Chapter Four: The Scroll of All Saints

Yang Nan released Chiyang’s hand and walked over to a nearby grave mound. He showed no fear of the grave’s eerie aura and simply sat cross-legged atop it. Chiyang, seeing Yang Nan act with such confidence, allowed him to indulge himself this once. The female ghost could certainly enchant others, but under Chiyang’s watchful eye, it would be difficult for her to harm Yang Nan. The old Duke, revered as one of the three great Confucian masters in the realm, had guided Yang Nan well; perhaps Yang Nan truly had a way to rid himself of her entanglement.

The female ghost, seeing this young man behaving with such composure and maturity, felt a surge of defiance. At once, she transformed in midair into a multitude of terrifying forms—headless, blood-stained faces, gaping mouths with tongues lolling—each one lunging at Yang Nan. In that moment, the air was filled with fierce spirits, ghostly wails, and rolling waves of malice, as if countless vengeful souls were rushing toward him.

Yang Nan chuckled, knowing all of this was mere illusion; so long as he did not believe in it, he would be safe. Boldly, he reached out and grabbed a ball of shadowy energy that had transformed into a bloody human head, patting it as if it were a ball, playing like a child with a toy.

The female ghost was vexed—how could such a fearless child exist in this world? But her abilities went no further. After a few shrill cries, rustling noises came from several grave mounds. With a series of loud bangs, several figures jumped out from the graves!

These grave-born creatures had faces ashen as iron, their arms and knees stiff, hopping forward like wooden stakes. Yang Nan was startled but, upon closer inspection, realized these were the legendary zombies!

In obscure histories, it was recorded that within the Daoist sects, there existed a branch called the Corpse Sect, specializing in refining powerful corpse demons from dead beings. Were these corpse demons?

The zombies were ragged and decayed, crawling with maggots, exuding a foul stench. Their eyes were tightly shut, and the female ghost, guided by her cries, soon had them hopping to the base of Yang Nan’s grave mound.

Yang Nan was initially alarmed, but soon saw these were merely low-level zombies. They were hardly enough to frighten him; in his past life, even Western vampire clubs existed, and thrill-seekers often dressed as zombies and monsters. The female ghost’s attempt to scare him with zombies was not likely to succeed, especially with Chiyang nearby. She would hardly be able to command these zombies to harm him.

Seeing Yang Nan shrink back slightly, the female ghost’s face showed pride. She shrieked, and the five zombies circled the grave mound, their claws curved and gleaming coldly, their rotten mouths making chilling hoarse noises.

Yang Nan looked at their tattered forms and long nails, and sighed, “Ghost sister, you’re rather stingy. These servants are working so hard to put on a show; shouldn’t you let them dress better?”

The female ghost was beside herself with frustration. Ordinary boys would have collapsed in terror at the sight of zombies, but this brat was treating it all as a game? What kind of person was he?

“Little devil, don’t get cocky. Watch what I do next!” With a fierce cry, the female ghost suddenly lunged at Yang Nan atop the grave mound. Chiyang, observing the scene, realized things had taken a turn. His Fire Yuan Sword flared with crimson light as he darted forward, targeting the zombies. At that moment, Chiyang understood: the female ghost had planned this all along, summoning zombies to entangle him so she could seize Yang Nan!

Suddenly, countless roots shot from the ground, entangling Chiyang’s feet. The zombies lunged at him, but Chiyang, furious, no longer held back. His sword, sharp as ever, unleashed a three-foot aura that sliced through all the tree roots.

“Red Flame Fire Aspect!” Chiyang’s eyes blazed; three small red swords flew from his forehead, weaving in midair to form a fiery bird. The bird, composed entirely of fire swords, radiated intense heat and wild energy—talons and beak gleaming with red light. In an instant, it swooped upon the zombies blocking the path!

With his spiritual weapon and the Fire Yuan Sword combined, the zombies stood no chance. In moments, Chiyang had cut them to pieces, leaving them incapable of further mischief.

