I have a panel that reduces proficiency.

Chapter 23 Earthly Fiend Ancestral Qi

"Senior brother—"

Zhou Yan turned around.

The morning light was seeping in through the window, gently covering Qi Xueyi's shoulders.

Today she wore a pale yellow shirt with a silver sash around her waist, and a white jade hairpin was inserted diagonally into her hair, which made her face look even whiter, like a young lady from a wealthy family.

But there was still a hint of drowsiness in his eyes, his eyes were downcast, his fingers were twisting the hem of his clothes, and his whole body reeked of a sour and astringent smell of alcohol, clearly indicating that he had not yet woken up from the drunkenness of last night.

As Zhou Yan smelled the familiar aroma of wine, she couldn't help but recall the scene of drinking at Zuixianlou yesterday. At that time, she had one foot on a stool, holding a wine pot and gulping it down. She was drinking "Biling Wine," brewed with Biling rice. It was soft and smooth on the palate, with a sour and astringent taste, but with a faint sweet aftertaste. The disciples of Sanpan Temple all loved this wine, saying that it tasted just like the way they sought the Dao when they were young.

She downed five jugs in one go without changing her expression, leaving her fellow students at the table drunk and passed out on the table.

That wasn't all. While her senior brothers were unconscious, she took off their storage bags and looted all the valuable pills, talismans, and spirit fragments from their waists before tying the empty bags back in their place.

When the senior brothers woke up, they were still dazed. When they went to get some pills to sober up, they opened the bag and looked inside, only to find it was empty.

The group exchanged glances, each understanding the situation—aside from that junior sister, who would dare to act so recklessly?

Zhou Yan snapped out of his daze and was about to say something.

Qi Xueyi spoke first, her voice soft: "Senior brother, I have arranged a position as a steward in the Department of Criminal Justice for you. You no longer need to work under Elder Xuanmu. Then, you can be as prestigious as Li Zhengyuan and Zhang Yuanqi."

Li Zhengyuan and Zhang Yuanqi are both inner disciples of the Sanpan Temple. One of them owns Lingfuxuan, and the other owns Baicaoxuan. The two families are currently locked in a fierce battle over the Frost Spirit Grass from Hanwujian in the northern part of Panshi.

Zhou Yan said, "No need. You should go back now."

Qi Xueyi grew anxious and exclaimed, "Senior Brother!"

The moment she uttered those words, her eyes reddened, and her voice lowered, becoming soft as she said, "I won't drink anymore... I'll compensate those senior brothers for their things. Please don't treat me like this."

Zhou Yan said, "It's not about drinking."

Qi Xueyi was about to say something more: "Master—"

With a flick of his sleeve, Zhou Yan unleashed a surge of gentle spiritual energy, carrying Qi Xueyi towards the door.

She staggered a few steps, and just as she regained her footing, the door slowly closed behind her with a dull thud.

Zhou Yan made a hand seal, and array patterns lit up layer by layer on the door, isolating the inside from the outside.

Qi Xueyi knocked on the door a few times and called out a few times, but her voice gradually faded until it disappeared.

Zhou Yan stood in front of the door for a moment until there was no more sound outside before turning around and walking into the house.

The sinister voice echoed in his mind, saying, "Not going to continue using her? Without her, you wouldn't be able to act so easily."

Zhou Yan continued walking, saying, "No. Going too deep and attracting her father would ultimately ruin your important plans, senior."

The voice scoffed, "How did things go?"

Zhou Yan entered the inner room, made a hand seal, and light flowed from his fingertips, disappearing into the blue bricks beneath his feet.

As the array patterns lit up layer by layer, the blue bricks gradually became transparent, like a piece of glass sinking to the bottom of water, reflecting the scene deep within the earth—dense black energy surged in the earth's veins, like ink entering water, inch by inch devouring the spiritual light deep within.

