My Journey to Immortality Begins with Hunting-Chapter 134 – The Task Is Complete, Drawn into the Mass Grave’s Ghost Domain - Part 4

Chapter 134 – The Task Is Complete, Drawn into the Mass Grave’s Ghost Domain - Part 4

In the swirling, rain-soaked gloom of the pit, a blood-stained figure stood, gaze brimming with venomous hate as it watched them depart. Beneath its feet, the muddy ground quivered with soft tremors—the last desperate struggle of Blood Scissors and the six other martial artists, who were now trapped below.

Their bodies were smothered by piles of bones—ghastly, silent remnants whose eye sockets and mouths were black voids like melted wax. These eerie shapes clamped their hands over Blood Scissors’ mouth, dragging him deeper.

Summoning his seventh rank power, Blood Scissors whipped his flattened arms about like blades, slashing furiously. But every swing simply passed through the skeletal limbs as though they were mist. Meanwhile, the bony grip on him held fast.

Though he fought with every ounce of strength, he advanced only an inch or two. The others, weaker than he was, had already been hauled into the pit’s darkest depths. With a final jolt, Blood Scissors also sank beneath the churning mass of corpses, his screams cut short in the silent darkness.

By the time his pouch dangled at his side once more, it had turned into a bleached-white hand bone, and the 50 taels of gold inside proved to be nothing more than mud clotted with blood.

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Deep in the mountains, Li Yuan drew out his spear and began questioning Zhao Xiantong about the secrets of advancing to sixth rank. Fully aware of Li Yuan’s superior power, Zhao Xiantong answered with the utmost respect.

He explained that a life chronicle was composed of many overlapping lines, but there were three vital points to understand.

One was the sequence. Each line had to be traced in order, from the first stroke to the final one. The last stroke often looped back to the first in a strange cycle—but crucially, it wasn’t just a loop within the body. Rather, it focused on shadow blood circulating around the heart.

Second was the choice. Not every line in a life chronicle was truly useful. Different cultivators perceived different paths within the same diagram, so the starting stroke and ending stroke varied from person to person. One had to interpret them to find the route that resonated with their own nature.

Third was visualization. Everyone who studied a life chronicle experienced a unique scene in those lines. One had to grasp the nature of that scene to discover their personal path. Only when a martial artist perceived both form and essence did the life chronicle properly reveal itself.

Aside from these insights, breaking through to sixth rank also required devouring the flesh and blood of seventh rank or higher demonic beasts. This heightened the power of one’s shadow blood, making it grow thick as mercury.

At that stage, a martial artist followed the life chronicle, circulating that enriched shadow blood around their heart in repeated cycles. The heart, nourished by this potent energy, in turn strengthened the internal organs, thereby sharpening all physical senses.

This heightened perception unfolded in three steps—

The first was refining the five senses, which included sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch. Following that was heightened emotion, allowing one to tap into deeper, more intense emotional states. Finally was expanded memory, allowing greater mental retention, almost photographic recall.

Once a martial artist completed the third step, they’d be able to glimpse something called the ancestral seal. This mysterious mark was drawn with fresh blood and serves two major functions.

One was banishing evil. It was able to repel spirits or ghosts from any ghost domain, acting as a ward against their attacks. This was one of the few ways to escape a ghost domain alive, but it had to be drawn with fresh blood each time, so any pre-made talisman was useless.

Second was supernatural regeneration. Even if someone was cut in half, as long as they weren’t outright dead, the ancestral seal could mend their body back together.

Having reached sixth rank himself, Zhao Xiantong could offer only so much detail. On the ground, he sketched a rough version of the life chronicle as he recalled it. It was an incomplete pattern, devoid of the spiritual essence needed for true comprehension. Capturing that essence on paper was extraordinarily difficult.

Finally, he admitted that his specific lineage of cultivation came from the Nine-Blood Red Lotus Sutra, taught to him by the Red Lotus Prince. However, the prince had only passed on the portions of the technique up to sixth rank; beyond that, Zhao Xiantong had no further instruction.

Li Yuan took the opportunity to ask Zhao Xiantong about ghost domains, but the Red Lotus Rebels didn’t know much. He only recalled a few scattered rumors he’d heard back in the Central Plains.

One was how in the past, there weren’t so many ghost domains. At the same time, there were also fewer flesh fields. Another was that in recent years, ghost domains and flesh fields began appearing simultaneously. The richer the flesh field, the more frightening the nearby ghost domain. Besides that, every ghost domain was different. Within a ghost domain, there might be only one true ghost, with the rest as lesser phantom servants. Each ghost domain had some sort of core.

Li Yuan pressed him further, but Zhao Xiantong’s knowledge was too limited. Once Li Yuan was sure he’d gotten all the information he could, he knocked Zhao Xiantong unconscious again, then hoisted him back to the mass grave on the tip of his spear.

Yet upon arriving, the scene had changed.

Instead of the grisly pit, Li Yuan found a meandering stream. By the water sat a tearful young woman who seemed to have twisted her ankle. Hearing footsteps, she turned to him, her face bearing a striking resemblance to Yan Yu—enough that Li Yuan felt a sudden urge to help her. But he quickly suppressed the thought and woke Zhao Xiantong instead.

Still groggy, Zhao Xiantong didn’t have time to react as Li Yuan hurled him right toward the weeping girl by the stream. The moment Zhao Xiantong landed, the illusion shifted back into a giant pit filled with buzzing flies and the stench of rot. The woman by the stream transformed into a blood-soaked specter.

