Chapter Fifty-Five: A World Bathed in Blood

The paper appeared to be a map leading to the tribe of the Pierced-Chested. According to the account left by the Daoist who recorded this, there had been five of them in total; they had gone together in search of some kind of treasure. In the end, only he had managed to escape.

The Daoist’s attire was not that of the Spirit-Conveying Temple, but rather of another sect. It was unclear whether he belonged to the Yaksha Sect or the Seven Martial Mountains. These two sects were the closest neighbors to the Spirit-Conveying Temple and frequently interacted with it.

As the name implied, the Yaksha Sect raised demons and ghosts and worshipped Yakshas. The Seven Martial Mountains specialized in the refinement of magical instruments, cultivating both body and artifact as one. Lu Qian suspected that the black robe he wore had been crafted by a disciple of that sect.

“Don’t look into their eyes…” Lu Qian mulled over this phrase repeatedly. Judging by the words, it seemed that initially everything had been safe, but after they looked into their eyes, they had perished. If one avoided their gaze, would it be safe after all?

Lu Qian’s curiosity was piqued. Any treasure that could drive them to such risk must be of extraordinary value. Wasn’t his journey here precisely in search of such opportunity?

The Netherworld Seal lingered quietly in his sea of consciousness. When he arrived at the place Li Du had mentioned, the seal would react, and then he would have a chance to unlock an ancient inheritance. Originally, before entering, Lu Qian had approached this with a tentative attitude. Now, considering it more carefully, he decided to postpone this plan for another time.

Never mind the dangers lurking in the depths of the Netherworld—just the level of importance the Spirit-Conveying Daoist placed on this, as described by Li Du, was enough. If the inheritance were to be activated, it might even draw forth the true form of the Spirit-Conveying Daoist.

What kind of existence was this Daoist? His cultivation spanned at least three centuries—if even a pig lived that long, it would have become a spirit, let alone a human. This was someone who could wring oil from a stone.

Even Li Du himself had survived over a hundred years. But Lu Qian could not pin all his hopes on Li Du. He did not believe he could escape unscathed after extracting a treasure the Spirit-Conveying Daoist had coveted for centuries.

Tempting as the inheritance was, one needed to remain alive to benefit from it. It would be wiser to wait until his strength had grown before making any decisions.

Lu Qian shifted his spiritual focus to the mysterious golden mirror in his mind.

Lunar Essence Gathering Method (Minor Achievement: 1602/5000)

(His recent secluded cultivation had increased it by several hundred points.)

“My current cultivation is at the mid-stage of Qi Refining. I need more than three thousand increments to reach late-stage.”

This calculation did not include boosts from elixirs or materials. Cultivating morning, noon, and night yielded three increments, with an extra one gained by practicing in the cave mansion—a total of four increments per day.

It would take at least eight hundred days to reach mastery. By the time he reached the late-stage of Qi Refining, the Dragonfish would be nearly mature, and his enhanced strength would increase the chance of successful integration. Then, with his abilities, he could easily contend with even early-stage Spirit Nurturing cultivators.

Time waited for no one, and devoting himself solely to cultivation might bring even more peril. If he wanted a rapid breakthrough, this Netherworld full of both opportunities and dangers was the best chance. Once he returned outside, chances to break through would be few and far between—unless he recklessly consumed the Fire Dates early, which would delay his plan to refine his body with the Dragonfish’s blood for at least a decade.

“The land of the Pierced-Chested people is worth investigating.”

Lu Qian spread the paper out and carefully studied the patterns and annotations. Following the map’s path, he found a small stream.

The Netherworld’s streams glowed with an eerie fluorescent green, dotted with luminous plankton drifting on the surface. Beneath the water swam a school of fish with human faces. In the silent blackness of night, a strange green mist rose from the stream, and the gurgling water sounded especially harsh.

Upstream stood a waterfall three fathoms tall. This was the entrance to the Pierced-Chested people’s domain as marked on the map.

Lu Qian surveyed the surroundings for a while, then turned and left. Returning to his cave on the rocky mountain, he summoned a paper effigy to bury the corpse. He set explosive fire-thunder powder at the cave entrance—should anyone step on it, the blast would flatten the entire hill and send the intruder skyward.

After completing these preparations, Lu Qian summoned another paper effigy. Silently reciting the Spirit Projection technique, a sliver of spiritual light infused the effigy. The paper figure came to life, moving just like a real person, except for its deathly pale, paper-like skin.

Once his spirit inhabited the paper effigy, Lu Qian left the cave. Such a dangerous task as exploring was best left to the puppet.

Arriving before the waterfall, the paper effigy’s surface shimmered with a faint black membrane, protecting it from the water with the power of True Water.

Splash!

The paper figure leapt and passed through the curtain of water.

Buzz!

A strange, droning hum sounded in his ears, darkness enveloped his vision—he could see nothing. After an unknown interval, a blood-red glow appeared ahead.

His eyes snapped open—the world before him was awash in crimson. The sky was as red as blood, and rows of gray-black eaves stretched endlessly.

In every household, white paper windows glowed with green light, and towering shadows could be glimpsed moving inside.

Outside.

At the foot of the rocky mountain.

Three figures in pitch-black cloaks arrived. The leader paused, lifted his hood, and revealed a pale, handsome face. On his brow was a hideous, centipede-like scar of vivid blood-red.

He surveyed the traces of battle around him, sniffed the air, and sighed in intoxication, “The stench of Netherworld Yin Fire—must be people from the Spirit-Conveying Temple. Instrument slaves, come with me.”

A sinister curve twisted his pallid face as he shrieked, “I can hardly wait to drink the blood of those Daoists! Heh heh!”

“As you command, Master Ji Kong.”

The two black-robed figures, exuding a chilling aura, followed close behind.

Ji Kong was one of the prodigies of the younger generation in Seven Martial Mountains. At a young age, he had already bonded with two spirit weapons, a step away from mastering the art of weapon control—a level equivalent to late-stage Qi Refining among cultivators. Brutal and ruthless, he delighted in blood sacrifices for his weapons; both enemies and allies feared him.

Now, having discovered foes, he charged straight in, not caring for their level of cultivation—a testament to his boldness and skill.

Though they appeared to walk, each step covered more than ten yards with astonishing speed and utter silence.

In the unknown reaches of the Netherworld.

Here, not only the things of the Netherworld were resources—so too were the outsiders themselves. Lacking means to explore the Netherworld, men like Ji Kong hunted others to seize their resources.

At that moment, Lu Qian was wholly focused on maneuvering his paper effigy, exploring the mysterious blood-red world.

The streets were deserted, the sky was dim. Concealed in a remote alley, Lu Qian observed his surroundings.

The streets were clean, paved with tightly joined blue stone slabs. Signposts stood on either side, inscribed in mortal script rather than Netherworld script.

“Stinking Dung Alley,” “Rotting Road East,” “Shadow Lane”…

The directions on the signs were reversed—left was right, and right was left compared to the mortal world.

Lu Qian couldn’t help but wonder—the Pierced-Chested people’s worldview seemed the opposite of the living. Words like “stinking dung” and “shadow” might serve the same role here as “fragrant flowers” and “sunshine” did in his world.

After glancing around, Lu Qian slipped into another narrow alley.

Amidst the endless stretch of black buildings, one tall, pitch-black tower stood out. The crimson glow illuminating this world emanated from the tower.