Outside the cave, a waning moon hung in the sky. Its cold, clear light spilled through the gaps in the vines, casting mottled shadows across the ground.
The rustle of pages as Chen Ming turned them sounded especially distinct in the silence. The tiny script in True Explanation of a Hundred Poisons passed before his eyes, sometimes drawing a slight frown, sometimes bringing a sharp gleam to his gaze.
Although incomplete, the fragment recorded methods for cultivating more than a dozen rare poisonous substances, along with three secret healing arts that used poison to counter poison.
The method that tempted Chen Ming most was called the Bone-Tempering Poison Refinement Art. It used specific toxins to repeatedly temper the bones and meridians. If he could endure nine bouts of excruciating pain, his body's resistance to poison would increase dramatically, even rendering ordinary poisons ineffective against him.
Chen Ming closed the book regretfully, tapping its cover lightly with his fingertips. He could not help saying, "The remaining sections must still be in the Ten Thousand Poisons Sect's Inner Sect Scripture Pavilion."
He raised his head and gazed through a gap at the night sky outside the cave, a plan already taking shape in his mind.
For the next three days, Chen Ming did not take a single step outside the cave.
He swallowed a Grain-Banishing Pill and devoted all his energy to studying the fragment of True Explanation of a Hundred Poisons. When hungry, he chewed a few mouthfuls of dry provisions; when tired, he leaned against the stone wall for a brief rest.
By the evening of the third day, he had finally grasped all the essentials of the Bone-Tempering Poison Refinement Art's first level and, following its instructions, prepared a small bottle of pale purple poison.
"Whether it works or not, I'll only know once I try."
Chen Ming drew a deep breath, rolled up his left sleeve, and dipped a finger into the poison. He carefully smeared a single drop onto the skin inside his wrist.
A stabbing pain struck instantly, as though thousands of fine needles had pierced his marrow at once. He clenched his teeth, tiny beads of sweat forming on his forehead, but did not stop circulating his energy. Following the formula, he guided that piercing sensation slowly along his meridians. Wherever it passed, his bones gave faint cracking sounds, as if something were grinding them down inch by inch.
After roughly the time it took an incense stick to burn, the stabbing pain gradually faded, replaced by a warm, soothing sensation.
Chen Ming opened his eyes and looked down at his wrist. The skin where he had applied the poison remained completely unharmed; instead, a faint sheen seemed to glow beneath it.
"It worked."
He murmured to himself, a flash of delight crossing his eyes.
Though he had only taken the first step into the first level, this meant the path was viable.
Given enough time and materials, his body's resistance to poison would eventually far surpass that of other cultivators at his level.
After settling his emotions, Chen Ming decided to leave the cave.
He pushed aside the loose rocks blocking the entrance and poked his head out to look around.
Afternoon sunlight filtered through the leaves, and birdsong echoed through the woods. Everything seemed peaceful and serene. But he knew that beneath this tranquility, hidden currents were already surging.
To confirm his suspicions, Chen Ming changed into ordinary gray cloth clothes, disguised his face slightly, and headed toward the nearest market.
The market lay on a stretch of flat ground between three hills, a gathering place where nearby independent cultivators and disciples of small sects traded supplies.
The moment Chen Ming entered the market, he sensed something amiss. Cultivators who usually stood around chatting in small groups were now hurrying about. Many had gathered to whisper among themselves, their expressions tinged with tension and excitement.
Without betraying anything, he sat down at a tea stall, ordered a bowl of coarse tea, and pricked up his ears to listen to the conversations around him.
"Have you heard? The Soul-Destroying Sect and the Ten Thousand Poisons Sect have started fighting over at Green Wolf Ridge!"
"Heard? My cousin is an outer sect disciple of the Soul-Destroying Sect. Apparently, the Ten Thousand Poisons Sect struck first and killed an entire squad of their people. The Soul-Destroying Sect couldn't swallow that insult, so they've already sent an Inner Sect Deacon to demand an explanation."
