Chapter 105: The Three Ghosts of the Dan Path

Huh! Bang!

A gentle breeze helped close the door.

The fox was startled, lifted its head, glanced at the door, then at Lin Jue, before lying down again.

Lin Jue then took out the ancient book.

“Shhh…”

He turned to the latest page.

Indeed, there was one:

Voice Transmission Technique: a method to record and transmit sound.

Beginners, by speaking the incantation and grasping it with their hand, may hurl it afar. With further study, they may speak freely, and the voice naturally reaches distant places. At advanced levels, one may speak at will, yet only one among thousands afar will hear.

“It seems the deeper the mastery, the farther the transmission—and the more precise the control?”

Lin Jue mused aloud.

“Shhh…”

Arrow Projection Technique: a method to strike with shadows.

In ancient times, there was a monstrous creature called yu, which often lurked in water, spitting sand to strike people; those struck would develop sores and die. Even if only one’s shadow was struck, illness would follow. Later, someone developed the “Arrow Projection Technique,” enabling one to strike with shadows.

With shallow mastery, one strikes only the shadow, with force reduced to less than one-tenth; sharp weapons become blunt blows. With deep mastery, force may reach several tenths, for shadows are inherently illusory—any piercing or cutting strike still turns blunt. Thus, those who use Arrow Projection Technique for ambushes often favor blunt weapons.

“So it’s ‘spitting sand to strike a shadow’?”

So that lizard back then had used this technique.

But it was unclear whether it had discovered it on its own or learned it from somewhere.

At the time, it had used its tongue as a spear, piercing the ground, yet when it struck Lin Jue’s shoulder, it felt only as if a blunt steel rod had prodded him—whether because the technique inherently turns piercing strikes blunt, or because the demon’s mastery was low, or both.

This is indeed an excellent, unexpected method, well-suited to pair with “Spell Warding.”

As long as one seizes the opportunity and times it right, even with low mastery and weak force, it can still be highly effective.

Paired with Fire-element Spirit Art, at night, with the right angle, one can even control the shadow’s position.

Going out once truly yielded rich gains.

Lin Jue, having learned so far, gained another insight—

Techniques are the application and extension of Dao. These arts possess such wondrous, mystical effects and can be cast and take effect precisely because they conform to the world’s rules—they are extensions of Dao. Thus, behind every technique lies a great Dao.

Senior brothers often say that skill can reach the divine; here, “divine” refers to Heaven and Dao.

Techniques can also reach Heaven and Dao.

It is naturally possible to comprehend Dao through techniques, to push open the door and behold Dao.

★￠o

Suddenly, he noticed something odd in the room.

Lin Jue put down the ancient book and looked forward.

His pet fox, accustomed to seeing him constantly reading, showed no reaction; now it simply walked calmly along the wall.

As if it too were practicing the newly learned technique.

Like the demon in the temple.

But it was not as terrifying as that demon—

First, it had not taken human form; second, it did not crawl like that demon, but retained its fox shape and posture, walking along walls and eaves as naturally as on flat ground.

“...”

Lin Jue fell into deep thought.

He wondered where it had learned this skill—if from that demon, when exactly it had learned.

As if sensing his gaze, the fox stood on the wall and stared at him.

“Come down.”

“Wu~”

The fox leapt instantly, its body weightless, floating as if flying, landing before him, eyes clear and innocent, tilting its head to meet his gaze.

Lin Jue reached out and gently stroked it.

“Good thing you only dig holes and catch rats—if you could tear apart the house, you’d leave not even the roof intact.”

The fox lay still, silent.

After petting the fox awhile, Lin Jue pushed open the door and stepped out.

He went straight to the kitchen.

The senior brother had used the kitchen for over a month, yet hadn’t made it a mess; however, many items were no longer arranged as Lin Jue preferred. He patiently restored each to its original place before examining them.

Flour untouched, rice nearly gone—clearly these Daoists couldn’t cook noodles. Pickled cabbage and salted vegetables nearly emptied an entire jar; salted meat reduced to a single piece—clearly they had listened to him, and even better than Third Senior Brother expected: at least they knew to ration their meals.

