Hurry inside—let me teach you how to cultivate.

“Second Master, the true fire of the pill furnace is too fierce; you won’t be able to withstand it.”

“I’ll just add more firewood and simmer it slowly.”

Chen Huangpi was utterly helpless. He’d only lied, saying he was cooking when in fact he was decocting medicine, but who could have foreseen that his Second Master, driven by hunger, would climb straight into the pot as soon as the lid was lifted.

He worried this might affect the efficacy of the medicine.

But Second Master was too stubborn for persuasion.

Unable to change his mind, Chen Huangpi could only let him be. After all, the medicine was meant to be ingested, to take effect inside the body—perhaps simmering the medicine directly into Second Master’s body would work just as well.

At that very moment, outside the kitchen, Old Lin and Zhang Wu, who had concealed their presence to spy, were overwhelmed by terror.

They had already imagined Chen Huangpi and his master as sinister as could be.

But reality had a way of shattering the boundaries of imagination.

“This kid said he’d cook for us—this is what he meant?”

“He’s stewing his own Second Master?”

“And it doesn’t even seem to be his first time.”

“That’s his Second Master—what about his First? Could it be…”

Old Lin and Zhang Wu exchanged silent, fearful thoughts. The more they considered, the more horrifying it became.

The master was peculiar.

The disciple seemed even stranger.

“What do we do?” Old Lin was flustered, completely at a loss. Even with two centuries of cultivation, after encountering countless strange and sinister cultivators, never had he experienced anything like this.

Zhang Wu, equally disoriented, gritted his teeth and sent a message: “Run. We need to get as far away from this master and disciple as possible.”

No sooner had he finished than Zhang Wu silently began retreating.

But he soon realized Old Lin was already moving faster than him.

In the kitchen, Chen Huangpi was still feeding the firewood.

The heat in the room was suffocating; if anyone entered now, the scalding steam would likely peel the skin from their bones.

Yet Chen Huangpi seemed unscathed.

After some time, Chen Huangpi estimated that enough time had passed and called into the pot, “Second Master, are you done?”

There was no reply from inside.

“Second Master?”

“Master?”

Anxious, Chen Huangpi leapt onto the stove and lifted the lid.

But the moment he did, a thick black smoke whooshed out to greet him.

That black smoke bore an uncanny resemblance to the one spewed by the mutated idol, as if it possessed some strange power.

“Oh no, I’ve burned Second Master!”

In the next instant, as if it heard Chen Huangpi’s exclamation, the black smoke enveloped him.

Struck as if by lightning, Chen Huangpi’s eyes rolled back and he toppled headfirst into the scalding cauldron.

Boiling water splashed everywhere before tumbling back into the pot.

In the last moments of his wavering consciousness, only one thought lingered in Chen Huangpi’s mind: “This is bad, I’m about to be burned too.”

Then, with a bang, the lid closed by itself as if moved by an invisible hand.

The firewood, too, seemed to feed itself, as if the entire kitchen had come alive, or was being manipulated by an unseen force.

…

A hazy red moon had climbed halfway up the night sky.

Taking advantage of the moonlight, Old Lin and Zhang Wu, faces lit by identical brass lanterns, cautiously made their way back toward the guest rooms along the path they’d come.

The two had discussed their options at length.

Though escape seemed the only option, where could they run at this point? It was better to regroup with the others and find another way out together—at least then they’d have a fighting chance.

However—

A bizarre voice suddenly sounded in their ears.

“Do you want some Longevity Noodles?”

“Today is Huangpi’s birthday.”

“Huangpi’s Longevity Noodles are delicious.”

A chill ran down their spines; even their immortal bodies, immune to heat and cold, bristled with goosebumps.

It was the white-robed elder!

Run!

Without hesitation, Old Lin and Zhang Wu darted off in opposite directions.

Both were Golden Core adepts, skilled in the arts of escape.

In the blink of an eye, they vanished.

Run—they had to run. The farther, the better.

Old Lin spared no thought for Zhang Wu, nor for the companions left in the guest rooms.

“If I survive, I’ll bring people to raze this cursed temple to the ground!” Old Lin was both terrified and furious.

Strangely, though, after fleeing for some time, nearly reaching the temple’s mountain gate, he realized the white-robed elder hadn’t pursued him.

Had he gone after Zhang Wu instead?

No matter; the gate was just ahead. Escaping was all that mattered. As for the lurking evil—

He could think about that later.

Gritting his teeth, Old Lin forced his depleted Golden Core, cracked from his earlier ordeal with the mutant idol, to its limits, transforming himself into a streak of colorless light, faster than lightning.

In a flash, he burst through the mountain gate.

But—

What greeted him was not the world beyond, but the entrance to the temple once more.

The sign above, which had read “Temple of Pure Immortals,” now bore the words “Temple of Suppressed Immortals.”

In the darkness beyond, the temple loomed, the brass lanterns flickering like yellow eyes.

Towering figures, part god, part demon, stood behind the temple, staring at him with greedy anticipation.

Old Lin let out a desperate, bitter laugh. “Chen Huangpi, you—damn you all…”

Elsewhere, Zhang Wu’s face was contorted with terror.

Before him stood a hunched white figure, holding in his hands bloody, steaming entrails—freshly torn out, it seemed—asking, “Do you want Longevity Noodles? Huangpi’s are delicious!”

