Chapter Seventy-Four: Ten Survive, Nine Perish; The Ancient Ancestor of Nanhua

It was precisely because Guo Jia had just opened that box that the tomb chamber was suddenly filled with the harsh sounds of grinding mechanisms. Some unknown contraption had been awakened once more, and everyone immediately found their hearts in their throats.

A gasp escaped Guo Jia as his eyes fell upon the creature before him: a hulking, fur-covered monstrosity, its eyes milky white, twin fangs jutting from its mouth. The thing was humanoid, shrouded in pitch-black smoke, and it lay motionless on the ground, collapsed into the bronze coffin that had just moments before contained the female corpse.

“That’s a White-Haired Corpse...!”

The creation of such a thing required the perfect convergence of time and place. It was said that humans possessed three souls and seven spirits—while the soul was good, the spirit was wicked. When a person died, the soul ascended to heaven, but the spirit lingered in the body. For a corpse to become a “zongzi” required a land of utmost yin—an environment that nurtured corpses, with soil conditions that helped the body absorb the energies of death. There needed to be a locust tree nearby, and after burial, the corpse had to absorb the essence of the moon.

Though the creature before them was the lowest kind of White-Haired Corpse, even a fully matured one of this sort was impervious to blades and bullets, untouched by water or fire.

The tales of these monsters that Guo Jia had heard in folklore sent such a chill down his spine that he dropped his torch to the ground, his face turning ghostly pale.

Zifan, too, tiptoed closer to peer at the white-haired zombie in the tomb, his own features twisting into a grimace of horror.

“Damn it! Your Grandpa Niu thought we were about to get out of here, and now you throw a White-Haired Corpse at me? You really think you can bully your Grandpa that easily?” Er Niu cursed loudly.

Though his lips betrayed no fear, Er Niu’s actions spoke otherwise, as he fumbled around the coffin for something.

Suddenly, with the sound of a rusted mechanism, a wall to the side slowly rose, revealing a passageway before them.

A collective sigh of relief passed over the group at the sight of the tunnel, none of them noticing the pair of green, glowing eyes that slowly opened in the darkness.

A dull thud echoed through the silent tomb.

Zifan felt a cold breath on the back of his neck. As he slowly turned his stiff head, those luminous green eyes stared back at him, unblinking and fixed upon him, with a hint of a mocking smile at their corners.

“Mother of—!”

“Run!”

With desperate resolve, Zifan swung his backpack up and dashed for the passageway.

But the White-Haired Corpse was not about to let such an easy prey escape.

With a crisp sound, Zifan was sent flying. In midair, he unleashed a flurry of twelve sword strikes, his eyes flashing like lightning, his form leaping through the void, pouncing with predatory grace. In the blink of an eye, his sword flashed, and the stench of foul blood spurted forth.

Er Niu seized the moment, launching into a powerful leap and bringing down his sword with thunderous force toward the creature, its icy blade gleaming as it shot through the air toward the White-Haired Corpse.

However, things did not go as planned. The monster’s sharp claws caught the flying blade and, with brute force, hurled Er Niu aside.

Zifan’s wild hair flew as his eyes glinted with cold light, his sword a blazing arc as he fought on, though it was clear he could not withstand the assault.

Again, he was slammed hard against the wall, pain lancing through his chest as if his ribs had shattered. He collapsed to the ground, clutching his waist and groaning in agony.

“Hold your breath! Everyone, hold your breath!” Guo Jia suddenly shouted, struck by inspiration.

Sure enough, as they held their breath, the White-Haired Corpse froze in place, unable to move.

Ancient texts recorded that these creatures detected the living through breath—they could only track the scent of the living, for they were blind.

But this was no permanent solution. Zifan’s mind raced, and he shouted aloud:

“Hey, big guy! Over here!”

With a bestial roar, the White-Haired Corpse lunged furiously toward Zifan.

But as soon as Zifan’s voice ceased, the creature stood bewildered, its green eyes blinking in confusion, swiping desperately at empty air.

Unfortunately, Zifan’s relief lasted less than three minutes before the monster’s massive hand came crashing down again. This time, it seemed to have learned its lesson, swiping indiscriminately regardless of whether there was anyone in front of it.

With a scream, Zifan was struck again before he could dodge, blood gushing from his lips.

Who could have known? Zifan, weary of the struggle, memories of his truest days flitting through a mind grown intricate and melancholy. Blossoms of crabapple weighed heavy on his heart, and he sighed: “So be it, fate is thus.”

After two brutal collisions, Zifan’s internal organs were likely hemorrhaging. Even the strongest martial arts defenses could not withstand such blows from the White-Haired Corpse.

Quick as a flash, Er Niu snatched up his saber and hurled it with lightning speed at the creature’s skull. The blade traced a graceful arc through the air, striking the monster’s head with a dull crack—and shattered.

