Chapter 29: Ritual Refinement, Gathering the Soul Bead-Ovoviviparity(The Black Ring)

“One spell, one technique, one treasure, one spirit herb.” Ji Ming assumed human form, donned his Daoist robes, and spoke unhurriedly, “I want only these four things.”

“You see this ruined belly of mine? To lessen my punishment, many treasures inside were taken by the immortals, leaving me with but a little silver...” Lord Muddy Bog’s words trailed off, for the spirit’s gaze had grown colder.

“I must stall him,” Lord Muddy Bog thought to himself. On that day, threatened by this spirit, he divulged a method of escape, having just been raided by the immortal masters and caught off guard.

Now things were different: he had sent swift birds as messengers, rallying many spirits of the mountain. Though most had not yet attained “phantom form” and remained beasts at heart, they were tigers, leopards, wolves—creatures skilled in battle.

“There are certainly no treasures, not at my level, nor even a single magical implement. However, I do possess a spirit herb, though I had promised it to the monk of Bald Brush Peak. If you desire it, I will give it to you first.”

Ji Ming let out a cold laugh.

Lord Muddy Bog was clearly trying to make him hesitate, or hint at his many allies, hoping Ji Ming would reconsider. But such schemes were futile; Ji Ming feared neither trouble nor karma, only the lack of treasure in his hands.

Seeing Ji Ming unmoved, Lord Muddy Bog felt a chill in his heart and dared not say more.

Behind him, from the belly of the clay horse, a jade casket radiating warm light floated out and landed directly in Ji Ming’s hand.

“This is red ginseng, at least a hundred years old.”

Ji Ming caressed the jade casket, then carefully lifted the lid a crack; at once, fragrance filled the air. Upon a gentle sniff, he felt as if he might ride the wind.

With a snap, he closed the casket and tucked it into his sleeve.

This was as it should be—such was his rightful accumulation. Yet only when preparing for reincarnation could he pillage so freely.

“In consideration of the red ginseng, you may forgo one treasure. But as for the spell and the technique, I will not accept anything less,” Ji Ming declared earnestly.

“A spell is the foundation of the great Dao—I... truly do not have one!” Lord Muddy Bog replied, full of difficulty.

“You...” Ji Ming laughed in exasperation, pointing at the clay horse. “Then I will take it myself.”

“Wait, I have a method for refining the ‘Pearl of Gathered White Bone,’ which can serve as compensation.”

Lord Muddy Bog grew flustered, lamenting, “I truly have no genuine spell. True spells always derive from diagrams interpreted from the River Map and Celestial Text.”

“Is it the River Map bestowed by Heaven, and the Celestial Text established by Earth?” Ji Ming felt increasingly convinced.

“Exactly.” Lord Muddy Bog, seeing Ji Ming’s belief, added, “For the thirty-six domains of the Daoist earth, when mortals wish to pass the Daoist exam, besides the classics, the most crucial part is deciphering these diagrams.”

“Hmm!” Ji Ming nodded, glancing at the clay horse.

He sensed a threat, and dared not make a move against the horse just yet.

“What mysteries do the true forms from the Celestial Text contain?” Ji Ming, recalling the origin of his Wind of Shadows technique, took the opportunity to ask.

“You spirits surpass humans in your innate gifts, the techniques hidden within your flesh and blood. Fish are naturally attuned to water, birds to the wind, foxes and rats are adept at illusion, tigers and leopards possess great strength. Your powers are innate; once a true form is invoked, you master them without instruction. Some with extraordinary talent can even comprehend techniques on their own, without needing the true form.”

Ji Ming felt he’d learned much, his mood improved, and he thought of the “elixir core” required for secret arts.

Within such an elixir, there was a demonic nature complementing the secret skills—in essence, it was the embodiment of technique. In crane control, for example, one trains a force capable of attack and restraint, requiring the demonic nature of birds skilled in flight and wind manipulation.

This was but his shallow understanding, and now was not the time for a philosophical debate with Lord Muddy Bog, so he let the topic pass.

Lord Muddy Bog began to recite the method for refining the “Pearl of Gathered White Bone,” while Ji Ming memorized every detail.

To prevent any trickery or fabricated incantation, Ji Ming scrambled the order and cross-checked it with Lord Muddy Bog.

