Grace Miller was startled again, and the scene of that exam surfaced in his memory: just like any mortal Grace Miller, Arthur King had a terrible headache when it came to foreign languages. Faced with a page full of strange symbols, Arthur King boldly wrote a grand and magnificent “Ode to Sword Qi,” convinced it was a masterpiece for the ages—the only problem was, it was written in Chinese characters.

“But the HR department said that exam was just a placement test, not to be taken seriously.”

The black-iron-tower-like Ulysses Grant let out a cold chuckle and said:

“Arthur King is full of tricks. The HR department said that to prevent cheating. Now, haven’t they seen through your true abilities?”

Grace Miller also gave a cold laugh and said:

“Ulysses Grant, so you’ve figured me out. May I ask what your exam score was?”

Ulysses Grant blushed, his dark face tinged with red, and said:

“That’s your business, why drag me into it? Anyway, my score was higher than yours.”

Grace Miller steeled himself and said:

“Alright, alright, I don’t know Sanskrit. I am Arthur King, I protect the President Lincoln with magic—what’s the use of learning Sanskrit?”

The other immortals all changed color, and John Adams shouted:

“Don’t talk nonsense!”

George Washington smiled and said:

“Arthur King, you’re mistaken. Sanskrit is the language of our Buddha, the Tathagata. How can you say it’s useless? To save all beings, we rely on it.”

Suddenly, Grace Miller saw the light. So that’s how it is—if the Tathagata wants to save all beings, he probably has to start with the heavenly court. Arthur King is the President Lincoln’s most trusted guard, so naturally, he has to be removed first. A wise man doesn’t fight a losing battle, and immortals even less so. The other side has strength in numbers—better to give in a little, and at least remain an immortal for a few more decades or centuries.

Grace Miller said, “George Washington sister, you are absolutely right. Your words have awakened me from a dream. From now on, I’ll study Sanskrit diligently and won’t stop until I pass level six.”

Benjamin Franklin snorted coldly and said:

“Wouldn’t it have been better if you’d done this earlier? Now it’s a bit late. The President Lincoln said that the order to streamline the organization and cut redundant staff has been ineffective for years because everyone’s been too soft. This year, things must be handled strictly according to the rules, with no favoritism. Arthur King, on behalf of the President Lincoln and the Nine Heavens Representative Assembly, I officially notify you: you are removed from the list of immortals, cast down to the mortal world, and may never return to the heavenly court for all eternity.”

Thunder rumbled in Grace Miller’s mind. This was too much—he’d just transmigrated, hadn’t even seen a fairy yet! Looking at Benjamin Franklin and the others, some sneered, some glared, some looked down, some were disdainful, some sympathetic—all with their own agendas. Five immortals had come together, clearly intending to use force.

I am Arthur King—am I supposed to fear a few minor gods? Little Alice, Grant, Thomas Jefferson are all manageable; even in a group fight, they can’t beat Arthur King. George Washington is deep and unfathomable, a bit tricky. John Adams is a sly old fox—ever since Theodore Roosevelt overturned his alchemy furnace, he’s become more restrained, but his power is not to be underestimated.

“Mr. Adams, I don’t trust Little Alice. You take me to see the President Lincoln. I don’t believe the President Lincoln would banish me.”

John Adams stroked his beard and said:

“Well, ahem, Little Alice… Benjamin Franklin is conveying the President Lincoln’s will. There’s no doubt about that. We’re all immortals here—let’s part on good terms. No need to make things ugly.”

Screw you, old geezer, Grace Miller cursed inwardly. Of the Three Pure Ones, you rank third, your seniority is even higher than the President Lincoln’s, and yet you’re so eager to learn Sanskrit—why not just shave your head and become a monk?

Grace Miller gripped his sword hilt and said loudly:

“No way! I want to see the President Lincoln. If the President Lincoln wants to banish me, I’ll jump down myself. What others say doesn’t count.”

Benjamin Franklin pulled a palm-sized imperial seal from his robe and said:

“The President Lincoln’s sacred seal is here. What more do you have to say?”

Grace Miller leaned in for a closer look, but Benjamin Franklin flipped his hand, and the seal didn’t fall. Instead, it emitted a beam of light, burning a large round hole in the floor.

Grace Miller immediately sensed trouble. John Adams and George Washington each grabbed one of his arms, preventing him from drawing his sword, and said:

“Arthur King, don’t make a scene.”

Ulysses Grant and Thomas Jefferson circled behind Grace Miller, and without a word, kicked him. The number one swordsman in the heavenly court, Arthur King, was thus booted out of heaven, falling straight to the mortal world.

Overhead, Benjamin Franklin’s voice thundered:

“Arthur King, the President Lincoln acknowledges your service. Nine-tenths of your power is stripped, one-tenth remains. If you dare to do evil in the mortal world, you will be struck down by heaven!”

“Screw you!” Grace Miller shouted toward the Nine Heavens as he fell, “Just wait till I come back and overthrow the heavenly court! I won’t even want the title ‘Great Sage Equal to Heaven’! I’ll take care of every one of you scheming gods and hairless bodhisattvas!”

Countless faces appeared all over the Nine Heavens, their cold laughter raining down on Grace Miller like a storm.

“Arthur King has been banished. He surely won’t accept it. Once he’s in the mortal world, he’ll definitely harbor rebellious thoughts,” said George Washington.

“Can anyone in the mortal world escape the control of gods and buddhas? I’ve already made arrangements. He’ll never get a chance to make a comeback,” Benjamin Franklin said smugly.

Chapter Two: Beauty, Don’t Be Afraid, I’m an Immortal

Grace Miller kept falling and falling. Suddenly, the sword at his waist vanished, then his helmet was gone, his silver armor, undershirt, ring, the tokens given by fairies, the little trinkets he’d prepared for the fairies—all of it, along with ninety percent of his power, was reclaimed by the heavenly court.