Er Niu stood dumbfounded, never imagining such a lowly corpse could possess a body as invulnerable as diamond.

“Don’t just stand there, run!” someone shouted.

With no other choice, Zifan executed a rolling dodge to stand, but the White-Haired Corpse lashed out again. With no chance to evade, Zifan clenched his eyes shut—only to feel a soldier of the Mojin Guard step between him and the monster.

The claws sliced through the soldier’s right arm, tearing flesh and sleeve alike, blood welling up to soak his white shirt as his screams echoed through the tomb.

“My lord, run!” the guard cried, dragging his bloodied body, crawling to the creature’s left side. With one hand, he gripped its leg; with the other, he bit down on its blood-streaked arm.

The White-Haired Corpse barely glanced his way. With a twist, a sickening crack sounded as the soldier’s shoulder was dislocated and his screams filled the chamber.

Anger surged in Zifan, and with the help of the system, he used a life-renewing method to resurrect both himself and the Mojin Guard, though at the cost of all memories—and a price yet to be paid.

Zifan sprang up like a dragon, his body blazing with radiant light. He unleashed a dazzling curtain of sword energy, like stars falling from the night sky, dispelling the deadly attack and saving his life. His sword rose in a blinding arc, like a brilliant silver dragon seeking to link with a bolt of lightning from the heavens.

With a crack, a black sword-light flashed, and the sound of bone shattering followed. The once-invulnerable White-Haired Corpse was beheaded in a single strike.

As the sword’s wind faded, Zifan’s long hair fell loose, gleaming in the tomb’s dim light, lending his face an added air of tragic beauty.

The towering figure of the monster crashed to the ground.

Though victorious, Zifan knew the price for invoking the system’s life-renewing magic would not be so easily paid—some disaster surely awaited him.

As he made his way out, memories of the strange events in the tomb haunted him. Nothing, he realized, was as simple as it seemed.

Yet, when he recalled the treasures gained—gold, silver, priceless relics—his spirits soared. Despite all the twists and turns, the adventure had ended in triumph.

According to the plan, the Mojin Guard had already opened an exit at another peak.

Upon seeing the distant opening, Zifan found his steps quickening with anticipation.

A tall, precarious tower—reach out and touch the stars...

He lifted his gaze to the night sky. The world seemed impossibly vast.

Absentmindedly, Zifan glanced down to find an ancient book in his hands—he had no idea when he’d picked it up. He slipped it into his backpack.

“This... this is the ‘Secret Talisman of Grand Duke Jiang!’” Guo Jia took the book with trembling hands, leafing through it in awe.

“To think we would find the ‘Secret Talisman of Grand Duke Jiang’ in this ancient tomb—there must be details we have overlooked here.”

This book, belonging to the Daoist tradition and also known as the “Book of Zhou,” was said to be left by Grand Duke Jiang. Legend had it that Su Qin once suspended himself by his hair and pricked his thigh with an awl to keep awake while reading it, eventually winning the seals of six kingdoms and returning in glory.

“The origins of this book are obscure, lacking clear historical records. The earliest mention appears in the ‘Yiwen Leiju’ compiled in 624, but many connect it with Su Qin of the Warring States. The ‘Strategies of the Warring States’ says that Su Qin opened his books at night and found the secrets of this talisman. The ‘Records of the Grand Historian’ also tells how Su Qin obtained and read the ‘Secret Talisman of the Book of Zhou.’ The ‘Scripture of the Hidden Talisman’ is sometimes attributed to the Yellow Emperor, its connection to him arising from the military meaning of talismans and the myth of the goddess Xuan Nu bestowing them upon him. Once the Yellow Emperor’s association with the text was established, it naturally drew upon further mythologies, such as those of Guang Chengzi and the celestial immortals. These tales, found in texts like the ‘Three Sovereigns’ Jade Formula’ and annotated versions of the ‘Hidden Talisman Classic,’ all speak of the Yellow Emperor seeking immortality. However, when exactly Guang Chengzi’s legend became linked to the ‘Hidden Talisman’ remains unclear. The story of Yu the Great controlling the floods, as told in the ‘Preface to the Five Talismans of the Spiritual Treasure,’ includes new elements of immortality. Did the story of the Yellow Emperor and Xuan Nu follow a similar path? Since military talismans alone cannot yield tales of deification, is the immortal aspect a transformation of the myth or merely borrowed from Guang Chengzi’s legend? We cannot know for sure.”

....

In time, Youzhou flourished. This brush with death left a deep impression on Zifan, prompting him to host a grand banquet for his ministers.

After several rounds of drinks, the gatekeeper announced, “A gentleman at the door claims to be the Immortal Patriarch Nanhua and seeks an audience with my lord.”

