Chapter 54: Inheritance, Good News

Outside the cave, venomous insects slithered into the cauldron, while the young apprentices fanned beneath it without pause. Layer upon layer of poisonous creatures covered the base of the cauldron, like accumulated dust. Ji Ming glanced inside, seeing all manner of shapes and colors, swollen abdomens and protruding mouthparts—he nearly felt overcome by his fear of clusters.

Once the insects had been lured, the three apprentices deftly began sorting through them inside the cauldron. There remained numerous tedious steps: preparing poisonous feed, steaming, drying, and blending the concoctions. These three had long mastered the basic skills expected of disciples in Panhu’s line during their time in the cave.

As he watched the sorted insects, Ji Ming felt a twinge of disappointment. This cave was not a place of miasma or poisonous swamps; it could not attract truly formidable creatures. Those rare specimens would only be found deep within the Li Ridge, if one dared to venture that far. But these were troubled times; even to summon insects at his own doorstep required the three ghosts patrolling outside for safety, so how could he risk venturing into the heart of the ridge?

There was a slim chance of encountering something extraordinary in ordinary forests, but it would be a stroke of luck. Yu Xiao had tended this cave for many years, and the creatures sealed within were mostly venomous snakes, with a handful of toads and geckos. As for centipedes and scorpions—not a single one. Among the Five Immortals, the centipede and scorpion were the rarest of all, and Ji Ming understood this truth once more.

It was precisely because of this rarity that his noble and distinguished bloodline could be so thoroughly inherited. In the days following the cauldron’s opening, Ji Ming was troubled by the lack of successor insects for the centipede line. At present, the only two who might help him were Master Bo Ni of Hengshan, so he sent the three ghosts to the old temple to investigate.

After their investigation, he received bad news: Master Bo Ni was no longer at the temple. Without Bo Ni’s surveillance over the mountains, Ji Ming could not learn of any poisonous centipedes in Hengshan, nor could he locate the waiting Daoist nun. Frankly, Ji Ming had to admit that Bo Ni was unlikely to know the latter. Had he known, he would surely have revealed it during their great meeting in the old temple.

Within Ji Ming’s treasured eye, the character for “transformation” still lingered; should its shadow vanish, it would mean the celestial being had fallen. There was another possibility: once the celestial being was born, the character would likewise disappear, signifying he had missed the chance for transformation. From the nun’s pregnant state, the birth was still some time off.

Ji Ming knew he could not rush; impatience would only bring needless worry. All he could do was wait for news from the Golden Lion Ape, and keep the three ghosts ever watchful for any movements among the local Daoists.

What puzzled Ji Ming most were the Daoists from outside the mountains, those who arrived from Mount He, bearing the background of Four Sorrows Cloud Temple. They had made no further bold moves. By “bold moves,” he meant they had ceased their relentless pursuit of the scattered heretics fleeing into the mountains.

If the Daoists of Four Sorrows Cloud Temple came for the prophecy, then their attacks on the heretics were merely a cover, which made sense. Yet Ji Ming sensed the matter was not so simple. The temple’s venerable master had lived over two hundred and sixty years; his thoughts surely ran deeper than ordinary men. What Ji Ming could discern, the great monk could surely see through as well, as could the Golden Lion Ape and other insiders.

Since those who understood the inner workings could see the Daoists’ true motives, perhaps their actions were meant to conceal a greater purpose. Ji Ming felt the answer was right before him, and he might soon uncover it.

Several more days passed in the cave. Ji Ming, restless amid the stillness, burned incense and candles, summoned the three ghosts, and dispatched them to investigate Bald Brush Peak.

Atop Bald Brush Peak, many wanderers had built huts, debating the mysteries of the Dao, kindling furnaces, refining elixirs, raising altars and performing rites—a lively scene. There, the great monk often sat with the wanderers, expounding doctrine. He spoke of the Small and Large Circulation, advancing Yang Fire and retreating Yin Talisman; the trembling of the six roots, the rotation of the five energies; the interplay of Yang Dragon and Yin Tiger, transformations of Kan and Li—his teachings covered nearly everything.

His words were rarely empty, always true scripture, attracting crowds so large that nearly every seat was filled, his voice echoing across the peak. Ji Ming, hearing the three ghosts’ reports each day, wished he could climb the peak himself to listen. Yet, fearing the monk’s Buddhist power, the three ghosts dared not approach too closely, so their accounts of his teachings were incomplete.

Ji Ming sighed; the great monk, in these times, kept his temple open, generously protected his fellow cultivators—if nothing else, his reputation for compassion was well established. Coupled with his true teachings, even if he offered no specific methods, the principles and wisdom were all the more precious, especially for the wandering heretics.

No wonder the great monk had managed, in the old temple, to invite the righteous Daoist from Four Sorrows Cloud Temple to mediate—the fruit of his virtue.

Upon learning the situation at Bald Brush Peak, Ji Ming felt compelled to seek the monk’s guidance. He hurriedly wrote a letter in the cave, intending for the three ghosts to deliver it privately to the monk. Yet after writing, he reconsidered, feeling it would be far too presumptuous, and abandoned the idea.

Though the great monk was compassionate and his teachings unconstrained by sect or path, Ji Ming, a mere spirit creature, lacked the standing for such a request. The Golden Lion Ape appreciated him for their shared nature and common view on the celestial calamity—perhaps a bond of kindred spirits. The great monk was different—very different.

In the days that followed, Ji Ming could only use his little art of transformation to hide in the woods, searching for places where poisonous insects might appear. It was a clumsy method, like a spirit creature relying on others’ favor, but given enough time, it yielded results.

Two months later, Ji Ming caught two centipedes in Hengshan, one with a green back, one with a yellow. They had no true cultivation—far from becoming spirit creatures—only a faint glimmer of intelligence, still a far cry from Ji Ming’s ideal centipede immortal.

One was captured in the fox shrine graveyard. Indeed, in places where spirit creatures gather, even a dull and stubborn insect has a better chance of refining itself into a spirit.

With no better options, Ji Ming began raising the female yellow centipede with poisonous feed, while the male green centipede received no such treatment.

One day, as Ji Ming and the three apprentices were laying out the Small Circulation scripture to dry outside the cave, a bird arrived from the north, landing before Ji Ming.

Its crimson head resembled that of a crane, its tail adorned with long feathers. Standing before the cave, it appeared deep in thought and said, “You are...”

A pleasant female voice came from its beak.

“Did the Golden Lion Ape send you?”

“Send?” The bird’s eyes flashed with mockery as it lifted its red head proudly. “He dares to send me?”

“To tell you the truth, I had just delivered a letter to the True One of Hundred Birds at Misty Hermitage on Danger Bird Mountain. Happened to meet that Golden Lion, so I did him a favor and brought you a message.”

“And who are you?”

Ji Ming realized at once this was another figure of some substance.

“I...” The bird shook her head, refusing to speak. Her meaning was clear: Ji Ming was not qualified to know her origins.

Slighted by the bird, Ji Ming merely smiled, unperturbed, and asked, “What message did the Golden Lion Ape ask you to deliver?”

“He says he has excellent news, and invites you to meet at the old place.”

With that, the bird spread its wings and soared into the clouds, vanishing in an instant, swift as a gale sweeping the hills.