Chapter 33: The Ghost and the Marvelous Art of Harmony

Within the Soul-Calling Tome, in the realm of the Yellow Springs.

For the first time, as the contract master, Chen Huangpi beheld the true form of the Reaper Wraith. It looked much like the skeletal figure that had previously lurked in the hazy mist—except far, far larger.

So enormous, in fact, that Chen Huangpi couldn’t help but call out, “You’re too big, way too big! Ghost, can’t you shrink down a little?”

The Reaper Wraith stood nearly two hundred meters tall. Its flesh had been utterly devoured, leaving only yellowed bones. The bones themselves seemed to have soaked for ages in the muddy waters of the Yellow Springs, the earthy stench seeping deep within over countless years. Unlike a human skeleton, its bones were tightly interlocked like chain mail, each bearing spiral patterns, lending it a bizarre, eerie beauty.

Its skull was thick and hard, not smooth but jagged and angular. Now, towering high above, the Reaper Wraith fixed its black-red eyes on Chen Huangpi, staring down with a deathly gaze.

In the end, however, it could only sit cross-legged in resignation.

“Contract master, my name isn’t ‘Ghost.’”

“Alright, then I’ll call you ‘Suo,’” Chen Huangpi replied, then tentatively asked, “Your surname must be Suo, right?”

“Does it matter what my surname is?”

“Doesn’t it?” Chen Huangpi was genuinely perplexed. “Everyone has a name. Even Huang Er does. I think you should have one too. Why not ‘Huang San’? I think it sounds rather nice.”

Nice? The Reaper Wraith felt its lot had already fallen so low. If Chen Huangpi started calling it ‘Huang San’ day in and day out, like summoning a dog, death would be preferable. Yet, it truly dared not vent its anger at Chen Huangpi—his master was still present, after all.

With a long sigh, the Reaper Wraith relented, “Contract master, actually, I am called ‘Ghost.’ You may continue to address me so—it feels quite familiar.”

“Very well,” Chen Huangpi replied, a little disappointed. He really did think ‘Huang San’ had a nice ring to it. It would fit perfectly with the rest of the Pure Immortal Temple’s family—Huang Pi, Huang Yi, Huang Er, and Huang San. How harmonious they’d look together.

At that moment, perhaps out of impatience to be done with the division of spoils and hasten Chen Huangpi’s departure, the Reaper Wraith acted. With a mere thought, it summoned the soul of a woman, broken and with both arms missing, into its massive hands.

Its skeletal hands were colossal. Standing atop them, Chen Huangpi stared at the soul of the Twelfth Lady in surprise. “Ghost, I remember slicing her in half with my sword. Was I mistaken?”

The Reaper Wraith replied, “Your sword did cut her in two, but it did not harm her true form. Thus, her soul appears as it did in life.”

“What about her hands and arms?” A memory flashed through Chen Huangpi’s mind. He recalled being ambushed and losing consciousness, strange symbols like birds or beasts appearing on him, followed by billowing black smoke. The Twelfth Lady, tainted by a wisp of that smoke, had, within a single breath, severed her own arms, which were then devoured by the smoke and merged into his body.

“As you suspect, your black smoke can even consume true forms,” the Reaper Wraith said, its tone tinged with dread. Though it hadn’t existed as long as Huang Er, who had slept for many years and spent his days wandering with Chen Huangpi near Jade Qiong Mountain, the Reaper Wraith had roamed nearly every corner of the vast mountains, following wherever its contract master went. Yet, even with all it had seen, nothing compared to the strangeness of that black smoke—not on Chen Huangpi, at least.

“The Ten-Thousand Mountains are alive, birthing countless abominations. Some, however, are warped into abominations later by corruption,” the Reaper Wraith explained slowly. “For instance, the yellow mud can turn deities into abominations. Black smoke can do the same.”

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“That mutated idol earlier was corrupted in just such a way.”

Hearing this, Chen Huangpi pondered aloud, “But the black smoke on me doesn’t seem to turn things into abominations. I can’t control it; it only devours vital essence.”

The Reaper Wraith let out a cold laugh but didn’t answer directly. It wanted to say, ‘Chen Huangpi, you may not believe your black smoke can do such things, but your belief isn’t what counts. Who knows how many deities you’ve unknowingly tainted already?’

The Reaper Wraith’s attitude irked Chen Huangpi.

“Ghost, I’m telling the truth!”

“You are the contract master; you are always right,” the Reaper Wraith replied indifferently. “In any case, I have seen abominations wreathed in black smoke, each of them extraordinary, but they often vanish quickly in these mountains. If you say it has nothing to do with you, then so be it. Besides, you didn’t enter the Yellow Springs in person, so your black smoke can’t come in.”

“You’re right!” Chen Huangpi nodded. He had thought the Reaper Wraith could see everything that happened to him, but apparently, it didn’t know about the black smoke that had appeared when he entered the Fox Mountain God's memories.

“Ghost, with the Twelfth Lady’s soul, can I choose whatever memories I want?”

Chen Huangpi was especially interested in the memories of cultivators—his only window into the world beyond the mountains. But the memories of Lin Lao’s group overlapped too much, especially regarding cultivation sites, which seemed meaningless to him. He suspected that their techniques were useless to him—he couldn’t practice them or even learn spells. Yet every time he acquired memories, as contract master, he didn’t get to choose which, which made things troublesome.

