From a loser to an immortal sage

Chapter 469 The Warning from the Mysterious Figure

The footsteps grew closer and closer, like someone treading on millennia-old snow, each step grinding against my taut nerves.

I stared at the silhouette of the moon-white robe emerging from the darkness, the fragrance of plum blossoms mixed with the earthy smell of broken rocks wafting into my nostrils—this scent was all too familiar. Wen Chen often wore a moon-white robe, the collar of which was always adorned with half a plum petal, and even when he brewed tea, this cool fragrance wafted in the steam.

"girl."

A deep voice suddenly exploded above my head, and the hairs on the back of my neck instantly stood on end.

When I looked up, the figure was already standing three steps away from the altar. Her moon-white wide sleeves cascaded down like a waterfall, and the silver bells on the plum blossom hairpin in her hair jingled softly with her breath, gleaming coldly in the dim light.

His face was mostly obscured by shadows, but his eyes—I was suddenly startled—had the same curve at the corners as the immortal Qingwei in the mural, and even the faint scar on his brow bone overlapped with the mark left by Wen Chen when he fell drunk next to the plum tree.

"You..." My throat tightened, and just as I was about to speak, an invisible pressure suddenly descended, like a mountain pressing down on my shoulders and back.

Ling Feng and Qing Lian's exclamations came from the left. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ling Feng stagger and bump into the mural, the veins on his hand holding the sword bulging. Qing Lian's jade lamp fell to the ground with a "clink," and the seven extinguished lamp wicks suddenly burst into a ghostly blue flame. She knelt on the ground, her fingertips digging into the cracks in the blue bricks, her hair ribbon half loose, but she still looked up at me.

"No need to be nervous." The mysterious man raised his hand and pressed down, and the oppressive aura suddenly dissipated.

Ling Feng and Qing Lian both breathed a sigh of relief. Ling Feng leaned against the wall to stand up, the sword tassel still trembling. Qing Lian bent down to pick up the jade lamp, the flame in the lamp flickering with her trembling hand, making the corners of her eyes red.

That's when I noticed the translucent key hanging from his waist, its outline exactly the same as the Key of Destiny in my palm.

The golden bead suddenly emitted a soft chime on the altar, and the silver pattern seemed to come alive as it crawled toward the key at his waist, only to be gently pushed back by some force.

"I am Xuanxiaozi, the last guardian of the ancient immortal sect." His voice was hoarse with the patina of time. "This Key of Destiny was forged by my own hands."

The key in my palm suddenly became hot, not burning, but like someone was squeezing it and pressing it against my heart.

I instinctively gripped it tighter, and the "broken string" in my mind suddenly trembled—it turned out that what was missing before was the aura of the forger?

“Although you have touched its core, you do not understand its ruthlessness.” Xuanxiaozi raised his hand and stroked the key at his waist. Fine cracks appeared on the surface of the translucent key. “It seals the origin of Taoyan, but it is also a double-edged sword.”

"If your mind is unstable and you force it..." He tapped his temple lightly with his knuckles, "this place will be torn to shreds first."

I felt a chill down my spine.

When I used the golden light wave to blow away the Netherworld Ghost King, I only felt the sweet scent of grass and trees enter my throat, but I didn't notice that there was a faint fishy smell hidden in the fragrance. Now that I think about it, I'm afraid that a part of my soul was taken away by the key, which is why I had that empty feeling of "my heart skipped a beat".

"Then now I..."

"Not fully integrated." Xuanxiaozi interrupted me. "You have the soul of a transmigrator within you, which clashes with the laws of this world. When the Key of Destiny recognized you, it only devoured three-tenths of your soul." He suddenly smiled, his eyes softening in the shadows. "Like a piece of raw jade, it needs to be nourished with blood and polished with life."

I gripped the edge of the altar tightly.

The fingertips touched the bronze's texture, feeling its icy chill.

Wen Chen always says I'm too stubborn, that I keep charging forward even when I can't win; Ling Feng says I'm like an inextinguishable weed, that I keep sprouting even when trampled into the mud.

But as I looked at the key on Xuanxiaozi's waist, I suddenly remembered the first time I saw Wen Chen. He was standing under the plum tree, his white clothes covered with petals, but he reached out and caught the medicine basket that I had fallen when I was pushed. At that time, I thought that with him around, I wouldn't have to be a weed.

“What do I need to do?” I heard my voice was hoarse, but the words were as clear as if struck bronze. “How do I achieve complete fusion?”

Xuanxiaozi's gaze lingered on my face for a moment, as if he were looking at the shadow of another person.

He raised his hand and waved it, and a golden light screen unfolded between us with a "hum," displaying a blurry map with a flashing red dot at the deepest part, next to which was written "Heart of the Spirit Source."

“Three trials,” he said. “The first is to go to the deepest part of the underground palace and retrieve the Heart of the Spiritual Source.”

I gazed at the winding tunnels in the light screen and recalled the map of the Cold Plum Valley's geological veins that Wen Chen had shown me a few days ago—the map also marked the underground palace, but he had circled it with a red cross, saying, "Too dangerous, don't touch it."

