized over these opportunities, Fatty arrived with timely news.

Given his understanding of Fatty, Fang Yan guessed the opportunity must be something extraordinary—perhaps a primordial treasure or the inheritance of a fallen chaotic demon god, any of which could be enough to aid a god’s breakthrough.

He certainly did not believe Fatty could amass enough fortune for all the gods to ascend.

For the sake of his path of literature, Fang Yan resolved to risk his life and attend the gathering at the Temple of the God of Food in search of advancement.

After Fang Yan, the Gods of Fate, Slaughter, Earth, Light, Darkness, Creation, Order, Time, Thunder, War, and Dreams appeared in turn, each taking their seat.

Divine light illuminated the thrones as all the gods assembled.

As host, Fatty greeted each of the arriving gods.

“Fatty, let’s get started!” urged the impatient gods.

With solemn deliberation, Fatty struck the “Bell of the Gods” beside his throne.

By the rules of the Alliance of the Gods, the one who convenes the meeting presides, regardless of strength.

The clear tones of the bell rang out gently.

The Alliance of the Gods—the council of gods—had begun.

This chapter was meant to be posted yesterday. But with no inspiration and too many matters at hand, I delayed until today. I spent the whole day thinking, writing, and revising this chapter, and at last it is done. Forgive my crude style, dear readers.