Night hung like ink. In a lonely temple deep in the barren mountains, candlelight flickered, revealing the silhouettes of an old man and a young boy.
The disheveled old man looked feebly at the little beggar before him, his breath barely clinging to life. "Your master's time is almost up. From now on, you'll have to walk the road alone. The Qiling Realm is only the starting point of cultivation. The path from mortal to immortal is strewn with brambles. Never think too highly of yourself, never act rashly, and never be softhearted..."
After more than a dozen admonitions in a row, Chen Ye's head began to ache.
He thought, Why is it so hard for cultivators to die? My master's been talking for ages without even stopping to rest. He doesn't look like he's about to die at all.
But after thinking it over, Chen Ye felt his master really was about to die.
His master, Mo Ci, practiced demonic cultivation. He was usually as cold and merciless as they came, and often said, "If I hadn't possessed too many bodies and weakened my soul, I'd have taken yours long ago."
Demonic cultivators didn't put much stock in the bonds between master and disciple.
Mo Ci had often reminded him that for the sake of cultivation, parents, wives, and children could all be cast aside—let alone a master and disciple.
He usually spoke without a shred of mercy, but now he was giving so many earnest reminders. Perhaps, when a person was about to die, his words truly did turn kind.
Chen Ye was a child Mo Ci had found and taken in.
They had spent only a few months together, but looking at Chen Ye's face, Mo Ci was reminded of the day he had first accepted him as a disciple.
The first thing the boy had asked after learning he was a demonic cultivator was, "Master, can you teach me to refine the Ten Thousand Soul... Human Emperor Banner?"
At the time, Mo Ci had thought that although the boy was aiming far too high, he really was born to practice demonic cultivation. The first thing out of his mouth was a request to refine human souls.
So Mo Ci had accepted Chen Ye as his disciple and taught him to cultivate.
He had thought he could hold on for a few more years, at least until the boy formed his qi sea. He hadn't expected that today would be his last day.
Mo Ci didn't much regret it. After all, every demonic cultivator had a past too painful to look back on. If they'd had a choice, who would have abandoned the glorious path of righteous cultivation to become a demonic cultivator lurking in the gutter?
And if there had been no choice, then there was nothing to regret.
Mo Ci reached out and patted Chen Ye on the shoulder.
"Disciple, there isn't much more I can say, and I don't have anything good to leave you. There's no need to wait for this old man to breathe his last. The road to immortality is long and arduous. From today onward, walk it yourself."
Chen Ye kowtowed to his master, then slowly rose and took a white banner from his storage pouch.
"Master, do you know what this is?"
Chen Ye's words made Mo Ci reopen his cloudy eyes. When he saw the incantations on the white banner, he paused in surprise, then burst into laughter. "The Ten Thousand Soul Banner? You truly are a demonic sect disciple. I'm not even dead yet, and you're already trying to use this thing to collect my soul?"
Mo Ci had never imagined that, at this final moment, Chen Ye would actually take out something like this.
He really hadn't misjudged him. The boy was a born fiend.
But then Mo Ci sneered. "Fool! I'm three realms above you. Even on the verge of death, how could I be outwitted by a greenhorn like you? Just look at that banner. Its materials are crude, its incantations incomplete. You think you can refine a Ten Thousand Soul Banner? With such delusions of grandeur, you won't last ten years before you meet your end..."
Mo Ci grew more and more worked up as he spoke. He almost couldn't stop himself from slapping the reckless disciple before him to death.
A member of the demonic sect could disown his own kin, but he couldn't be blind to the gap between their strength.
But Chen Ye simply waved a hand, cutting off his master's "last words." In a matter-of-fact tone, he said, "Master, this Ten Thousand Soul Banner is made from inferior materials, and its incantations are incomplete. It can only collect and nurture souls to a limited extent. It has no restrictions or means of control, and it might even break if you drop it.
"That's precisely why I was able to cobble it together. To put it simply, it's just a place for a ghost to inhabit, but at least it can keep your soul from dispersing. That's all I can do. Whether you enter the Ten Thousand Soul Banner or not is up to you."
Mo Ci froze for a moment, then asked in confusion, "You only made it to protect my soul?"
Chen Ye nodded. "That's right. Your disciple isn't very capable, but I still put a lot of effort into this Ten Thousand Soul Banner. Master, I know being a wandering ghost is no fun. You could easily be caught and enslaved, tortured day and night. But as long as your soul doesn't disperse, there's still a glimmer of hope. Maybe someday I'll attain immortality and be able to give you a new body."
