Chapter 39: Nascent Soul Duel, Saviour of Suffering

Deep night.

Above the old district of Yujing City, dark clouds gathered thickly, swirling with fierce winds that obscured the once-bright moon.

“Why did the weather suddenly change? The forecast said no rain these two days.”

“If the weather forecast were accurate, I’d have a stroke tomorrow! Go to sleep!”

“Can you not do it inside? My husband can taste it.”

In the dead of night, only a few lights remained lit, yet to these ordinary people, all they saw was the sudden shift in weather—the gathering dark clouds—utterly unaware of…

Beneath those clouds sat a figure, meditating like a Daoist, his body flickering with a faint, hazy glow…

Zhang Fan’s Nascent Soul seemed to have fallen into a wondrous state; his hands formed a seal—not the Lion Seal—while yin energy surged from all four directions, thick and boiling, enveloping him completely.

Harvesting yin energy to stir the four directions…

“What demon or monster dares practice such an inverted art!?”

At that moment, a sharp shout rang down from the sky; Gu Yuming’s Nascent Soul, like a glowing orb, drifted swiftly toward them.

He gazed at Zhang Fan’s Nascent Soul, shrouded in boundless yin energy, and his face twisted in shock.

The art of harvesting yin to refine the soul was exceedingly rare in ancient times, especially among orthodox Daoist sects and famed Daoist mountains, which specialized purely in yang methods.

Across Yujing City, no one could rival his Yin Mountain Sect in this art.

Yet what he saw now made his heart pound—yin energy gathering from all directions had disrupted the local yin-yang balance; dark clouds churned, and celestial signs had already formed.

Such a spectacle made him dare not approach rashly.

“How dare you show me disrespect!?” Gu Yuming’s brow arched, his bright eyes flashing with fury.

“Soul-Calling Cord!”

Instantly, he stepped the Heavenly Gang, formed a seal with both hands, and chanted incantations; a rope-like beam of light shot from his waist, coiling toward Zhang Fan.

This was a technique of the Yin Mountain Sect, called the Soul-Calling Cord.

Know this: when the Nascent Soul leaves the body, the physical form becomes its greatest vulnerability.

The Soul-Calling Cord forces the Nascent Soul back into its body, revealing its location to the caster.

“Let me see who you are, daring to practice this art in Yujing City?” Gu Yuming sneered inwardly.

Hum…

At that moment, the rope-like light coiled toward Zhang Fan’s Nascent Soul—but vanished like a stone sinking into the sea, silently dissolving.

“It’s useless? His Nascent Soul isn’t bound to his body!?”

Gu Yuming stared at this sight, stunned for a moment, then his expression turned strange.

The body is a nest; the Nascent Soul is the bird within. They cannot be separated—unless one attains the Pure Yang Ultimate state, leaving the body renders the Nascent Soul a rootless wraith, destined to scatter into the void in an instant.

“His Nascent Soul is abnormal!?” Gu Yuming’s gaze darkened, his expression grave.

Such a Nascent Soul—he had never seen it, nor heard of it even in the secret oral transmissions of his Yin Mountain Sect’s ancestral masters.

“Good! Good! Good!”

Gu Yuming uttered three “goods” in succession, then his eyes blazed with piercing light.

“If I don’t force you to reveal your true form today, I’ve wasted thirty years of Yin Mountain cultivation.”

“Ten Thousand Ghosts Refining Form Art!”

No sooner had he spoken than Gu Yuming slapped his forehead, opened his mouth wide, and a chilling yin wind surged forth; countless ghostly figures leapt out—disheveled hair, greenish miasma, karmic sins like banners, shadows clinging close, some revealing bony skeletons, others barren graves strewn everywhere.

Nascent Soul combat is far more mysterious than fighting with a physical form; once a technique manifests, it may take the form of ghostly or divine apparitions, hellish realms or divine treasures—seeming real yet illusory, illusory yet real, shifting in an instant, arising and vanishing in a breath, the profound mystery of emptiness giving birth to wondrous existence.

The Ten Thousand Ghosts Refining Form Art was a technique Gu Yuming had spent years cultivating, gathering yin energy and dead souls to forge.

Once perfected, summoning this art brings ten thousand ghosts to the body, yin calamity crashing down like a storm, draining one’s cultivation and shattering pure yang essence.

