Chapter Fifty-Three: The Spirit Immortal

The figure was vague and insubstantial, sometimes coalescing into a form, sometimes dissipating into a swirl of mist. Caught by the mountain wind, it wavered uncertainly, drifting here and there.

Such were the ghosts of the world within the pot.

The first time people discovered a ghost was one deep night, in the world’s largest graveyard. Yet, it could hardly be called a ghost then, but rather a cluster of souls—not even from a single person, but a mass of shadowy spirits exhaled from corpses as they decayed beneath the earth.

Thus, the very first ghost of this world was a patchwork assemblage.

For such a piecemeal ghost, the heavens did not bestow any particular favor, and it was promptly dispersed by a drunken man who swallowed it down in a single gulp.

It was truly a disgrace—even Grandmaster Luo had no time to save it.

Fortuitously, more ghosts soon sprang up in the world within the pot, shooting forth like bamboo after the rain. Most, however, were muddled and formless, little more than drifting fog. At night, they might glow faintly green, revealing their existence.

As the spiritual energy of the world grew thicker, ghosts became more various and bizarre. Yet they remained witless, shapeless things, and dared not show themselves by day, instinctively hiding three feet underground with the earthworms or lurking in the forest thickets among the insects.

To see a ghost required a powerful mind or some special circumstance; only then could the naked eye perceive these amorphous spirits.

Furthermore, those who died possessing deep cultivation had a much higher chance of becoming ghosts with stable forms. Even so, their intelligence was lacking, and the memories of their former lives faded—sometimes their minds were wiped clean as blank paper, though their appearance scarcely changed from when they were alive.

Through his research, Grandmaster Luo found that the root of a ghost’s confusion and witlessness lay in a weakness of spirit. If a person had cultivated both the Solar and Lunar Spirits, there was a chance that, upon death, the memories of their life could be carried over.

A person’s memories are mainly housed in the brain; but if one’s spirit was sufficiently refined to manifest both Solar and Lunar Spirits, those memories could be imprinted upon them, granting a ghost the recollections of its life and, perhaps, the chance to seize a new body and be reborn.

Yet this rebirth by possession remained theoretical—Grandmaster Luo himself could not say whether it was truly possible, for he had never attempted it. He had only once inhabited a simulacrum crafted within the world, which led him to this speculation.

He had not disseminated this method widely, fearing it might bring misfortune to the lesser human tribes within the pot. Instead, he passed down only the orthodox teachings, gathering wisdom from the results and experiences of others’ cultivation.

The collective wisdom of living beings is inexhaustible, especially after each evolutionary leap. With the ever-increasing supply of spiritual energy, the exploration of cultivation progressed daily, myriad schools of thought and practice blossoming in a true age of a hundred schools contending.

But now, the leaders of the old era had passed away, reduced to muddle-headed, wandering spirits. Few came to pay respects at their funerals.

There were many reasons: a strange temperament, the teaching of errant paths that led others to dead ends, or a reclusive life and hidden identity in old age.

Thus, only a few old friends and retainers now arrived to mourn.

Grandmaster Luo fashioned an avatar to descend to the mortal world and attend the funeral.

Low doors draped with white cloth, floral wreaths lined the narrow path. Soft sobs sounded as one entered, and three sticks of incense were offered to send off the soul.

Among the family, only an old woman was present—not the wife nor daughter of the late Sun Master, but a household servant.

The Sun Master had lived three hundred and three years. His wife and children, lacking in talent and cultivation, had all died before him. Though he left many descendants who had made a name for themselves in the world, all believed he had passed away long ago, and thus none knew the bleakness of his final years.

“Thank you,” the old woman said, accepting the condolence money from Grandmaster Luo.

Few friends remained to mourn the old man, and his neighbors had not been close. Local custom dictated that only on the day the coffin was carried to burial would there be a feast; until then, names were simply recorded and those who had paid respects would be notified when the time came.

Today was not the day of burial, so there was no feast for Grandmaster Luo despite his gift.

But the feast would surely take place—the people of this street were warm-hearted and would help the old woman arrange everything.

After offering incense, Grandmaster Luo stepped outside and saw the wandering soul of Sun Master cowering in a cool, shadowed corner by the wall.

He seemed to spot Grandmaster Luo, his murky eyes fixing intently on him.

“Shha…”

He tried to speak, but could only utter meaningless cries.

Grandmaster Luo did not pause, but walked onward.

After a few steps, he reached a temple.

The incense there was sparse; it was called the Martial God Temple.

It had been built with funds raised by Sun Master himself.

In years past, much money had been spent, but because the temple was not especially efficacious, few came to offer incense.

The temple next door, dedicated to the God of Heat, was much more popular; the townsfolk claimed it was truly effective.

Grandmaster Luo, standing before the temple, made no comment.

In truth, the God of Heat worshipped there was none other than Sun Master himself.

Years ago, when Sun Master perfected his Solar Spirit technique, the heavens sent down rain. His Solar Spirit’s presence alone caused the storms to cease, and so the ignorant people honored him as the God of Heat.

Why not call him Sun Master? Because he would not allow it.

As for the Solar Spirit that Sun Master cultivated, it was not the same as Grandmaster Luo’s Solar Spirit, but rather a Spirit of the Mind—a manifestation, not as refined as the Solar or Lunar Spirits of Luo, merely a projection of spirit outward, shaped by the heart and mind.

While Grandmaster Luo had not withheld his teachings, he had only ever outlined the path and left the details for others to develop. This led to a blossoming of myriad approaches.

Of course, whenever Grandmaster Luo succeeded in his own cultivation, he would quietly set things right, passing down the orthodox methods before embarking on his next exploration.

The earlier methods were not erased, but consigned to the sidelines—just as Sun Master’s Solar Spirit technique and his Vacuum Technique had now both become fringe practices.

“Shha!”

The wandering soul of Sun Master had followed him.

“Speak plainly,” Grandmaster Luo said, turning to face him.

“Shha,” came the strange rasp in reply.

“Shha, shha, shha…” Sun Master grew agitated, uttering those meaningless cries one after another. Only Grandmaster Luo could hear them, and their effect was merely to make the Martial God Temple a little colder.

“Enough,” Grandmaster Luo told him.

The wandering soul obeyed. No longer as confused as before, a few cries seemed to clear his eyes, which now held a new lucidity.

He bowed deeply to Grandmaster Luo.

Seeing him thus, Grandmaster Luo felt a surge of emotion. “In years past, you asked me to take you as a disciple. I taught you the Solar Spirit method. That was the cause I planted, and now I reap the effect. It is an ending of sorts. Now, seeing you dead, I came to bid you farewell. But finding you like this, memories of the past flood back, and I cannot bear to leave you. So I will point out a path for you—but I do not know what lies ahead, for I have not walked it myself.”

“This road may be paved with thorns, it may lead straight into hell. Are you prepared to bear it?”

Sun Master’s wandering soul fell to his knees, bowing in solemn gratitude.

“Very well,” said Grandmaster Luo.

With a sweep of his hand, lines of script appeared throughout the Martial God Temple, densely packed and layered, enough to dizzy the mind. At their root was the phrase: Immortal Ghost.