Chapter 119: Breaking the Altar, Ruined Temple Beneath Mount Taibai

No one understands catching ghosts better than I do!

Li Yan wasn’t yet qualified to say this, but with the Soul-Grabbing Chain skill, he now had at least the chance to say it in the future.

The Yin Bureau’s Soul-Grabbing Chain specializes in subduing yin spirits and soul entities.

Some ghosts and malevolent spirits are terrifying precisely because they have no form or trace; only those of the Mystic Gate can perceive and dispel them with spiritual arts, while ordinary people are utterly powerless against them.

Yet the Yin Bureau’s Soul-Grabbing Chain is also formless.

Any soul—whether a ghost, a living person’s soul, or a spirit essence—can be captured.

According to the information he received, even at a certain level of cultivation, one could capture and subdue the spirits of earth deities!

If he had possessed this skill earlier, when that sorcerer tried to possess and haunt the Wu family shrine, he would have simply walked straight into death.

Unlike the Yang Six Roots skill, the Soul-Grabbing Chain requires no Yang or Yin incantations to control—it activates with a single mental focus.

Clatter-clatter…

The chain’s sound rang again in Li Yan’s ears.

Only he, and those who had awakened the Ear Skill capable of discerning ghostly speech, could hear this sound.

At his current level, he could extend the Soul-Grabbing Chain only one foot.

But that was already enough!

Li Yan stepped before the tree, thrust out his left hand, and clamped it onto the guard’s head; with a mental command, the invisible Soul-Grabbing Chain pierced into the body.

The guard’s living soul had already been consumed; within this body remained only a powerful yin spirit, exuding a cold, putrid stench mixed with the fishy odor of river silt.

So it was a water ghost!

Li Yan knew that the sources of changbing were numerous—they weren’t necessarily ghosts, but could also be resentful energies born from dark, decaying things in the mountains.

They were called changbing because they were reckless, unrestrained, ferocious, and fierce—hence the name “chang.”

The thing inside was equally violent.

Bound by the Soul-Grabbing Chain skill, it thrashed like a wild beast, desperately struggling, utterly unwilling to submit.

Li Yan gritted his teeth and yanked it out directly.

His left hand trembled, the chain clattering loudly in his ears; he clearly felt the changbing constantly shifting shape, trying to break free.

“Daoist!”

Li Yan shouted loudly.

“Coming!”

Wang Daoxuan spread out the vermilion talisman cloth; as Li Yan pressed his hand upon it, the cloth instantly twisted and wrapped around the spirit, layer upon layer, finally tied into several tight knots and shoved into the Wandering Soul Jar.

Though the changbing had no form, he could feel the talisman-wrapped cloth contained something like a block of ice, radiating icy cold.

Wang Daoxuan still wasn’t satisfied—he sealed the Wandering Soul Jar with a wooden stopper, pasted a spirit-subduing talisman on it, then wrapped red cord around it and tied two protective knots.

The chill was completely sealed off; Wang Daoxuan exhaled in relief.

He looked at Li Yan, his smile impossible to hide.

Though he said nothing, he could guess that the technique Li Yan had just used was likely the inheritance he had received earlier.

He hadn’t followed the wrong man…

“That’s it?”

Sha Lifei watched, utterly baffled.

In his eyes, Li Yan had merely grabbed the man’s head, then shaken the yellow cloth, stuffed it into the jar.

Wasn’t the changbing supposed to be terrifying?

Why didn’t it make a single sound…?

“Isn’t it better to keep it simple?”

Wang Daoxuan smiled and shook his head. “Without Young Master Li, I wouldn’t dare come alone to capture changbing.”

He pointed ahead. “Look.”

Sha Lifei looked up and was startled.

The guard tied to the tree had slowly lost his smile; his head slumped to one side, utterly lifeless.

Wang Daoxuan glanced around and shook his head. “This man was killed by the changbing; yin poison gathered resentment here, and this place is saturated with yin energy—it will likely turn into a corpse demon. Let me handle it.”

Saying this, he signaled Sha Lifei to lower the body, then gathered dry firewood on an open patch of ground and set it alight; thick smoke rose with the stench of burning flesh.

“What about the one in the river?” Sha Lifei asked quickly.

Wang Daoxuan shook his head. “Too late—I’ll notify the City God Temple; they’ll send a Daoist to deal with it.”

No sooner had he spoken than he approached the Wandering Soul Jar, lit three incense sticks, and stuck them onto the red cord tied to the jar. “With this changbing, finding the cold altar and ruined temple will be easy.”

Indeed, as soon as the three incense sticks were lit, the blue smoke seemed pulled by an invisible force, drifting toward the dense forest to the right.

“This way!”

Wang Daoxuan led ahead, Li Yan and Sha Lifei guarding on either side, entering the forest and gradually vanishing from sight.

Their direction precisely avoided Lu Xiaowu and the others, heading toward different mountain peaks…

…………

Goo-goo!

The bright moon shone over the forest; an owl hooted.

“Here! Right here!”

