Chapter 143: The Zen Master and the Azure Skull

Ji Ming's request to Elder Yuan went very smoothly. For Elder Yuan, it was merely a trivial matter, as he had handled countless such small favors for the Master.

Soon, that dream pillow fell into his hands. On the pillow was a short inscription, clearly newly written: *Those who follow the Dao shall never walk alone.*

Upon seeing the inscription, Ji Ming naturally thought of Su Su.

These few small characters were meant to comfort him, urging him not to be worn down by temporary setbacks, for those who uphold righteousness will naturally receive the assistance of many.

Seeing the message, a warmth stirred in Ji Ming's heart.

Though he had no deep friendship with Su Su, both understood that they were true cultivators infatuated with the spiritual path and determined to scale the Great Dao.

Su Su writing those words represented her appreciation for him, as well as an act of grace in guiding and helping him.

Inside the main hall of the temple, all movement had ceased. It was deathly quiet within, save for the occasional heartbeat that thudded like muffled thunder.

Outside the temple, even the bull-spawn and bull-descendants that usually wandered about had gone still. Unawares, the entire temple had fallen into a profound silence, resembling a place of the dead.

"You're awake!"

On a multicolored, elongated face, a pair of bright, glittering eyes forced themselves open with difficulty. Following the sound, she gazed upon a Daoist standing on the dry, scorching ground.

Instantly, the memories before her collapse flooded back into her mind. Looking at her pregnant belly, she immediately struggled to rise.

"Don't move. He is inside your belly."

"Great King Huangjiao—that ghost monk who once expounded the Dharma in the southern lands—he actually intends to use my 'Nine-Disciples Yin Demon Art' to achieve rebirth through possession."

"Hush!"

Ji Ming supported a plum branch and walked within a few steps of the mountain sprite, saying, "His soul has already descended down the well, heading to the altar of the Charnel Ground in the Sea of Bitterness.

I deliberately awakened you out of consideration for the ties you shared with my mother, and thus I have come to offer you some guidance."

"You?"

The mountain sprite's voice was filled with doubt. She staggered to her feet, clutching her belly, and spoke with a ferocious expression: "I shall simply cast off this yin fetus."

"That Great King is going to endure the torment of serving as a corpse-pedestal for salvation. Although he claimed he would only need to cushion it for three months, both you and I know he could return at any moment."

Clutching her belly and hearing Ji Ming's words, the mountain sprite ultimately dared not act. Instead, she asked in terror, "To cushion corpses at the Charnel Ground altar—he is trying to attain the status of a 'Cyan-Descending Ghost'."

Since the mountain sprite cultivated wicked arts akin to the Nine-Disciples Yin Demon Art, she was naturally as familiar with the sinister and bizarre secrets of the left-hand paths as she was with the lines on her own palm.

Regarding Great King Huangjiao's corpse-cushioning technique, she clearly knew much more than Ji Ming or the yaksha Qian Geng.

"What is a Cyan-Descending Ghost?"

Ji Ming had not expected to hear something entirely novel from the mountain sprite.

"Heaven possesses five colors, one of which is cyan.

The Cyan-Descending Ghost takes cyan as its name, signifying that it has transcended the category of ordinary ghosts; it is a ghost of supreme malevolence and viciousness.

To forge this yin body of a Cyan-Descending Ghost, one must refine a netherworld magical bone—the Cyan Skull.

And to forge this magical bone, one must endure the underworld's torment of serving as a corpse-pedestal, relinquishing all selfishness to deliver and ferry various ghosts to salvation, thereby acquiring the malevolent yin merit of those ghosts.

The longer one serves as a corpse-pedestal deep in the underworld, the more malevolent yin merit one accumulates, increasing the likelihood that it will transform into the netherworld's magical bone and capture the creation of the subterranean earth."

The more the mountain sprite spoke, the more terrified she became, her multicolored face turning deathly pale.

"That Charnel Ground altar was originally a dumping ground for corpses in Taishan's Haoli, later refined into a Daoist sanctuary by a supreme being, which is why it became a sacred Buddhist site.

The entities suppressed there are none other than vicious ghosts and ancient fiends. For Huangjiao to go and cushion corpses for them—the malevolent yin merit he garners from them will inevitably be all the greater."

Having sunk into despair, she began bashing her forehead frantically against the ground, unwilling to face such a reality.

Once Great King Huangjiao forged the magical bone of the Cyan Descending Ghost in the Charnel Ground altar and then cast himself into the yin fetus within her womb, her ultimate fate was all too predictable.

Ji Ming had awakened the mountain sprite for a vital purpose. Grasping the plum branch, he tapped it lightly against her abdomen.

"Feel this!"

"What kind of spell is this?"

The mountain sprite distinctly felt a tremendous force acting upon the yin fetus, as though with the slightest thought from the other party, the yin fetus could be instantly torn from her body.

