Chapter 69: Nascent Soul as Ink, From the Three Corpses

Night had deepened; the mountains were silent, save for the sudden agitated chirping of cicadas.

The Shen family courtyard, inner hall.

Incense smoke curled and drifted among the ancestral tablets above the altar—a rare sight in a modern city.

“Only because we both hold true earth, the Golden Core may return…”

At that moment, a low, ancient voice softly sounded, causing the candle flame to flicker.

Shen Xiangrong had just entered and heard these words; he immediately stood respectfully to one side, saying nothing more.

“Marvelous… truly marvelous… the Daoist alchemical verse, utterly ineffable…”

The ancient voice spoke again, tinged with lingering aftertaste.

When thought ceases, it becomes earth; ceasing at the kidneys is Wu Earth, ceasing at the heart is Ji Earth; when these two earths unite, they form true intent—like the earth itself, steadfast and unmoving, not a single thought arising, revealing the wondrous reversal of the Golden Core.

“What a pity… humanity’s greatest sorrow lies herein: the mind-monkey cannot be tamed, the thought-horse cannot be restrained… how can one ever attain the boundless pure yang Dao?”

The ancient voice spoke again, carrying a trace of loneliness and sorrow.

“Grandfather, you’ve sat in seclusion in these mountains for twenty years; your nature cultivation is profound, your thoughts no longer follow distractions—you’ve already attained true intent. Surely you need not…” Shen Xiangrong gazed into the depths of the ancestral hall, unable to hold back.

“Thoughts no longer follow distractions—you’ve attained true intent?”

Before he finished speaking, the ancient voice cut him off.

“Cultivation itself is the greatest attachment.”

At these words, Shen Xiangrong fell silent, as if savoring the profound mystery within them.

“The Dragon-Tiger Dao talisman… did that person find it?”

At that moment, the ancient voice shifted tone, becoming sharp and piercing.

“Not yet… there were too many people inside the Talisman Refining Pavilion at the time…”

“You must find it!”

Before Shen Xiangrong could finish, the ancient voice interrupted him, its tone now heavy and icy.

“The Dragon-Tiger Zhang family… eighty years without incense offerings rekindled. I must confirm whether this lineage has truly been extinguished…”

“Grandfather, this Dragon-Tiger Mountain lineage has endured for so long; it’s inevitable that some methods were passed outside. Even if someone masters the Dragon-Tiger Dao talisman, they need not be of the Zhang family…”

Shen Xiangrong could not help speaking—he simply could not understand why, after twenty years of seclusion and such mastery of qi cultivation, the mere name “Dragon-Tiger Zhang” could throw his grandfather into such turmoil, making him restless as if haunted by a demon.

“You don’t understand… you don’t understand…”

“You’ve never seen a person of the Zhang family… you naturally cannot know…”

The ancient voice spoke again, heavy with weight.

Shen Xiangrong remained silent. He knew his great-grandfather had once taken refuge under Dragon-Tiger Mountain, cultivating Daoist arts; his grandfather had lived on the mountain for a time then, perhaps even encountered someone from the Dragon-Tiger Zhang family.

“Arrogant… arrogant…”

The ancient voice seemed squeezed from between clenched teeth.

“Such a disposition could dominate the Daoist sects…”

“No…”

Before Shen Xiangrong could speak, the ancient voice denied him.

“It is not the pretentious arrogance of the haughty, nor the proud isolation of the conceited… it is something else.”

There are degrees of superiority, but the Dragon-Tiger Zhang family…

“They see nothing at all, forget self and object… in their eyes, even themselves do not exist.” The ancient voice grew hurried, almost jealous.

“That innate Dao-sensitivity and talent force others to bow their heads before them.” The voice ground its teeth—he could not forget his childhood, how hard his father had struggled, how diligently he had trained… yet he could never catch up to those people.

All the achievements he had spent his life striving for could not even reach the starting point of a Zhang.

This immense disparity planted a seed in his young heart.