After a grueling climb, nearing midnight, Lu Xiaowu’s group finally reached the mid-slope.

They saw a flat open space atop the mountain, perfectly level; standing on it, peaks rose behind and on both sides, like a winnowing basket or a chair, and below, the river was clearly visible.

Lu Xiaowu’s eyes gleamed with excitement; he pulled out the cloth scroll from his robe and carefully compared it, leaving no detail unverified.

Beneath the moonlight, a note was written beside the scroll: “Lord Lu, I bestow this burial site upon you, in gratitude for your aid. Respectfully, Hou Faming.”

“Right here!”

Lu Xiaowu fumbled through the grass and finally touched a rusted nail; his voice trembled. “This is it.”

“Quickly—dig seven feet deep!”

“And my father must be buried upright!”

………

Crack!

Sha Lifei swung his long knife, chopping away obstructing branches.

Li Yan followed closely, eyes alert. “Daoist, it’s just ahead—there’s still something inside.”

The three had reached the mountaintop, but thick trees and thorns covered it; they had to hack a path with their blades.

Finally, they emerged from the thicket.

Before them stood a small temple, no walls, just a central hall with two side rooms.

All three rooms were locked, but the locks were rusted; the ground was overgrown with wild grass, and beyond, a rotting wooden stump bore a rusted axe.

Wang Daoxuan shook his head softly. “Someone must have once cultivated here in seclusion—perhaps met with an accident and never returned.”

Li Yan asked, “Daoist, what do we do now?”

Wang Daoxuan said firmly, “Turn the altar, break the temple!”

The three moved swiftly; Wang Daoxuan pulled out a ritual umbrella, painted with Yin-Yang Bagua, its tassels adorned with various talismans.

Puff!

He spat his spirit-saliva again to open the altar, then stepped the Nine Stars, holding the umbrella in his left hand, forming a seal with his right, drawing talismans in the air above the umbrella, chanting: “Heaven clear, earth clear, mysterious qi manifests power; the Heavenly Lord protects me, evil spirits dare not intrude—turn the altar, break the temple, subdue souls, capture essences…”

With that, he picked up the ritual seal, raised it toward the sky, sidestepped to avoid the blow, then stepped the Nine Stars and slowly walked toward the ruined temple. This time, Li Yan saw everything clearly.

This was Wang Daoxuan’s Western Xuan sect’s ritual for breaking a temple.

It looked simple, but was extremely dangerous.

Earlier, when the altar was raised and the ritual seal drew the mysterious qi and divine Sha , that force carried a killing aura—it had to be timed precisely to avoid, or the ritual would fail and injure the practitioner.

Now, as Wang Daoxuan stepped the Nine Stars, the umbrella shielding him, the ritual seal guiding the mysterious qi and divine Sha , he was breaking open the cold temple’s altar field.

The mysterious qi and divine Sha were unique to the Western Xuan sect—equivalent to the divine Gang power of the ancestral master.

Finally, Wang Daoxuan reached the temple’s entrance.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The ritual seal struck three times; dust trembled.

Li Yan could smell the old, icy stench that had clung to the temple now completely dissolving under the seal’s divine Gang vibration.

Then Wang Daoxuan kicked forward.

Boom!

The rusted lock shattered; the temple door burst open.

!.

Whoosh—a foul, icy wind howled out.

Wang Daoxuan’s umbrella flapped violently, but he showed no fear, striding inside, reciting a few incantations before slamming the ritual seal onto the altar table.

Instantly, the icy wind ceased.

Li Yan stepped inside without hesitation.

He opened his eyes and saw the deity statue: a Daoist with two pupils, holding a Luo Pan and a sword at his waist, but the lacquer had peeled away from decay.

On the altar sat five Wandering Soul Jars in a row; three were shattered, two remained intact, but their talismans had turned yellow and brittle, as if ready to crumble.

“It’s the Baoxiang Sect from Ganzhou in Jiangyou.”

Wang Daoxuan glanced at the statue and said, “This lineage excels in fengshui and controlling changbing.”

Saying this, he picked up a yellow handwritten scripture from the table, read the name on the title page: “Hou Faming… Seems he’s still a direct disciple. I wonder what happened to this Daoist friend.”

After a quick inspection, Wang Daoxuan and Li Yan worked together to re-seal the two remaining chang soldiers back into the Wandering Soul Jar.

“All set.”

Wang Daoxuan was in high spirits: “These three chang soldiers—once we return, just offer incense before the Ancestral Altar, subdue and train them, and they’ll make fine assistants.”

Li Yan smiled: “Chang soldiers are fierce. Master Daoist should find something to suppress them, or they won’t obey.”

“Hahaha, naturally.”

Wang Daoxuan laughed heartily and searched with Li Yan.

Though there were some ritual implements consecrated with incense, they had aged too long and rotted away; the incense divine Gang had long vanished, rendering them useless.

The two didn’t mind—having these three chang soldiers was already a substantial gain.

“Huh?”

