Chapter 115: Ancient Temple, Green Lamp, the Reason

Whoosh!

Birds startled from the valley took flight.

Li Yan turned left and saw a large tree; he leapt forward, landing squarely on the trunk, then used the momentum to drop to the ground.

He looked upward—clouds and mist obscured the view; sheer cliffs rose straight into the sky, beyond which nothing could be seen.

Li Yan thought: no wonder this place was so hard to find.

The peak of Tianzhu Mountain was crowned by a sea of clouds—breathtaking in grandeur, yet perfectly concealing the ravine below and creating blind spots with other mountain paths.

Thinking this, Li Yan gripped his sword hilt and scanned the surroundings.

The terrain was too steep; even with Wang Daoxuan’s skill, he’d likely fall to his death halfway up, so he had to remain above.

Too bad Wang Daoxuan lost his Yin Soldiers—if he’d had them, he could’ve set up an altar above and aided from afar.

I’ll have to find him some Yin Soldiers when I have time.

Pushing aside distractions, Li Yan gripped his sword hilt with one hand, formed the Yang Seal with the other, drew a deep breath, and every scent in the valley flooded his nostrils.

Then he stared at the ground in shock.

His divine sense had grown refined—he could now sketch the shapes of objects by scent alone.

Beneath the entire valley floor lay buried soul jars!

Soul jars were not wandering spirit pots; they were burial funerary vessels originating in the Han dynasty—clay pots below, topped with intricately crafted clay pavilions, birds, corridors, musicians, and more.

Originally called “Five-Grain Bags” or “Clay Granaries,” they were buried to hold grain, lest the deceased’s soul starve on the journey through the Yellow Springs.

Over time, they became ever more elaborate, embodying the dream of immortality after death.

To be honest, these things weren’t rare.

But burying them across the entire valley sent a chill through Li Yan—could this be some sinister array?

Yet he detected no unusual odors.

Moreover, the valley had clearly suffered a flash flood; mud had settled, and most buried soul jars were cracked and broken.

Regardless, this was almost certainly the place he sought.

Li Yan stayed alert, using his divine sense as he surveyed the valley—and soon found something.

On a relatively flat stretch, someone had cleared farmland, even leaving behind freshly harvested wheat stubble.

Then a scent rose into his nose.

Li Yan’s expression shifted; he leapt sideways, dodging behind a massive boulder, and called out loudly: “Elder, I’ve come at the request of Wu Laosi—please don’t misunderstand.”

He could smell someone aiming a bow at him from the upper right wall of the gorge.

A withered female voice echoed: “Brother Wu—has this coward finally died?”

“Since you’re a guest, come up and have some tea.”

Li Yan narrowed his eyes and slowly stepped out from behind the rock.

Looking up, he saw a narrow, protruding stone path between the cliffs, partially hidden by several pine trees, forming a blind spot.

An old woman in black stood atop it.

She appeared elderly, yet her face was flushed, her expression cold; her streaked white hair was neatly combed into a Daoist topknot.

“Guest, please come up.”

The old woman gestured calmly, inviting him.

Her words were polite, yet the stone platform stood two stories high—with no ladder, and the adjacent cliff face sheer.

Testing me?

Li Yan sneered inwardly, sprinted toward the cliff wall, and at the last moment unleashed hidden strength in his legs—leaping three meters straight up.

Clang!

His left sleeve-dagger shot free, embedding into a crack; he pushed hard with both arms, rebounded, and executed a midair flip to land on the platform.

The old woman frowned slightly. “Impressive skill—but why the rush? I’d have lowered the rope ladder if you’d just waited.”

She pointed downward.

There, clearly visible, was a rope ladder woven from vines and wood—she need only kick it to let it drop.

Li Yan: “...”

The old woman shook her head slightly. “Follow me. My lineage hasn’t seen a guest in decades.”

She turned and led the way.

Along the protruding stone path’s wall lay a narrow, V-shaped cave entrance—extremely small and concealed.

Li Yan, with his scent-based divine sense, had already sensed it; he stayed wary and followed the old woman through the crevice.

After walking less than five meters, the space opened abruptly.

Inside stood a sizable cavern.

On either side rose carved stone pillars; above, a stone archway connected to the ceiling, inscribed with four large characters: “The Sacred Realm of the Netherworld.”

Along the pillars, intricate carvings depicted clouds, volcanoes, demons, hells, and the Yellow Springs—all legendary scenes, hollowed with fine detail.

Many carvings were blurred, clearly ancient.

Li Yan’s expression turned solemn with reverence.

He now understood how the cave had been formed.

The entrance was too narrow, and the valley too deep with no access route—no one could have transported materials from outside.