It turns out he knew what was hidden here all along, but he never told me.

“I’ll go,” I blurted out. “Right now.”

"Yao'er!" Ling Feng suddenly called out to me, his voice filled with an unusual urgency.

I turned to look at him. The red rope on his sword tassel had been torn in half by the oppressive force earlier, and he was now clutching that piece of rope, his knuckles white. "This place is full of traps. Last time Qingluan and I came to explore, we were forced back by the poisonous fog on the second level..."

“I’ll stay with you,” Qinglian suddenly interjected.

She had already hung the jade lamp back on her wrist, and three of the seven lamps that had gone out had somehow come back on, their warm yellow light reflecting off the blood-stained corners of her sleeves—she had probably crashed into the broken rocks when she was thrown back by the wave of light.

Xuanxiaozi's gaze swept over them before settling back on my face: "The trial can only be conducted alone," he said, "but they can escort you to the tunnel entrance."

I nodded and turned to take Qinglian's hand, but she grabbed it first.

Her palms were drenched in cold sweat, yet her fingertips were burning hot: "I'll light the guiding lamp for you; it will emit a half-inch of red light before the mechanism is triggered."

Ling Feng handed me the sword with the broken red rope: "This sword has been quenched with antidote powder; it'll work on trap doors." He winked at me, but his eyes were still red. "If you encounter anything, just shout. Even if I'm crushed into a meat patty by the pressure, I'll crawl over to take the blow for you."

My throat tightened, and I lowered my head to tuck the sword into my waistband.

The scabbard struck the altar with a soft clang.

The golden bead suddenly emitted a soft chime, and silver patterns crawled up my wrist, appearing and disappearing under my skin—like a small silver snake, crawling along the blood vessels toward my heart.

Xuanxiaozi turned and walked into the depths of the palace. His wide, moon-white sleeves swept across the broken rocks, and the silver bell on his plum blossom hairpin rang again.

His silhouette overlapped with that of the immortal Qingwei in the mural, and gradually merged with the outline of Wenchen in my memory.

As I watched his retreating figure, I suddenly remembered what Wen Chen often said: "The old plum trees in Cold Plum Valley are nourished by the blood and bones of cultivators."

It turns out it wasn't blood and bones, but the life of the trial-taker.

"Come with me." Xuanxiaozi's voice drifted from the darkness.

I took a deep breath, and the fragrance of plum blossoms mixed with the earthy smell filled my lungs.

Lingfeng and Qinglian flanked me, walking on the broken rocks deeper into the palace.

The further you go in, the clearer the patterns on the bronze wall become.

I glimpsed a half-plum blossom carved on a brick, exactly the same as the pattern on Wen Chen's clothes button.

Just as I was about to take a closer look, a soft "click" sound suddenly came from ahead—like the sound of some kind of mechanism being activated.

I paused in my steps.

Ling Feng and Qing Lian tensed up at the same time. Ling Feng's hand rested on the hilt of his sword, and eight of Qing Lian's jade lamps suddenly lit up. The warm yellow light pierced the darkness and illuminated the entrance to the tunnel ahead.

But the ground in front of the entrance had cracked with spiderweb-like patterns at some point.

Suddenly, ghostly blue flames seeped from the spiderweb-like cracks in the ground, licking my shoe tips like the forked tongue of a venomous snake.

Ling Feng's sword was drawn with a "whoosh," the tip of the sword piercing a ball of ghostly fire. Sparks splashed onto his wrist guard, burning him so much that he gasped: "It's ghostly energy from the underworld!"

That old bastard is coming after us!

The jade lamps of Qinglian lit up instantly, and the nineteen warm yellow lamps formed a barrier in the ghostly mist, but the ghostly fire still crept along the cracks in the bricks toward our feet.

I crouched down, and as soon as my fingertips touched the edge of the crack, the silver patterns under my skin suddenly became hot—the power of the Key of Destiny surged up through my veins, and the patterns in front of me suddenly became clear: each crack was engraved with twisted runes, just like the "Earth Vein Lock" I had seen on Xuanxiaozi's light screen.

"The mechanism is activated according to the frequency of the runes," I blurted out, pressing my palm against the nearest brick pattern. Silver lines crawled out from my wrist, drawing the same trajectory as the ley line lock on the brick surface. With a soft "ding," the will-o'-the-wisp in the crack suddenly retracted, and a stone door half a person's height split open in the ground. Behind the door was a bronze staircase extending downwards, and the lampstands on both sides of the staircase automatically ignited with eerie green flames.

"Yao'er, you—" Ling Feng's sword tip was still dripping with embers of will-o'-the-wisp. When he turned to look at me, the sparks clinging to his hair made his eyes gleam. "When did you learn this technique?"

“The key taught me.” I stood up, silver patterns condensing into a faint glowing ball in my palm. “Each mechanism corresponds to a resonance frequency, and that ball of light just now was the lock core.” Before I finished speaking, a sharp shriek came from above, and three balls of black flame wrapped in ghostly claws slammed down.

I spun around and pushed Qinglian aside. The ghostly claws grazed the back of my neck and scratched three deep marks on the bronze wall—the very "Bone-Eating Claws" of the Netherworld Ghost King.

