Chapter 175 — The First Lingbao

The sleeping hall was brightly lit. Within the gauze curtains, the bedding upon the couch rose and fell gently. Chen Jing lay in a quiet sleep, occasionally scratching his face, turning slightly as soft breaths escaped his lips.

Hoo…

In the instant the curtains stirred, the flickering lamps went out one after another. The sleeping hall plunged into darkness. From the cracks of the window lattice, a vast black shadow seeped in. It slithered along the wall, winding its way toward the head of the bed.

The shadow’s tendrils and mandible-like shapes twisted and danced, lowering from the wall as if to peer upon the sleeping youth beneath.

Hiss~~~

A sound like breath drawn sharply through clenched teeth filled the room. Even the gauze curtains were drawn toward the darkness. Perhaps feeling the chill, Chen Jing stirred twice beneath the quilt, his head rolling upon the wooden pillow, his expression tightening as though trapped within a nightmare.

From his body, faint wisps of pale yellow vapor slowly drifted upward. They passed through the gauze curtains, just as they were about to merge into the black shadow—

Something hanging from the corner post at the foot of the bed suddenly shone. A blueish light bloomed outward, as a jade pendant of verdant hue began to tremble. Upon it, two jade-carved carp rolled their eyes, their tails swishing as if they had come to life.

Chi!

A sound like water splashing into boiling oil burst through the hall. The blueish light struck the black shadow upon the wall, and a rank, foul stench spread through the air.

“Mm… urgh…”

On the bed, Chen Jing’s brow tightened. He struggled violently and then, with a sudden cry—

“Ah—!”

His eyes flew open as he sat bolt upright.

A gust of foul wind recoiled through the chamber, lifting the curtains. With a bang, the window burst open, and the shadow fled swiftly into the night. Inside the room, the blueish light dimmed, and the two carp-like figures fell from midair onto the floor with a dull thud.

Outside the palace, a rush of footsteps approached. Guards burst through the doors.

“Your Highness, the Crown Prince!”

More people ran around the sleeping hall, shouting hoarsely.

“Hurry! Protect the Crown Prince!” “Check the side windows of the hall!”

“I saw something flee outside—”

“After it!”

Amid the urgent shouts, the clash of armor plates and scabbards rang out — clang, clang! The Crown Prince’s guards and the palace sentries sprinted with torches in hand. Someone had spotted something unusual and, together with his companions, gave chase. From a nearby pavilion glowing with lamplight came the faint sound of Buddhist chanting.

“It’s gone…”

“Did we see wrong? This seems to be where the State-Protector Venerable Master resides — no outsiders are allowed inside.”

“Then… let’s check elsewhere.”

Several guards with swords at their waists glanced around for a while, then turned to search other areas.

In that lamplit pavilion, the lanterns swayed gently beneath the eaves. Within their glow, a dark shadow slithered along the wall, slipping through the narrow window gap and into the room. It turned into a wisp of black smoke — and sank into the back of the old monk.

“Lu Liang Sheng!”

Pudu Cihang’s eyes snapped open, his voice cold and ghastly as it forced its way past his lips. The windows shuddered in their frames. Before long, outside the door, a maid in black robes spoke respectfully:

“Reporting to the Venerable Master — among the gathered civil and military officials, one person is missing.”

“Who?”

“Min Changwen.”

“Send men to seize him at once. This Venerable Master shall personally deliver him from the baleful aura upon his body.”

In the Eastern Palace’s sleeping hall, the lamps had been relit.

Chen Jing’s face was drenched in sweat, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His frightened gaze darted about, sweeping over the guards standing with swords at their sides — until it finally came to rest upon a jade pendant lying on the floor, carved with twin fish holding a pearl.

“This is Mister Lu’s jade pendant… it just saved me…”

The moment his low murmur left his lips, a soft crack came from the jade pendant — as though it had fulfilled its duty — and before everyone’s eyes, it broke cleanly in two.

The spiritual power within it dispersed.

Hundreds of li away to the south, deep within the night-shrouded mountains, a youth sleeping in a quiet village courtyard suddenly opened his eyes. He sat up from bed, gaze lifting toward the north beyond the window lattice.

“Huff… huff…”

Beside his pillow, the Toad Daoist slept soundly, his toad mouth puffing in and out with snores. His webbed hand scratched at his pale white belly before he sat up, saw the figure standing before the window, yawned, and smacked his lips.

“Liangsheng, what is it?”

“That centipede has made its move.”

Lu Liangsheng spoke softly, sweeping his hand over the oil lamp on the desk. The bean-sized flame flickered to life, illuminating the entire room. He returned to the painting he had left unfinished.

From the hanging scroll on the wall, Nie Honglian poked her head out, rubbing her eyes sleepily. Seeing the scholar setting up his easel, she drifted over and sat beside the Toad Daoist.

“Master Toad, what is the young master doing?”

The toad yawned again, flopped back down, turned over his belly, and waved a webbed hand. “Preparing to fight that little centipede demon… sleep, sleep.”

“Oh.” Honglian rose lightly, walking to the desk to grind the ink. Across from her, the scholar uncovered the cloth shroud and hung it from the bed’s footboard.

Lu Liangsheng sat before the painting. Though unease lingered in his heart, the distance between them was too great — nothing he did could change it now. At his side came Honglian’s gentle call: “Young Master.” She handed him the brush and inkstone.

He drew in a breath, pressed down his restlessness, took up the wolf-hair brush, dipped it into the ink, and continued his strokes upon The Netherworld’s Soul-Calling Burial, adding fine touches to the background.

