Chapter 117: The Ten-Thousand-Year Earthly Fiend Yin-Mold Poison

Chapter 117: The Ten-Thousand-Year Earth-Fiend Yin-Mold Poison
Chapter 13: Cold Waves in the Sea of Affection, Shadow of a Slender Figure; Ancient Treasures Discovered in the Immortal Abyss (Part II)

Outside the Abyss of Forgotten Returns, the mist and clouds had long since dispersed. Hong Ri and Hong Xing stared blankly into the abyss, speechless. A short distance away lay a corpse—the thin, withered old man from the Western Regions. After a long while, Hong Ri sighed and said to Hong Xing, "Junior Brother, let us go and report this to Uncle." Hong Xing nodded, adding, "Even with Uncle and Chan Master Dao'an, I fear there is nothing to be done. Brother Ye... alas! His chances of survival are slim."

Hong Ri nodded in agreement. "Let us go." He glanced once more at the corpse in the distance, his expression grim. "It is a pity we could not finish off all these Western demons! Three of them managed to escape." Hong Xing smiled faintly. "Those three were severely wounded; I suspect they would not dare remain here any longer. Still, I heard them claim to be from the 'Black September'—I wonder if there is any truth to it?"

"Black September?" Hong Ri replied. "I have heard the name, but I know little of them. We shall have to ask Uncle and Chan Master Dao'an." The two men sped off toward Daxing Zen Temple. Within moments, they arrived to find the elderly man surnamed Wang engaged in a pleasant conversation with Chan Master Dao'an. Seeing Hong Ri and Hong Xing burst in with such agitation, the old man's face darkened, and he prepared to reprimand them.

But Hong Ri interrupted, "Uncle, Chan Master, something... something terrible has happened! Brother Ye... Brother Ye has fallen into the Abyss of Forgotten Returns!" The old man's expression shifted. "What happened!?" Chan Master Dao'an looked startled. "Calm yourselves, nephews, and tell us clearly."

Hong Ri and Hong Xing recounted their encounter with the Western cultivators, the ensuing battle, and Ye Hua’s mysterious fall and disappearance. Upon hearing their narrative, Chan Master Dao'an’s voice turned somber. "They claimed to be from the Black September!? Is that truly the case?"

Hong Xing nodded. "That is what they said." After a pause, he asked, "Is there something particularly fearsome about this Black September?" Chan Master Dao'an lowered his head and chanted a Buddhist name: "Amitabha." He turned to the old man surnamed Wang. "What does Brother Wang think?"

The old man’s eyes flickered. "While there are many Western cultivators in the Divine Land, is it not a bit too coincidental that they appear here, near your Daxing Zen Temple, at this very moment?"

Chan Master Dao'an nodded. "That is precisely what worries me. I fear that the cultivators of the Heavenly Region have come to cause trouble. But to think they are from the Black September... to have provoked them—well, this is a grave matter indeed."

The old man nodded. "The Black September is known as the premier assassination organization of the Western Regions, and they are worthy of the name. They are relentless, stealing treasures and killing without pause. They are incredibly difficult to deal with."

Chan Master Dao'an pondered for a long while before saying to Hong Ri and Hong Xing, "Nephews, let us go and take a look."

***

Hong Ri and Hong Xing led the way. When they reached the Fifth Spring Under Heaven, the corpse of the Western cultivator remained where it had been left. Chan Master Dao'an stepped forward, scrutinized the body for a moment, and pointed a finger. A streak of white light swirled out, wrapping around the corpse until its clothes crumbled into ash. As the wind blew away the debris, the man's chest was revealed: tattooed upon it was a delicate, jet-black moon, and on his neck, a tiny pagoda.

Chan Master Dao'an nodded, sighing, "A member of the Black September, indeed. As expected, they come from the Ancient Kingdom of the Heavenly Region. Hmph, they certainly move quickly."

The old man surnamed Wang walked to the edge of the Abyss of Forgotten Returns, frowning as he looked down. After a time, he turned to Hong Ri, demanding, "Tell me in detail! How exactly did Brother Ye fall in?"

Hong Ri started, stammering, "Uncle, it was... I saw that old Western thief send Brother Ye flying with a palm strike. In my desperation, I used the Nine-Star Staff’s 'Nine-Blast' technique to severely wound the thief. Uncle, you know that the 'Three-Origin Mist' from the Three-Origin Cave on Mount Hua was also triggered... By the time the mist cleared, Brother Ye was already gone!"

The older man's face grew darker with every word. "I told you before that the Three-Origin Mist was of little use! Yet you refused to listen! Look at the trouble you have caused today! Brother Ye is a disciple of the Wutai lineage. If they hear of this and hold us accountable, how will you bear the responsibility? It would be no surprise if your master sent you to face the wall in Qianyuan Cave for several years as punishment!"

Chan Master Dao'an walked up and peered into the depths, shaking his head slowly. "The Abyss of Forgotten Returns has always been unfathomable. If Brother Ye fell in, he cannot possibly have survived. Even if he were not a disciple of the Seven-Treasure Realm already suffering from grave wounds, even those of us at the Three-Truth Realm would never dare to explore it lightly. The abyss is bottomless and filled with the Ten-Thousand-Year Earth-Fiend Yin-Mold Poison. It drains one’s inner essence; within moments, you are left empty. No matter how great your cultivation, you cannot resist it. It is terrifyingly potent, growing more concentrated the deeper one goes. Every year, many cultivators foolishly try to descend in search of treasure—truly, it is laughable."