"This little girl has some skill." A sinister laugh came from above.

I looked up and saw the Netherworld King hovering in the dome, with a hundred or so blue-faced ghost soldiers floating behind him. Black blood dripped from the ghost head ornament at his waist. "But the Heart of the Spirit Source belongs to me, and no one else can have it—"

"Green Lotus!"

"A guiding light!" I interrupted him, pulling Qinglian back to the stone gate.

With a flick of her wrist, the jade lamp emitted three beams of red light, which accurately struck the lampstands on both sides of the steps.

The eerie green flames instantly turned warm yellow, and the ghostly soldiers' figures distorted in the light, emitting piercing screams.

Taking advantage of the opportunity, Ling Feng rushed forward. The broken red rope on his sword tassel swept across the ghost horde, and the sword blade, which had been quenched with antidote powder, drew a silver arc, emitting green smoke as it struck the ghost soldiers.

"Yao'er, run!" he shouted as he hacked away, three bloody gashes already visible on his back from the ghostly claws. "This stone door can only hold for half an incense stick's time!"

I bit my lip and rushed up the stairs.

Silver patterns danced on my fingertips, pressing against the bronze wall at each corner, the "click" of the stone door opening like a heartbeat.

The shouts of battle behind us came and went, until the third stone door opened and the ghostly howls suddenly disappeared—we were standing in the center of a circular hall, on the very center stone platform, a bead that shimmered with starlight floated, which was the Heart of the Spirit Source.

"It really is here." The voice of the Netherworld King surged from all directions.

I turned my head and saw ghost soldiers pouring out from the twelve hidden doors, surrounding us completely.

Ling Feng stood to my left, and Qing Lian stood to my right. Their spiritual energy fluctuations intertwined, like two intertwined flames.

“You hold off the ghost soldiers, I’ll draw upon my spiritual energy.” I drew the sword from my waist and handed it to Ling Feng. “This sword is more stable than my spiritual power.” As he took the sword, his fingertips brushed against the silver patterns on my palm, making him flinch. “Be careful, this bead looks gentle, but it might—”

"Boom!" A fireball slammed down at our feet, interrupting his words.

Suddenly, Qinglian's jade lamp burst forth with a bright light, and the nineteen lamp wicks formed a net of light, keeping the ghost soldiers three feet away.

Ling Feng's sword drew an arc, and the fragrance of the antidote mixed with the smell of blood spread. With each ghost soldier he cut down, his wounds became deeper.

I stared at the Heart of the Spirit Source, my throat tightening—Wen Chen had said that the Heart of the Spirit Source was the lifeline of the earth's veins, but at this moment, its starlight clearly contained silver patterns similar to the Key of Destiny.

“Use the soul to draw upon the source.” I murmured Xuanxiaozi’s words, pressing my fingertips onto the heart of the spiritual source.

A cool sensation surged up his arm, and the "broken string" in his mind suddenly snapped, silver patterns emerging from under his skin and entangling the starlight of the Spiritual Source Heart.

The bead trembled violently, the starlight turned silvery, and I heard my own heartbeat echoing in the hall—once, twice, and on the third beat—

"Pfft!" I spat out a mouthful of blood.

The silver light from the Heart of Spiritual Origin enveloped my spiritual power and exploded, sending the ghost soldiers flying and crashing into the wall. The figure of the Netherworld Ghost King materialized in the light, clutching his chest as he staggered back, black blood trickling from his lips: "How dare you..."

“This is the power it should have.” I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth. The starlight of the Spirit Source Heart had turned completely silver, resonating with the key in my palm.

The ground suddenly shook violently, and bronze bricks fell from above. Xuanxiaozi's voice came from the crack: "The first step of the trial is complete, but the power of the Spirit Source Heart will attract deeper levels of evil energy."

Next—

"Crack!" A dark crack appeared in the ground beneath our feet, and a cold wind carrying a fishy smell rushed up.

Lingfeng and Qinglian grabbed my hands at the same time, but the crack expanded too quickly, and we stumbled and fell in.

As I fell, I caught a glimpse of the Netherworld Ghost King's distorted face. He roared as he tried to catch up, but was repelled by the silver light of the Spirit Source Heart.

When I landed, my knees slammed hard on the ground.

Looking up, the crack had closed, and all around was a hazy mist. The air was filled with a sinister smell of rust, like a fine needle piercing straight into the nasal cavity.

Ling Shen took a deep breath, then suddenly clutched his chest and coughed, "Why... can't I breathe?"

Only three of Qinglian's jade lamps lit up in the mist, her face as white as paper: "It's... the aura of the Abyss of Fiends." Her voice trembled, "Legend has it... the place where ancient ferocious beasts were suppressed..."

I helped her stand up, and my throat felt like it was blocked by something.

A faint murmur drifted from the mist, like the roar of a wild beast or the sob of a human.

The silver patterns on my palm were burning hot. Gazing at the thicker fog ahead, I suddenly remembered another saying Wen Chen had uttered: "The most dangerous inheritances are often hidden in the most deadly traps."

And we have fallen into the deepest part of the trap.