"How come I heard the Soul-Destroying Sect started it? A friend's junior fellow disciple belongs to the Ten Thousand Poisons Sect. He said Soul-Destroying Sect disciples ambushed their fellow disciples while they were gathering herbs and stole a lot of precious medicinal ingredients."
"Neither side is any good, anyway. Just dogs biting dogs and ending up with mouths full of fur. Still, this has caused quite a stir. I heard the elders on both sides have been alerted. They might really go to war."
Holding his tea bowl, Chen Ming lowered his head and took a sip, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.
He set down the bowl, rose, and left the tea stall. As he was leaving the market, he encountered a squad of Soul-Destroying Sect disciples hurrying toward him. Their leader wore a grim expression, and the token hanging at his waist identified him as an inner sect disciple.
Chen Ming stepped aside to the roadside and kept his head lowered, only looking up once the squad had gone far away.
"The storm has only just begun."
He gazed in the direction where they had disappeared and spoke softly.
Then he turned and headed toward the Ten Thousand Poisons Sect's mountain gate.
He carried the token he had found in a Ten Thousand Poisons Sect disciple's Storage Bag, along with the True Explanation of a Hundred Poisons that he had yet to fully comprehend. To obtain the rest of the cultivation method, he had to enter the Ten Thousand Poisons Sect.
And now, with the two great sects facing each other with swords drawn and bows bent, it was the perfect chance to fish in troubled waters.
The sun sank westward once more, stretching his shadow longer and longer.
That night, still no one knew that the young man named Chen Ming had already set foot on an even more perilous road.
Nor did anyone know that the key that had ignited the flames of war was now in his hand, about to open a gate into the abyss.
The Ten Thousand Poisons Sect's mountain gate stood deep within Poison Miasma Ridge, shrouded year-round in a layer of pale purple poisonous mist. Ordinary cultivators without a poison-neutralizing jade pendant would grow dizzy and find their spiritual energy stagnating if they came within three li.
Yet now, Chen Ming stood behind an old, crooked locust tree at the foot of the mountain, gazing from afar at the towering gateway hidden in the mist, his expression as calm as still water.
He took out the token he had looted from the Ten Thousand Poisons Sect disciple and turned it over, examining both sides.
The token was dark green throughout, with a distorted character for "poison" carved on its front and a lifelike centipede depicted on its back. He fed a strand of spiritual energy into it. The patterns on its surface glowed faintly, releasing a light herbal scent.
"An outer sect disciple's token has limited privileges, but as long as I can slip inside, I'll have a chance."
Rather than rushing up the mountain, he settled in Poison Miasma Town at its foot.
Poison Miasma Town was an outlying settlement of the Ten Thousand Poisons Sect, providing lodging specifically for outer sect disciples and independent cultivators visiting on business. It was small, with only one main street lined by a few apothecaries, smithies, and teahouses.
Chen Ming spent two Low-Grade Spirit Stones to rent a room at a secluded little inn, intending to learn about the Ten Thousand Poisons Sect's recent activities before deciding his next move.
That night, he changed into an old robe washed almost white and smeared a layer of grayish-yellow medicinal paste over his face, making himself look like a malnourished independent cultivator who spent years gathering herbs. Then he strolled to the only tavern in town that still had its lights on.
Seven or eight people sat scattered around the tavern. Most were outer sect disciples of the Ten Thousand Poisons Sect, dressed in short dark green jackets matching Chen Ming's token. They drank and played finger-guessing games in groups of two or three.
Chen Ming found a seat in a corner, ordered a jug of the cheapest cloudy wine, and drank slowly.
His gaze seemed to drift casually around the room, but in truth, he was listening to every table's conversation.
Three young disciples sat by the window. After a few cups of wine, one lowered his voice and said to his companions, "Have you heard? Senior Brother Qin from the Inner Sect returned this afternoon. Apparently, he fought people from the Soul-Destroying Sect at Green Wolf Ridge and was badly injured."
"Senior Brother Qin? Qin Mo? Isn't he at Late Foundation Establishment? Who did the Soul-Destroying Sect send that could injure him?"
"No idea. But I heard from someone at the Deacon Hall that the Sect Master seems furious. He's already ordered several Inner Sect elders to tighten security and said he'd send people to the Soul-Destroying Sect to demand an explanation."
