Chapter 3: The Temple of the Five Viscera and the Spirit of the Spleen

“Could it be that I’m supposed to eat them?”
Shang Lu’s imagination ran wild, and he quickly landed on a possibility.
Since the desolate temple existed within his body, what if, by eating the incense and wax, he could send them inside the temple?
Fantasizing would lead nowhere. Shang Lu decided to test his theory with action.
But before eating the incense and wax, there was one more thing he had to confirm.
“Is there more of this incense and wax?” Shang Lu asked.
If this was all there was, and eating it didn’t send it to the desolate temple, that would be a problem—he’d have to come up with another plan.
The house was silent, no one replied. But after Shang Lu spoke, several more sticks of incense and candles appeared out of thin air in the bowl filled with bloody meat paste.
Seeing this, Shang Lu was reassured. He laughed and said, “Good, there’s more. Let’s put them away for now as backups.”
The incense and candles seemed to understand, their flames flickered, and then they vanished.
Shang Lu cut short his cold bath, clambered out of the icy wooden tub, grabbed two burning candles, and, without even blowing out the flames, stuffed them straight into his mouth.
Once inside, the burning candles didn’t scald him; he held his breath to enclose the flames.
The taste and texture were revolting, making him want to gag, but he forced himself to swallow the two candles whole, barely chewing.
Next, he ate three sticks of incense the same way.
Shang Lu closed his eyes and focused his mind on his core. Soon, he saw the desolate temple inside his body, and on the altar, the candles and incense flickered with light.
“It worked!”
Delight surged through him, and he noticed that the blue smoke rising from the incense further dispelled the mist within the temple.
Of the five statues inside, the one in the center was now visible.
It was a statue radiating a faint yellow glow, badly damaged, as if it had survived some great catastrophe.
At its feet was neither a lotus pedestal, nor auspicious clouds, sacred beasts, or little demons, but a mound of soil—
The soil that nurtures all things.
Even the statue itself seemed to have “grown” out of the earth.
Which deity was this? Shang Lu was deeply curious.
Unfortunately, he knew little of the gods of this world and couldn’t guess.
But when he saw the weathered face of the statue, he was startled—
The statue’s face was exactly like his own!
Having a desolate temple inside his body was odd enough, but the statue in the temple wore his face…
Such a thing was beyond bizarre!
“Have I become a god? When did that happen? Why don’t I know about it…”
Shang Lu was dumbfounded. What kind of deity would be so frantic just to keep his post as a constable?
At that moment, he noticed the blue smoke from the incense swirling and forming a line of words:
[Temple of the Five Viscera: Spirit of the Spleen]
“Temple of the Five Viscera?”
Shang Lu was astonished, but then he recalled something he had once heard: the five major organs of the human body each have their own spirit master—the Spirits of the Five Viscera.
A person’s body is a temple that enshrines these spirits, known as the Temple of the Five Viscera.
Suddenly, he understood:
“No wonder the statue has my face—because it is me. This temple is my body. I died and came back to life, my five viscera were damaged, so the temple is desolate, the statue broken.
“What I’m worshipping isn’t some other god, but myself…”
Having figured out the origins of the temple and the statue, Shang Lu grew curious about their function.
The incense and candles on the altar seemed connected to his very spirit. As soon as he wondered about them, the blue smoke turned into another inscription:

[By offering food to the Spirit of the Spleen, you may gain vital energy and nourish bones and organs.]
Shang Lu was no physician, but as a martial artist, he understood some basic medical principles. He knew the spleen belonged to earth in the five elements, called the foundation of postnatal life, responsible for digesting food and generating vital energy.
Previously, with his five viscera—including the spleen—damaged, his energy generation had plummeted, severely hindering his progress in cultivation.
But how much vital energy could be gained by offering food to the Spirit of the Spleen?
He immediately put this to the test, quickly eating the bowl of bloody meat paste.
Like the incense and candles, once swallowed, the meat paste appeared on the altar in the Temple of the Five Viscera.
The Spirit of the Spleen did not move, but the meat paste vanished bit by bit—
At the same time, a surge of pure, powerful vital energy appeared at Shang Lu’s stomach.
Its strength and purity far exceeded what he could absorb from simply eating the meat paste himself.
Shang Lu was thrilled, though he also felt regret: “All that bloody meat paste I wasted before!”
He did not let this opportunity slip by, and immediately began practicing the Five Beasts Health-Nourishing Technique.
Strong vital energy, carried by his breath and movements, spread throughout his body, nourishing his muscles and bones, strengthening his flesh.
After a set of the Five Beasts Exercise, Shang Lu was delighted to find his strength and physique had improved far beyond anything he’d experienced before.
“Wonderful! This is simply marvelous!”
He was overjoyed.
Though his body still felt somewhat rusty during cultivation, it was a marked improvement and gave him hope for recovering his abilities and passing the upcoming evaluation.
Shang Lu worked with renewed vigor, training tirelessly until the Spirit of the Spleen had fully digested the bloody meat paste and he had absorbed all of the resulting energy.
But he did not stop to rest; instead, he planned to eat more to feed the Spirit, gain more energy, and continue training.
He was out of bloody meat paste—he only got one bowl a day from Auntie Third.
It wasn’t that Auntie was stingy, but though the meat paste was effective, it was extremely cold in nature.
Even with the Temple of the Five Viscera and the Spirit of the Spleen awakened, eating too much would overwhelm him.
A bout of diarrhea would be minor; worse, it could damage his body’s yang energy and further injure his organs.
Fortunately, ordinary food could also generate energy, though in lesser quantity and lower purity.
But what lacked in quality could be made up for in quantity. Shang Lu knew he would never be a genius, but he could certainly eat like a bottomless pit.
He was about to head out in search of food when he noticed another change in the Temple of the Five Viscera.
Before the Spirit of the Spleen, the swirling smoke twisted into a new line of words:

