Chapter 82: Ghost Gate Divine Needle, Yin Mountain Xiong Family

At dusk, a lone moon hung high.

Inside the clinic, Zhang Fan listened to Ming Yunxia’s fragmented words, faint images of shattering scenes rising in his mind.

At twelve, his condition had indeed been dazed and confused; according to Li Yi, his soul had been lost.

He may have just suffered a blow and hadn’t yet recovered from the trauma, sometimes failing to recognize even familiar faces.

This state lasted about a year, after which Zhang Fan changed completely and returned to normal.

“Sister Yunxia, did my father ever come back after that?” Zhang Fan asked.

“No… you two only came for about half a year, then never returned.”

Ming Yunxia suddenly seemed to remember something and said, “By the way, my grandfather left word that if you ever came, he had something for you.”

“Huh!?” Zhang Fan hurriedly asked, “What is it?”

“I don’t know. It was left for you… wait a moment.”

Saying this, Ming Yunxia turned and walked toward the inner room.

“Did she know I was coming?” Zhang Fan muttered to himself. He slowly withdrew his gaze, suppressed his curiosity, waited, and wandered around the clinic.

Ming Chengjun was a Daoist physician from Yinshan Sect; the clinic held many rare medicinal herbs and strange materials.

At that moment, Zhang Fan walked up to a cabinet, inside which a glass case held a single tea leaf, its veins glowing faintly silver-gray, its luster shifting like Daoist talismanic script.

“Ghost Tea!?” Zhang Fan’s gaze sharpened—he had seen records of this tea in the Dao Mi Lu.

Legend says that along the southeastern coast, after thunderstorms, people often encountered an old beggar, ragged and wearing a floral crown, begging along the road.

If you meet him and he asks for alms, never give him gold or silver; instead, pick up some tea stems by the roadside and give them to him, and you may take something from him.

Remember: take only leaves from his floral crown, no more than three at a time, or you’ll suffer great misfortune.

Some say he is a tea spirit dwelling in the mountains; each leaf from his crown is worth twenty years of life. During ancient wars, a deserter once wandered deep into the mountains, his rations exhausted, on the verge of starvation, until he met the old beggar and received two floral tea leaves. After eating them, he escaped death and lived to ninety.

Once, a Chinese merchant with terminal lung cancer paid eight million to obtain one such leaf—and indeed extended his life by twenty years. But his later years were wretched: he lost all his wealth, his wife left him, his children abandoned him. Clearly, such things bring retribution if one lacks the destiny or fortune to possess them.

“Can this thing really extend life? One leaf worth eight million?” Zhang Fan pondered.

Property prices in Yujing City were high; though the Hongfu Huayuan apartment he rented was in the old district and run-down, it could still sell for eight million.

One leaf could buy a whole apartment!?

Knock knock knock…

At that moment, a knock came at the door.

“Sister Yunxia, someone’s knocking.” Zhang Fan called out casually.

“Tell them the clinic is closed, no visitors.” Ming Yunxia’s voice came from the inner chamber.

Zhang Fan walked to the courtyard and opened the door, finding two young men outside. The leader wore loose casual clothes and a jade ring of emerald green on his right pinky; the other was tall, standing around one meter eighty-five.

Both young men froze upon seeing Zhang Fan.

“Sorry, Master Ming isn’t here. The clinic is closed for now,” Zhang Fan greeted.

“Heh…” The leader’s gaze sharpened as he scanned Zhang Fan, then sneered, “When did that slut Ming Yunxia pick up such a lover to guard the place?”

“Huh!?” Zhang Fan’s eyes darkened at this insulting remark.

Clearly, these two weren’t here for treatment.

“Kid, you’re living off soft food only because of our Ming family’s grace. Make Ming Yunxia come out,” the tall youth said coldly.

“So you plan to break into a private home?” Zhang Fan replied irritably.

At this, the two youths exchanged glances and laughed even harder, as if hearing a joke. “Kid, don’t make things hard for yourself,” the leader said, a cold gleam flashing in his eyes—he’d lost patience.

“Xiong Qianxing, what are you doing?”

At that moment, Ming Yunxia stepped out, her beautiful face icy as frost, her voice sharp with command.

“Ming Yunxia, you finally showed yourself,” Xiong Qianxing said coldly.

“Old Master Ming is dead. The things that belonged to the Ming family should be returned now,” Ming Chenxuan added.

“My grandfather isn’t dead… he’s just gone on a long journey,” Ming Yunxia bit her silver teeth.

“Dying far away is still dying… you haven’t heard a word from him in so long…”

Xiong Qianxing had no interest in arguing further on this point.

“The Ghost Gate Divine Needle was always the Ming family’s secret art. When Old Master Ming left the family, he took this art with him. Now it’s time to return it,” Ming Chenxuan said coldly.

“Ghost Gate Divine Needle!?” Zhang Fan stirred with interest.

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He had once read about this technique in the Dao Mi Lu.

The Ghost Gate Divine Needle is a method that transforms Qi into needles to pierce Yin acupoints.

Human acupoints are divided into Yin and Yang: Yang points govern life, Yin points govern ghosts and spirits. By this method, one can summon the power of ghosts and spirits to manipulate fortune and misfortune—it is an extremely profound secret art of the Yinshan Sect.

Over thirty years ago, a wandering Daoist from Qinghe County mastered this technique. A family’s youngest son drowned; his body lay in the house for three days, ready for burial, when the Daoist examined him, formed a hand seal, and used Qi to form needles that pierced the acupoints, pulling the boy back from the gates of death.

“The Ghost Gate Divine Needle was my grandfather’s own discovery. How come no one in the Ming family over generations ever learned it?” Ming Yunxia said coldly.

“All nonsense… you even carry the Ming surname.”

Ming Chenxuan sneered, stepped forward. Tall and massive, he loomed like a mountain charging into the doorway, utterly ignoring Zhang Fan standing in front.

Hum…

Suddenly, Zhang Fan lunged forward slightly, a force like a wild ox charging surged up, forcibly knocking Ming Chenxuan back several steps.

“A cultivator…”

Xiong Qianxing’s gaze sharpened; instantly he acted, forming a hand seal, uttering a soft cry, and spitting out a thick breath from his mouth.

“Infiltrate Yin Wind!”

The Yinshan Sect had a technique: absorbing corpse Yin Qi into the body, refining it into a thick breath kept in the throat. Once expelled, it entered through the crown of the head, bringing demonic wind into the body, causing eight leaks.

The Dan Shu records: bodily deficiency always brings eight leaks.

For example: tears from the eyes indicate liver leakage; drooling during sleep indicates brain leakage; constant runny nose indicates lung leakage…

Infiltrate Yin Wind is an extremely cruel technique. Once struck, if the body develops leaks, the weak will develop pus in flesh and rot alive.

“Watch out!” Ming Yunxia’s face paled, crying out in alarm.

Hum…

At that moment, Zhang Fan pinched his fingers into a seal and lightly pointed; a dark, swirling light glowed at his fingertips, tracing an odd path through the air.

“This is…”

“Daoist Secret Sect: Lingxu Painting Talisman!”

Xiong Qianxing’s face turned pale, shock flooding his eyes.

(End of Chapter)