Chapter 18: Hundred Herbs Tempering Golden Body
In the twilight, Blackwater City was permeated with a sweet, bloody scent. Lu Qingyang squatted behind a Pixiu stone sculpture on the eaves of the Drunken Immortal Pavilion, counting the clinking Spirit Stones in his qiankun bag. From the hall downstairs, a pimp’s shout drifted up: “A Late Stage Qi Condensation Cauldron starts at three hundred Spirit Stones, with a free copy of the Secret Art of Yin and Yang Harmony!”
“How dare they ask for three hundred for such low-grade goods?” He spat a melon seed shell across the street. The qingmu spirit pearl in his sleeve was slightly warm. The nine-leaf mysterious ginseng he had picked up as a bargain in the Poison Miasma Forest three days ago was growing wildly in the pearl’s spiritual field. By his calculations, it should be enough to refine three batches of Body Tempering Pills—if only he could sneak into the Black Market Auction’s pill room…
“Daoist Lu certainly has refined tastes.” A fragrant breeze wrapped in red gauze wafted over. Yan Ruyu, the Drunken Immortal Pavilion’s top courtesan, leaned against the railing, the jade pendant on her chest swaying dazzlingly. “I heard you swindled half a catty of jade marrow paste from the second shopkeeper of Hundred Herbs Hall the other day?”
Lu Qingyang flipped his wrist, revealing three copper coins etched with formation patterns: “If Miss Yan is willing to lend her Pill Furnace, I’ll give you twenty percent of the profits from these consecrated Five Emperors Coins.” He deliberately let the copper coins brush against the woman’s fair wrist, his fingertip subtly hooking onto a broken section of a Restriction chain—the city lord’s mansion formation map he’d stolen last night still lacked the final three formation eyes.
The auction house’s gong suddenly resounded, and twenty-eight Cultivators wearing crying and laughing masks filed in. Lu Qingyang noticed the Mysterious Grey Robed Man in the third row had the Taiyi Pavilion’s hidden emblem embroidered on his sleeve, and cold sweat immediately broke out on his palm. In the space of the qingmu spirit pearl, the Earth Fire Lotus, which should have bloomed in ten years, suddenly withered, and faint Dragon scale patterns vaguely appeared in the inverted shadow of the hourglass.
“Five hundred Spirit Stones!” When the auctioneer presented the incomplete “Hundred Herbs Forging Gold Art,” Lu Qingyang deliberately shouted his bid, gritting his teeth. The bearded fat Cultivator next to him twitched his whiskers and raised two fingers: “Two thousand!”
“Two thousand and one.” Lu Qingyang’s gesture of picking his ear concealed a cold sneer. The Hallucinatory Heart Powder he’d put in the fat man’s wine flask last night should be taking effect. Sure enough, the Cultivator’s face suddenly flushed red, and he clutched his stomach, rushing towards the latrine. The moment the auctioneer brought down the hammer, the copper coin in his sleeve precisely jammed into the hammerhead’s hidden groove—this was a trick he’d learned from the gambling den last month.
Yan Ruyu’s voice transmission suddenly pierced his eardrum: “Watch out for the green-faced man seven steps behind you.” Lu Qingyang pretended to bend down to tie his shoelace. The qingmu spirit pearl reflected the Soul Refining Gourd hanging from the man’s waist, its mouth still stained with fresh blood. It was someone from the Blood Fiend Sect; they were involved in the massacre of Lu Family Village ten years ago.
The auction house floor suddenly vibrated, and twelve glazed palace lanterns simultaneously shattered. Lu Qingyang, in the darkness, stuffed the “Hundred Herbs Forging Gold Art” into his crotch and, with a backhand, scattered a handful of phosphorus powder. In the ghost-like green light, he saw the green-faced man’s Soul Locking Chains entangle the fat Cultivator’s Nascent Soul.
