My Journey to Immortality Begins with Hunting-Chapter 647 – A Sutra in a Time of Chaos, Wolves of the North, The Celestial Transformation - Part 2

Chapter 647 – A Sutra in a Time of Chaos, Wolves of the North, The Celestial Transformation - Part 2

Two days later.

The Huyan Clan found a hidden chamber beneath the house, its entrance sealed with solidified molten iron.

It took all their strength to break through. And inside, they found five steles.

The writing on them was bizarre. At a glance, it scrambled the mind, utterly incomprehensible.

Still, they packed the steles and prepared to leave.

But among them was a man of rare talent, that same scholar-like man from before. While the others were busy, he kept searching and uncovered something more: a second secret chamber, buried beneath the first.

They broke through the second door and found something utterly strange at its heart.

A door, an ancient, heavy wooden door. Weathered, scarred, and unmoving.

“What is this, Big Brother?” the burly man asked.

Huyan Bao didn’t know. But he thought of the figure his mother had spoken of, the Primordial Emperor. That door had to be one of his relics. If so, then it wasn’t just valuable, it was priceless.

“This is the supreme treasure,” he said. “We’re bringing it north.”

He found himself uneasy, thinking back to the gravity in his mother’s final words.

So he unrolled the scroll she had given him, right there in the chamber.

The portrait of the youth emerged again, young, vivid, and ageless.

Everyone looked. Huyan Bao said solemnly, “These treasures...they were left behind by this man. In the past, he wielded unfathomable power. He was also someone the old matriarch once followed. From now on, we revere him as an ancestor. His image will be placed at the very top during every ancestral rite.”

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A month passed.

Everything was ready.

The ships were stocked, the journey planned.

And then, in a single night, the entire Huyan Clan vanished. Only a handful of servants remained, tending the horses.

The old matriarch’s coffin sailed north with them, to be buried on the endless steppe.

The sea rocked gently beneath their ship. Laughter floated up from the cabin below, where the family finally allowed themselves to relax.

Inside, Huyan Bao looked at his concubine lying on the bedding, her face pale from labor.

“You’ve done well,” he said softly.

Then he cradled the newborn boy she had just delivered.

The infant didn’t cry. His eyes were deep, impossibly dark, like black oceans. He stared at Huyan Bao from above with an unsettling, almost regal calm.

So still. So quiet. So strange.

Just as a chill crept into Huyan Bao’s heart, the baby blinked, let out a wail, and began to cry like any ordinary child.

˙·٠✧🐗➶➴🏹✧٠·˙

Early spring. The Imperial Palace, Central Capital.

The corpulent Emperor Ying Mo lounged indulgently, indulging in both women and death.

Outside, a prisoner was executed, his head lopped off cleanly. As the blade fell, the Emperor let out a delighted howl, kicked the palace maid aside, and flopped onto the dragon throne, panting with pleasure.

These prisoners were known as offering convicts.

The Emperor especially enjoyed watching executions while partaking in carnal pleasures. The blood, the death, it thrilled him. Made him feel alive.

He’d been on the throne for eight years now. And he could feel it, his body growing weaker by the day.

A creeping fear gnawed at him. He hadn’t had nearly enough time to enjoy the wealth and splendor of his reign. How could he possibly die?

He wanted to live forever. He wanted to be worshipped by the people of this land for all eternity.

All the women beneath heaven? His. All the treasures of the world? Also his.

Was it not written that all under Heaven belongs to the emperor? Then everything should belong to him.

He was the Emperor. The master of this realm. How could he be mortal?

Ying Mo recalled old legends about the Primordial Emperor, though the details were hazy. There was talk of the west, of strange lands where one might find the secret to immortality.

And right on cue, a favored courtier named Gao Fang, always eager to curry favor, came bearing a tale. With dramatic flair, he spoke of a divine goddess from the west who possessed the Elixir of Immortality. If one were fortunate enough to be greeted by a sacred bird, one could gain audience with this goddess.

Gao Fang swore up and down that the Primordial Emperor himself had once met her. He claimed the first Emperor of the Ying Clan had offered her rare jade discs and dazzling silks, gifts of gold by the ton, and that, in return, he was granted divine knowledge. He even claimed it was because of this meeting that the Central Capital’s central avenue had been renamed Divine Bird Avenue.

Half truth, half fantasy, but Ying Mo ate it up.

Gao Fang had given him hope. In return, Ying Mo showered the man with gold, concubines, silk, and command of an expedition to the west, charged with finding the goddess and bringing back the elixir of eternal life.

Once Gao Fang departed, Ying Mo could no longer sleep, could no longer eat.

Ever since the day he realized that even emperors must die, he had become erratic, cruel, unhinged. He no longer cared for matters of state. His every thought, every breath, was consumed by the dream of immortality.

It wasn’t long before a dark sorcerer appeared at court, claiming that the hearts of pure boys and girls could be used in longevity elixirs.

Ying Mo believed him.

