68. The Worm of the Severed Hand

“Kill!”
Chen Huangpi roared ferociously, his ink-black hair whipping around him.
Sword and finger as one, the vital energy circulating within his liver temple was instantly drained.
Above his head, within the green mist, the hand that had seized him erupted with streams of sword energy.
Sword energy crisscrossed, murderous intent surged!
Yet it was all useless.
Chen Huangpi could sense that the sword energy did not even scratch the dead hand gripping him; it could not make it move an inch.
Understand this:
Though the Demon-Slaying Sword Qi, born from the liver’s essence, was faint, once fully drawn and unleashed, it was far from weak.
Any ordinary evil entity would not escape unscathed from such a strike.
Instead, the hand seemed provoked, tightening its grip suddenly.
Though it could not harm Chen Huangpi, the pain made him grunt involuntarily.
The faster he cultivated the Divine Refinement of the Five Viscera, the sharper his six senses became.
His body remained impervious to water and fire, yet he was no longer numb to pain like a corpse.
But the pain came and went swiftly.
In the blink of an eye, Chen Huangpi felt a lifeless chill creeping from the hand into his body.
From palm, to wrist, to elbow.
Wherever the chill passed, all sensation faded away.
He even felt as if his hand was about to become something not his own.
“Huang Er!”
Before Chen Huangpi could finish speaking, the Brass Oil Lamp spat a stream of true flame at him.
In that moment, Chen Huangpi became a man of fire.
The true flame coursed across his body, instantly dispelling the eerie chill.
The chill retreated from the elbow, forced back.
Yet, at the wrist, it could not be driven out.
Because that lifeless hand gripped his wrist with relentless strength, the chill pressed on endlessly, and no matter how fierce the true flame burned, it could not harm the hand at all.
“Evil entity? Calamity?”
The Brass Oil Lamp shivered.
That hand in the green mist gave it a very bad feeling.
Anxiety gnawed at it, as if being caught meant never escaping.
“Whatever it is! Demon Tree, cut it down!”
Chen Huangpi’s murderous intent soared.
He directly summoned the power extracted from the Demon Tree—a withered branch grew from his wrist.
Where flesh and wood met, there was no wound, as if the branch was part of his own body.
The branch grew swiftly in the wind, winding and twisting like a whip, snapping backward before surging with an unnatural ashen hue.
Bang!
The branch lashed out.
Even the green mist churned, the air exploded.
A streak of ashen sword energy struck the hand with ferocious force.
With a thunderous crash, the hand was shattered to pieces by the sword energy.
Fragments of pale flesh, bone and tendon drifted everywhere.
Chen Huangpi quickly pulled his hand free.
Only then did he notice his palm had turned waxen yellow from the wrist down, and the back of his hand was mottled with dark blue scars.
For a moment, Chen Huangpi was lost in confusion.
As a child, his skin was just like this: waxen yellow, scars in many places.
His master called them birthmarks.
As he grew, they faded naturally, disappearing entirely by the age of eight.
After he began to cultivate, his skin became ever more fair, no longer yellowed.
“Why is this happening?”
Questions welled up in Chen Huangpi’s heart.
“Don’t be afraid—you’re just frozen. Let me roast you a bit and you’ll be fine.”
The Brass Oil Lamp panicked, hurriedly spraying true flame.

