39. The Nether Glyph of Shadowed Earth

“Master, open your mouth a little wider.”

“My shoulders are stuck.”

Chen Huangpi’s voice was muffled; his head was already inside the esophagus, but his shoulders were lodged at the old Daoist in the purple robe’s throat.

“Alright.”

The Daoist’s vocal cords vibrated as he reached up and forced his mouth open even wider, almost to a grotesque extent.

Only then did he manage to swallow Chen Huangpi completely.

After a brief moment of darkness, Chen Huangpi sensed he had reached the stomach and began searching for the demon tree’s head.

“Found it!”

No sooner had he spoken than the Daoist in the purple robe seized Chen Huangpi by the legs and yanked him out.

“Huangpi, you’ve grown again!”

The Daoist gestured with his hand, indicating the top of Chen Huangpi’s head.

“Yesterday you reached here, now you’re up to here.”

“It’s true, I’m nearly up to your chest now, Master.”

Only then did Chen Huangpi realize how much he’d grown in just a day.

It seemed that the faster his progress in the Five-Viscera Spirit-Refining Method, the faster he grew.

If he perfected the technique, he’d probably be at least three meters tall.

Beside them, the brass oil lamp was utterly astonished.

It had spent every day and night with Chen Huangpi and had never noticed the changes in his body.

But now, looking closely, something was clearly off.

He hadn’t grown at all for so many years, and now, after cultivating the Five-Viscera Spirit-Refining Method, he was suddenly growing, and at such a rate.

Could it be that he would reach adulthood within a year?

At this thought, the brass oil lamp mused to itself, “Chen Huangpi has always been extraordinary. It’s only natural that he’s growing quickly now—nothing to be alarmed about.”

At this moment—

“Master, you digest too fast. If only I’d gotten in the stomach a bit sooner.”

Chen Huangpi spread his hand to reveal a tree branch, about the length of a finger, its bark pitted and corroded.

It was clearly, unmistakably dead.

The Daoist in the purple robe complained, “I’ve been eating well lately, so my digestion’s improved. You can’t blame me.”

Chen Huangpi was not disappointed.

There were too many malevolent things in the Great Mountain Range. He’d surely find a suitable one; even if it wasn’t as good as the demon tree, it would suffice.

If nothing else, a water-aligned evil god would do.

“I won’t blame you, Master.” Chen Huangpi comforted him, “My Kidney Temple will take a few more days to forge. When the time comes, you can help me find a better one.”

He spoke casually, but the Daoist took it seriously.

After pondering a moment, he tugged at his hair and said, “That tree really was ideal. But it’s dead; that won’t do. I must find a way to revive it.”

Chen Huangpi tried to stop him, but the Daoist had already vanished without a trace.

“Master, night’s falling soon. Do come back early—I’ll make dinner for you.”

Chen Huangpi was helpless and tucked the dead demon tree branch into his clothes.

Master was a warm-hearted soul; whatever Chen Huangpi asked for, he would always rush to fulfill.

“Huang Er, I’ve grown up, yet I still trouble my master. Am I leeching off him too much?”

“You fool. If you can, why not? If the abbot were my master, I’d freeload for life,” sneered the brass oil lamp. “Besides, letting the abbot pick you a god is much simpler than you searching for one yourself.”

Chen Huangpi shook his head. “If my Kidney Temple is complete, it might not be as easy as you think.”

The principles of the Five-Viscera Spirit-Refining Method were clear: once the five viscera temples were formed, they would attract deities.

The five viscera temples were like blooming flowers; gods would come like bees drawn by fragrance.

Once the temple doors closed, the gods could never leave.

Were it not for the demon tree, Chen Huangpi would have followed this method, inviting gods into his trap one by one.

“Enough, I’ll focus on alchemy for now. Healing Master is the most important task.”

Chen Huangpi turned his thoughts to the main ingredient for the Heavenly Poison Pill: where to find the Ever-Dying One.

The Great Mountain Range was vast—endlessly so.

Although he had patrolled the mountains for years, he’d never cultivated before and had only explored the area near Jade Qiong Mountain. Further afield, he’d have to spend nights away from home.

“There must be Ever-Dying Ones growing somewhere in these mountains,” Chen Huangpi mused.

The next moment, the Voice of the Soul-Reaper Ghost sounded: “Don’t bother. There are no Ever-Dying Ones in the Great Mountain Range. You’ll have to look elsewhere.”

“Ghost, do you know where?”

“Of course I do.”

The Soul-Reaper Ghost was hiding in the Book of Soul Summoning, having long wanted to speak. But as soon as the Daoist in the purple robe entered, it was too terrified to make a sound.

Only now did it speak.

“The Ever-Dying One grows only in the Nether Soil. In the old days, when mortals died, their souls would fall into the Yellow Springs, drift downstream, and sink into the Nether Soil, taking the form of infants. A cycle of sixty years was a lifetime; it took a hundred cycles to mature, and they grew like wild grass, everywhere in the Nether Soil.”

The Soul-Reaper Ghost had never mentioned it before, but it was clear it hailed from the Nether Soil.

Why it appeared in the mortal world and became the Soul-Reaper Ghost of the Book of Soul Summoning remained a mystery.

“So you’re saying I must visit the Nether Soil to obtain it?” Chen Huangpi asked with a frown.

“Correct. Don’t worry—I know how to get there,” said the Soul-Reaper Ghost.

“Foolish ghost, do you think we don’t know?” the brass oil lamp sneered. “When the Earth Dragon turns, follow the yellow mud upstream to the Yellow Springs. But that’s far too dangerous—I won’t let Chen Huangpi take such a risk.”

