Chapter 131: Mountain Calf, The Iron Prison Temple

Ji Ming walked through the howling, snow-swept night, leaving not a single footprint on the snow. Cold Ridge Peak was truly like the spine of a blade—cold, hard, and curved. At the very summit, following the winding, upward-sloping snow ridge, stood an iron temple.

The higher he climbed, the more piercing the chill became. Even someone like Ji Ming, whose vitality surged like a tiger's, could not help but tremble slightly. The plum branch he carried on his shoulder seemed to grow fresher in the freezing wind, as if it had just been snapped from a thousand-year-old plum tree, with two or three blossoms even blooming upon it.

Passing a high, slanted slope, the path became increasingly steep, nearly vertical. Ji Ming summoned four Void Warriors from his body, which lifted him upward.

"Iron Prison Temple!" Ji Ming read aloud, looking at the plaque frosted with ice above the temple gates.

Though the vermilion-painted gates were tightly shut, there was little snow piled before them; the ground was composed of flagstones worn down to a yellowish hue.

"It seems this place is livelier than I expected."

Ji Ming knocked on the door. After a long silence, he knocked again, but there was still no reply. The Old Ape had mentioned a Mountain Calf that guarded the well, a creature of profound cultivation, yet it did not appear. Ji Ming, keeping his composure, knocked once more, this time with considerable force.

*Bang!*
*Bang!*
*Bang!*

The temple gates rang out with a thunderous sound. Inside the main hall, where not a single candle was lit, a massive creature filled the pitch-black space, coiled in a heap. It resembled a deity statue so large that any worshiper would have to pay respects from outside the gate. The relentless knocking disturbed the creature's dream. In the darkness, it opened its eyes, revealing a shrewdness that seemed incongruous with its colossal body.

"Ancestor," a gaunt, horned minor demon with cloven hooves trotted up the long steps and knelt before the massive hall doors. "A Daoist with a sword on his back is pounding at the gates. He does not look like an ordinary mortal."

"Hmph!" A soft grunt echoed from within the hall, rolling outward like muffled thunder. "He is no mortal. He has come to guard the well with me, and he descends from the Great Peak of Zi Rong. I hear his background is not insignificant."

The minor demon outside replied, "Whatever his background, if you do not like him, Ancestor, we can simply kill him."

"Ha ha!" A laugh erupted like a bronze bell, so powerful that the demon outside spat blood and tumbled down the long stairs. "Open the gates. Welcome the guest."

The vermilion doors slowly creaked open. Two rows of minor demons with bull horns and broad noses stood on either side, each wielding a long-handled stone axe, looking like an honor guard.

"Illusion-shapers!"

Ji Ming felt a jolt of alarm. Though none of these minor demons had fully mastered the art of illusion-shaping, their sheer number was already pushing the limits of what a cultivator could tolerate. As he walked between the two rows, the demons suddenly raised their axes high.

Ji Ming’s expression darkened. He let out a low snort and sneered, "Wretched beasts!"

A mere well-guarding sprite dared to try to intimidate him? Ji Ming unleashed the Great Capture Hand, sweeping the area and tossing every one of the minor demons high into the air, far outside the temple grounds.

"Little Daoist, such a fiery temper."

From within the hall, a pitch-black bull’s head emerged, followed by a grating, screeching sound like steel blades scraping against stone. The bull’s head was as wide as a gate, sliding down the steps with glowing eyes that, in the gloomy, snowy weather, looked like two giant red lanterns drifting toward him.

"Mountain Calf," Ji Ming called out.

Before he could say more, a gaunt, half-humanoid minor demon jumped out and shouted, "You must address him as Master! Master Mountain Calf!"

The plum branch in Ji Ming’s embrace stirred slightly. Having sharp eyes, the Mountain Calf recognized the thousand-year-old branch, and its tone immediately shifted. "So, a distinguished guest from the Fire Ruins Cave." Then, to the others: "Little ones, prepare a feast."

"Wait." Ji Ming raised a hand, assuming a professional air. "I have come to guard the well, not to indulge in pleasure. Master Mountain Calf, please lead me to the well."

The black bull head blinked, scrutinizing the Daoist before it. It slithered its body out from the hall—a serpentine form covered in black scales. The grating sound had been the movement of this snake-like tail.

