Chapter Forty-One: Stagnant Waters of Ten Thousand Years

After the group had eaten and drunk their fill, they bid one another farewell and departed. Ma Heng stayed behind with Jia Dao and Lu Qian.

“Fellow Daoist Li Lin, here is a map of the Nether Valley,” Ma Heng said, handing over a chart marked with complex terrain. “I assume you are here for the fire?”

“Of course,” Lu Qian replied with a nod.

There was no reason to conceal it; most outsiders who came here were after the fire. Besides, the Ghostly Netherfire was not unique—there would be no competition between the two even if Ma Heng sought it as well.

“The Nether Valley is riddled with countless earth-eyes that spew flames year-round. The Netherfire lies at the very center, where the blaze is hottest, and fetching it is extremely perilous. Why not accompany us?”

“Very well!”

Lu Qian readily agreed.

“Here is a fireproofing pill formula. Since you are an apothecary, I hope you can prepare some over the next few days,” said Jia Dao, producing a recipe.

This was, in fact, the reason Ma Heng had invited Lu Qian. Lu Qian’s alchemical skills were far superior to their own, and with his pills, the efficacy would surely be much greater.

Over the following days, Lu Qian remained in the apothecary, focused on his craft.

Seated upright before the cauldron, Lu Qian’s gaze was fixed unwaveringly on the flames. Behind him, several young apprentices watched the cauldron with care, stealing glances at Lu Qian.

They had all been assigned a secret task: to learn, or at least memorize, Lu Qian’s alchemical techniques.

Suddenly, the flames surged, tongues of scarlet fire lashing out. Lu Qian slapped the cauldron, and a jet-black powder leapt forth. Liquids and salves from the surrounding bottles and jars shot into the air, floating and combining in a dazzling, intricate sequence.

For a moment, every vessel in the laboratory seemed to come alive, swirling in the air. Soon, a dozen piping-hot, pitch-black pills emerged from the process.

The apprentices stood dumbfounded.

“It is done,” Lu Qian said, rising and handing a bottle to one of the boys.

The apprentice accepted it with awe and bowed deeply.

The fireproof pills were soon delivered to Ma Heng and the others.

“So quickly?” Ma Heng asked in astonishment.

Jia Dao, off to the side, turned his head in surprise as well.

“My apologies, Master. We simply cannot imitate his craft,” the apprentice said in dismay.

He had watched other apothecaries work before—always careful and timid, wary of disaster, their success rates abysmally low. Yet this man’s technique was effortless, as fluid and natural as an ink-wash landscape painting.

Hardly any ingredients were wasted, and the medicinal potency was perfectly preserved.

“If only he would join our Treasure Pavilion, we could save at least thirty percent in costs every year,” Ma Heng sighed.

“Can’t we really recruit him?” asked Jia Dao in confusion. “Surely power or beauty would appeal to him? Your granddaughter is quite pretty—should we try?”

Ma Heng shook his head with a bitter smile. “Forget it. He wouldn’t give a second look to a backwater like ours. We’re not in his league.”

“Don’t bother him, just befriend him. Better to have more friends than more enemies,” Ma Heng advised.

A yellow weasel leapt onto Ma Heng’s shoulder, its tiny paws gently raking his hair.

He could communicate with spirits and beasts. These creatures were acutely sensitive to danger, and from the moment he met Lu Qian, Ma Heng had felt a vague sense of peril.

His instincts told him this man was dangerous.

At dawn, as the first ray of sunlight pierced the mist, Jia Dao, dressed as a scholar, stood beneath the trees, flanked by five towering guards.

Each guard stood nine feet tall, clad in pitch-black iron armor with steel helmets gleaming coldly.

Looking closely, one could see the armor fused to their skin, with blood-red flesh visible through the seams.

These were the Xuan Yuan Blood-Armored Guards. Legend had it that the ancient Emperors’ soldiers were forged in this way: iron plates embedded into flesh by secret arts, man and armor as one, granting them immense strength and making them impervious to blades.

At least, so went the tales—Lu Qian himself was skeptical. Every spell liked to cloak itself in grandiose origins, but the actual power was seldom so impressive.

Lu Qian and Ma Heng, by contrast, appeared ordinary, having brought no guards at all.

This time, however, Lu Qian had come in person. To avoid detection, he had first used paper effigies to scout the area and made sure there was no tail before arriving—a display of utmost caution.

“Let’s go,” Ma Heng said, gazing at the mountain and turning to the others.

They stepped into the dense forest.

The place was shrouded in mist all year round, with everything above the mountainside hidden in clouds. The air was damp and foul, the ground littered with dead leaves that crunched underfoot and threatened to swallow the careless.

As it faced north, banyan trees dominated the landscape—trunks so massive that five or six people could barely encircle them, their canopies blotting out the sky, tendrils hanging down in tangled curtains.

Every so often, a chill wind would rustle the branches, and the ancient, gnarled bark of the banyans seemed to take on the features of human faces.

All three were seasoned and unflinching, unbothered by such sights.

Jia Dao recited an incantation, and a mass of black mist rose into the sky, forming a giant human eye that spun and swiveled.

“Southwest,” Jia Dao said, opening his eyes as the black mist above dispersed.

They pushed through waist-high weeds, winding their way for half an hour until the path opened up.

They now stood atop a cliff.

Below was a rift valley.

At the bottom lay a lake, not large, dotted with many small islands.

Flames roared ceaselessly atop the islands, black ash drifting down into the water.

No one knew how many thousands of years the lake had stagnated. The water was dark red and black, thick with green plankton.

The sky was dim, the plankton glowing faintly green—a sight to send shivers down one’s spine.

“Be careful—the stagnant water here is lethally poisonous. Don’t touch it,” Jia Dao ordered, instructing the guards to build a wooden boat. They boarded, and the vessel drifted toward the islands.

A stench hung heavy in the air.

Lu Qian saw a massive corpse floating ahead—a bloated ox, swollen to the size of a balloon by the water.

Its eyes, ears, nose, and mouth teemed with writhing white maggots and green, ant-like insects.

A thick coat of red and green plankton and moss covered its surface, making it look like a boulder at first glance.

“Hm?” Lu Qian frowned slightly.

The ox corpse swelled rapidly, then burst apart with a thunderous bang!

Rotting flesh sprayed everywhere.

In that instant, Lu Qian conjured a shield of true water, blocking the shower of blood, flesh, and putrid water.

“Quick thinking, Daoist friend—could have been a disaster,” Ma Heng sighed in relief.

Had the boat been destroyed, a plunge into those ancient waters would have been a fate worse than death.

There were other creatures in the water as well—black-scaled fish bristling with fangs and ferocious vitality. Some even leapt at the boat, but were quickly dispatched.

Soon, the boat reached shore and they disembarked onto the island.

The island was barren, its ground riddled with flaming vents.

A thick stench of sulfur assaulted their nostrils.

“These are the earth-eyes. Some of them nurture the Netherfire deep below.”

Suddenly, bubbles surged on the water behind them, the surface rippling.

A dark shape darted rapidly across the lake toward them.