In the center of that black mist, a finger bone, as white as jade, floated silently, appearing and disappearing like a half-open eye, suspended in the depths of darkness, indifferently gazing upwards.

The voice in my mind suddenly became urgent, saying, "Finally... finally..."

Zhou Yan was silent for a moment, then said, "What will happen if we take that thing away and this foul air overflows?"

The voice said coldly, "What will happen? Even the Dao Ancestor will suffer. The Dao Ancestor used to fill his stomach with grain..."

……

The Dao Ancestor sat beside He, his belly full of rice, and the cut on his hand still hurt.

He looked at the heavy ears of rice, which rustled in the wind.

Suddenly, something came to mind.

He came back to life.

But what if the rice withers again?

What if he gets old, can't run anymore, and can't sweat or bleed anymore?

He cannot rely on He forever.

The Dao Ancestor raised his head and asked Lingguang, "He can come back to life by absorbing my sweat and blood. Can I, like He, soak my own sweat and blood into my body, and grow back when my strength is exhausted?"

The light stopped before him, flickering, and said, "Man is not a grain of rice. The roots of rice are in the soil; where are your roots?"

The Taoist master said, "My roots are also in the soil."

He sank his feet into the soil and stood there for a long time, but nothing grew.

He added, "My roots are within myself."

He wiped the sweat on his arms and rubbed it into his skin.

The sweat dried, but the skin remained skin; the strength hadn't returned.

He brought the cut on his finger to his lips and licked the blood.

Salty.

Swallowing it won't do any good.

Lingguang said, "Spilled water cannot be taken back."

The Dao Ancestor lowered his head.

Sweat has been tried, blood has been tried, but it can't be taken back.

He raised his head and said again, "Then I won't accept my own sweat and blood. Besides grain, is there anything else in the world that can fill the hole?"

A thought flashed through his mind, but he remained silent.

The Daoist Ancestor then went to find him.

He first walked to the pit where he had dug water last time.

The pit is still there, but the bottom has dried up.

He dug a few more times until he reached damp soil. After a while, a small puddle of water slowly seeped out from the bottom of the pit.

He bent down and took a sip.

It's cold, it slides into my stomach, and it's useless.

He then walked to a depression where the soil was a darker color than elsewhere.

He squatted down and dug with his hands. Water slowly seeped out, which was muddier than the water in the pit and tasted earthy.

I swallowed it, and my stomach sank a little; the hole was still there.

He searched one place after another.

Some water is clear, some is murky, some is cool, and some is bitter.

He drank one drink after another, and then sat down and waited.

The water felt cool and astringent as it went down my throat, but nothing came out when it reached my stomach.

He stood up and kept walking.

He dug one hole after another.

Ten, twenty.

The soil was drained from the depression to the dry riverbed.

He couldn't recognize some of the pits—had he been here before? Had he dug this pit before?

He doesn't remember.

He just shoveled, drank, and walked.

One day, he sat by a newly dug pit, with a small puddle of water seeping from the bottom.

He finished drinking and sat there waiting.

The hole was not filled in.

He suddenly felt that something inside him was different.

In the past, when he was waiting, there was always a little voice in his heart saying that there might be another pit next.

But this time, the voice was gone.

He sat there for a long time without getting up.

At that moment, he heard a voice.

The sound came from within his own body, deep and heavy, like soil falling from the edge of a pit.

"Stop looking."

The Dao Ancestor did not move.

The voice said, "How long have you been searching? Ten pits, twenty pits. Has even one of them filled your hole? The sweat you've shed is enough to irrigate a field. The soil has eaten your sweat, and what has it given you in return? A hole."

The Dao Ancestor remained silent.

The voice said, "Go back, while you still know the way back. The rice is still there, the ears of grain are still heavy. Go back, pluck a grain of rice, fill the hole, and lie down. Live one day at a time. When the rice withers, you'll be old, and then you'll die. What's wrong with dying? You don't have to dig a hole, you don't have to walk, you don't have to lie down and drink that useless water."