The entire cavern had been painstakingly carved by hand.

Seeing his expression, the old woman seemed to guess his thoughts. “This place was built at the end of the Qin dynasty, during the chaos of the world. Our ancestors’ devotion to the Dao was unshakable—they carved this cave themselves.”

“As time passed, hearts grew less sincere, and no one carved further. Now, only I remain, guarding the green lamp alone.”

She turned her head slightly, speaking calmly: “You carry Lu Shixiong’s Spirit-Fire Musket—so he’s dead, then?”

Li Yan’s heart jolted; his spine stiffened.

The old woman spoke calmly: “No need to guard yourself. He murdered his own sect members and used dark arts to prolong his life. If you killed him, you’ve saved me the trouble of purging the sect.”

Li Yan judged her demeanor genuine; his tension eased slightly. “Elder, do you also possess the Nasal Divine Sense?”

After Lu’s death, Li Yan had naturally searched his belongings.

Too bad the man was a pauper—only a few paper dolls, a mourning staff, and these two odd firearms.

The guns looked unremarkable, but were exquisitely crafted: bamboo tubes with copper inner barrels, segmented, and with copper wires at the rear that, when pulled, spewed phosphorus fire and flamethrower oil.

Li Yan had witnessed their lethality—he’d taken them.

He hadn’t known they were called “Spirit-Fire Muskets.”

He’d hidden them in his robes, yet she detected them—only possible with the Nasal Divine Sense.

“Mm.”

The old woman nodded casually, seemingly unwilling to elaborate.

They passed beneath the stone archway, and before them appeared a grand temple hall—carved from the same rock as the archway, many parts damaged, ancient and dilapidated.

Upon the altar stood a stone statue of an emperor, about one story tall, ancient in form, carved with natural grace, clad in imperial robes, crowned, with Fu Xi’s bone ridges on his brow, black beard bristling like spears, radiating solemn majesty.

Above the altar, clearly inscribed: Northern Yin, Fengdu Great Emperor!

Before it stood five other altars, each bearing the titles of the Five Directional Ghost Emperors—but no statues adorned them.

So this was the deity they venerated.

Li Yan’s expression turned solemn; he dared not use his divine sense to probe, instead respectfully lighting three incense sticks, bowing deeply, and placing them in the censer. The old woman beside him, watching, softened slightly and nodded: “Sit down. I’ll brew tea.”

She turned and entered the rear cavern.

Li Yan found a place to sit, glancing around casually.

According to the old woman, this lineage had begun at the end of the Qin dynasty and endured to this day—now reduced to one person.

Ancient temple, green lamp—she had no attendant, no disciple in sight; she clearly had no intention of taking one.

That was strange—weren’t Dao lineages always obsessed with incense offerings?

Of course, Li Yan didn’t care about the future of this lineage.

But one question had lingered in his mind:

This lineage had never been broken—

Then who was the Cold Altar Wandering Master?

As he pondered, the old woman emerged from the rear cavern, carrying a tea tray. She lit a small stove, boiled water, and brewed tea with unhurried grace. Li Yan grew impatient but dared not interrupt.

The old woman seemed to sense his restlessness. Still brewing, she added three roasted red dates to his cup, not looking up. “You’re in a hurry?”

Li Yan froze, unsure how to answer.

!.

The old woman spoke softly: “All mortals are cultivating while alive—yet because life is as brief as morning dew, they panic, chasing fame and profit, seeking techniques, worshipping immortals, bowing to Buddhas...”

“They rush through a lifetime, convinced they’ve lived meaningfully—yet their existence is but dewdrops and mirages, unaware that the golden crow has just risen, unaware that time itself knows no years.”

Li Yan was speechless. “But rushing won’t help—everyone dies eventually. Who truly achieves immortality?”

The old woman gazed out the cave, her eyes still as a deep well. “I once thought the same. Then I lived here long enough to watch grass wither and bloom, to witness frost, wind, rain, snow—and slowly understood.”

“Precisely because mortal life is short, they must seek—humanity’s tide rolls forward. But cultivation requires stretching time.”

“In ancient times, people observed the four seasons to grasp Lesser Yin and Lesser Yang; they watched the stars shift to define the Heavenly Stems and Earthly Branches; they studied the essence of all things, and thus Cangjie created characters...”

“Sometimes, slower is better.”

“Elder, you are wise!”

Li Yan immediately paid her a flattery.

He sensed she had truly grasped something—but perhaps, having lived alone so long, she simply craved conversation.

The old woman didn’t mind, continuing to brew tea. After finally boiling the water and pouring it into a cup for Li Yan, she asked, “Did Wu Shixiong send you to return the Gou Die?”