After leaving the small temple, Wang Daoxuan gazed at the opposite peak and exclaimed: “I said the Baoxiang Sect’s location must be extraordinary—look, it hides a top-grade treasure vein, likely a remnant of the Qin Mountains’ dragon aura.”

He pointed ahead: “It shelters wind, gathers qi, concentrates water into momentum, and the three surrounding hills form a return-dragon throne. If your ancestors were buried here, your descendants would attain unparalleled nobility.”

Sha Lifei’s eyes lit up: “Is this treasure vein valuable?”

Wang Daoxuan chuckled: “Depends on who you ask. If taken to Chang’an, wealthy gentry would gladly pay one hundred thousand taels of silver for it.”

“One… hundred thousand?”

Sha Lifei’s mind went blank; he stammered: “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s claim it now!”

“Wait, no rush…”

But Wang Daoxuan frowned, studied the site more closely, even pulled out the Luo Pan to check, then sighed: “Pity—this treasure vein can no longer be used.”

Sha Lifei stared in shock: “Huh? Why?”

Wang Daoxuan pointed ahead with a wry smile: “See? Flood and land collapse destroyed the foundation. It looks good on the surface, but burying ancestors here would bring serious trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Without a foundation, the lineage dies out.”

“Maybe fleeting wealth, but the family loses its incense offerings—terribly ominous, terribly ominous…”

Li Yan shook his head slightly: “Fengshui is minor fortune. Since it’s worthless, let’s not waste time—let’s descend quickly and return to Lantian.”

With that, the three pushed through thorny thickets toward the mountain ridge…

…………

Cold wind howled; the mountains stood desolate.

Neigh!

On the imperial road, three horses galloped through dust.

“Strange—why haven’t we seen a single traveler all day?”

“Today is Shangyuan, the day when the Water Official relieves calamity. Common folk stay home to honor ancestors; temples and monasteries hold vegetarian rites and rituals—who has time to go out?”

“Tsk tsk—I’ve frozen my wits. Thanks for reminding me, Dao Master.”

The riders were none other than Li Yan and his companions.

After crossing the Qin Mountains, Li Yan briefly returned to Li Family Fortress, then the three rented horses in Lantian, traveling day and night without entering any towns, resting in abandoned homes or wild temples when tired.

After days of arduous travel, they finally reached the foot of Mount Taibai.

After riding for half an incense stick, Sha Lifei complained again: “Young Master Li, I can’t take it anymore—look at Dao Master’s face, frozen purple. Let’s find a place to rest.”

Winter had fully set in; the cold grew sharper. Though snow had not yet fallen, the wind biting as they rode left even Wang Daoxuan, Li Yan, and Sha Lifei numb with chill.

Li Yan scanned the distance—endless high mountains and barren land. He reined in his horse and handed Wang Daoxuan the wine flask at his waist: “We need shelter to warm up. Dao Master, how about we head to Meixian County?”

“No need.”

Wang Daoxuan took the flask, drank a few swallows, rubbed his numb cheeks, then pointed to a dirt path on the left: “Entering the county would detour us. Ten li further along this road lies an old wubao—travelers heading up the mountain often rest there.”

“There’s an inn nearby—we’ll reach it soon.”

“Fine, we’ll follow your lead, Dao Master.”

Li Yan and Sha Lifei were unfamiliar with the area; only Wang Daoxuan had been here before, so he led the way.

The group rode on. After several li, they turned a bend and saw a wubao standing beneath the vast, desolate mountains.

A wubao, also called a wubi, was built since Han times: when famine or dynastic collapse brought chaos, local landlords and gentry constructed them for self-defense.

Wubao varied in size, but typically featured high outer walls with walkways atop, arrow slits and watchtowers—essentially miniature city walls.

Once built, they became small fortresses. Since Emperor Guangwu, successive emperors had ordered their demolition, yet they persisted despite bans.

This wubao’s origins were unknown; its area was sizable. The left wall had collapsed; the watchtower’s roof was gone, leaving only charred wooden pillars—clear signs of past warfare.

Had it not been for several carts parked outside and lanterns hanging high with wine flags fluttering, Li Yan would have taken it for a ruined relic.

Before they drew near, they spotted a tall wooden pole outside the wubao, bearing a yellow flag.

“That’s called a Tian Gan.”

Noticing Li Yan’s gaze, Wang Daoxuan explained: “It signals Daoist believers. At night, three Tian Deng lanterns hang from its top, offered to the Three Officials for meals.”

Noticing Li Yan’s gaze, Wang Daoxuan explained: “When followers of the Mingyou Dao sect raise their poles, three sky lanterns hang from the tops at night, offering vegetarian meals to the Three Officials.”

The wubao was already crowded: traveling merchants, incense pilgrims, Buddhist and Daoist figures, even strange-looking witch doctors and shamans.

Li Yan was startled and glanced at Wang Daoxuan.

From afar, he could smell unusual energies—this tiny place held a surprising concentration of Xuanmen practitioners!

He could smell it from afar—many unusual energies within; this small place had gathered no few adherents of the Xuanmen!

(End of chapter)