The Dao Ancestor asked, "Who are you?"

"I was the thing that followed you when you dug your first hole. When you dug your tenth hole, I sat down next to you. When you dug your twentieth hole, I crawled inside you."

"What's your name?"

"My name is Fear."

The Dao Ancestor remained silent.

He said fearfully, "You're afraid. When you dug the first hole, you were searching; when you dug the tenth hole, you were in a hurry; when you dug the twentieth hole, you were gambling. And now? You don't even believe it anymore. But you're still digging. You're not digging for water; you're afraid to stop. If you stop, you might die. You dare not stop. Not daring to stop is fear."

The Taoist Ancestor buried his head in his palms.

His palms were covered in dirt mixed with old blood, and they felt cool against his face.

After a long while, he raised his head and said, "I'm scared."

The fearful voice softened, and said, "Then let's go back."

The Dao Ancestor stood up.

He took a step back in the direction he was heading.

Another step has been taken.

On the third step, he stopped.

He recalled the last time the crops withered.

He was lying in front of the rice plant, not knowing what to do. Then a flash of inspiration told him where the water was.

So he dug in the soil, sweated, and bled, and finally revived the crops, filling the void.

He turned around, his back to the direction he was going back.

He asked fearfully, "What are you doing?"

The Daoist Master said, "I am afraid. But I will not go back."

He continued walking forward.

He walked lightly with each step, but as he walked, he felt that he was no longer afraid of being so light.

Take it easy.

Even a light person can walk.

The fear remains.

With each step he took, he would say a word.

"It's no use."

"You've come all this way, have you found it?"

"The next pit is empty too. The next one. And the next one after that."

The Dao Ancestor heard it.

I heard every single word.

But he didn't stop.

He takes a step for every word he says.

Say one more thing, take one more step.

One day, the Taoist Ancestor went to a place he had never been before.

Nothing grows there; the soil is hard, and it hurts your feet when you step on it.

As it was getting dark, he saw a hole in the ground.

He didn't dig it; the ground cracked open on its own.

There was nothing at the bottom of the pit except a layer of blackened soil that had dried out and cracked.

Just as he was about to leave, he suddenly saw a small piece of something on the dry soil at the bottom of the pit.

It was dark and buried in the earth, with a faint glow in the twilight.

He slid down to the bottom of the pit, dipped his finger in the water, and put it in his mouth.

It was a taste he had never experienced before.

It's not the coolness of the water, nor the sweetness of the rice.

It burned from the tip of my tongue all the way to the root, like something was cracking open in my mouth.

Then the burnt smell rose up, followed by the astringent smell, saltier than sweat, more astringent than blood.

The flavor doesn't linger in your mouth; it travels down, through your throat, and across your chest.

My chest suddenly tightened, as if someone had squeezed it hard.

Then my throat burned, and my mouth felt dry, as if it were stuffed with ashes.

The Dao Ancestor lay on the ground, dry heaving, but nothing came out.

He could only curl up at the bottom of the pit, trembling all over, sweat pouring from his forehead and dripping into the soil.

At that moment, a faint light fell on the edge of the pit. The spiritual light had arrived; it hung before the Dao Ancestor, flickering on and off.

Lingguang said, "This is suffering."

The Dao Ancestor said with difficulty, "How can we make Ku leave?"

Lingguang said, "Rice comes from the grain, but bitterness is something you have to swallow yourself. The grain may wither, but bitterness will not."

The Taoist master had no choice but to curl up there and wait for the suffering to end on its own.

But I can't leave.

It doesn't just slide into your stomach like water, nor does it dissolve into strength like rice.

It remained deep inside, motionless, unchanging, and unmoving.

He didn't know how much time had passed, but the burning sensation in his throat gradually subsided. The bitterness was still there, but he didn't feel as bad anymore.

It's not that the bitterness has faded, it's that he's gotten used to it.