“Hah.” The Soul-Reaper Ghost laughed coldly. “Huang Er, you may be remarkable, but you don’t understand the laws of mutual generation and restraint. I am a being nurtured by the Yellow Springs; it is my mother—how could it harm me?”

“How dare you! How dare you call me Huang Er?” the brass oil lamp fumed, long annoyed that Chen Huangpi wanted to call the Soul-Reaper Ghost Huang San. In the end, he was simply called Ghost.

But even so, it felt offended.

“You treacherous Ghost, I, Huang Er, have long suspected your intentions. Now you finally reveal your true colors. Chen Huangpi! My kin! My good friend!” the brass oil lamp emphasized the relationship three times before continuing, “It was born of the Yellow Springs and wants to trick you into taking it back. Once there, it’ll dive in and escape, and you’ll be doomed! Don’t trust it!”

The Soul-Reaper Ghost flew into a rage. “Nonsense! He is my master by contract and the abbot’s disciple. If I dared harm him, the abbot would tear open the Nether Soil and dry the Yellow Springs to hunt me down!”

It did harbor such thoughts, but it truly dared not act on them.

At that moment, Chen Huangpi suddenly asked, “Ghost, you just said you were born of the Yellow Springs. That means you’re water-aligned, right?”

“Hahaha!” The Soul-Reaper Ghost laughed thrice. “Now that you mention it, there might be a place in the Great Mountain Range with the Ever-Dying One you seek.”

“But you’ll need to wear my skin and become a fiend to enter. Otherwise, all the fiends there will tear you to pieces.”

The Soul-Reaper Ghost confessed honestly.

Though it had never seen the Five-Viscera Spirit-Refining Method, just hearing the Daoist and Chen Huangpi discuss it made it seem ominous.

A place where gods were beaten into obedience if unruly, and once inside, never allowed to leave—how could it dare to go there?

Chen Huangpi laughed, and so did the brass oil lamp.

“Don’t be like that,” the Soul-Reaper Ghost said sullenly, “The abbot wants to revive the demon tree, which is far more powerful than I am. Even in my prime, I was nothing compared to it. You surely don’t want a weakling like me in your Kidney Temple.”

It belittled itself incessantly.

In truth, it wasn’t so feeble—if restored to full strength, it could spar with the demon tree.

But Chen Huangpi took it seriously.

He comforted the Soul-Reaper Ghost, “Don’t put yourself down. In my eyes, you’re no worse than the demon tree. How about this: we’ll put it in writing. If you help me find the Ever-Dying One, I won’t put you in my Kidney Temple.”

“My Kidney Temple is terrifying—once inside, there’s no escape.”

“Deal! I’ll sign!”

In all its years in the Book of Soul Summoning, the Soul-Reaper Ghost had never had a master demand a signed contract.

If it breached the contract, would it have to kill itself?

Soon, lines of script appeared in the Book of Soul Summoning.

Chen Huangpi and the Soul-Reaper Ghost agreed: if the Soul-Reaper Ghost could lead him to the Ever-Dying One, it would not be imprisoned in the Kidney Temple. Otherwise, Chen Huangpi had the right to command it to enter.

Both signed.

If the ghost breached the terms, it would be compelled to slay itself.

This clause seemed absurd to the Soul-Reaper Ghost.

Without a second thought, it signed its name.

Twisted characters, like tiny buzzing insects, crawled across the Book of Soul Summoning.

The brass oil lamp glanced at them and grew dizzy.

The writing seemed alive—decayed, gloomy, and deeply secretive.

“Chen Huangpi, what’s its name?”

“Let me see.”

Chen Huangpi leaned in to study it.

To the Soul-Reaper Ghost, this scene was comical.

It was a being of the Nether Soil, a child of the Yellow Springs, innately fluent in Nether Script—a language mortals could never comprehend.

Even souls entering the Netherworld after death could not learn Nether Script.

It belonged solely to beings like itself.

But in the next moment, Chen Huangpi read aloud, “Modo Sanabo…”

“What a strange name. I still prefer to call you Ghost.”

The Soul-Reaper Ghost was dumbfounded.

It nearly leaped from the Book of Soul Summoning.

“How do you know the Nether Script?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Chen Huangpi replied matter-of-factly, “I’m well-read in medical texts and speak eloquently. Isn’t it normal for me to know some odd scripts?”

“But this is Nether Script! Are you, too, born of the Nether Soil and Yellow Springs?”

The Soul-Reaper Ghost felt uneasy.

Because this didn’t match with itself—or, more precisely, with the Nether Soil and Yellow Springs.

By all appearances, Chen Huangpi was of the human world.

He bore not a trace of Nether Soil’s gloom or Yellow Springs’ chill.

Yet he could read the script only beings of the Yellow Springs could master.

“You’re not right. Something’s very wrong with you.” The Soul-Reaper Ghost screamed, nearly mad, “Chen Huangpi, what in the world are you? Come with me to the Nether Soil and Yellow Springs. No matter your true nature, the Yellow Springs will reveal your real form, and the Nether Soil will root your essence.”

“I want to see what you really are.”

Chen Huangpi ignored the ghost, signed his own name in the Book of Soul Summoning, and said, “Let’s go. Take me to that place only fiends can enter.”

The Soul-Reaper Ghost could only shake its head.

It had long suspected something was off about Chen Huangpi, but never dwelled on it. Now, with the matter of Nether Script, it could not sit still.

How could a being of the mortal world understand the script of the Nether Soil?

If Chen Huangpi was only wearing human skin and was essentially like itself, that was one thing; but if not, it meant something was seriously wrong with the Nether Soil and the Yellow Springs.