Hong Xing asked in a daze, "Does that mean no one has ever reached the bottom?"

Chan Master Dao'an mused for a moment. "Ordinary people who attempt it usually run out of inner essence halfway and turn back. Perhaps those great cultivators of the Supreme-One Realm, with their boundless reserves, could succeed. It is said that the greatest cultivator under the late Holy Emperor Shenghua, King Zengwen, once made an attempt. He reached the bottom and explored it, but aside from a stream and a deep hole that continuously spewed the Ten-Thousand-Year Earth-Fiend Yin-Mold Poison, he found nothing unusual. As for others, let alone exploring it, there has never been word of anyone else reaching the bottom."

Hong Ri nodded. "Then... then Brother Ye is...?"

Chan Master Dao'an said, "It is done. There is no use in saying more. We should send a letter to Wutai to explain the situation. Wutai is the head of the four great Buddhist kingdoms, a golden world and a prestigious sect; they will surely be reasonable and not make things difficult for your Mount Hua Zhenyue Palace over a single Seven-Treasure Realm disciple."

The old man sighed, "I certainly hope so."

***

They could never have imagined that at that very moment, Ye Hua was sitting on a stone platform, staring blankly at a dark pool. He had used every means at his disposal to combat the grey clouds in the air, but nothing worked. The grey mist was incredibly formidable; no matter the treasure or technique, his spiritual energy was drained within moments. Fortunately, the grey mist did not damage the spirituality of his artifacts. After trying for a long time without success, Ye Hua could only sit and stare.

As he watched the pool, he noticed the water beginning to churn violently. Countless bubbles rose from the bottom. Ye Hua’s heart stirred. "That's it!" he thought. "If I cannot go up, could there be a way out below? I must try!" Just as he thought this, the ground beneath him began to shake, and he jumped to his feet in surprise.

Suddenly, a layer of black mist rose from the pool. The water began to spin, the vortex growing wider and wider. Everything in his field of vision was caught in its influence, as if a bottomless pit had opened at the bottom of the pool. The water rushed in with the force of a thunderclap and a stampede of ten thousand horses, a truly terrifying sight. Ye Hua turned pale; had he fallen in at this moment, he would surely have been swept away with no hope of survival. He had just been thinking of exploring the depths—that would have been incredibly dangerous.

He retreated a few steps. The water continued to swirl without pause, yet the water level did not drop. He had no idea where such a volume of water was coming from. After watching for a while, he realized this route was impossible. He had no choice but to head forward, determined to reach the end of the abyss in hopes of finding an exit.

After walking for another hour, he suddenly heard a shrill, piercing sound, like ten thousand holes whistling in a gale—a sound entirely different from the roar of the vortex. Ye Hua’s heart tightened as he peered into the distance. Through the dim, miserable clouds and fog, he felt cold, biting winds prick his skin.

He walked cautiously for a few dozen yards and focused his gaze. In the gloom, a jagged stone cliff appeared. From a crevice at the base of the cliff, a gust of cold wind swirled, carrying black vapor that bubbled like boiling water. The whirlwind swept up thousands of black shadows, spiraling into the sky, where they vibrated to produce that sharp, mournful cry. Suddenly, the shadows dispersed into hundreds of pillars of wind, scattering black specks in all directions.

Some of the specks brushed against Ye Hua’s face, feeling so cold they pierced his bones, and he shivered uncontrollably. He caught one; it looked like black crystal, petal-shaped, thinner than a cicada's wing, neither snow nor ice. Though it melted upon contact, it left a stinging, numbing pain, and Ye Hua was secretly alarmed.

In an instant, the strange sounds faded, and the wind died down. He could finally see the surroundings: the cliff face was black as lacquer, utterly dark and desolate, without a blade of grass. At the base of the cliff sat a cave, a hundred yards wide, billowing black vapor like a crouching giant lion or beast with a gaping maw, ready to swallow the sun. The sight was dizzying and sinister.

Seeing the black wind subside, Ye Hua prepared to move closer for a better look, when the strange sounds erupted from the cave again. Startled, Ye Hua stood his ground, and this time, he was prepared. Before the whirlwind and black frost could erupt from the hole, he retreated rapidly, putting a hundred yards of distance between himself and the cave. Hundreds of pillars of wind churned with black and cyan, flying fragments and shrieking cries echoing like ten thousand valleys roaring—a scene even more terrifying than before.

Though he was further away, Ye Hua still found it difficult to resist. He knew the danger. When the second whirlwind faded, he intended to return, but the cave once again spewed forth its black vapor, blocking his path. He did not know how much time had passed, but eventually, the vortex in the pool and the black frost from the cave gradually ceased, becoming almost imperceptible. Seeing this, Ye Hua felt a surge of joy and hurried forward.

To his surprise, a faint black mist around the cave mouth felt as heavy as ten thousand pounds, blocking his way. Surprised, Ye Hua let out a soft shout and channeled his mysterious arts; golden light erupted from his body, allowing him to break through the cyan-black atmosphere. He reached the cave entrance and looked inside. In the purple light, he saw a stone ledge only five or six feet wide. Ravaged by frost and wind, the stone was eroded and jagged, like the teeth of a saw. Beyond this narrow ledge lay a bottomless pit, a hundred yards wide, filled with dark, eerie, and bone-chilling cold that made his hair stand on end.