He ordered the Black-Clad Guard to rip the hearts from the children of disgraced officials. He ate them, chased medicine with wine.

Soon, his court was overrun by mystics, frauds, and cultists.

Yet there was one reason why Ying Mo hadn’t dismissed them all as lunatics because behind them loomed a man of real weight, the Grand Heavenly Master.

The Grand Heavenly Master was now 155 years old. His hair snow-white, his body frail, unable even to walk, but his mind was sharp as ever. He spent his days locked in study, delving into esoteric techniques. Every one of those sorcerers? All his disciples.

So Ying Mo followed their advice.

Perhaps it was the only virtue he inherited from past emperors. He never once shortchanged the Ministry of Martial Arts or the Ministry of War. For all his cruelty and lust, Ying Mo understood the value of keeping the generals close. He knew how to reward loyalty.

The army became his claw and fang.

And under his rule, the world, already on its knees, sank into deeper misery.

˙·٠✧🐗➶➴🏹✧٠·˙

Early Spring.

Several of the Eight Pillars had quietly made excuses and left the Central Capital, returning to their ancestral lands to build up their own power bases.

Emperor Ying Mo didn’t care in the slightest. These aristocratic clans were too deeply rooted. He couldn’t touch them anyway. Their absence actually made things easier. With six of the eight gone, he could rule without interference.

Drunk on power, he grew bolder by the day. One morning, on a whim, he left the entire imperial court waiting in the great hall and instead personally set off for the Grand Heavenly Master’s residence, eager to see the legendary Grandmaster of the Dao.

There, he found the ancient Daoist hunched over parchment, frowning as he scribbled strange, indecipherable characters, more like talismans than writing.

Beside him, a brazier blazed with flame. A young disciple fanned it carefully, and wisps of smoke curled through the air, filled with an eerie serenity. The scent was strange: earthy herbs, metallic minerals, and something else, something like blood and flesh.

Ying Mo waddled closer, his bloated frame shifting with effort. He leaned in beside the silver-haired Daoist, whose eyes still held the gleam of youth despite his years.

“Is this the secret to immortality you’re drawing, Grandmaster?” he asked, eyes wide with anticipation.

The Grand Heavenly Master let out a sigh. “Difficult...so very difficult...”

But the Emperor grinned. To him, that sigh was a sign of progress.

“Speak freely. If there’s anything I can do, say the word.”

The old man gestured toward his scribbles.

“Though the world’s spiritual energy has faded, traces remain in metal, stone, and ancient herbs. By refining these, one can extract their lingering essence. That essence could serve as a catalyst, perhaps even unlock new methods.

“Children, untouched by age, harbor the dual energies of Yin and Yang. Newborns, even more so. They still carry the breath of the heavens. All of this...is about drawing strength from others to strengthen oneself.”

Ying Mo's eyes lit up. “If it’s people you need, I have them by the thousands. Everyone under Heaven belongs to me! I can do whatever I want with them!”

The Grand Heavenly Master sighed again. “But the methods are cruel.”

Ying Mo smirked. “To die for me...is their honor.”

They spoke a while longer. The old Daoist handed over a few secret prescriptions and pills, and Ying Mo bowed respectfully before leaving, accompanied by a small entourage of robed mystics.

Once the Emperor had departed, a young Daoist stepped forward from the shadows.

He was the current Junior Heavenly Master, the heir to the daoist court.

The old man asked quietly, “Was it handled?”

The young one nodded. “Don’t worry, Master. That last surviving member of the Nine Flames Tribe has been poisoned. He had to die. He knew too much, and he did too much for us. But...he got his revenge. He can rest now.”

The man they spoke of had been the sole survivor of the Nine Flames Tribe, the same tribe Ying An had wiped out. This survivor had been secretly rescued by the Grand Heavenly Master himself.

The old Daoist had used the man's unnatural strength to infiltrate the palace. Over the years, he had quietly assassinated the final heirs of Ying’an’s bloodline, paving the way for the current degenerate tyrant to seize the throne.

Now that Ying Mo had proven himself even more corrupt than his predecessors, the Grand Heavenly Master finally felt at ease. The pawn had served his purpose and was disposed of.

The Junior Heavenly Master hesitated, then asked, “Master...why now? Why the sudden urgency?”

He was referring to how the Grand Heavenly Master had just openly encouraged the emperor to pursue such vile methods, sacrificing children, infant rituals. These were the hallmarks of a tyrant destined to bring ruin.

As for the talk of lingering spirit energy in herbs and stone...that was all a lie. The Grand Heavenly Master had simply fed the Emperor a story.

The purpose of it all was simple, to let the Emperor plunge the world into chaos.

The Grand Heavenly Master sighed.

“My time is running out. I need the fires of war and rebellion to draw out true heroes, people strong enough to help me unlock the final mystery of the Human Emperor’s Martial Canon.

“That final page...it holds the real secret. Only by deciphering it can I step beyond this era and into the realm of the extraordinary. And the secret to prolonging life lies within it, too.”