Spring bamboo shoots weren’t in season yet, winter shoots hadn’t emerged, but dried bamboo shoots were nearly the same.

The junior sister had already arrived in the kitchen, sitting before the stove, head raised, chin lifted, staring at him expectantly.

Lin Jue first had her heat warm water with a pinch of salt, then soak the salted meat and dried bamboo shoots.

The salted meat he’d made last year was prepared during the coldest days of Yishan; making salted meat requires care—the lower the temperature and the stronger the wind, the less salt needed, yielding less salty, tastier meat. Yishan was undoubtedly an ideal place for salted meat.

Thus, a simple soak sufficed.

He then began kneading flour, then pulled it into even chunks.

“Sss!”

The salted meat was fried as usual, its aroma released in hot oil, then simmered with dried bamboo shoots; steam and meat fragrance filled the entire kitchen.

Through the steam, Lin Jue met the junior sister’s gaze.

“Come, pull the noodles.”

“Oh!”

The junior sister answered with decisive eagerness, shoved more wood into the stove, sprang up, washed her hands, and hurried over.

Lin Jue had already divided and flattened the dough into palm-sized pieces; now he stretched them wider, larger, thinner, then dropped them into the pot.

Both worked together.

After only a few pulls, several more people joined.

A group pulled together.

Dough pieces fell into the pot, boiled in the broth.

No longer did they need to ladle into large basins and serve outside; each person took a full bowl themselves and carried it out to eat—if still hungry, they simply returned for more.

Lin Jue carried two bowls, one in each hand, stepped outside beneath the ancient pine, placed one on the edge of a bench, and sat beside it.

Master and senior brothers also sat down, holding large wooden bowls; soon the pine grove was filled with steam and slurping sounds.

Perhaps in spring, Fifth Senior Brother had made each of them a large wooden bowl; somehow, the old small bowls were used less and less, only for delicate dishes now.

Unconsciously, autumn had deepened.

Pine needles occasionally fell from above, yet even if they landed in bowls, no one cared.

Even Lin Jue and the fox merely looked up, tossed the needles aside, and kept eating.

In no time, the Daoists finished every last bite, not a drop of broth left—except the junior sister, who went back for seconds; the others were full.

“Burp~”

“I haven’t eaten such a satisfying meal in ages!”

“So comfortable!”

“Only Brother Jue could do this...”

“Let me tell you,” said Sixth Senior Brother, “after you left for half a month, Seventh Brother, proud of his cooking, couldn’t resist boiling a pot of blanket noodles.”

“A mushy mess?”

“Exactly~”

They then chatted about when Fuyao’s fur had changed color, debating whether it was white or gray-white, then moved on to stories of staying overnight at temples; amid the senior brothers’ goading, they finally cleared the table, brought out a sand tray, and hung the iron stylus from a pine branch by a thin cord.

But the one who would perform the fuji was not Sixth Senior Brother.

It was Master, Daoist Yunhe.

“My good spirit-friend is the teacher of Sixth’s spirit-friend. Their breadth of knowledge and divination skills are comparable, but my old friend is likely more candid.”

As Daoist Yunhe spoke, he swept away all fallen pine needles, then sighed:

“It’s been a long time since I summoned this old friend.”

“Snap!”

Daoist Yunhe lit incense, clasped his hands.

“Old friend, come.”

A gentle breeze swept through the courtyard.

“Old friend, long time no see.”

“...”

“Two or three years, perhaps.”

“...”

“Hahaha, naturally, I have questions.”

Daoist Yunhe spoke to the sand tray and iron stylus, as if muttering to himself, yet as if hearing replies; after pausing, he shook his head and smiled, then asked directly:

“Previously, my disciple descended the mountain to subdue demons and encountered silver-thieving demons in Yixian, later purged by Divine Lord Yili under Jade Mirror Emperor of the Nine Heavens. But recently, returning from Mingchao Mountain, he encountered silver-thieving demon monks in Anlin County, with demons seemingly behind them—could these two incidents be connected? If so, spirit-friend, do you know why?”

The iron stylus remained still for a long time; the wind blew on.

After a long while, the string and brush finally moved:

“The Immortal opens his furnace in Chang’an, first taking river water, then mountain essence. A touch of mist and jade hue, half earthly, half golden core.”

