Chapter 209

In a hidden chamber deep beneath the ancient temple.

A burly man was bound tightly to a wooden frame by a pale green chain, his body pierced with countless fine silver needles, his head hanging low, motionless.

At that moment, a shadow flickered before the man, and a cold, large hand seized his chin, forcibly lifting his head.

The man's features were closed-eyed, expressionless, like a corpse—indeed, it was Kang Wuhen, the top-ranked inner disciple of the Four Symbols Sect.

Suddenly, a mouthful of cold water splashed onto Kang Wuhen's face.

Kang Wuhen jolted awake and opened his eyes, but before he could clearly make out the figure before him, a faint voice spoke:

"Soul-Calling Technique."

No sooner had the words left the figure's mouth than two emerald-green beams of light shot from its eyes, directly piercing into Kang Wuhen's pupils.

Kang Wuhen felt his eyes searingly hot and cried out in struggle, but his body felt no sensation at all; his neck and head were held immobile by the giant hand, his eyelids as heavy as mountains, powerless to resist as the green light poured relentlessly into his eyes.

Yet strangely, the figure's lips continuously recited the Buddhist Sutra of the Diamond, its voice deep and resonant, offering a sense of calm and reassurance.

After a short while, Kang Wuhen ceased struggling, accepting passively the influx of light from the figure's eyes.

For a full incense-stick's duration, the recitation finally stopped, and the hand withdrew from Kang Wuhen's face.

"My lord, I have completed the ritual—why wait any longer to awaken?"

No sooner had the words been spoken than all the silver needles on Kang Wuhen's body spontaneously sprang free and clattered to the ground.

Kang Wuhen's face twitched, his eyes slowly closed, but the next instant, he let out a piercing scream, his forehead veins bulging violently, his features contorting, his entire body convulsing.

Had he not been bound tightly by the green chains, he would have rolled on the ground in agony.

At that moment, the figure before him poured a bowl of fragrant liquid into Kang Wuhen's open mouth.

After another few moments of convulsions, Kang Wuhen's screams ceased, leaving only ragged, heavy breathing.

When he opened his eyes again, he finally saw clearly what lay before him.

Before him stood an elderly monk with kind, benevolent features, draped in a yellow kasaya, gazing at him with deep concern.

"You are the Jialan Elder… no, I am the Jialan Elder… no, I am the reincarnation of the Jialan Elder…" Kang Wuhen stared at the old monk, initially bewildered, then suddenly recalling something, murmuring incessantly.

"Amitabha, congratulations, my lord—you have pierced the veil of prenatal oblivion and reclaimed your true self. Now I may rest easy," the old monk said joyfully.

"Am I truly the reincarnation of the Jialan Elder? Then who are you? In my memories, you look exactly like the Jialan Elder." Kang Wuhen stared at the old monk for a long while, sifting through the newly surfaced memories, then asked with cautious suspicion.

"My lord, you've forgotten—I am also you. I am a fragment of your divine awareness, left behind in this hidden realm centuries ago. But after so many years, I have grown exceedingly weak, and had no choice but to take refuge within this mortal shell to slow the dissolution of my divine essence." The old monk sighed in explanation, then grasped his own wrist with one hand and gently twisted.

A sharp crack echoed.

His hand snapped cleanly off—no blood flowed from the wound, not even the bone was red; it was a dull yellow-brown, and thin wisps of white mist drifted from the severed wrist.

Yet the old monk immediately pressed the hand back onto the stump; the white mist swirled and writhed, and moments later, the five fingers moved freely again, seamlessly reattached as if never broken.

"Divine awareness… mortal shell? I seem to recall something, but it's hazy." Kang Wuhen stared at the scene, startled, and after careful thought, replied hesitantly.

These new memories were peculiar—they truly seemed to be those of the Jialan Elder, a Nascent Soul cultivator—but though they were memories, whenever he tried to recall specific details, most of them blurred, as if veiled by a pale green gauze.

"My lord, you have just been forcibly awakened to your past-life truths; it is natural you cannot yet recall specific memories of your former life. Once you assimilate a single drop of your own essence-blood left behind in this realm, all will return to you." The old monk said, carefully withdrawing from his robe a semi-transparent Buddhist bead, within which a faint golden liquid shimmered.

"You want me to assimilate this?" Kang Wuhen eyed the object in the monk's hand, his expression turning wary.

"Relax—you are me, and I am you. Had I truly intended you harm, you would be dead already. Why would I waste so much effort speaking to you?"

"If you successfully assimilate this essence-blood, I will finally confirm you are truly my master's reincarnation, and I will immediately lead you to retrieve the pills and treasures you left behind in your past life. These items are sufficient to let you easily establish your Foundation, form a Golden Core, and even reassemble a Nascent Soul." The old monk held the bead gently toward Kang Wuhen.

Hearing this, Kang Wuhen's heart pounded violently.

He had risked everything to enter this hidden realm precisely for Foundation Establishment resources.

Now someone told him not only Foundation Establishment and Golden Core resources were available, but even Nascent Soul materials were offered willingly—how could he not burn with desire, longing to seize every treasure at once?

Yet he was no fool. He did not believe everything the monk said, and even these new memories in his mind he half-doubted; he fell silent.

At that moment, the old monk sighed, tucked the bead away, and pulled on the green chains binding Kang Wuhen—each link shattered instantly, freeing him.

"If you are so hesitant, unwilling to try, perhaps the time is not yet ripe. I can only await your next reincarnation. You may leave. It is a pity—I have waited here a thousand years. By the time your next reincarnation arrives, I may no longer be here." The old monk sighed, bowing in farewell.

Kang Wuhen moved his limbs, his expression shifting between doubt and resolve; he did not leave immediately, but asked the old monk:

"May I ask you one question? Before I fainted, I was exploring these ruins with several companions—where are they now?"

"Companions? I saw no one else. Only you lay unconscious here. No other souls were present." The old monk paused, then answered without hesitation.