Li Yan wasn’t surprised she could sense it; he nodded. “That’s correct, but now there’s a problem…”

The fact that she called Wu Laosi “Shixiong,” spoke of cleansing Lu Shushi as a traitor, and the look in her eyes made Li Yan drop his guard and tell her everything plainly.

“Cold Altar You Shi?”

Li Yan’s words startled the old woman. She frowned. “My lineage’s incense is nearly extinguished—I have no intention of taking disciples. Where would a Cold Altar You Shi come from…?”

As she spoke, as if remembering something, her pupils contracted. “What did this Cold Altar You Shi look like?”

“Drenched in bloodstained robes, iron chains piercing his body…”

After Li Yan described him, the old woman fell silent. When she looked at him again, her gaze held a complex mix of emotions. She sighed. “I think I know who you mean. It seems he still hasn’t given up.”

Her words left Li Yan utterly bewildered.

The old woman offered no explanation. She sighed, stood, and said, “Follow me. You’ll understand when you see it.”

Saying this, she rose and entered the cave behind her.

Li Yan, filled with questions, followed closely behind.

Beyond lay another vast network of caves, carved into meditation chambers, training grounds, kitchens, and side rooms—clearly, this lineage had once been substantial.

Now, except for a few spots, everything was thick with dust, clearly abandoned for years.

The old woman lit a torch and led Li Yan deeper inside.

Gradually, the surroundings shifted to natural caves, untouched by human hands, with mountain spring water dripping steadily.

After another hundred paces, a stone door loomed ahead.

On the door were embedded stone handles, threaded through with countless copper chains, sealing it completely.

And pasted across its surface were layer upon layer of ancient Huang Fu.

Seeing Li Yan’s stunned expression, the old woman spoke calmly. “Your answer lies within.”

“My late master forbade ever opening this door. But if he has become the Cold Altar You Shi, he is likely dead, his Dao extinguished.”

She stepped forward, unlocked the copper chains, tore off the Huang Fu, unwound the links one by one, then pressed her palm lightly against the stone.

Boom!

The heavy stone door groaned open.

Damn, she’s a Hua Jing expert!

Li Yan was startled, but quickly his attention was drawn to what lay inside.

Inside was a stone chamber, housing a stone coffin.

Around the coffin, arranged in the pattern of the Six Stars of the Southern Dipper, stood six stone lanterns.

Li Yan recognized this setup—it resembled Wu Laosi’s journey into the underworld.

But unlike that, above the coffin hung a massive copper pillar, thick at the top, tapering to a sharp point, as if ready to plunge into the coffin at any moment.

Inside the coffin, chains crisscrossed, piercing the skeleton from all directions, as if to prevent its escape.

“This… what kind of torture is this?”

Li Yan’s heart recoiled. No wonder the Cold Altar You Shi was pierced through with chains—he’d been subjected to this punishment.

“It’s not torture.”

The old woman spoke coolly. “It’s corpse suppression.”

“Zombie?” Li Yan’s mind went blank.

The old woman shook her head. “I don’t know much about it myself.”

“According to my master, this man was named Ju Chengshan. He was the most gifted disciple of his generation—his talent rivaled the finest of the Tai Xuan Zheng Jiao, and he became a Living Yin Officer long before most.”

“Everyone assumed he’d become the next patriarch. But no one expected he’d walk this path so far—he eventually went mad, claiming he’d found the ladder to godhood.”

Li Yan frowned. “What path?”

The old woman looked at him, her gaze heavy with meaning. “A Living Yin Officer is merely an emissary of the Underworld. What to do, what not to do—there are taboos.”

“But some always seek to uncover the Underworld’s truths. Like a summer insect trying to comprehend ice—it leads only to death.”

“He was no different. And he grew increasingly deranged.”

“When his lifespan neared its end, he stole our lineage’s forbidden technique from the Fang Xian Dao—the Tai Yin Lian Shi Art—and turned himself into a zombie to extend his life, harming countless living beings.”

“My sect suffered countless deaths before we captured him. We then used secret methods to suppress his corpse and soul, preventing him from ever escaping again.”

“His dark arts backfired. Knowing he could never escape, he begged my master to pass on his technique. My master refused outright, sealed this place, and declared it forbidden.”

“Our sect possesses only one Gou Die. Wu Shixiong inherited it from him—perhaps even then, he’d planted the seed. After death, he became the Cold Altar You Shi, seeking a successor…”

So that’s it!

Li Yan’s head throbbed. He bowed, clasping his fists. “I have no intention of accepting such a dark art. Please, Elder, guide me on how to break it.”

The old woman shook her head. “Break it? It cannot be broken.”

(End of Chapter)