“Snap!”

The thin rope snapped outright; the brush fell onto the sand tray.

Clearly, another gust of wind rushed past with a howl.

“Gone?”

All the Daoists turned their gaze outward.

Though they did not know why this spirit medium had departed so abruptly, they understood it must concern something grave; since he had chosen to speak, it was surely out of goodwill, so they quickly bowed.

Only then did they turn again to the spirit poem.

When spirit mediums make predictions or divinations, they are uncertain whether their forecasts are correct and fear that too much detail might invite disaster, so they usually answer vaguely through poetry or painting.

“This spirit poem refers to an ancient, fallen immortal’s alchemical legend. It is said that this ancient immortal once brewed pills in the capital, both to achieve immortality and to bring peace to the mortal realm.”

Daoist Yunhe gazed at the spirit poem and explained:

“Legend says that when the ancient Immortal brewed his pills, he drew essence from heaven, earth, sun, and moon, and took the spiritual resonance of rivers, mountains, and dragon veins. After twenty full years, he finally completed the pill. At the moment of completion, besides purple mist and rosy vapor, one could see within the haze a thousand miles of land and the entire mortal world. He swallowed the pill and immediately became a mortal Immortal, purging demons and ushering in an age of peace.”

Everyone listening naturally knew this was merely an allusion; the true answer lay hidden within the poem.

“Is it related to the capital?”

“Or to the realm as a whole?”

“Could it be that someone knows the realm is about to fall into chaos, and is using these demons to collect silver as military funds to seize power?” the eldest disciple spoke calmly.

“Then what does ‘half earthly, half golden core’ mean? Is someone using this silver to brew pills?” the third disciple asked.

Immediately, all turned to the second disciple.

“Gold, silver, lead, jade, cinnabar, and mercury are indeed common alchemical ingredients, but even the finest pills would never require so much silver—unless he intends to brew many pills that use silver. I’ve heard of alchemists elsewhere who fraudulently claimed to brew pills just to swindle silver, but that’s merely theft.”

The second disciple, specializing in alchemy, paused suddenly, frowning: “Besides brewing many silver-requiring pills, there is another possibility.”

“What possibility?”

“Have you ever heard of the Three Ghosts of Alchemy? Swallow Gold, Devour Silver, Chew Jade?”

“What are those?”

“They are demonic creatures created during the peak of ancient alchemy—three distinct entities, not born from the same great master, but grouped together because gold, silver, and jade are traditionally paired.”

The second disciple explained to them:

“The Swallow Gold Ghost consumes gold; every ten taels swallowed, it regurgitates a Youth-Preserving Pill—eat it, and youth endures forever, never turning gray with age;

“The Devour Silver Ghost consumes silver; every ten taels swallowed, it regurgitates a Spirit-Essence Pill—consume it, and your cultivation advances;

“The Chew Jade Ghost consumes precious jade; every dou swallowed, it regurgitates a Freedom Pill—eat it, and you ride the wind as if a celestial, free to roam heaven and earth!”

“True or false?”

“Probably true? After all, Xiao Yuan Pills require silver, don’t they? But legends surely exaggerate—either the effects aren’t this potent, or you must keep consuming them.” The second disciple said, “Twenty years ago, the former emperor doted on his Imperial Consort, lost in sensual pleasures, and sent mystics from the Gathered Immortals Bureau to the four seas searching for the Swallow Gold Ghost.”

“Did they find it?”

“Who knows? Even if they did, they wouldn’t say. After all, though the emperor rules the realm, the court is rotten, and among the high Daoists, there are women too. Those who don’t understand alchemy, even if their cultivation nears True Immortal status, cannot escape aging—perhaps some were tempted.”

The second disciple paused again:

“But there are rumors.”

“What rumors?”

“Since the current emperor ascended the throne, he too has become obsessed with women—and seized the former emperor’s Imperial Consort. This has long been a scandal of our dynasty, despised by civil and military officials alike… That Imperial Consort must be in her forties or fifties now?”

At this, everyone fell into thoughtful silence.

It must be true.

Such wondrous demons exist in this world.