Chapter 26: Hearing the Way, the Iron Centipede Immortal

From the tall grasses, the old shamaness emerged, carrying her basket and leaning on her cane.

A thick layer of fine frost clung to her bamboo staff, spreading from the shaft to both sides—a lingering trace of the dark energy she had used to fend off Ji Ming’s sudden attack.

“An excellent strike. An admirable technique!” she praised, then asked, “When did you discover I was watching you?”

Ji Ming, facing the shamaness’s covert surveillance, remained unruffled and answered calmly, “Only in the past few weeks.”

“I’ve often told you, you are truly unique. There’s hardly a trace of demonic nature about you. No wonder my cherished disciple remains so fond of you,” she said.

Ji Ming, holding his dusty tail, assumed a spellcasting gesture and smiled. “It seems you have no intention of letting me go, do you?”

She sighed deeply. “Deep affection rarely lasts; great wisdom brings its own sorrow. If you had been content to cultivate quietly in the mountains, guiding the spiritual currents for a hundred years as if it were a day, I would have had no need to interfere.”

“Then, by that logic, you should have acted long ago,” Ji Ming replied, his confidence unwavering.

He knew well that the shamaness of the Crimson Blood Sect had watched him for days without acting, likely fearing that killing him would create an irreparable rift between her and her disciple.

She sighed again—the second time. Both understood that not all problems could be solved by force. Zhang Niangzi’s feelings were something the shamaness had to consider.

“Please don’t trouble yourself. I know my place,” Ji Ming said, offering comfort.

He had spent much time with Zhang Niangzi in the mountains precisely to lay this groundwork. Only by staking Zhang Niangzi’s future prospects as a bargaining chip could he hope to make this left-hand sorceress compromise.

In truth, had the shamaness been more observant, she would have noticed that there was never any intimacy between Ji Ming and Zhang Niangzi—indeed, Ji Ming’s demeanor was rather distant. But, as the saying goes, those who care are most easily confused, and Ji Ming knew the shamaness could hardly escape such feelings.

Through Ji Ming’s Spirit Eye, the character for “Moist” had become much clearer; with a few more infusions of spiritual energy, he would be able to use it fully.

What concerned him most now was arranging for his next life.

To be honest, he had no desire to waste a decade in these remote mountains just to perfect a single illusion technique. That was not the sort of progress he sought.

The shamaness, feeling the strange discomfort of being comforted by a demon, kept her composure. Outwardly, she showed no impatience, even appearing rather interested.

To bring Zhang Niangzi back to the right path, force would be futile; only by having this demon withdraw of his own accord could she hope to cool their relationship.

To kill the demon outright, cutting off all ties, would be the worst possible choice. Even if she covered her tracks well, there was no guarantee Zhang Niangzi would remain unaware forever; in the end, it could drive a wedge between them.

Now, hearing the demon’s willingness to leave Zhang Niangzi, the shamaness felt a surge of relief.

“Do you have a condition?” she asked, suddenly realizing that all the momentum seemed to lie in this demon’s hands.

“I hear from Zhang Niangzi that you have long sought to rear and refine a centipede immortal. Might I have a look?” Ji Ming asked.

The shamaness was puzzled. Why would a demon, uninterested in shape-shifting techniques, be curious about the Five Immortals’ cultivation methods of Panhu Mountain?

“Do you really want to see?” she asked, seeking confirmation.

Seeing Ji Ming’s earnest face, she removed her basket and lifted the cloth cover, revealing a swirling, colorful mist that refused to dissipate.

“Come, have a closer look,” she said, handing the basket to Ji Ming.

Beneath the mist, a seething mass of venomous insects crawled and turned.

A green bamboo viper raised its triangular head, hissing at Ji Ming.

A deep, dull croak rose from the basket, overpowering the snake’s hiss. Looking closer, he saw a toad the size of a palm, its skin a pure indigo, swallowing the colorful mist.

“What venomous creatures!” Ji Ming thought, astonished.

As the saying goes, the brighter the color, the deadlier the poison. The snake and the toad, their colors vivid enough to drip, must possess unimaginable toxicity.

Looking further, he noticed a gecko about a foot long clinging to the inside of the basket, eating insects while cautiously avoiding the snake and toad. Compared to the other two, the gecko seemed weak and insignificant.

Ji Ming’s gaze swept past the snake, the toad, and the gecko—what he truly sought was the centipede immortal.

After searching for some time without spotting it, he was about to ask when suddenly the colored mist surged, flooding into his nose and mouth.

Ji Ming nearly revealed his true form from the choking mist, knowing the shamaness had laid a trap for him. Yet he showed no anger, only speaking lightly, “Was that really necessary?”

“It’s safer this way,” the shamaness replied, her expression serene, showing no shame for ambushing a demon.

“So long as you keep your word, distance yourself from Xinmei, and cut all ties, I will give you the antidote to this toxic smoke,” she said.

But on Ji Ming’s face she saw not a trace of fear, not even the expected anger, throwing the experienced Crimson Blood Shamaness into utter confusion.

“Aren’t you... afraid?” she asked.

Ji Ming said nothing, intent on making it clear that threats had no hold on him.

If she wanted him to keep his distance from Zhang Niangzi, then today, he must see the centipede immortal in her basket with his own eyes.

“You truly wish to see my centipede immortal?” she asked.

Ji Ming grinned, a gleam in his eyes. “To be honest, I’m dying to see it.”

The shamaness extended her hand, palm up.

A long, raised bulge writhed beneath the flesh of her palm.

A blood-red slit three inches wide opened in her palm, from which the head of a centipede emerged. Soon, its entire dark, glossy back slid out.

With a wet, sucking sound, the centipede was pulled free, trailing blood.

“This centipede immortal has been nurtured on my own flesh and blood for eight years, yet it has only just begun to show the true form of the Ironback Centipede,” she said.

“Has it ever bred?” Ji Ming asked.

The shamaness was increasingly convinced that this demon was mad, but—thinking of her disciple—she patiently replied, “The centipede immortal is far more delicate than the snake or toad. Each breeding drains its spiritual vitality; if the toll is too great, it becomes a mere mundane insect. But recently, as Xinmei’s skills have advanced, the matter of cultivating the Five Immortals needs to be addressed. I’ve already contacted an elder within the sect who also raises centipede immortals. Soon, I will send this one to mate, so a new generation can be born, laying a solid foundation for Xinmei’s cultivation.”

With that, she gave Ji Ming no chance to examine the centipede further, drawing it back into her palm and picking up her basket to leave.

“A fine creature, truly remarkable. Having seen it today, my heart is at peace. Even if I suffer from the poisonous smoke, it’s worth it,” Ji Ming said, unable to take his mind off the centipede immortal.

He mused inwardly, “If I could be reborn among its offspring, the next life would surely be much easier—and I would not suffer the misery of being rootless. Most importantly, I could remain at Zhang Niangzi’s side, hearing the Way day by day, and perhaps glean the path to human cultivation.”