Mo Ci scolded him. "You're so softhearted and fussy. Where's the viciousness a demonic sect disciple ought to have? Besides, if people find out you're carrying a Ten Thousand Soul Banner containing the main soul of a Tongxuan Realm expert, can you protect it? You're just asking for trouble..."
Impatiently, Chen Ye said, "Master, are you going into this Ten Thousand Soul Banner or not?"
Mo Ci fell silent for a long while, then finally sighed. "Very well."
Wisps of green smoke curled from Mo Ci's seven orifices, forming a hazy figure that drifted toward the Ten Thousand Soul Banner.
Chen Ye gave a soft shout. "Collect!" The white banner fluttered, sweeping Mo Ci's soul inside.
In an instant, the incantations on the banner blazed, transforming into a ghostly face.
Mo Ci's astonished voice came from within the Ten Thousand Soul Banner. "This magic treasure is no ordinary thing. How can its soul-nurturing effect be this powerful?"
After possessing one body after another to prolong his life, Mo Ci's soul had long since grown frail. If he died naturally, a gust of wind would have scattered it.
He had thought that if Chen Ye's cobbled-together Ten Thousand Soul Banner could keep his soul from dispersing, that would already be impressive. But once inside, he discovered that it could also gather yin energy to nourish the soul.
Mo Ci reckoned that even if he used the same materials, he absolutely couldn't refine a banner with the same effects.
Chen Ye smiled smugly. "The Ten Thousand Soul Banner is a yin-gathering object, so it relies on the four yin trigrams: Kun, Xun, Li, and Dui. Their numbers must be combined and varied, their patterns interchanged and rearranged. The soul has form but no substance. As the saying goes, being and nonbeing give rise to each other; difficulty and ease complete each other. Based on these principles, your disciple improved the refining method, stripped away many useless, complicated steps, and revised the incantations..."
Mo Ci now understood how Chen Ye had felt earlier. Chen Ye's lecture nearly made his newly separated soul fly apart. It all sounded like things written in books he had read, but how had it become so profound coming from Chen Ye's mouth?
To Mo Ci's shock, when it came to refining magic treasures, he was beginning to fall behind Chen Ye's way of thinking.
Could this boy really be a genius?
Although Mo Ci's cultivation was far higher than Chen Ye's, it came from years of accumulated magic power. He knew very well that his own talent was mediocre.
He had learned cultivation methods, treasure-refining techniques, and all kinds of spells by rote. He practiced them exactly as others did.
Sometimes he had come across fragments of ancient texts, but he could only grasp them half-understandingly. His comprehension was, to put it mildly, quite ordinary.
Yet whether they were righteous experts or demonic venerables, weren't they all people who had innovated upon ancient methods and grasped their own paths of cultivation? Only then were they qualified to knock on the gates of immortality.
With talent like Mo Ci's, becoming an immortal was out of reach for his entire life.
But who among the less gifted was willing to admit defeat?
Mo Ci was like that, and so were all the cultivators under heaven. They refused to accept their fate until their lifespans were nearly spent.
Looking at Chen Ye, whose eyes were shining as he talked on and on, Mo Ci couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope.
Maybe this boy really could become an immortal?
Mo Ci felt conflicted. He had just been thinking that Chen Ye wasn't ruthless enough and would never get far on the path of cultivation, yet he was also grateful that his loyal, affectionate disciple had given him a chance at life.
"Alas..."
Mo Ci sighed and was about to give Chen Ye a few more reminders: being softhearted toward him was one thing, but he must never be like this with others.
But before Mo Ci could speak, he saw Chen Ye take another pile of talisman papers from his storage pouch and stick them all over his corpse.
Mo Ci asked in surprise, "Disciple, what are you doing?"
Chen Ye replied, "I'm refining your corpse into a zombie. You weren't a body cultivator, so you'll only make a cheap-grade zombie, but something's better than nothing. We can't let anything go to waste, right?"
Mo Ci: ...
This boy was destined for greatness!
In my last book, I wrote about a transmigrator who'd spent centuries becoming a gloomy old man. This time, I'm writing a protagonist who's just transmigrated and still has the sharp edge of youth. He doesn't just need powerful fists; he also needs to stand firmly on the moral high ground. Please bookmark and support the book. My heartfelt thanks.
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