Seeing Chiyang momentarily entangled, the female ghost laughed triumphantly. “Brazen brat, let’s see if you dare mock me now!” Her form shifted from solid to ethereal, lunging at Yang Nan. A wave of shadowy energy struck him, and Yang Nan felt a coldness envelop him, as though submerged in icy winter water. A chill rose from deep within, his teeth chattering uncontrollably. A frosty breath quickly spread from his feet to his chest.

Chiyang rushed to Yang Nan’s side, alarmed. “Anan, how do you feel?”

Before Yang Nan could reply, the female ghost’s voice echoed through him. “Little Taoist, brat, once I devour his soul and seize this body to be reborn, I’ll no longer suffer from the golden crow’s aura. Just wait and see!”

Chiyang was furious, realizing he’d been tricked. The female ghost intended to possess a mortal shell to be reborn—a grave taboo among cultivators. Such possession deserved condemnation; were the underworld officials here, she would suffer a millennia of torment!

“Monster, come out! If you have the guts, face me—bullying a child is nothing!” Chiyang shouted, but the female ghost ignored him, focusing on overwhelming Yang Nan with shadowy energy.

Yet, the ghost’s sinister aura could not advance beyond Yang Nan’s chest. Though the cold was nearly unbearable, Yang Nan smiled at Chiyang, signaling him not to worry. He sighed, addressing his own body, “Ghost sister, you’re going back on your word. Isn’t that unfair?”

The female ghost sneered within him, “Have you not heard of ‘ghosts telling endless lies’? You believe ghostly words and call yourselves wise—just hand over your body to me!”

Yang Nan laughed coldly. “Fine, you show no mercy, so I shall show none either. Prepare to perish!” Bracing against the chill, he drew something from his chest—a thin scroll of ancient fish-skin paper, bearing old inscriptions. Chiyang, seeing this, suddenly relaxed.

Yang Nan, holding the scroll reverently, recited aloud, “Mencius said: ‘Those who follow the Way have many supporters; those who lose the Way have few.’ Mencius said: ‘A gentleman does not blame Heaven or others; he cultivates his noble spirit, which wealth cannot corrupt, poverty cannot sway, nor power bend.’”

With each phrase, the scroll shone with golden light, enveloping Yang Nan. Coupled with his scholarly bearing, he seemed more like a Confucian disciple, radiating noble air. Where the golden light passed, the shadowy energy within him melted away like snow in boiling water. As the light intensified, the female ghost screamed in agony, “Brat! What sorcery is this? Stop at once!” The golden light, her nemesis, trapped her within Yang Nan, and no matter how she struggled, she could not escape.

Unmoved by her cries, Yang Nan continued, “Zhuangzi said: ‘My teacher! My teacher! Benefiting all generations but not for kindness, enduring from antiquity but not for longevity, bearing heaven and earth and shaping all things but not for skill—this is called heavenly joy. So, those who understand heavenly joy act as nature dictates; in death they transform into things. In stillness, they share the virtue of shadow; in movement, they share the wave of light.’ Thus, knowing heavenly joy, there is no resentment toward heaven, no blame toward man, no burden from things, no condemnation from ghosts. ‘In movement, they follow heaven; in stillness, they follow earth; with a settled heart, they rule the world. Their ghosts do not haunt, their souls do not tire, with a settled heart, all things submit.’ Words flow in tranquil stillness, connecting heaven and earth, reaching all things—this is heavenly joy, the heart of the Sage, nurturing the world.”

As his recitation continued, the golden light grew, his demeanor becoming more natural, exuding scholarly elegance. The fierce energy shifted to balanced harmony, and he seemed a Confucian master imparting wisdom.

The icy sensation on his body was dispelled by a wave of warmth. Yang Nan’s eyes focused intently on the scroll’s dragon-like characters; with every word, his noble aura increased. Eventually, he closed his eyes, letting familiar passages flow through his mind like water.

Immersed in this state, Yang Nan gained new understanding of Zhuangzi’s famous words. Originally, he had intended only to use the scroll gifted by his grandfather to subdue ghosts, but as he recited, comprehension dawned. He realized the profound principles of Daoist sages: when moving, align with nature; when still, be as tranquil as earth; a calm mind commands all. Ghosts cannot haunt, spirits do not tire, and all things submit to a steadfast heart.

