Chapter 42: Breaking the Heart, the Three-Step Method (One Update Today, Tomorrow’s Will Be Made Up!)

Ji Ming once again grabbed Yu Xiao’s body, pulling him forcefully away from the tense disciple of the shamaness.

“Senior brother, I’ll go ahead. You do as you wish.”

In the secret passage, the first disciple dared not look back, hefting the large chest and mustering all his strength to dash forward in a single breath.

“Wait for me...”

The other, recovering from his panic, hurriedly followed, clutching his chest tightly.

Upon reaching the end of the passage—a dark chamber—they didn’t even pause for breath, quickly returning to pass by “Yu Xiao” who followed behind.

“Snap!”

The small door of the chamber closed. The chests were placed gently on the ground, and Yu Xiao was tossed from his robe.

Before these three chests of books, Yu Xiao’s worth diminished further, though there was still some profit to be squeezed from him—it all depended on how cleverly Ji Ming used him.

He embedded the Bone Spirit Pearl into Yu Xiao’s mouth, ensuring his life was firmly in his grasp, then Ji Ming relaxed and began to open the chests one by one.

“Manuals of poison and medicine!”

Ji Ming hastily flipped through the first chest.

Most of its contents discussed concocting and countering poisons, as well as the crafting of minor elixirs—not his main concern.

He opened the second chest and at a glance saw a volume titled “Collected Works on the Great Elixir.”

“The name is straightforward—I like it,” Ji Ming said, quickly taking the book in hand. It felt as though he was back in the small room at Fox Society, reading “Notes from the Wild Hills,” “Discourse on Chambers,” and “Scroll of the Shadow Wind.”

“Not easy at all!” Ji Ming mused, deeply moved. These Daoist treatises and manuals were always hidden away, rarely seen.

He hadn’t expected today’s fate to grant him access to them all.

Ever since he had consumed the century-old red ginseng, his Daoist cultivation had surged—and so, it seemed, had his luck.

On the opening page of the “Collected Works on the Great Elixir,” it was written: ‘There is a mountain in Yingzhou called Celestial Pillar. Upon it resides the Western Lady, known also as Azure Heaven, Mother Heaven, Western Heaven. She imparts the true way of divinity and the doctrine of talismanic commands.

In later generations, six passed down the Dao, spreading it widely. Three great traditions were founded: first, the Palace of Yellow Court; second, Mount Taiping; third, the School of True Spirit. Thus the gates of immortality opened, and the path of alchemy was born.’

Skipping the prologue, Ji Ming eagerly read on, word by word.

‘What is an immortal? One who is pure yang without yin.

To become immortal from among men, there are three steps.

First, refining essence into qi.

Second, refining qi into spirit.

Third, refining spirit into emptiness.

Within these three steps are six stages.’

Ji Ming pondered, realizing that the so-called “nourishing qi” and “refining qi” stages were subdivisions of the first step: refining essence into spirit.

He continued reading.

‘In the step of refining essence into qi, there are two key methods: gathering the three flowers at the crown, and converging the five energies at the heart...’

...............

“Mm~”

Who knew how much time had passed when Yu Xiao slowly awakened, feeling a heaviness in his chest and awkwardness throughout his body.

Suddenly, memories leapt forth in his mind, restoring clarity—and his gaze locked onto the iron-backed giant centipede before him.

“When did my Centipede Immortal become such a monstrous entity?” he wondered.

A black giant centipede, nearly half a man’s height, rested before the desk in the dark chamber.

Under the desk, two pale, long legs crossed and swayed occasionally, revealing the creature’s pleasant mood.

Looking up, beneath the lamp, its hard, slightly curled shell segments climbed upward, their surfaces gleaming with oily brilliance.

Its head was lowered over the desk, engrossed in reading Daoist texts, obliviously arching its centipede back to Yu Xiao behind it.

Yu Xiao closed his eyes, breathing steadily, secretly channeling his inner skill.

In his palm, a corpse heart spot was so purple it verged on red—a mark of the perfected Cloud Poison Hand.

“You have two chances!” Ji Ming spoke without turning.

Yu Xiao’s heart gave a jolt; his muscles tensed and relaxed, tightened and loosened, several times tempted to flee.