With each step the figure took, the lanterns around them snuffed out one by one.

“Senior, please spare me,” Zhang Wu begged. “I truly meant no offense. Please, spare my life. I’ll do anything, serve as your ox or horse—I don’t care.”

But the white-robed elder pressed closer.

“Do you want Longevity Noodles? Huangpi’s are delicious!”

“Senior—” Zhang Wu turned to flee, but every time he turned, the white-robed elder appeared before him again.

This bizarre scene was beyond anything he knew.

It wasn’t any sort of spell.

It felt more like something eldritch.

“Please, spare me…” Zhang Wu pleaded desperately.

But the white-robed elder only repeated his question.

“I—I’ll eat… Senior, I’ll eat, I’ll gladly eat your Longevity Noodles, is that enough?”

Those words seemed to awaken the white-robed elder.

“You’ll eat? You’ll really eat!!!!”

All the brass lanterns were instantly extinguished.

Darkness swallowed the entire Temple of Pure Immortals.

Zhang Wu let out a scream, but before the sound could escape, it was cut short—as if even his cry was swallowed.

Only the sickening sound of chewing followed, and then a satisfied gulp.

“Vitality…”

“Vitality!!!!”

“Hahaha! It’s vitality!!!”

The voice teetered between madness and lucidity, but no matter how one heard it, it carried a chill of utter cruelty and horror.

…

Chen Huangpi felt as if he were dreaming.

He dreamt he had fallen into an iron cauldron.

The cauldron was huge, the water scalding, the fire blazing.

He struggled to climb out, but the cauldron was too big and slippery. He was only eight years old—his arms couldn’t reach the rim. No matter how many times he tried, he couldn’t get out.

If only I were a bit taller, he thought.

At that thought, he seemed to grow a little taller.

Just as he was about to escape the cauldron, the scene shifted.

He found himself in the main hall of the Temple of Pure Immortals.

A Daoist in purple robes stood with his back to him, hunched over, gnawing at something he held.

“Master, why are you in my dream?”

The purple-robed elder shuddered, slowly straightening, his body growing taut, until with a crack, he folded completely in half.

“My disciple! Delicious!”

“Do you want to eat?”

Only now did Chen Huangpi see that in his master’s hands were a string of bloodied entrails and several dull, round golden stones.

“Master, you can’t eat stones!”

He tried to take the stones away, but suddenly he woke up.

Opening his eyes, he found himself sitting on a meditation mat in the main hall. His master in purple robes stood with his back to him, lost in contemplation of three Daoist portraits.

“Master?” Chen Huangpi called tentatively.

The purple-robed elder shuddered and turned around.

Unlike the dream, his hands were empty—no entrails, no stones.

Chen Huangpi breathed a sigh of relief.

Stones would upset your stomach.

“Huangpi! You’ve grown another year—finally nine!”

“Master, you’re mistaken. I’m clearly eight—”

But before he could finish, he felt something strange in his body.

His clothes seemed a size smaller.

Had he really grown a year older?

The purple-robed elder stroked his head, his gaze flickering between madness and clarity.

“I possess three treasures.”

“Essence, energy, spirit.”

“I have attained three things.”

“The law, the art, and the Way.”

Only then did Chen Huangpi realize his master was imparting cultivation methods to him. It seemed the medicine he’d brewed had indeed worked.

“Master, I can’t cultivate…”

He shook his head in disappointment.

“No, you can,” his master insisted.

“Watch closely—this is how an immortal cultivates!”

His master’s eyes shone with a fierce light, filling Chen Huangpi with anticipation.

But before he could begin, the master’s stomach rumbled loudly.

“Slurp…”

“Huangpi, your master is hungry again!”

Chen Huangpi was even more disheartened. “But you just said I could cultivate.”

“Cultivate? You want to cultivate?”

“Good, good! Cultivating makes you grow, and once you grow, you can cultivate.”

The elder clapped in delight, his cloudy eyes gleaming oddly as he eagerly approached Chen Huangpi.

“Come, let your master teach you how to cultivate!”

Without another word, he pulled Chen Huangpi along.

Once outside the main hall, Chen Huangpi realized dawn had already broken.

“Master, where are those other cultivators from yesterday?”

“I don’t know—perhaps they ran off,” the purple-robed elder replied indifferently. Nothing was more important than Huangpi’s cultivation.

Chen Huangpi frowned.

Those cultivators were truly unreliable. They’d made a written agreement—if he led them to the Temple of Pure Immortals, they would pay him handsomely.

Yet now they’d vanished without a word.

Maybe, he thought, it was because he’d fallen asleep last night and forgotten to bring them food, or look after them, and they’d left in frustration.

But even so, they couldn’t just skip out on their debt!

His master was no help either, unable to keep them in check.

“Oh well, my master’s too eccentric to outwit them anyway.”

As these thoughts crossed his mind, he felt a chill in his clothes.

It was that yellowing booklet.

But before he could check it, the purple-robed Daoist led him into the alchemy room.

Inside stood a massive pill furnace, entwined by nine gilded dragons.

Without any visible gesture, the nine dragons seemed to awaken, circling the furnace, each of their open mouths breathing crimson true fire into its heart.

“Huangpi, get in. Your master will teach you how to cultivate!”

With that, the purple-robed elder gave him a push, urging him toward the furnace.