The Mountain Calf coiled its thick, jar-like body, propping up its upper torso. Hot steam puffed from its nostrils, shattering the bricks on the ground. The two stared at each other for a long moment before the Mountain Calf finally yielded. It realized that the man held a thousand-year-old plum branch and possessed great confidence; although he was momentarily suppressed by its aura, he felt no true fear.

The Mountain Calf shrank, transforming into a swarthy man. His eyes were like a tiger's, his wild beard like an iron brush. Bare-chested and wearing only a skirt of black scales, he strode ahead to lead Ji Ming to the higher ground.

Here stood stone turtles supporting pillars on either side, each inscribed with ancient seal script: *The dark well is like an abyss locking away evil laws; turning against the Dao, one becomes a corpse-deity.*

Passing through the pillars, they reached the deep well, beside which stood six Ling monuments of the Southern Dipper. It was less of a well and more of a bottomless wind-cave. It roared, spewing forth bitter winds and cold water from the netherworld, which transformed into the perpetual snow on the peak.

"The place this leads to is not the Under-earth beneath Mt. Jihang," Ji Ming stated firmly.

He knew that where earth veins gathered and spirits lingered, Under-earth would form. The largest ones, like the Northern Underworld or the Tai-shan Gao-li, were almost worlds unto themselves, while smaller ones were the size of a mountain or peak. Though Mt. Jihang was a famous mountain with vast Under-earth, it could not exhale such bitter winds and rain.

"Wait, bitter rain." Ji Ming waved his hand, sweeping the Great Capture Hand across the well to catch a handful of the water.

This bitter water came from the Sea of Bitterness, existing in form but lacking substance, located within Tai-shan Gao-li. It was said that a Buddhist monastery sat in the Sea of Bitterness, housing a powerful Buddhist entity.

The Mountain Calf crossed its arms. "Every time I stand here, I wonder which god’s true masterpiece this well is."

As they approached the wellhead, they saw many humans and demons standing on narrow, protruding rocks several yards below, their bodies barely covered, huddled in places where it was nearly impossible to stand. Among them were even one or two children with large heads and small bodies, clinging to the wall like geckos.

The Mountain Calf noticed Ji Ming’s focus on the children and laughed. "Life is the most tenacious thing. Who the hell would have thought offspring could be born down in this well?"

Ji Ming’s gaze drifted down the well, and he caught sight of a figure who was also watching him.

"The donor truly has good fortune and great magic," Monk Huijin said, standing on a ledge that could barely accommodate one foot. "I am trapped here, but my master will eventually discover this. You are not far from death yourself."

Ji Ming did not respond. He was in no rush to pressure the monk; he believed that time would eventually make the man reveal everything he wanted to know.

Afterward, the Mountain Calf led Ji Ming to his living quarters—a cramped stone niche that allowed only for sitting or lying down. The Calf was neither warm nor cold toward him, maintaining a subtle sense of exclusion, which Ji Ming understood; spirits were always territorial.

Sitting in the niche, Ji Ming inserted his Flying Fire Ruler into the side, finding some comfort as the warmth entered his body. On the other side of the well, in another niche, the Mountain Calf sat, choosing not to return to the spacious hall of his Iron Prison Temple.

For the first few days, Ji Ming familiarized himself with the environment. Life in the temple was austere, but fortunately, the Fire Ruins Cave had not forgotten him, and his monthly provisions were delivered as scheduled. The Mountain Calf sat in its niche for long periods, as if it had become a stone statue itself, never responding even when Ji Ming attempted to greet it.

Listening to the sound of the wind and the faint, fragmented whispers from the well, Ji Ming drifted into deep meditation. Once settled, he began his practice of the Three Yang Meridians of the hands and feet. Within his Dantian, more Void Warriors were forged and placed within his acupoints.

Through this practice, he consumed his jade beads, feather-powder, and fasting pills like flowing water. Within a few months, he had opened twenty-four more acupoints, totaling fifty-three, and possessed eighteen Void Warriors, but his cultivation resources were nearly exhausted.

Ji Ming burned with curiosity: how had Monk Huijin managed to forge one hundred and eighty-one Vajra Warriors while only in the second realm of Qi Refining? There had to be a great secret.

With this thought, he turned his gaze toward the bottom of the well and whispered to himself, "Monk Huijin, how much longer can you hold out?"