What is the Way?

Void, emptiness, serenity, and stillness—this is the Way. Yang Nan, living two lifetimes, was indifferent to worldly matters, ungreedy for fame, his mind empty and peaceful—a nascent Daoist heart. This unique experience granted him an epiphany about the Way. Facing the ghost, he remained calm, his soul undisturbed. No matter how powerful, the ghost could not haunt him.

This was the art of the Confucians—masters of the world’s vital energy. The scroll, a treasure among Confucian masters, was an invincible talisman. Though Yang Nan could not wield its full power, driving out a corporeal ghost was no challenge.

With this insight, Yang Nan no longer feared the ghost possessing him and instead focused on the Daoist teachings. He recited all the sages’ sayings from beginning to end, his aura balanced and righteous. The female ghost, unable to resist, shrank within him, the chilling energy condensing into a small pill-like object.

This pill contained potent shadowy energy, spinning within Yang Nan’s dantian. As he read, he suddenly sensed his spiritual world explode, as if a new pair of eyes had opened in his mind, allowing him to see the pill in his spirit world. His left wrist—a birthmark in the shape of a snake—suddenly transformed into a real black serpent. The serpent darted through his body, coiling around the pill in his dantian, then opened its mouth and swallowed it.

After devouring the ghostly pill, the black serpent grew larger, writhing joyfully in his dantian. Once it had digested the pill, it retreated to his wrist.

“This… how strange, my birthmark actually ate the ghost?” Yang Nan stood stunned, eyes closed, clearly witnessing the bizarre events within his body. Opening his eyes, he raised his wrist to find the black snake mark had gained new color, appearing more vivid.

He immediately noticed his vision had sharpened, distant objects coming into focus. Bewildered, he recounted the incident to the worried Chiyang, who, after pondering, burst into laughter. Yang Nan asked, “Chiyang, why are you laughing?” Though the ghost was eaten by the snake, the black snake remained—who knew if the ghost would return?

Chiyang shook his head, chuckling, “I laugh at the ghost’s foolishness—she brought about her own demise!”

Yang Nan was confused. “I only wanted to use Grandpa’s method to drive away the ghost, but didn’t expect such a strange outcome. Is the ghost truly gone?” His grandfather had said that with the sages’ scroll for protection, lesser demons could not harm him, which emboldened him to tease the ghost.

Chiyang sighed admiringly, “The old Duke, one of the three Confucian sages, imbued this scroll with his righteousness and orthodox Confucian energy. The sages’ scroll is already extraordinary; with the Duke’s aura, it’s even more formidable. As long as you hold the scroll, even a ghost king with a true form would struggle to harm you quickly. This female ghost was merely a minor yin practitioner who foolishly sought to possess your body, only to be crushed by Confucian righteousness. With your innate trait as a yin warrior, you swallowed her soul pill without hesitation!”

Chiyang’s admiration was palpable, whether for the breadth of Confucian arts or the old Duke’s profound paternal love.

Yang Nan understood the so-called yin warrior trait. In this world, every cultivator bore a mark on their wrist—some were symbols, others images. Except for Confucian disciples, all Buddhist and Daoist practitioners possessed such marks.

He was born with birthmarks on both wrists: his left bore the underworld serpent devouring nine shadows, drawn by a Daoist in his past life; his right displayed a green dragon. Possessing two marks, he diligently studied literature, but never attained the required righteousness to become a Confucian, much to his grandfather’s regret. Though gifted, he could not inherit the family legacy.

To be a Confucian was distinct from being a mere scholar. Confucians could grasp the principles of heaven and earth from the sages’ teachings, cultivating the arts of self-preservation and qi, excelling in governance and leadership. Scholars, on the other hand, were bookish, rote learners—one stood above, the other below.

Previously, Yang Nan had relied on the sages’ scroll to barely enter the Confucian realm; otherwise, he would remain a bookworm.

“Soul pill?” Yang Nan frowned as he put away the scroll. “What is that?”

