28. Silhouettes Flickering Like Candlelight

Scripture Repository Pavilion—a place of utter stillness.

Chen Huangpi stood to one side, facing the section of the pavilion that had vanished, half-swallowed by darkness.

The brass oil lamp hung at his waist.

One man, one lamp—both felt a chill crawling up their spines, a deep unease suffusing every inch of their beings.

Earlier, even before entering, the brass oil lamp had mentioned it—many Daoists had died near the Scripture Repository Pavilion.

Because of that, malevolent entities abounded.

Chen Huangpi knew: those entities had once been his master’s outer disciples, brought from the Grand Qian Immortal Dynasty to the Ten-Thousand Mountains. Each had cultivated terrifying powers.

They could create gods with their arts, or with a flick of their dusters, pulverize divine beings into dust.

The malevolence that would arise from Daoists of such cultivation must surely be dreadful.

And yet, before entering the pavilion, Chen Huangpi and the brass oil lamp had scouted the area.

They’d seen no trace of any malevolent presence.

From outside, they could see the pavilion’s interior, split in two by a sword strike.

If not for the agonizing pain he felt from the sword’s aura at the break, he’d have climbed in long ago.

Even so, peering in from outside, he’d seen none of the malevolent entities within.

So, reassured, Chen Huangpi and the brass oil lamp entered the Scripture Repository Pavilion.

Yet once inside, he discovered that while one could see in from the outside, from within there was only a cataract, a curtain of darkness, beyond which nothing could be seen.

Terrifying eyes were hidden in that darkness.

Chen Huangpi gazed at them.

They gazed back at him.

He stood in the lamplight; they remained unseen in the gloom.

“Chen Huangpi, what now?” The brass oil lamp transmitted its voice cautiously. “Something's wrong with those malevolent entities. Should we stay or go? You decide.”

It vaguely sensed something out of the ordinary here.

Even the malevolent entities felt changed.

But why, it could not guess.

Could it be the work of that being who split the pavilion in two?

Chen Huangpi stared into the darkness. After a moment’s hesitation, his mind was made up.

“Ignore them. Grab a few medical texts and get out.”

Without further concern for the entities, Chen Huangpi strode straight to a nearby bookshelf.

Books crowded the shelves, but in complete disarray.

As if someone had searched in haste, with no time to put things in order.

“Huang Er, help me search,” Chen Huangpi said, stretching out his hand to take a book.

It was a sutra—the Nine Chapters of the Mysterious Yellow Dao Scripture.

“I’ve read this one; it’s not a medical text.”

He put it back. The Temple of Pure Immortals held many Daoist scriptures.

Reciting them calmed the mind, curbed arrogance and impatience.

They imparted literacy and understanding.

But none contained any cultivation methods.

For, when his master was lucid, he’d forbidden him from cultivating.

“Slaughter Sword Technique?”

Chen Huangpi’s eyes lit up. If this was a cultivation method, he would take it with him.

But as soon as he opened it, he was shocked to find every page was blank.

“How strange—there’s a title, but no content. How is one supposed to cultivate this?”

He pulled out another method.

This one was called the Feathered Transformation Divine Canon.

It too was blank.

Baffled, Chen Huangpi leafed through book after book.

Moments later, he was stunned.

Every book on the shelf before him, except for a few Daoist scriptures, was completely blank.

And those few that had words were ones he’d already read.

“Why are all cultivation methods devoid of text? Has someone deliberately erased them, or is it because I don’t have an Ascension Token, so I’m not allowed to see?”

Unable to figure it out, Chen Huangpi called out, “Huang Er, is it the same on your side?”

“Don’t even mention it—not a single word!” The brass oil lamp sprouted slender legs and sixteen arms, each hand gripping a book, and hurried over.

The books were flung to the floor.

“I’ve looked for ages—from every angle, even between the pages—there’s not a single character.”

“Cultivation methods are all blank, pill recipes too, as are forging techniques, and even the books on spirit field cultivation and rice seeds are empty.”

“Look, only these few have writing, and even then, more than half are blank.”

Chen Huangpi picked up a few at random.

Still just Daoist scriptures.

The upper halves discussed principles, while the lower halves addressed cultivation.

But the cultivation sections were utterly devoid of words.

“Someone must have deliberately erased the text.”

The brass oil lamp speculated maliciously, “It must be the abbot’s doing. If you haven’t cultivated, he can’t eat you even if he wants to. But if he teaches you to cultivate—heaven forbid!”

“No, it can’t be,” Chen Huangpi immediately rejected the idea. “If my master didn’t want me to cultivate, why would he pass on any teachings at all?”

“Because they’re evil arts!”

“You used to be impervious to water and fire, tough as leather, even harder than me.”

“But now you fear pain—don’t you get it?”

The brass oil lamp was convinced its guess was right.

Only this fool Chen Huangpi, endlessly loyal to his master, remained oblivious.

Irritated, Chen Huangpi retorted, “If that were true, why didn’t my master teach me these evil arts before?”

“That was then, this is now,” the brass oil lamp said, leaping onto Chen Huangpi’s head. “Back then, the abbot still patrolled the mountains. Now he’s lost his mind. Does he still patrol?”

Chen Huangpi replied, “I’m grown; I can patrol now.”

“If he didn’t want me to cultivate, why did he always answer my questions about cultivation?”

“That…” The brass oil lamp was stumped, forced to concede, “Alright, you have a point. Perhaps it really wasn’t the abbot.”

“What about medical texts?”