The pain of habit, once it becomes a habit, ceases to be pain.

He pushed himself up and looked down at the dark, gloomy thing.

The hole in his stomach was still there, but suddenly he wasn't afraid anymore.

There was nothing in my ears.

Ju followed him all the way, to this place he had never been before, to the edge of the pit that had split open in the ground, but he didn't go any further.

……

The voice said, "Even the Dao Ancestor encountered only a wisp of Earthly Fiend Ancestral Qi seeping from the depths of the earth, and he was in excruciating pain, nearly perishing there. What you have now is merely ordinary Earthly Fiend Turbid Qi, a far cry from that Ancestral Qi. But those rogue cultivators are not Dao Ancestors; this little bit of turbid Qi is enough to cause them suffering. Moreover, this turbid Qi is also tainted with that thing's aura..."

Zhou Yan stared at the surging black energy within the formation and asked, "What will happen to the Three Plate Temples in a month and a half?"

The voice sneered, saying, "Don't worry? If you do my job well, I'll protect your life. This hut of yours is still useful; I won't let you die so easily."

Zhou Yan lowered his eyelids and said, "Thank you, senior."

……

When Fang Shi woke up, he first drew four talismans to ward off the cold before putting down his brush and walking into the courtyard.

The sun was high in the sky, and the thin winter sunlight lazily spread across the courtyard wall, casting even the shadows of the withered vines with a listless descent.

Fang Shi took a deep breath, the cold air filling his lungs and cleansing away the turbid air accumulated from drawing the talisman.

He stood in the center of the courtyard, raised his hands, and began to perform the seven steps of the spirit summoning ritual.

The same seven steps, but they are no longer the same as before.

The seven steps—purification, concentration, vibration, guidance, stepping, chanting, and acceptance—are interconnected, flowing like water descending or clouds emerging from a mountain peak, forming a seamless whole.

As the ritual progresses, the spiritual energy originates from the dantian, passes through the perineum, ascends along the Du meridian, passes through the Mingmen, Jiaji, and Yuzhen points, reaches the Baihui point, then descends along the Ren meridian, passes through the Yintang and Tanzhong points, and returns to the dantian.

The turbid energy mixed with the spiritual energy travels through the meridians, gently bumping against the meridian walls at each point it passes through, like countless tiny pebbles rolling across a riverbed, stumbling and bumping, yet perfectly grinding away at the blockages.

The fatigue accumulated from drawing talismans gradually loosened in these stumbles, crushed and ground away, turning into sourness, swelling, and warmth, and finally dissolving into the flow of spiritual energy, never to be found again.

When I first started learning, the only way to relieve fatigue was to soak my feet in warm water, which was better than nothing.

Now that I'm more skilled, my kneading and pressing power is several times stronger.

Fang Shi carefully sensed it, and a hint of joy appeared in his eyes.

Performing the seven steps of spirit invocation that day restored at least 20% of the fatigue in my meridians.

He thought to himself: At the previous pace, it would take a full two and a half years to go from the second level of Qi Refining to the third level. Now, with this method to restore the meridians, it can be completed in two years. If we also consider the accumulation of those three hundred and twenty-seven fragments of spirit, we can shorten the time by another six months, so it will only take a year and a half.

And that doesn't even include the fact that Lingfuxuan and Baicaoxuan are still bidding against each other. They bought seven pills today, and tomorrow the price might rise to eight.

If I take advantage of this favorable wind to draw a few more paintings and sell more spirit fragments, I can advance my cultivation time even further.

If we go back a year and a half, that would be one year and four months.

Going back one year and four months, that would be...

Fang Shi's thoughts drifted further and further away, and the corners of his mouth unconsciously curled up.

He suppressed those thoughts and headed north.

He wanted to sell talismans, and he wanted to take advantage of the good price to accumulate as many as possible.

Just as I reached the north end of the street, a familiar, cold shout suddenly came from behind me: "Stop right there!"