“What a pity… Heaven favors the weak, despises the strong… the great Daoist calamity has ended this lineage…”

The ancient voice shifted again, as if exhaling in relief—yet that obsession had not faded.

“I don’t care whether that person today is truly of the Zhang family—find them for me…”

“I will make him see… how the Shen family surpasses them.”

“Grandfather…” Shen Xiangrong’s heart stirred; he gazed toward the inner hall, following the flickering candlelight.

A creaking, groaning sound emerged from the dark corner.

“I’ve already checked—the [Mystic Mirror Treasured Scripture] has not been affected. With this secret method, the treasure can be completed within three days.”

As the words ended, a withered, emaciated old man slowly rolled out in a wheelchair. His skin resembled sun-cracked tree bark, as if a breeze might peel it away; with each breath, his skin swelled slightly, smoothing the cracks, then, as he exhaled, it wrinkled and shriveled again.

“Grandfather, your talisman is spent.”

Shen Xiangrong frowned, staring at Shen Yinfeng’s abdomen. A bright yellow talisman was pasted there, bearing a strange pattern resembling a swollen belly, with a ghostly face upon it. Thin fleshy tendrils sprouted from the talisman, like claws, embedded deep into Shen Yinfeng’s flesh.

If one observed with the Nascent Soul, one would see those thin tendrils piercing directly into his body, coiling around his abdomen, while half his lungs had turned black.

“This [Lung Treasury Talisman] is indeed effective—but it consumes too much of the Nascent Soul.” Shen Yinfeng shook his head and tore off the dimmed talisman.

Immediately, thick black fluid dripped down, reeking of rot. The pattern on the talisman instantly faded, and a pained shriek echoed before fading into silence.

“Nascent Soul as ink—truly wondrous,” Shen Yinfeng said coldly.

He raised his hand; a fresh [Lung Treasury Talisman] flew from his palm and adhered to the same spot. Thin tendrils pierced in, accompanied by the sound of a woman weeping. He exhaled a long, turbid breath; his skin swelled, shedding layers of dead skin.

The lungs govern the skin and hair, including the body’s pores; thus, human respiration is tightly linked to the opening and closing of the skin.

Five years ago, Shen Yinfeng was diagnosed with late-stage lung cancer—but he survived, sustained by this [Lung Treasury Talisman].

Crafting this talisman was not difficult; the only precious ingredient required was the Nascent Soul of a living person.

Shen Xiangrong remained silent. He knew this method came from a single page of the Celestial Book his ancestors had obtained, which even recorded the crafting technique of the [Mystic Mirror Treasured Scripture].

Just now, Shen Yinfeng said that with the secret method, it could be completed in three days—that method was using the Nascent Soul as ink.

The glory and goal of three generations of the Shen family would be realized at this moment; any cost was worth it.

Shen Xiangrong had lost his father in childhood and was raised by his grandfather, educated and indoctrinated to regard the completion of the [Mystic Mirror Treasured Scripture] as the highest ideal.

Now that this moment had truly arrived, he was more eager and excited than anyone else.

“The Nascent Soul truly is the most wondrous thing in the world…” Shen Xiangrong watched as his grandfather gradually regained strength and vitality, and could not help asking.

“Grandfather, now that the [Mystic Mirror Treasured Scripture] is nearly complete, can you finally tell me—who was that extraordinary man who left the Celestial Book to our Shen family?”

Eighty years ago, Shen Xiangrong’s great-grandfather left Dragon-Tiger Mountain and encountered that extraordinary man—his life changed forever.

This was the Shen family’s greatest secret; now, perhaps only Shen Yinfeng knew.

“His name…” Shen Yinfeng paused, then spoke.

“He was once the greatest martial artist in the world…”

“The greatest… the greatest… could it be…?” Shen Xiangrong’s expression changed, as if he had guessed.

“The Three Corpses Daoist!” Shen Yinfeng whispered softly, uttering that name.

(End of Chapter)