“Haven’t seen any.” The brass oil lamp shook its head. “I doubt there are any here. What cultivator needs medical texts? If they fall ill, a single pill cures all ills.”

“Did you see any pill recipes?” Chen Huangpi had never refined a pill himself—

But he’d often been refined.

If he had a recipe, he’d go back and try his hand at it immediately.

“None. Not a single word.”

Though he’d expected as much, Chen Huangpi still felt a pang of disappointment.

A single pill, a cure for all diseases.

If he could give one to his master, wouldn’t he cure his master’s madness at once?

Seeing his dejection, the brass oil lamp tried to comfort him, “Don’t be upset; look on the bright side. We nearly died to that demon tree, got mocked by two watchdogs, but at least we came here for nothing, right?”

Chen Huangpi managed a weak smile, “Thanks, Huang Er. Even now, you try to cheer me up.”

The brass oil lamp froze.

For a moment, it felt a wave of guilt.

“Boss, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It was my fault.”

Chen Huangpi shook his head. “It’s alright. I don’t mind.”

As he spoke, he activated the Dog-Handling Scripture,

Transforming the brass oil lamp into a watchdog.

“Chen, are you serious?!”

“Stupid lamp, you started it with your snide remarks!”

Their eyes met—man and dog, glaring at each other.

The next instant,

A strange sound suddenly rang out.

Swish, swish—like the flipping of pages.

The scent of ink began to permeate the air.

Chen Huangpi turned his head.

Unnoticed, the area of darkness where half the pavilion had vanished was creeping toward them.

The sound and the scent wafted from within.

“Huang Er, do you see that?”

Chen Huangpi swallowed with difficulty, instinctively stepping back.

“Boss, I’m getting scared now,” the brass oil lamp’s four legs trembled.

Chen Huangpi’s senses were mortal.

Only the Dog-Handling Scripture’s bond heightened his perception.

But the lamp was different.

It was not human; its lamp oil could open the third eye.

And these were its own eyes—no malevolent entity, save the abbot, had ever escaped them.

No—its real eyes!

At this moment,

The brass oil lamp saw, lurking within that darkness, one shadowy figure after another—some human, some ghostly, all grotesque and contorted.

Those forms had been there from the beginning.

But until now, they had simply watched in silence from the gloom.

Now, however, every one of them was reaching out, pushing the curtain of darkness toward the two of them.

It was as if they were pushing a wall.

Chen Huangpi could only sense their eyes,

But he could see the darkness moving.

The bookshelf nearest was silently swallowed up.

“Run!”

Without thinking, Chen Huangpi scooped up the brass oil lamp and bolted.

The lamp shrieked, “Put me down! I run faster—let me carry you!”

Man and dog—instantly close again, their earlier tension gone without a trace.

Chen Huangpi mounted the lamp.

Its speed was astonishing, like a bolt of lightning.

In a blink, they reached the entrance.

The pavilion’s doors stood open; on the threshold, two Di-Ting offspring, shaped like stone statues, crouched.

But in the next moment,

The lamp’s four legs crossed the door, but before they touched the ground—

The scene shifted abruptly.

With a thud,

The lamp, carrying Chen Huangpi, leapt right back into the pavilion.

Before them: a waterfall of darkness.

The air was thick with the smell of ink and the rustling of pages.

Chen Huangpi’s face turned pale. “Huang Er, why did you bring me back?”

“You think I wanted to?” The lamp’s terror was palpable. “It’s those malevolent entities—they want to keep us. They won’t let us go.”

As it spoke, the lamp gritted its teeth, carrying Chen Huangpi toward the door again.

But the result was the same.

They ran out—only to find themselves back inside the pavilion.

“Gold Horn, Silver Horn, stop playing dead! The malevolent entities are up to something!” the lamp shouted, spewing a jet of true flame toward the door.

But peculiarly,

As soon as the flame shot through the entrance,

It came rushing back at Chen Huangpi from outside.

“Dodge! I can’t control it!”

The lamp tried to retract the flame, but once it crossed the threshold, it was no longer under its command.

With a whoosh,

In a split second, Chen Huangpi was engulfed in fire.

“Chen Huangpi! Chen Huangpi!”

“I’m fine.”

He shook his head and patted out the flames on his robe.

The brass oil lamp let out a sigh of relief.

“As long as you’re unharmed. I was afraid your senses would be too sharp now, and your body no longer impervious to water and fire.”

It had been scared out of its wits.

If Chen Huangpi had been hurt, never mind what the abbot would do—it could never forgive itself.

But Chen Huangpi paid no heed to the lamp’s feelings.

All his attention was fixed on the advancing darkness.

In just those few moments,

Much of the pavilion’s collection had already been swallowed.

The darkness was only a few yards away.

They couldn’t leave.

They couldn’t reach anyone outside.

There was only one option left: fight.

Chen Huangpi gritted his teeth and unleashed a stroke of the Demon-Slaying Sword Qi.

This sword aura carried the will to break evil and exorcise demons,

Even tinged with a trace of black smoke.

But as soon as it struck the darkness, it immediately came slashing back from the doorway.

Chen Huangpi shattered it with a punch.

The wisp of black smoke burrowed back into his body.

“My sword qi can even wound the demon tree—why does nothing happen to this?”

Unwilling to give up, he formed his fingers into a sword, and the returning sword aura exploded around him, circling him once before lashing out at the darkness again.

But after a few cycles,

Chen Huangpi gave up.

He wore a bitter smile. “Huang Er, can’t you do something useful for once…”