[Five viscera damaged, energy and blood depleted. Offer the Three Sacrificial Animals and the Eight Precious Medicines to replenish energy and nourish the organs.]
Shang Lu was stunned, then overjoyed.
His slow progress in cultivation was mainly due to damaged organs.
If he could restore them, his progress would surely accelerate!
With the energy gained from offering food, he might even recover his abilities in time for the evaluation.
“The Three Sacrificial Animals and Eight Precious Medicines? I’ll go buy them at once!”
Shang Lu threw on his clothes and strode out the door.
Though excited, as he left he remembered to call out, “I’ll be back soon.”
The shadows under the trees swayed, as if responding to his words, or perhaps sharing his hope.
When the gate closed, the dappled light vanished. The little courtyard returned to gloom and chill, radiating an aura that warned strangers away.

After leaving, Shang Lu headed straight out of the county town toward the market outside the city.
Although there were shops in the county, it wasn’t easy to find all three sacrificial animals there. The market was a better place to search.
People from surrounding villages gathered at the market on certain days. Hunters and fishermen brought their latest catches to sell.
Whenever the market opened, it was lively—
And a feast for the constables as well.
Today happened to be market day.
Shang Lu had barely arrived and begun searching for sellers of wild goose, duck, or pheasant when two fellow constables stationed at the market called him over and tossed him a string of copper coins.
“Shang Lu, you’re just in time. This is today’s tea money.”
“Thanks.”
He didn’t refuse; this collection was routine.
Every market day, constables collected “tea money” from the vendors—an open secret.
It wasn’t optional for him, either.
If he didn’t collect it, how would the captains? If the captains didn’t, how would the clerks or magistrate?
The magistrate might seem hands-off, but if the money wasn’t collected, no one would have an easy time.
After a brief chat, Shang Lu asked, “By the way, have you seen Old Zhang lately?”
Old Zhang was a hunter who often sold his catch at the market. Shang Lu wanted to ask him about wild goose, duck, or pheasant.
His colleagues shook their heads. “He hasn’t come for a while. I heard that lately, his village’s mountain has been shrouded in thick fog. He’ll probably come down once the fog lifts.”
“The weather’s been strange this year—fogging up the mountains before the rainy season even starts,” Shang Lu remarked.
“No kidding. It’s not even summer and it’s already this hot,” the other constable said, wiping sweat from his brow.
After parting ways, Shang Lu sat down at a food stall, ordered a bowl of mutton offal soup and a few big oven-baked flatbreads.
While sprinkling scallions and coriander into his soup, he waved over a loafer on the roadside, tossed him a few coins for his trouble, and instructed, “Go around the market and see who’s selling wild goose, wild duck, or pheasant. Bring them here.”
The loafer, delighted, set off at once.
“Wait,” Shang Lu called after him. “Do you know what the Eight Precious Medicines are?”
“No idea,” the loafer replied honestly. He was familiar with dice tiles, but not with rare medicines.
That was expected. Shang Lu thought for a moment, then said, “Bring a few of the herbalists over as well.”
“Got it!” The loafer nodded and, seeing there were no other instructions, hurried off.
He was a regular errand-runner around the market and quickly returned with several hunters and herbalists.
At first, these people were nervous, fearing they were involved in some case.
For ordinary folk, getting mixed up with the authorities was no small matter—even if they were innocent, they’d end up fleeced by the constables.
Only when Shang Lu said he was there to buy things did the hunters and herbalists relax.
It was from the herbalists that Shang Lu learned the Eight Precious Medicines were ginseng, white atractylodes, poria, angelica, ligusticum, white peony, cooked rehmannia, and licorice—famed for nourishing energy and blood.
The hunters and herbalists quickly gathered the three sacrificial animals and the Eight Precious Medicines, scarcely daring to name a price—half selling, half gifting them to Shang Lu.
He tried to insist on paying market value, but the more he did, the more nervous they became, so he let it be.
As he was leaving, he spotted a peddler selling wooden hairpins. The craftsmanship was quite good, so he picked out an elegant one as a gift to bring home.
Just as he entered the county town, Sun Ying, who was patrolling, spotted him.
“Shang Lu? Isn’t he supposed to be resting at home? What’s he doing outside the city?”
Sun Ying was surprised.
But when he saw Shang Lu carrying a large bundle of herbs and wild goose, duck, and pheasant, his frown deepened.
“What is he planning to do with all that?”