The Reaper Wraith seemed to sense his thoughts. “Had she been a wretch bound by contract, the Soul-Calling Tome’s rules would apply. But as you killed this woman yourself, I can influence her soul somewhat. Tell me, what memories do you want?”

“I want anything like the Dog-Taming Canon or the Demon-Slaying Sword Art, and her memories of Xuzhou. I don’t need the rest.”

“Understood.” The Reaper Wraith bowed its head. Two beams of light shot from its black-red eyes, piercing the Twelfth Lady’s soul, which immediately twisted in agony as if a red-hot spike had been driven through her skull. Then, shining motes of light drifted from her soul, gathering together until they formed a sphere.

“There is indeed a technique here,” the Reaper Wraith frowned. “But it doesn’t seem suitable for you. Anyway, see for yourself.”

“Let me take a look.” Chen Huangpi was curious. What technique could possibly be unsuitable for him? He was, after all, a genius—if a technique could be learned, he could master it. And if mastered, surely he could use it.

With a thought, the light sphere merged into his body. In a flash, scenes and words flickered through his mind like a lantern show.

The brass oil lamp had once told him the Soul-Calling Tome was a wondrous thing—its magic lay in the fact that the memories Chen Huangpi received would have no real effect on him. And yet, they made his cheeks flush and his heart race.

The Twelfth Lady’s memories were chaotic—apart from cultivation, they mostly involved her bedroom affairs with Song Tiangang, the Xuzhou prefect. Chen Huangpi looked just once and felt a wave of discomfort.

Huang Er told him this was the urge to kill. He remembered it clearly.

“I’m doomed. I really must be a natural-born killer; otherwise, why would I be so quick to want to murder someone?” Chen Huangpi hurriedly skipped over that memory.

Then he found the technique the Reaper Wraith said was unsuitable.

“The Secret Art of Joyous Union, Vajra Lotus Staff?”

Face flushed, Chen Huangpi spat out angrily, “Demonic art! Demonic art! I only caught a glimpse and already wanted to kill! Ghost, are you tricking me? The Twelfth Lady was at least a Nascent Soul cultivator—how could she have such a wicked technique in her memory?”

The Secret Art of Joyous Union was illustrated in detail, blending yin-yang dual cultivation and energy-harvesting methods. The images made Chen Huangpi’s spiritual resolve tremble.

The Reaper Wraith sighed, “I told you, this isn’t suitable for you—what’s that to me? I’m just a skeleton; I can’t practice these ancient arts from before the world changed.”

“Ancient arts?” Chen Huangpi recalled that in the Twelfth Lady’s memories, there was indeed a segment on how she acquired the technique. After the world changed, cultivators could no longer practice ancient arts—doing so would turn them into abominations. Thus, these techniques were long ago banned. But for a noble family like the Songs, what kind of family would they be if they didn’t keep a few forbidden texts hidden away? Besides, they believed ancient arts had their uses: if their retainers needed to do something unspeakable and fell into enemy hands, using the ancient art at a critical moment would instantly turn them into abominations, destroying all evidence and dragging their enemies down with them. Genius, really.

But as a concubine of Song Tiangang, the Xuzhou prefect, the Twelfth Lady had no need for such means. This technique was simply something she’d picked out to please Song Tiangang. She couldn’t practice the art, but the positions in the illustrations were, one by one, extremely effective.

Chen Huangpi was certain the Secret Art of Joyous Union was a demonic technique. He was a cultivator—a follower of the righteous path. How could he practice such a thing?

“This Joyous Union Sect must be nothing good.” Every time he thought of the images, the urge to kill surged.

“My bloodlust is too great.” Yet, it hadn’t been fruitless. “At the very least, I now know several more ways to use the geomantic compass.”

With that, the purpose of the Twelfth Lady’s trip to the Ten-Thousand Mountains flashed through his mind. “These cultivators are strange. They told their subordinates they came to find the source of corruption, but in fact, she was after Lin Ye and the other cultivators. Yet, I feel something’s off.”

Chen Huangpi was pure and kind by nature, mainly due to spending so much time with his master and Huang Er. But after recent events, he’d begun to ponder more deeply.

He couldn’t help but wonder, “Logically, Song Tiangang, the Xuzhou prefect, would send people to find the source of corruption for tax reasons. He told only regular cultivators, but compared to that, Lin Ye and the others were of little importance. They were just servants—if they died, so be it. People of power wouldn’t care. Yet the Twelfth Lady, with much higher status, focused intently on this minor matter.”

“Lin Ye and his group came to find the source of corruption, were hunted by the mutated idol, then eaten by my second master, and then I fed their souls to the Reaper Wraith. The only valuable thing they had was the geomantic compass.”

“Was the Twelfth Lady actually after the geomantic compass?” Chen Huangpi doubted it, since although Lin Ye and the others valued the compass, the Twelfth Lady treated it as just another magical tool. Clearly, that wasn’t it.

Chen Huangpi grew increasingly troubled. Even after the Reaper Wraith, unable to bear watching any longer, swallowed the Twelfth Lady’s soul and pulled Chen Huangpi’s spirit out of the Soul-Calling Tome, he was still racking his brains.

The brass oil lamp noticed and asked curiously, “Chen Huangpi, what are you thinking about so deeply?”

Chen Huangpi snapped out of his reverie, his voice complex. “Huang Er, I suspect the Twelfth Lady came for me. They want to kill me, and I’m certain they’ll send more people!”