Chapter Sixty-Two: When the Matter Is Settled, One Brushes Off His Robe and Leaves

The misty green sea of clouds returned to the eternal, unchanging darkness. Lu Qian slowly rose to his feet, preparing to return to the safety of the great hall.

This expedition had yielded excellent results: first, he acquired the Underworld Flower of Yellow Springs, stepping into the late stage of Qi Refining. At the same time, he obtained three formidable magical artifacts, each worth hundreds or even thousands of Dao Merit, the kind that were priceless and rarely seen on the market.

“Better not sell the artifacts just yet. When I return, I’ll exchange them for a craft-related cultivation method and try repairing them myself,” Lu Qian thought to himself. Practice the methods, restore the weapons, push the Taiyin Guidance Technique to its fullest, then prepare for Spirit Nurturing.

Lost in thought, he suddenly leapt forward. After consuming the Shadow Ink of the Grand Year, his entire body transformed into a shadow, darting through the darkness at great speed. The scenery on either side raced past, revealing the underworld’s landscape in all its grotesque glory: monstrous trees and strange stones, water ghouls and dried corpses. Within the ghastly green fog, countless bizarre, half-real, half-illusory creatures appeared. Specters and demonic beasts shrieked, howled, laughed, or wailed, painting a scene straight out of hell.

This was paradise for practitioners of the Ghost Dao. Of course, perhaps it was their hell as well.

Across the night sky, a cold crow with jade feathers and a wingspan of five yards swept by, leaving a trailing plume of green ghostfire. Its harsh cry echoed through the darkness, scattering poisonous smoke and fire that caused all surrounding plants to wither.

A towering demon, three yards tall, with a blue face, fangs, hair like indigo, crimson skin, and two ghostfire humps atop its head, emerged from the forest. From its triangular nose, it spouted a vivid, multicolored toxic mist, writhing as if alive.

This was the Five Venoms Mist of the Yaksha, a poisonous fog condensed from five rare toxins. Driven by true qi, it was unleashed through the nose and tongue, able to bewilder the mind and poison both body and magic.

“So this is all a brat from the Spirit-Seeking Temple can manage? Mere tricks!”
“Even the Yaksha Shadow General is nothing special, hmph!”

The two monsters fought fiercely, shattering earth and sky, leaving devastation in their wake. Around them, several groups of people battled desperately, scattered in twos and threes; the occasional scream rang out.

Judging by their attire, one group belonged to the Spirit-Seeking Temple. The others wielded strange spells, commanding demons with green or red skin. If Lu Qian guessed correctly, they were from the Yaksha Sect, and those monsters must be Yaksha.

From the “Record of Strange Phenomena”: Yaksha are underworld ghosts, faces as blue as indigo, hair like vermillion, huge mouths with fangs.

The fighters in the sky were all Spirit Nurturing stage experts. However, none bore the aura of Sha Qi, so they must only be at the early stage. Though it seemed but a single step from Qi Condensation and Sha Cultivation to early Spirit Nurturing, in truth it was worlds apart. Early Spirit Nurturing practitioners could project their spirits, but not for long; they must anchor themselves to objects or gods. The ghost crow and Yaksha in the sky were likely such spirits.

Early Spirit Nurturing could at best qualify someone as a minor functionary. Only those who had cultivated Sha and tempered Qi could become mid-to-high-level sect leaders. Even so, these experts were far beyond ordinary Qi Refiners. Don’t be fooled by their deadly battle overhead—most likely their bodies were safely hidden away. Even if defeated, their spirits could escape, making them nearly impossible to kill.

Below, the sect disciples fared worse. The Spirit-Seeking Temple was at a disadvantage. Lu Qian’s shadowed form hid even deeper. He watched the battlefield with cold eyes, silently retreating.

He was no hot-blooded youth who, upon seeing fellow disciples in peril, would rush in shouting “For the sect!” to sacrifice himself. To Lu Qian, the fate of these strangers was of no concern.

Suddenly, from the dense woods nearby, a familiar roar caught his attention. He saw a young man in ornate Daoist robes battling two disciples of the Yaksha Sect. That face—it was none other than Li Lin, whom Lu Qian had long considered.

He recalled that the slain couple had claimed to be fleeing conflict—could they have meant these people?

Lu Qian stopped, his shadow melting into the shade beneath the trees, merging with the darkness like a serpent lurking in wait, his gaze cold and calculating.

He waited for Li Lin to be alone. This mad dog had caused him much trouble; no matter how long it took, he would see him dealt with.

Three hours passed.

Amid the gloomy mist, Li Lin darted like a ghost, swiftly weaving through the haze. Pale-faced spirits flickered in and out, attacking his pursuers from every corner.
“Don’t run!” the two men behind him sneered cruelly, their claws like talons, ghostly hands with bulging veins tearing the spirits to shreds.

As they caught up, Li Lin crushed a grass doll hidden in his sleeve, shrinking rapidly into a three-inch miniature. Their attacks missed, and he instantly widened the gap.

“Wasted one of my Grassman Talisman,” Li Lin muttered bitterly, his eyes turning vicious. “Once my uncle is free, you’ll beg for death and find none.”

Originally, they had set out to trouble Lu Qian. Unexpectedly, midway they encountered their mortal enemies from the Yaksha Sect, sparking a fierce battle. Outnumbered, Li Lin had no choice but to retreat.

Suddenly, a streak of green light shot from the sky.

“Not good!” Li Lin’s pupils contracted; his tiny form rapidly expanded back to normal. His body turned to shadowy black mist, appearing on the other side, narrowly dodging a fatal blow.

Looking up, in the pitch-black forest and dense mist, a black-robed Daoist stood quietly. The wind whipped his headscarf, his features hidden in darkness.

Instead of anger, Li Lin felt joy and hastily called out, “It’s a misunderstanding, friend. I am the son of Li Mingyou, the steward. Please help me kill my pursuers!”

Within several nearby factions, only the Spirit-Seeking Temple’s Daoists wore traditional garb. Li Lin felt no more resentment; as long as his pursuers were dealt with, past grievances could be set aside.

The two enemies saw Li Lin’s ally arrive and hurried over—if they allowed the two to join forces, things would turn grim.

“Take a closer look at who I am,” the man stepped out of the shadows.

Li Lin’s face changed dramatically; he knew that familiar face—who else but Lu Qian?

“Lu—”

Before he could finish, three blazing ghostfires pierced his heart, throat, and skull. Li Lin collapsed into the mud, eyes wide in fury, his blood mingling with the earth.

The willow spirit attached to him fled as blue smoke, only to be ruthlessly shredded by the Seven-Kill Ghost Talisman Sword.

With Lu Qian now at the late stage of Qi Refining, Li Lin stood no chance. Facing an enemy, Lu Qian killed without hesitation—no taunts, no savoring the enemy’s despair. Such theatrics only wasted time.

This clean, decisive action left the two pursuers stunned, halting in their tracks. With a deadly foe at hand, shouldn’t they be working together—at least united against outsiders? Yet here, they witnessed sect infighting.

“Well, well—cold and ruthless, killing your own with barely a blink.”
“Lin’er!” a cry of grief and rage echoed from the sky.

The two froze, feeling a powerful pressure sweep over them. In the next moment, ghostfire rained down, reducing them to ashes.

In their final moments, they glimpsed the cunning man in black already slipping away, leaving quietly, his achievements hidden from the world.