“I’ll borrow your Golden Core, Fellow Daoist!” Lu Qingyang burst forward, gripping the fat man’s skull, and the extracted Golden Core was smoothly slapped into the auctioneer’s back. The violent Spiritual Qi ripped off the roof, and he took the opportunity to dive into the underground dark river, tightly clutching a jade box that exuded a bone-chilling cold—the thousand-year profound ice he had snatched during the chaos was enough for the qingmu spirit pearl to open up another half-acre of poisonous swamp.
In the grotto at the end of the dark river, Lu Qingyang looked at his body, covered in festering sores, in the mirror and gave a bitter smile. The consequence of forcibly cultivating the “Hundred Herbs Forging Gold Art” was that all three hundred sixty-five acupoints bled simultaneously. He gritted his teeth and poured the nine-leaf mysterious ginseng juice onto his wounds. The qingmu spirit pearl suddenly flew out on its own, and the withered Earth Fire Lotus within the pearl actually regained vitality under the nourishment of the profound ice.
“So it requires a balance of ice and fire…” He tore off a piece of his clothes to plug his nostrils, but blood still gushed from his ear canals. When the first wisp of earth fire permeated his Meridians, the fifty Spirit Stones hidden in his Storage Pouch suddenly exploded into dust. The violent Spiritual Qi slammed him into three stalactites, shattering them, but the shattered stones embedded in his back turned into powder in a golden glow.
The sound of chains dragging on the ground came from outside the grotto. Lu Qingyang flipped his hand and squeezed the profound ice into a mirror shard. In the reflection, the green-faced man was sticking Talismanic Incantations onto the rock wall. The Blood Fiend Sect’s “Nine Nether Soul Refining Array” had sealed all exits. He licked the blood foam from the corner of his mouth and stuffed the last half of the nine-leaf mysterious ginseng root into his mouth—it was so bitter that even his Dantian twitched.
“You certainly made this Senior search for you.” The green-faced man flicked his finger, shattering the profound ice mirror. The Soul Locking Chains coiled around Lu Qingyang’s ankle like a venomous snake. “Hand over the Taiyi Pavilion’s…” His words abruptly stopped. He was horrified to discover that the chains were being repelled by some force, and golden Dragon scale-like patterns appeared on their dark body.
The blood mist spewing from Lu Qingyang’s seven orifices condensed into the phantom of an Azure Dragon. The bronze fragment he had snatched from the auction last night suddenly embedded itself in his glabella. The hourglass within the qingmu spirit pearl shattered with a crash. In the chaotic flow of time, he saw his left hand transform into a Dragon claw, fiercely tearing into the green-faced man’s Dantian. Amidst the Nascent Soul Cultivator’s screams, the Blood Fiend Soul Refining Array ironically became the best furnace for Body Tempering.
When the first ray of morning light pierced into the grotto, Lu Qingyang crawled out of the pool of blood. His entire body’s wounds were covered in golden-red scabs, which flaked off like dust with a gentle rub. He kicked the green-faced man’s shriveled corpse and took out a rouge box from his Storage Pouch—a hidden compartment at the bottom of the box contained half of an Ancient Tomb map of the Eastern Barrens, its ink identical to the turtle shell fragments left by the Old Drunkard.
“Mr. Lu’s Body Tempering fee isn’t cheap.” He grinned at the corpse, and as he turned, he deliberately crushed the jade token engraved with the Taiyi Pavilion’s emblem. In the space of the qingmu spirit pearl, newly grown dragon blood grass swayed in the wind, and the hourglass phantom was three times slower than before.
A muffled bell chime came from the direction of Blackwater City. Lu Qingyang took out the silk handkerchief Yan Ruyu had given him and wiped his face. The acacia flower embroidered on the corner of the handkerchief suddenly exuded a captivating fragrance. He shook his head, realizing that in an illusion, he was walking towards the city lord’s mansion Forbidden Land—where the remains of a Soul Transformation Cultivator who had fallen a hundred years ago were suppressed.
“Greed and lust are indeed deadly.” He joined his fingers and severed a wisp of black hair. The hair, upon falling to the ground, transformed into a poisonous vine. The incomplete pages of the “Hundred Herbs Forging Gold Art” in his embrace moved without wind. The missing pages were clearly a map of the location of the city lord’s mansion Scripture Pavilion.