"What explanation? When has our Ten Thousand Poisons Sect ever feared their Soul-Destroying Sect? If you ask me, we should just attack them!"
"Shh! Keep your voice down! Is this something outer sect disciples like us can discuss?"
Chen Ming lifted his cup and took a sip, a trace of amusement flashing deep in his eyes.
Qin Mo was injured.
For him, this news was undoubtedly an excellent opportunity. He remembered that the end of the fragment of True Explanation of a Hundred Poisons mentioned that the complete method had nine levels. The first three were kept in the Outer Sect Scripture Pavilion, the middle three in the Inner Sect Scripture Pavilion, and the final three were held separately by the Sect Master and several Grand Elders. And the elder in charge of the Inner Sect Scripture Pavilion happened to bear the surname Qin.
If that injured Senior Brother Qin Mo happens to be a younger member of Elder Qin's family...
Chen Ming put down his cup, paid his bill, and left the tavern at an unhurried pace.
The night breeze blew past, carrying the distinctive sickly-sweet scent of distant Poison Miasma Ridge. He stood in the middle of the deserted street and looked up at the mountain hidden in the darkness, his gaze as deep as an abyss.
Early the next morning, Chen Ming checked out of the inn and headed straight toward the Ten Thousand Poisons Sect's mountain gate with a small herb basket on his back.
Two outer sect disciples guarded the gate. Seeing someone approach, they immediately laid wary hands on the sabers at their waists and said sternly, "Halt! Who goes there?"
Chen Ming calmly took out his token and presented it with both hands. "This disciple is Chen Seven. A few days ago, I was ordered to gather purple-backed snake saliva grass. I've returned today to report."
This was the story he had prepared long ago. The token's original owner had indeed been an herb-gathering disciple who spent most of his time away. He had also been solitary by nature and rarely associated with others. Even if someone investigated, it would be difficult to find any flaws in the short term.
The guard took the token and inspected it, then looked Chen Ming over a few times. Seeing his plain clothing and sallow face, he thought Chen Ming did indeed resemble an herb-gathering disciple who spent years trekking through the wilderness, so he waved him through.
"Go on in. By the way, the sect is under tight security lately. Don't wander around without good reason."
"Thank you for the warning, Senior Brother."
Chen Ming spoke with his head lowered, then quickly walked through the mountain gate.
After he climbed a long flight of stone steps, the view suddenly opened up. The Ten Thousand Poisons Sect's buildings followed the mountainside, rising in neatly arranged tiers. Strange flowers and rare herbs lined both sides of the paths, and a rich medicinal fragrance filled the air.
Disciples hurried back and forth, every face carrying a measure of gravity. Clearly, the clash at Green Wolf Ridge had already stirred considerable waves within the sect.
As Chen Ming walked, he silently memorized the layout along the way. The training grounds, the Pill Hall, the Mission Hall-he firmly committed every location and its guards to memory.
Rounding a bend, he saw an austere three-story pavilion ahead. Three bold, powerful characters on its signboard read "Scripture Pavilion."
Chen Ming's steps faltered slightly. His gaze lingered on the signboard for a moment before he casually looked away and continued toward the outer sect disciples' living quarters.
He knew it was not yet time.
By nightfall, Chen Ming had been assigned a simple little house with its own courtyard. He closed the door, lit the oil lamp, and took the fragment of True Explanation of a Hundred Poisons from his robe. Its edges had curled from his repeated handling. He spread it flat on the table.
Moonlight spilled through the window lattice, mingling with the dim yellow lamplight and reflecting in his fathomless eyes.
He extended a finger and lightly tapped the final line on the fragment.
"To obtain the remaining sections, one must hold the status of an Inner Sect disciple and carry an elder's written authorization. Only then may the restrictions on the second floor of the Scripture Pavilion be opened."
Chen Ming remained silent for a long time, then suddenly gave a quiet chuckle.
"An Inner Sect disciple, then!"
He blew out the oil lamp and lay down on the hard wooden bed, his hands behind his head, staring absently at the roof beams.