Chen Huangpi’s expression grew even more bewildered.
He clenched his fist.
Though the true flame burned, he felt no pain.
Yet below his wrist, discomfort was clear, as if his body had split into two: one before cultivation, one after.
“How can this be!”
The Brass Oil Lamp cried out in shock and anger: “My true flame is useless? Where did that hand come from?”
“It’s not about the hand.”
Chen Huangpi shook his head, his tone complicated. “Look, it’s already recovering.”
As he spoke, the blue-black scars faded from his palm.
His waxen skin became fair and rosy once more.
The Brass Oil Lamp marveled: “How do you do that?”
Chen Huangpi replied, “It’s the method my master taught me.”
The Divine Refinement of the Five Viscera and the Harmonization of Yin and Yang.
The first cultivates the organs, five elements cycling, nourishing his body.
The second focuses on the soul, merging yin and yang, ultimately forging the primal spirit.
And the cultivation proceeds on its own.
No need to supervise.
Only after cultivating these arts did Chen Huangpi’s skin become fair and his senses keen.
Before that, aside from being tough, strong, sharp-eyed, and having a good memory, he was no different from an ordinary person.
“I feel my master is hiding something from me.”
Chen Huangpi frowned. “And it’s very important.”
“I suspect I have a problem.”
“You finally realized?”
The Brass Oil Lamp’s eyes widened.
It had always known Chen Huangpi was bizarre to the extreme.
Since the day it was awakened by the temple’s master and began accompanying Chen Huangpi, he was already four or five years old.
He remained that age for a long time.
Who knows how many years passed.
One night, Chen Huangpi suddenly grew to look eight.
His whole body icy cold, like a corpse.
That time, the Brass Oil Lamp was terrified, thinking Chen Huangpi’s true nature would finally emerge.
But the temple master appeared unexpectedly, silencing it with a gesture.
Then, the lamp lost consciousness.
When it awoke, it was dawn.
Chen Huangpi called it, dancing with joy to celebrate his growth.
From then on, the temple master no longer fed him that unpleasant gruel, instead preparing proper meals.
On the altar, offerings appeared daily: fruits, pastries, noodles, rice, all sorts.
Time passed again.
Chen Huangpi changed no more, and the Brass Oil Lamp thought it was over—until the temple master unexpectedly went mad.
After the master’s madness, much time passed.
Only recently did Chen Huangpi receive those strange cultivation methods.
Once he began, Chen Huangpi started growing again.
The Brass Oil Lamp was thrilled.
If not for the master forbidding it to speak of these matters, it would have confessed everything long ago.
Now, Chen Huangpi realized it himself.
That was no longer its concern.
But—
Chen Huangpi gave the lamp a puzzled glance, unsure of its reaction.
“I’m not stupid. Isn’t it obvious I have problems? It’s normal.”
“Yes, very normal.”
The Brass Oil Lamp instinctively replied, “You’ve always been bizarre—wait, that’s not normal! Didn’t you realize you’re not normal?”
“I was born from an egg.”
Chen Huangpi emphasized those words. “Anything that happens to me is normal. What’s not normal is, after being grabbed by that hand, I feel like I’m becoming normal.”
Normal or abnormal.
That question baffled the Brass Oil Lamp.
Chen Huangpi was hatched, so anything was normal.
But what’s abnormal is becoming normal.
So which is it?
The lamp couldn’t figure it out, and looked to Chen Huangpi in hope.

It waited for him to clarify.
But Chen Huangpi stared at it silently, his gaze oddly cold, as if regarding something filthy.
“Why are you looking at me, master? I’m perfectly normal!”
“Chen Huangpi?”
The Brass Oil Lamp asked, “Why aren’t you speaking?”
“Don’t move.”
Chen Huangpi’s lips did not move; the voice echoed in his mind.
The Brass Oil Lamp sensed trouble.
They had just switched places, and due to spraying true flame at Chen Huangpi’s hand, it had floated higher.
If that hand hadn’t been shattered by sword energy, it would have seized its head from the mist.
After years together, Chen Huangpi and the lamp knew each other’s every move.
In the next instant—
Both erupted into action!
The Brass Oil Lamp plunged downward, blasting streams of true flame overhead.
Chen Huangpi gripped a withered branch, wielded as a sword, slashing out seven or eight ashen sword energies.
The sword energy was spectral, brimming with savage intent!
Boom boom boom!!!
Seven or eight arms emerged from the green mist, but before they could touch the lamp, flame and sword energy shattered them to pieces.
Yet even more arms appeared from the mist.
Countless, endless.
All were eerily pale, lifeless, severed at the elbow.
Gripping one another, they formed a grotesque entity—like an insect covered in hands.
Chen Huangpi and the lamp glanced at it once, and lost all desire to fight.
“Run!!”
“I’ll clear the way for you.”
The Brass Oil Lamp’s slender arm stretched forward, probing endlessly.
The green mist blocked its sight, and its spiritual senses as well.
Who knows what lurks within?
If it’s dead, fine.
But if something like the Demon Tree is present, they’re doomed.
Chen Huangpi’s liver temple was not yet forged.
Facing such beings, he had no solution.
“Huang Er, no time to wait, do as you see fit!”
Without waiting for the lamp to scout ahead, Chen Huangpi seized it and plunged into the mist.
At the same time, he spun around, the dead branch in his hand slashing out waves of sword energy.
The sword energy rampaged, blasting several arms to pieces.
Yet more sprouted instantly.
Suddenly, Chen Huangpi recalled the final vision from the Fox Mountain God’s memories: aside from the ten thousand gods ground to dust on the millstone-like altar, the Daoists of Pure Immortal Temple were all transformed into evil entities, controlled by things that grew from their bodies.
Among them, Xu Qingshan severed his own arms, but as soon as they were cut, more grew, and so on, until countless arms chased him, trying to turn him into an evil being.
These arms—could they be Xu Qingshan’s?
No, they must be.
For now, the arms formed a magical seal.
Chen Huangpi glanced at it, and, as if understanding the strange, pictorial script and inscriptions, comprehended the meaning of the seal.
Sword of Slaughter, Soul Killing!
It was one of the wordless arts he had seen earlier in the old library.
If these severed arms weren’t Xu Qingshan’s, how could they wield Pure Immortal Temple’s arts?
“Huang Er!!”
“Stop shouting, I’ve been grabbed by an evil entity too!”
The Brass Oil Lamp screamed, and was dragged into the mist, taking Chen Huangpi with it.