"This is a divine power: Heaven Round, Earth Square."

Ji Ming pointed one finger to the heavens and the other to the earth, declaring, "As long as we are within this mountain, I need only a single thought to banish any demon, monster, or ghost in the blink of an eye."

Placing his six-fingered palm upon the mountain sprite's head, he said gently, "Do not worry. As you said, my mother and you are both disciples under Mount Nao; how could I stand by and watch you die?"

"What must I do?"

Her emotions stabilizing, the mountain sprite asked submissively.

Two filthy, fanged ghost-children with crimson hair were tossed before the mountain sprite by Ji Ming. "Recover your vitality. Half a month from now, he will descend ahead of schedule. When that time comes, obey my commands."

Seizing the two ghost-children, the mountain sprite ignored their struggling and forcefully pressed them into her abdomen.

Within her womb, the ghost-children reverted to embryonic states, eventually dissolving into massive billows of yin Qi and spiritual essence. The mountain sprite's physique grew robust, and her fur smoothed out considerably.

Observing the mountain sprite's transformation, Ji Ming thought to himself, *The Nine-Disciples Yin Demon Art: condensing embryos into children, transforming children back into embryos, cycling endlessly, can ultimately forge the body of a Ghost Mother.*

Within the square inch of the spiritual platform in his mind, amidst the eyes of damp-born and womb-transformed creatures, the character [Embryo] was slowly fading, indicating that its target had been locked onto—the mountain sprite.

Man proposes, Heaven disposes.

Huangjiao's grand scheme against Su Luoxi was already in motion. Ji Ming did not know how far this game would go, but he had to place an idle move here regarding Huangjiao as a means of future counter-control.

Though it was a tactical measure, even a brilliant stroke based on the Eye of Damp-Born and Womb-Transformed Beings, he had no certainty yet on whether it could be used or when it would be deployed.

The wind and snow on Cold Ridge Peak remained relentless, and the temple stood as before, like a frozen lake beneath which no one could discern the undercurrents.

Three days prior to the appointed date to loose the dragon, a party of travelers ascended the peak.

Among this group, the leader had a darkened glabella and carried a black lacquer gourd strapped to his back, which rested behind him much like a sword.

Flanking him were a young man and a young woman, not yet advanced in years, dressed as chivalrous swordsmen. Each wielded a sword and concealed hidden darts in their sleeves, maintaining a focused and wary vigilance.

Trailing behind the trio was a procession of warriors, all clad in fur boots and thick cotton coats, hauling a heavily veiled carriage up the peak.

Lastly, a monk lagged behind the carriage, walking with slow, deliberate steps.

"So cold!"

A wealthy young master's fair face poked out from the carriage.

Rubbing his hands together and blowing warm breaths into the freezing air, he gazed up at the gloomy temple shrouded in heavy wind and snow atop the peak, his expression filled with awe and yearning.

"Who could possibly live inside? Are they spirits? Or immortals?"

"Young Master."

The female swordsman called out, gesturing for him to retreat back inside the carriage. "That temple is swarming with spirit-guards and soldiers. Our trip this time must be swift; we must go and return quickly to avoid spawning complications."

Standing before the near-vertical slope of the peak, the young master—draped in a fox-fur cloak—stepped out of the carriage and asked the Daoist bearing the large gourd, "Senior Li, with so many of us here, how are we supposed to ascend the peak one by one?"

Looking back anxiously along the road they had traveled, the young master continued, "The day is growing late. If we fail to reach the temple soon, the retainers who escorted me all the way here will likely freeze to death on the mountain."

"The Young Master has endured great hardship to apprentice under Daoist Qiuchiu, finally securing an edict capable of relieving karmic entanglement and emerging from the well. How can we pause here?

We ought to promptly rescue that little autumn dragon trapped within the well, and forge a magnificent affinity with the Brocade-Clear Water Mansion."

"That won't do. Everyone was hired by me and has protected me all the way here; how can I simply abandon them?"

The gourd-bearing cultivator and the young master argued at the foot of the slope. Behind the carriage, the accompanying monk pressed his palms together and chimed in at the opportune moment: "Compassion and a benevolent heart are not truly the heart; heartless compassion is the genuine heart.

The Young Master cherishes all life and refuses to disdain or abandon others on account of status and position—this is a heart of true compassion, and blessings will surely follow."

Just as the young master was about to bow in gratitude, an invisible, mighty force descended from the ridge, pressing downward step by step to forcefully carve out a staircase of packed snow and ice leading straight to the front of the temple.

"Taking the void as one's village, listening to all external mysteries." Muttering as he gazed at the void-warriors lining the slope, the Chan master pressed his palms together and sighed, "Ants, ants... pathetic, and fit to be killed!"