Unlike before, when he painted using only his spiritual power—

This time, Lu Liangsheng poured both his spirit and his Qi into every stroke, as though he were painting within the miniature world inside his own body.

The dark-red, viscous river of blood erased the fresh green of grass; in its place rose grotesquely shaped stones. With a wave of his hand, the distant landscape filled with withered trees, and upon the bare branches perched corpse-birds with bald feathers and bloodshot eyes, crying out hoarsely.

“Yin spirits and malevolent ghosts!”

Lu Liangsheng’s fingers extended from his wide sleeve, sketching the ancient character “ghost” in midair. As his thoughts turned, a mournful wind began to howl. With the gathering chill, the blood-stained earth below churned and heaved — countless arms and heads broke through the soil, crawling out one after another.

“Hss… roar…”

“Wuuu…”

From the withered forest came a chorus of ghostly cries, unending and mournful. One after another, vague, translucent silhouettes drifted out from within, circling around Lu Liangsheng as the cold wind howled through the air.

Time for the next step, he thought.

Enduring the suffocating chill as though he stood within the very netherworld itself, Lu Liangsheng’s fingers moved faster. One after another, ancient seal characters appeared in midair, flying into the hands of the tattered ghosts, skeletons, and wandering spirits. Spiritual light gathered — and from that radiance, shapes began to form, strange and utterly out of place amid the desolation.

— Musical instruments.

Suona, gongs, cymbals, small drums, long flutes, pipa lutes…

“It’s done.”

Lu Liangsheng exhaled a long breath of turbid air. His awareness returned to the room. He did not know how much time had passed, only that the sky outside had already turned pale with dawn.

The scholar set down his brush and gazed at the painting — the ghosts and skeletons within now holding their instruments. He flicked his finger, sending a thread of spiritual power into the painting—

The dark clouds within began to swirl. Under the blood-red sun’s light, the monstrous birds upon the dead trees spread their wings, screeching as they took flight into the crimson sky.

The countless skeletons and resentful spirits raised their instruments and… began to play.

A wailing, mournful dirge poured from the painting, echoing throughout the room. In his sleep, the Toad Daoist seemed to be reminded of old griefs; he suddenly burst into loud sobs.

Honglian clutched her ears and quickly drifted into the painting. She grabbed the lower edge of the scroll and, with a swish, rolled it up tight.

The mournful sound seeped through the room, its tone so haunting it could cloud the mind. There came a loud crash from the rooftop — the Daoist, still half asleep, rolled and tumbled down from above, staggering about in the courtyard.

Seeing this, Lu Liangsheng hastily withdrew his spiritual power. The netherworld within the painting froze, and the sorrowful, mind-numbing music ceased at once.

On the bed, the Toad Daoist blinked awake, sitting up in confusion. He rubbed the corners of his eyes.

“Why in the world was this old man crying…”

He quickly wiped away his tears with his webbed hand — it would be a disgrace if anyone saw him like this!

Out in the courtyard, the other Daoist looked around in bewilderment, not knowing how he’d ended up there. He raised his gaze toward the roof, and cold sweat broke down his back.

“…Damn it, have I gone and developed night-walking sickness or something?”

From the other two rooms, Li Jinhua stepped out, hastily draping a robe over her shoulders. Seeing the Daoist standing dazed in the courtyard, she asked,

“Who died?”

Lu Laoshi followed behind her, poking his head out from the doorway. “How much do we give for the funeral offering?”

Inside the house, Lu Liangsheng steadied his thoughts. The sound from the painting had no effect on him, yet seeing the result of his first full-effort creation left him a little startled.

“A mere touch of power from someone at the Golden Core Stage, and it already has such force?”

If he were to truly activate it, it might even be able to counter that Venerable Master’s Soul-Seizing Brahma Sound.

Right — the painting alone wouldn’t be enough.

At that thought, Lu Liangsheng picked up the scroll and blew gently upon it. The ink dried at once. He swiftly rolled it up, and saying to his parents in the courtyard, “I need to step out for a bit,” he left the small fenced courtyard and climbed the western slope of Mount Qixia in one breath.

Before his late master’s gravestone, he bowed respectfully. Avoiding the eight resonating flying swords that still hovered nearby, he walked to the old pine tree, faced the mountain wind, spread his sleeves wide, and bowed with clasped hands.

“I ask to borrow two of your branches. I shall repay this favor when the time is right.”

In the mountain breeze, the old pine swayed gently, its leaves rustling softly. Like falling snow, pine needles drifted down around the scholar’s bowed figure.

Pa… pa…

Two crisp snaps sounded, and two pine branches — still bearing their green needles — dropped before him.

This ancient pine had stood on the cliff of Mount Qixia for over a hundred years. Even when Grandfather Lu was a child, it had looked just the same. Since this was a place where spiritual energy converged, the fact that the old tree possessed a trace of awareness came as no surprise to Lu Liangsheng.

“My deepest thanks.”

He bowed again, then picked up the fallen branches. With a sweep of his fingers, he stripped away the smaller twigs and excess bark. The two branches floated in his palm, spinning slowly in midair as their rough bark peeled clean. With a twist of his wrist, he shaped rounded ends on both sides, threading them through the top and bottom of the scroll — forming a proper painting axis.

“That should do. A pity it isn’t a true innate Lingbao…” [TL_Note: A Lingbao is a Spiritual Treasure]

Lu Liangsheng tossed the scroll lightly in his hand, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “I’ll settle accounts with that centipede demon first.”