Lord Muddy Bog sighed inwardly at the spirit’s cunning, and redoubled his vigilance, daring not make the slightest error.

Now only the technique remained.

Ji Ming had already decided: he directly requested a technique for forging and refining.

Though he possessed the Treasure Eye, there was always a barrier—he could not use it at will, and much had to be verified in the next life.

So Ji Ming resolved to refine diligently, hoping for new discoveries through the Treasure Eye.

This refining technique was even more vital than the red ginseng or the treasure refining method, yet Lord Muddy Bog handed it over without hesitation.

Seeing such readiness, Ji Ming understood its importance was only relative to himself.

When all was done, silence fell upon the temple.

Neither Lord Muddy Bog nor Ji Ming felt inclined to speak, while faint disturbances echoed from outside.

“Still not making your move?” Ji Ming turned to Lord Muddy Bog and asked.

Lord Muddy Bog remained silent, as if sunk in sleep.

The noises outside grew more frequent: clearly, Lord Muddy Bog had summoned many mountain spirits in secret.

Ji Ming felt no fear, only tightened his sleeve around the jade casket.

With a crash, Ji Ming transformed from human to demon form, gripped the casket in his jaws, and burst through the rooftop, wings beating.

Compared to other spirits, Ji Ming’s greatest advantage as a flying demon was control of the skies—yet he forgot one thing: exposing his back to the enemy.

Perhaps Lord Muddy Bog had been too compliant, too accommodating, which greatly lowered Ji Ming’s guard.

As Ji Ming broke through the roof, a hoof struck his back hard, slamming him back down into the temple, amid the throng of spirits.

“Clay horse!” Ji Ming shouted, rolling to the ground and reverting to human form.

His cry was not a curse, but a declaration of the true identity of the one who’d struck him—Lord Muddy Bog’s clay horse.

“Such treacherous clay horse!”

Furious, Ji Ming struck out, his palm smashing into the wolf’s head before him, exploding it into shards of blood and flesh.

Bang!

Ji Ming unleashed three Shadow Palms in succession, channeling compressed wind into his hands, filling his ears with roaring gusts and cries of spirits.

“Haha~” Ji Ming fought with abandon, while Lord Muddy Bog watched in horror.

“This is certainly not Crane Control!” Lord Muddy Bog shouted from within the temple.

His answer was another Shadow Palm from Ji Ming.

In Lord Muddy Bog’s view, he could clearly see a mass of highly compressed shadow wind.

As it flew through the air, it lost the compressive force of the palm, gradually releasing its pressure.

The roaring wind was the sound of the shadow wind decompressing and spilling out.

Lord Muddy Bog concluded that, given enough distance, the compressed shadow wind would dissipate before striking.

Yet he was bound to his place, unable to test his theory.

A dull thud sounded—the clay horse intercepted the shadow palm.

Looking to Ji Ming’s feet, the ground was littered with blood, flesh, shattered limbs.

The shadow wind within Ji Ming was not inexhaustible, and more critically, the spiritual energy driving the shadow wind technique triggered the smoke poison planted by the witch.

Still, he was unperturbed, calm and collected.

Lord Muddy Bog’s sharp eyes discerned that the spirit’s composure was not feigned, but truly from within.

“Muddy Lord!” Only two or three spirits cried out.

A blue wolf crawled low, a spotted leopard circled a pillar, a green-eyed fox puffed out flames—like a circus act, a farcical drama.

It was not that the spirits were weak, but Ji Ming was simply too formidable.

Such spirits were inferior to Ji Ming, likely too afraid even to attempt extraction, content only to be quiet monsters in the mountains.

Because he saw through their weakness, Ji Ming made no further attempt to flee with the casket.

“He still has more tricks!” Lord Muddy Bog sighed and restrained the few fierce yet timid spirits.

“Lord Muddy Bog!” Ji Ming, soaring skyward again, called out from afar.

“Until we meet again.”

Upon hearing this, Lord Muddy Bog’s clay-sculpted face turned ashen.

To avoid a third extortion, he braved the backlash of his confinement, projecting a fragment of his consciousness into the clay horse.

The horse raised its hooves, burrowed into the earth, and pursued Ji Ming’s direction.

“If I discover your den in these mountains, I will have a hundred ways to deal with you.”