She snatched Zhao Xiantong, and he hastily traced a blood talisman on his left palm. Slamming his hand into the specter with a resounding crack, he managed to make it recoil—but in the same moment, the blood talisman on his palm vanished. Taking advantage of the ghost’s brief retreat, Zhao Xiantong tried to flee, only for two skeletal arms to rise from the pit and latch onto his legs.

He frantically kept drawing more blood talismans, each time repelling a single corpse’s grip, yet more and more hands emerged. With no chance to escape, he glared at Li Yuan, eyes filled with fury and resentment, but said nothing as he was dragged deeper into the grave—until he disappeared altogether, leaving no trace of movement behind. fгeewebnovёl.com

Moments later, the illusion shifted again. Gone was the blood-soaked specter by the pit; in its place stood the young lady of the Mountain Gang, Ming Shu, her appearance reverting from that of Yan Yu to her own familiar features.

The young lady of the Mountain Gang glanced woodenly at Li Yuan, then, without changing again into Yan Yu’s face, she turned and re-entered the small cabin. The door closed behind her, and everything reverted to its true form.

Li Yuan departed at once.

“So they really are different,” he muttered to himself. “Whether it was that ghost domain in the depths of Little Ink Mountain, the black market ghost domain in Gemhill County, or this mass grave in Autumnlake County...each one is unique.”

Li Yuan didn’t return to his usual lodging. He had come this far, so he figured he might as well deal with General Mammoth, too. The only problem was that he had no idea where to find him.

Eventually, he stopped at a local inn, tossed a few coins to the innkeeper, and rented a room. He also bought a few steamed buns for a quick meal. The inn had a tavern on the ground floor and rooms upstairs. Even after he settled into his room, he could still hear the raucous voices of soldiers below—men who had come with General Mammoth—drinking and carousing.

Standing at the window, Li Yuan gazed at the unfamiliar mountainside town, still glistening with rain. His two white finches perched on the sill, pecking at the scraps of steamed bun he tore off and tossed to them. After eating their fill, they spread their wings and vanished into the night sky to serve as Li Yuan’s eyes once more.

One bird positioned itself near the spot where Zhao Xiantong and Ming Shu had agreed to meet, keeping an eye on any roads leading in or out.

The other returned to the old tree by the mass grave to stand watch there.

Meanwhile, Li Yuan himself cleared his mind and quietly pondered what he learned about life chronicles. He focused on the flow of shadow blood within his body, trying to make it circulate around his heart. But it wasn’t easy. After several attempts, he managed to form just a tiny wisp of bloodlike energy. Subsequent tries led nowhere.

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Time ticked by.

Around midnight, the soldiers downstairs were still at it, drinking and bragging loudly, and no one in the tavern dared to tell them to leave.

Then, suddenly, a graceful figure appeared at the half-open door. The moment she stepped inside, she drew the soldiers’ attention. One of them, emboldened by liquor, leered at her and said, “My, what a pretty lass...why do you look so sad?”

The woman sniffled, “My husband...he hit me and threw me out of the house.”

Another soldier laughed. “Little lady, if you spend the night with us brothers, we’ll avenge you. We’ll teach that husband of yours a good lesson, what do you say?”

He clearly expected her to be shy or outraged, but to his surprise, she hesitated only a moment before replying, “Officers, if you’ll punish him for me...then I...I’ll serve you well.”

The soldiers were thrilled. Drunk and riled up, they shouted, “Let’s go!” and followed the woman out the door with boisterous enthusiasm.

Li Yuan overheard the soldiers’ entire exchange downstairs, though he didn’t comment. Some time passed, and then the white finch stationed in the old tree outside the mass grave witnessed a bizarre scene:

The drunken soldiers, led by that sorrowful beauty, meandered off into the distance. Where the mass grave had been, a small alleyway now materialized, and the soldiers—none the wiser—stumbled right in, grumbling about how they’d teach her husband a lesson.

A blood-red question mark flickered into view above the alley, and as soon as the soldiers stepped inside, they vanished without a trace.

Moments later, a man came rushing out of that same alley. He moved with anxious haste, like a lost hunter, then sprinted straight for Autumnlake. Not long after that, Li Yuan spotted the same man return with another squad of soldiers. The mass grave now appeared to have transformed into some kind of pagoda, and the man was telling them, “Officers, over here! This way! That’s where I found the treasure!”

A chill of unease crept into Li Yuan’s heart.

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Over the next several days, gloomy weather shrouded the little town, with rain falling almost every day.

From his vantage point, Li Yuan watched countless people coming and going at the mass grave. Each time, one person would emerge, then lead either a lone newcomer or a group back inside.

On the third evening, he felt his skin crawl when he saw two figures exit the mass grave, split up in different directions, then return later—each bringing more people in tow.

Day four, dusk. There was a light rain, just letting up.

Two more figures emerged from the mass grave. One was dressed as a shapely young noblewoman. The other, shockingly, was Zhao Xiantong!

The woman headed toward the outskirts of the county. Zhao Xiantong, on the other hand, moved quickly but didn’t head for Li Yuan’s inn. Instead, he made his way through a complicated series of backstreets until arriving at a tower-like building. He disappeared inside.

When he emerged, he was accompanied by a cloaked figure whose floating combat power read 439~554. Li Yuan only knew one person with that sort of strength, General Mammoth.

Yet rather than lead General Mammoth back to the mass grave, Zhao Xiantong turned toward the center of Autumnlake—directly in the direction of Li Yuan’s inn!