“The Immortal Nanhua, who reveals the workings of fate in the lacquer garden, whose lofty discourse opens the way to boundless mysteries, who speaks of the wonders from the tales of Qi Xie and the fish in the northern sea, known as Kun, who transforms into a great roc, its form condensed from primal chaos, shedding fins and scales on distant isles, spreading its wings at the gate of heaven, sweeping the spring tides of the Bohai, basking in the morning sun of Fusang, blazing across the cosmos, soaring over Kunlun—a single beat of its wings shakes the Five Sacred Peaks, and the rivers rush in flight.”

This Nanhua Patriarch was no ordinary man. Rumor had it he was the teacher of Zhang Jiao, Yu Ji, and Zuo Ci, master of the “Great Peace Esoteric Arts,” capable of bending fate itself. Some even said he was the reincarnation of Zhuangzi, who entrusted Zuo Ci with the three volumes of the “Esoteric Canon of Escape” atop Mount Emei: the “Heavenly Escape,” the “Earthly Escape,” and the “Human Escape.” The first granted the power to ride clouds and soar to the void; the second, to pass through mountains and stones; the third, to roam the four seas, hurl swords and knives, take heads from afar, and change form at will.

So Zifan dressed properly and had the household staff invite the patriarch in, granting him a seat and questioning him. Nanhua entered in a white brocade robe draped with silver gauze, his hair bound high with a white jade crown, his features exceedingly handsome, eyes half-closed in a meditative calm, exuding an aura of transcendence—who could have guessed this was a creature of untold years, followed by a nameless little girl?

The patriarch took the seat to the right of the governor without ceremony. Zifan bowed and said, “Sir, to what do I owe today’s unexpected visit?”

With a mysterious smile and a wave of his hand, the old man replied, “Business can wait. What food have you? Bring it out at once.” Such a sudden demand for food and drink was most unseemly.

Hearing this, Dian Wei was instantly enraged. “My lord, the fellow is insolent! Give the order and I’ll seize him at once!”

But the little girl stared up with wide, tearful eyes, her pink lips pouting, clinging to the patriarch’s sleeve, “Patriarch, that big meanie is bullying us again, aren’t you going to do something?”

Zifan’s face darkened at once. “Dian Wei, do not offend our guest. Return to your seat at once.”

The patriarch went on to drink five measures of wine without getting drunk and ate an entire sheep without feeling full.

He said, “I have gone decades without eating, and it does me no harm; yet if I wished, I could eat a thousand sheep and still hunger.”

“General, your feast is most splendid, yet should anything be lacking, I would gladly procure it myself,” the patriarch offered.

“I would like to have dragon liver soup. Can you fetch it?”

“Nothing easier,” he replied.

He called for an ink brush and painted a dragon on the whitewashed wall. With a sweep of his sleeve, the dragon’s belly opened. The patriarch reached in and drew out a fresh dragon liver, blood still dripping.

Though Zifan saw it with his own eyes, he could scarcely believe it. “You just hid it up your sleeve!” he accused.

“It is winter now, the grass and trees have withered; should you desire fine flowers, name your wish.” The patriarch smiled, not refuting him.

“I want only a peony blossom.”

“Easily done.”

He ordered a soldier to bring a large flowerpot and sprinkled it with water. Instantly, a peony bush burst forth, blooming with twin flowers. The company was amazed, and Guo Jia stroked his beard in wonder.

Soon, the chef brought out sliced fish. The patriarch declared, “Only perch from the Songjiang River will do.”

“How can we obtain that from a thousand miles away?” Guo Jia asked.

“That too is simple.” The patriarch requested a fishing rod and cast it into the pond below the hall, reeling in dozens of large perch in moments.

“Old man, my pond has always had these fish,” Dian Wei protested.

“General, do not deceive. All perch have two gills, but only Songjiang perch have four. See for yourself.”

Sure enough, the fish had four gills.

“To cook Songjiang perch properly, purple ginger is needed,” the patriarch went on.

“Can you get that as well?”

“Easily.” He asked for a golden basin, covered it with his robe, and soon revealed a bowlful of purple ginger. He filled a jade cup with fine wine and offered it to Zifan.

“General, if you drink this, you will live a thousand years.” Zifan’s eyes narrowed with caution. “Perhaps the patriarch should try it first.”

The old man laughed. “Of course.”

He drew a jade hairpin from his crown, split the wine in two with a stroke, drinking half himself and offering the other half to Zifan. All present were struck with awe.

“General, I have come for no particular reason save this: I see murderous energy billowing from your residence, and your return coincides with the day of the Greedy Wolf star, a time of bloodshed,” the patriarch now spoke in a grave tone, his playful manner gone.

“General, you must not give yourself over to bloodlust and lose yourself in darkness.”

“Take care of yourself. The old man takes his leave.”

Before his words had faded, the patriarch soared away on clouds, unmoved by the affairs of the world, untouched by suffering or cold, forever wrapped in an icy air, as if his soul were cloaked in a heavy mantle of snow, never to know warmth.

His eyes seemed already to have seen all things, leaving him to walk the world alone...