Chapter 34: Netherworld

Shen Siyuan stood up, redressed himself; since this was his uncle's grandfather's friend, proper respect was due.

His uncle's grandfather soon led an old Daoist priest into the room.

Shen Siyuan was startled upon seeing him.

Given his understanding of ghosts, he could plainly see the old Daoist priest was in a state of exceptionally full soul energy.

Ghosts have strengths and weaknesses; their power depends not only on their vital essence, spirit, and vigor in life, but also on innate talent.

Those with extraordinary talent are born with souls stronger than ordinary people, and thus are smarter, even gifted in certain ways beyond ordinary reach.

The old Daoist priest was one such person—he was extraordinary from birth.

So even after death, he remained unlike others.

The old Daoist priest, upon seeing Shen Siyuan, first showed surprise, then immediately bowed deeply and said respectfully, "This humble priest Qingyun greets you, fellow Daoist."

"Oh, why call me fellow Daoist? Shouldn't you call me lay follower?" Shen Siyuan asked with a smile.

"I observe you mastering yin and yang, breathing essence and qi, standing alone and guarding your spirit, your muscles as one—deserving the title True Person; naturally, I must call you fellow Daoist."

These words of the old Daoist priest came from the Emperor Neijing: Suwen; Shen Siyuan naturally did not understand them, so he said nothing, merely politely invited both to sit and speak further.

"Your uncle feared for you, thinking your body had fallen ill, and sent me to check—yet I did not expect you had merely achieved cultivation."

The old Daoist priest gazed at Shen Siyuan's radiant eyes and inwardly marveled; in this age of declining Daoist arts and absent deities, to reach such a state, his talent must be extraordinary—and yet he inwardly lamented that Shen Siyuan had been born in the wrong era.

Beside him, his uncle's grandfather, hearing the old Daoist's words, looked Shen Siyuan up and down in surprise; he had never suspected his nephew's grandson was also a Daoist practitioner.

Shen Siyuan, however, was deeply curious about the old Daoist's talk of cultivation; according to his knowledge, this world had no spiritual energy, its qi was murky and foul—impossible for any cultivator to arise—yet he recalled the descent of merit, and wondered if it might not be so absolute.

So he asked: "How many people like you are there? I mean, how many cultivators are there?"

"In the past, few, but many who succeeded; now, many, but none who succeeded—all fake cultivators, merely using cultivation as an excuse to gather wealth," the old Daoist sighed, filled with sorrow and regret.

"Why were there so few cultivators in the past, yet so many who succeeded?"

"Because back then, heaven and earth had not changed, all things had spirit, the world was ordered, deities dwelled above, humans in the middle, the dead below—all things had reincarnation…"

"You mean there used to be a Netherworld?" Shen Siyuan pressed.

"Naturally—how else could so many myths and legends have arisen? Were they all made up?"

"Then why is it gone now? I've seen many people, after letting go of attachments, simply dissolve into nothingness."

"Ah~"

The old Daoist shook his head. "I don't really know."

"Long ago, deities ceased descending to the mortal realm; it is said the path to immortality was utterly severed, no one could ever become a celestial again—but even then, the Netherworld and reincarnation still existed; after death, one merely had to let go of attachments to enter the Netherworld and be reborn. But a hundred years ago, for reasons unknown, the Netherworld vanished suddenly—souls now dissolve, becoming the final end…"

Perhaps the old Daoist's unwillingness to abandon his quest for immortality was tied to this.

"A hundred years ago—any specific year?" Shen Siyuan asked.

The old Daoist frowned in thought. "Around the year the foreigners invaded our Huaxia lands."

The old Daoist said "foreigners," not "Japanese," and it was over a hundred years ago—Shen Siyuan instantly understood.

"1900? The Eight-Nation Invasion?"

"Something like that." The old Daoist had lived long; though it had been over 120 years, he was already over sixty then, and remembered clearly.

"You don't know the reason either?" The old Daoist shook his head.

"Back then, I and several fellow Daoists traveled to famous mountains and rivers, visited immortals and fox spirits, seeking only an answer—but ultimately, we found nothing." The old Daoist sighed.

Yet the old Daoist had long come to terms with it; he continued: "Still, heaven and earth have their own rules; though ghosts no longer enter reincarnation, the mortal world suffers little impact."

"No, there is impact," Shen Siyuan said.

"Oh? What impact?" The old Daoist showed curiosity.

"When ghosts enter reincarnation, it's not just to uphold heaven and earth's cycle—it's because each rebirth, each nourishment of the body, makes the soul more sentient. A hundred years ago, countless brilliant talents emerged—do any still appear now?"

"And without the Six Paths of Reincarnation, what difference does good or evil make? All end by dissolving into heaven and earth."

"Indeed, that is true," the old Daoist said, showing admiration.

Then he asked: "Do you have time tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?"

Shen Siyuan thought for a moment, then slowly nodded; he had a blind date in the morning, but the afternoon was free.

"Then come to my temple tomorrow. I have something for you."

"Something? What kind of thing?" Shen Siyuan asked curiously.

"My fellow Daoists and I traveled to famous mountains and rivers, and we did gain something—but our cultivation is shallow, we could not discern its nature. You, in this world, have achieved cultivation—this proves not only your exceptional talent, but also your great fortune. Giving these things to you, perhaps you can uncover something of their meaning…"

Hearing this, Shen Siyuan understood at once, and grew even more curious about those things.

At that moment, his uncle's grandfather, who had remained silent until now, suddenly spoke.

"Your temple's already collapsed, overgrown with weeds, rats and ants crawling everywhere—and it's been so many years. How could anything still be hidden?"

The old Daoist glanced sideways at him.

Then said: "When I died, human civilization was flourishing, and they were determined to smash all demons and spirits. I feared those things would be lost, so I buried them deep underground long ago. Over these years, few have visited my temple—so those things remain untouched."

"Then thank you, Daoist Priest. I'll come tomorrow afternoon—where exactly is your temple?"

"At Xiao Feng Ling. It's called Tingfeng Temple. I'll wait for you at the mountain's foot tomorrow afternoon—I'll guide you there." The old Daoist said.

"Alright, thank you, Daoist Priest," Shen Siyuan said.

He knew Xiao Feng Ling—it was a nearby Shanfeng, though calling it a mountain was an exaggeration; it was merely a large mound of earth, where he had played as a child with his friends.

The old Daoist stood up. "Then I won't disturb you further. Rest early."

His uncle's grandfather rose as well.

Shen Siyuan had things he wanted to say to his uncle's grandfather, but he didn't know what—just as he himself had said, everything was past; mortals and ghosts walked separate paths—what use was speaking of it now?

His uncle's grandfather had lingered in the mortal world, refusing to vanish, perhaps only waiting for his Qiao Zhen.

If so, let him wait—let him have that hope. When Shen Siyuan understood why the Netherworld vanished, perhaps he could restore his reincarnation. Before then, he could place him on the Ten Thousand Souls Banner to prevent his body from dissolving.

But there was no rush now, so he sent them to the doorway and watched the two drift away.