Chiyang laughed, “It’s a treasure! Cultivators, upon reaching the first stage, condense their spirit into a pure energy sphere in the dantian. This energy is the foundation of their magic and the lifeline of the soul. The Warrior Sect calls it 'warrior soul,' the Magic Sect calls it 'soul pill,' just as Buddhists have relics and monsters have inner cores. At the highest level, the soul pill becomes the avatar or primordial spirit, the purest energy in the world.”

Ordinary people cannot see their own souls; only cultivators, through various techniques, absorb spiritual energy to form a soul. With this energy, their magical abilities flourish.

Yang Nan suddenly understood—this soul pill was the essence of a cultivator’s practice. Though the female ghost’s soul was destroyed, she left behind a pure yin energy, which he had benefited from.

Having swallowed this essence, his eyesight improved, and his body felt lighter. Had he known how to cultivate, he might have advanced to the warrior realm in one leap!

Chiyang saw Yang Nan grasp the concept immediately and admired his intelligence. Yang Nan then frowned, “Since every cultivator has a pure energy sphere, what if someone kills others to seize their pills?”

If it were so easy to become immortal by killing for pills, then simply slaughtering would lead to enlightenment in a hundred years. That seemed odd…

Chiyang shook his head, “Killing for pills is evil, leading straight to the demonic path. With each atrocity, the blood aura thickens, and once lost to the demonic path, there is no salvation. Righteous cultivators rarely do this, but in today’s chaotic world, such things are not uncommon. Cultivators also kill monsters for their pills, monsters devour humans to strengthen themselves, and cannibalism among their own kind is frequent. It’s merely a matter of who has the stronger methods. Yet, at the highest level, soul energy is of little use; only advanced techniques and diligent practice matter.” Chiyang spoke of pill-seizing with clear disdain.

Yang Nan shook his head at such cruel exploitation. He sighed, “I’ve heard that in ancient times, cultivators followed the natural order, avoiding killing. Now, the trend is to rebel against heaven, forcibly taking spiritual energy. It seems both humans and monsters are slaughtering freely. The Way of Heaven is ever-changing, and even cultivators’ beliefs are mutable. But I wonder, can one truly reach enlightenment by following or opposing the heavens?”

Chiyang, aware of Yang Nan’s talent, was unsurprised by his insight. “You can ask your master about such matters once you reach Kunlun.”

Yang Nan nodded. Chiyang took his hand, leading him through the chaotic graveyard. With the ghost dead, the mist had vanished, and the scenery was clear. Chiyang gave a cold laugh, suddenly drawing his sword and stabbing it into a locust tree before a large tomb. The tree flashed with black light and fell to the ground, transforming into a shriveled old man who knelt, begging, “Spare me, immortal! Spare me!” Such a minor spirit, newly formed, was no match for Chiyang. Exposed, he could only plead.

Chiyang sneered, “You tree spirit, how many souls have you devoured here? How many innocents have you harmed? Go to the underworld and beg the Underworld God for mercy!” His Fire Yuan Sword erupted into a sword net, shredding the old man, leaving not a trace of his soul.

Yang Nan was unfazed by this. The tree spirit had aided the ghost, and begging for mercy now was too late. Had he fallen into the ghost’s hands, he would likely have perished as well.

Following Chiyang, Yang Nan soon heard the neighing of horses. His grandfather had arranged for steeds to be prepared here, but the ghost’s mischief had delayed their discovery. Now, two fine horses with full tack stood ready, to Chiyang’s delight.

Provisions and clothing had already been prepared. Yang Nan shed his brocade robe and donned a white scholar’s robe, transforming from a young lord of the Duke’s mansion into a common student. Chiyang produced some disguise medicines, altering Yang Nan’s appearance—his handsome features became those of an ordinary youth.

Yang Nan marveled at Chiyang’s methods, but Chiyang dismissed it. Such techniques were effective in the world, but laughable to cultivators. With spiritual sight, all falsehoods were revealed; disguises could fool only ordinary people.

Though Yang Nan’s previous life had been spent in the city, this was his first journey afar. He felt a subtle excitement for the adventure ahead; his first steps had already encountered demons and ghosts, and the road ahead promised even greater wonders.

Chiyang saw his delight and found it amusing. The two mounted their steeds, galloping out of the woods, disappearing down the main road in a cloud of dust.