Ji Ming, still at the desk, repeated, “You have two chances to survive!”

“He must be bluffing,” Yu Xiao thought, still feigning unconsciousness, though his muscles were taut as bowstrings.

Ji Ming, seeing Yu Xiao pretend to sleep, let him be. To extract the last bit of value from Yu Xiao, breaking his spirit was essential.

He had nearly finished reading the Daoist scrolls from the second chest.

Now he was rereading, especially the “Collected Works on the Great Elixir.” Though it did not detail specific cultivation techniques, it laid out the principles and Dao behind the first three stages.

As for the fourth stage, the Golden Elixir, it was only briefly touched upon, often in passing.

Even on a second reading, Ji Ming found it fascinating.

There were also several explanatory books, mostly about the Small Cycle Talisman Diagram; only two covered the Great Cycle Talisman Diagram.

One of these was interpreted by the shamaness.

That which the Small Cycle Talisman Diagram explained was called the art of the small cycle, enabling one to cultivate the three flowers atop the head.

The Great Cycle Talisman Diagram, naturally, taught the art of the great cycle, able to transform the five energies within the chest.

These diagrams were widely circulated among the thirty-six regions, and it could be said they were what had established the loose cultivator communities of today.

Just as he was engrossed, Yu Xiao behind him was suffering.

He no longer questioned why the Centipede Immortal had become so strange; he knew that with his meager Daoist skills, he could never grasp the truth.

The small door was only two or three meters away.

“Escape!”

He set his resolve, opened his eyes, and sprang up, darting toward the small door and striking it with his palm.

At that moment, a gust of black wind arose in the chamber, blowing fiercely into Yu Xiao’s face, preventing him from opening his eyes. His strength faltered, leaving a palm mark on the door but failing to break it open.

A pale hand landed on his shoulder—the demon’s voice sounded again.

“Does this count as you voluntarily forfeiting one of your chances to live?!”

Ji Ming sat at the desk, the centipede’s head segment lifting slightly.

As his words fell, the outstretched arm on Yu Xiao’s shoulder recoiled as if shocked by electricity.

Yu Xiao quickly turned, raising both palms to face him directly.

Ji Ming looked at his tingling hand, more delighted than alarmed. “Yu Xiao, this is one of your values—to let me properly witness the Cloud Poison Hand.”

His own Crane Control skill and Yu Xiao’s Cloud Poison Hand were both palm techniques; aside from their perfected forms, their basic methods could be mutually understood.

Yu Xiao’s gaze darkened, jaw clenched, and with a particular breathing pattern, he relaxed and tensed his muscles.

Within that relaxation, his muscle groups could grant him explosive power—he shifted his steps, moving faster than the eye could follow.

He struck with a palm, like a mountain crashing down, directly onto Ji Ming’s shell.

Ji Ming did not dodge, taking the blow head-on—a soft force sought to penetrate the shell, stirring the insides into chaos.

But the flesh and spirit within the shell were seamless, impossible for mere softness to shatter.

“Soft and hard in harmony!” Ji Ming praised, thinking, “It seems even those who have cultivated the three flowers cannot break my shell—the century-old red ginseng was well worth it.”

His confidence in his strength grew further.

“Ah!” Yu Xiao broke into cold sweat, frozen, feeling trapped in an inescapable net.

“That was the second time!”

On Ji Ming’s pale, lifeless hand, two fingers rose.

Yu Xiao’s teeth parted, breathing deeply, his temple hair soaked with sweat, like an exhausted ox.

His tempered palms had failed; the poison of the corpse heart spot was useless against this creature, and his chest still ached faintly. His poison pouch and storage bag had been taken.

“What… do you need me to do?”

A corpse-like long hand reached out, gently pressing his brow.

Yu Xiao was terrified; the centipede spirit’s gentle touch sent chills across his scalp.

Ji Ming’s hand pressed down—not with great force, but enough to make Yu Xiao sink inch by inch, crouching like an insect.

“His spirit is broken!” Ji Ming thought with satisfaction.

“I want everything in your mind—especially the ritual of Scorpion Heart Hall.”