“The Yin Mountain Sect’s Ten Thousand Ghosts Refining Form Art!?” At that moment, even the He family’s experts in the Imperial Capital Region sensed this unusual disturbance—the gathering yin clouds now echoed with wailing ghosts, karmic sins coalescing, shaking the very atmosphere.

Now, if the Nascent Soul activated, it could summon countless ghostly shadows, blotting out the sky, swallowing the dark clouds.

“It really is someone from the Yin Mountain Sect. Are they insane? Daring to act so brazenly in Yujing City?”

Within the He family estate, even He Fei could faintly perceive the dense ghostly shadows blanketing the sky—hence the disbelief on his face.

In this age, with red flags flying and technology advanced, even cultivators must follow rules: if you’re a dragon, coil; if you’re a tiger, lie low.

You may cultivate your path to immortality, but you must not disrupt ordinary people’s lives. To openly absorb yin energy from all directions and forge ten thousand ghosts—this is outright madness.

“Ten Thousand Ghosts Refining Form Art… hmm, bold indeed… looks like the Mao Shan Daoists will descend.” From the corner, that low, resonant voice spoke again.

Jiangnan Province is Mao Shan’s territory; as one of the Ten Great Daoist Mountains, those Daoists could not possibly ignore this.

“Is the Yin Mountain Sect’s expert dueling someone!?” He Fei asked uncertainly.

His cultivation was not deep enough; from this distance, he could not perceive much clearly.

“Nascent Soul combat is perilous beyond measure. The Yin Mountain Sect’s Ten Thousand Ghosts Refining Form Art is no trivial matter—I wonder if that man can withstand it.” The low, resonant voice murmured, clearly favoring the Yin Mountain expert.

Boom… boom… boom…

Beneath the old district’s sky, dark clouds churned violently, ten thousand ghosts wailed like a raging tide, surging toward Zhang Fan’s Nascent Soul.

Hum…

At that moment, Zhang Fan’s Nascent Soul moved. His hands formed a seal—nine vertical, one horizontal—and unleashed a roar like a lion’s fury.

“The Lion Seal!?”

Gu Yuming laughed upon seeing it—a common, basic Daoist seal, nothing more. If this trivial technique could break his Ten Thousand Ghosts Refining Form Art, he’d be a laughingstock.

Boom… boom… boom…

Instantly, the endless ghostly shadows converged, emitting piercing wails and cries—cold, bitter, and filled with resentment—freezing the surrounding air.

Though ordinary people could not hear the ghostly wailing, prolonged exposure would cause physical discomfort, and weak firelight might even trigger serious illness.

This is why cultivators must avoid crowds during combat—though ordinary people cannot perceive it, the effects are always present.

Hum…

The ghostly wailing instantly drowned out the lion’s roar; ten thousand ghosts surged forward, sharpening into lethal force, tearing through the thick yin energy surrounding Zhang Fan’s Nascent Soul, ready to drag him out.

“Appear!”

At that moment, a soft tone rang out. Zhang Fan’s Nascent Soul formed another seal—not the Lion Seal—and before him appeared a lofty throne.

“This is…”

Gu Yuming stared at the throne, his expression instantly changing.

A magnificent throne, tiered like jade, nine lotus petals clearly visible, radiant jewels and light scattered everywhere.

Instantly, faint chanting echoed from the sky, swirling around the throne, rising gently, unceasingly calming dread: Floating wondrous qi in the void, all feathered adepts praise the sacred rite.

In the seven-jewel forest, seven-jewel thrones; jeweled trees, jeweled flowers bloom.

If the dead wish to ascend to the Immortal Realm, let the master ascend the Dharma King’s Throne.

As the Sanskrit chant ended, Zhang Fan’s Nascent Soul stepped forward and sat upon the throne, his hands forming a seal as he chanted: This seat, this seat, not an ordinary seat—the Saviour of Suffering once sat here.

Now he preaches to save the living and the dead, liberating all hells.

Taiyi Tianzun sits upon the lotus throne, the Ten Kings of Hell arrayed on either side.

The Judge unfolds the Book of Life and Death, summoning souls to receive salvation.

“The Great Emperor of the Eastern Ultimate, Taiyi Saviour of Suffering!?”

Gu Yuming cried out in disbelief, utterly stunned.

(End of Chapter)