Night fell thick and heavy over Jiangcheng University's medical center.
The daytime noise had faded, leaving behind nothing but the sharp sting of disinfectant and a suffocating silence. Beneath the slope behind the hospital sat the basement morgue—Level B1—normally visited only by a sleepy night guard and the dead.
Jiang Che slipped past the surveillance cameras like drifting smoke, descending into the underground corridor without a sound.
"Feel that?" Laozi's voice echoed inside his mind, amused. "There's a sweet, metallic tang mixed into this yin energy. Blood refinement. Some little Daoist punk is trying to use the morgue's extreme yin field to force-refine a 'Hundred-Rot Pill' and break through his bottleneck."
Jiang Che slowed his breathing. His dual pupils shimmered faintly gold. At the far end of the long hallway, black-purple vapor leaked through a cracked door like toxic fog.
He pushed open the heavy fire door.
The room was dark except for pale moonlight filtering through a high vent. In the center of the morgue, a corpse draped in a white sheet floated eerily in midair. Three oil lamps the size of mung beans formed a triangle beneath it—their flames flickered cold and green, offering no warmth at all.
A young man in a black hoodie sat cross-legged on the floor, a bagua symbol printed across his back. His hands formed intricate seals while he muttered incantations under his breath.
With each chant, the corpse's mouth opened wider… until a blood-red sphere the size of a pigeon egg slid slowly out. Black veins pulsed across its surface.
The Corpse Core.
"Who's there?!"
The young man's eyes snapped open—sharp and vicious. With a flick of his wrist, three willow-leaf throwing knives etched with runes shot toward Jiang Che's throat.
Jiang Che shifted his foot slightly—Shrinking Earth to a Step activated instantly. His body slid sideways three feet. The knives slammed into the wall behind him, buried to the hilt.
"A fellow cultivator?" the hoodie-clad youth rose slowly, eyes locked on him. "When did someone like you show up in Jiangcheng? I've spent forty-nine days refining this core. You trying to steal it? You've got a death wish."
"Stuff like that—hurting others just to boost yourself—only builds bad karma," Jiang Che said coldly, stepping forward instead of back.
"Then die!"
The youth formed a sword seal. The floating corpse's eyes snapped open. Its fingernails grew three inches long in an instant as it lunged forward, reeking of rot.
"Corpse refinement?" Jiang Che's eyes hardened. "Ancestor, how do I deal with this?"
"Afraid of a walking bag of meat?" Laozi scoffed. "You've got a Daoist Sacred Body—evil can't touch you. Use Thunder Palm and smash it to pieces!"
Jiang Che inhaled deeply, drawing qi down into his dantian. Innate energy surged through his meridians into his right palm. Blue arcs of electricity flickered across his hand, crackling in the air.
"Break!"
He twisted his waist and drove his palm straight into the charging corpse's chest.
BOOM!
The corpse—hardened by secret techniques and tougher than iron—flew backward like a shredded sack. A gaping hole exploded open in its chest, black rotten blood splattering across the floor.
"Pfft—!"
The young man spat out a mouthful of blood as backlash slammed into him. His face turned pale with shock.
"Palm thunder? Are you from Dragon Tiger Mountain? No… their lightning arts aren't this pure!"
Realizing he was outmatched, he feinted and lunged toward the floating Corpse Core.
"Since you're here," Jiang Che said calmly, "leave the pill—and yourself—behind."
His fingers curled into a claw. With a pull through the air, a powerful suction yanked the blood-red core straight into his palm.
"My pill!" the youth roared, eyes bloodshot. He pulled out a stack of black talismans, ready to fight to the death.
"Freeze."
Jiang Che spoke a single word. His hand formed a subtle seal.
The air instantly turned heavy. The youth felt as if mountains had crashed onto his shoulders. No matter how hard he struggled, he couldn't even twitch a finger.
"D-Daoist true speech…?" he whispered, despair flooding his face. Techniques like this only existed in ancient texts.
Jiang Che walked closer, finally getting a clear look at him—barely in his twenties. There was cruelty in his gaze, but not the bloodthirst of a killer.
"Whose corpse is that?" Jiang Che asked.
"A nameless body from Central Hospital," the youth answered through gritted teeth. "Signed for donation. I only borrowed the corpse qi—I didn't kill anyone! My name is Xuan Xuanzi… the last disciple of Qingyun Temple. Spiritual energy is drying up. If I don't take shortcuts, my sect's lineage dies with me."
"The crooked path is still crooked," Jiang Che said, looking at the red core in his hand.
Inside his mind, Laozi clicked his tongue. "Too filthy to eat directly. But the extreme yin energy inside? Perfect to balance the pure yin in that Shen girl. Keep it. I'll teach you a purification method—turn corruption into spirit. You'll hit Qi Refinement Level Two tonight."
Jiang Che pocketed the core and casually released the immobilization spell.
"Get lost," he said flatly. "If I catch you playing with corpses again, I'll cripple your cultivation."
Xuan Xuanzi froze, staring at Jiang Che's back—like watching a living god. Suddenly, he dropped to his knees and slammed his head against the floor three times.
"Senior is right! I'm willing to follow you—just show me the proper path!"
He could tell—this young man wielded true Daoist immortal arts.
Jiang Che paused. He actually needed someone local to run errands—and this half-trained Daoist at least knew the underground scene.
"Good timing," Jiang Che said. "The Shen family's looking for some old relics. One is the fang of a deceased monk. Since you're local, you should know the channels. Handle it well—I'll give you an orthodox cultivation method."
Xuan Xuanzi's eyes lit up. "Leave it to me! The late abbot of Wolong Temple knew my master. There really is a Buddha-tooth relic. I'll go investigate tonight!"
After everything was settled, Jiang Che returned to the dorm rooftop and sat cross-legged beneath the open sky.
He opened his palm. The blood-red Corpse Core hovered above it. Following Laozi's instructions, he shaped his qi into a golden furnace around it.
"Refine."
Black impurities peeled away, turning to ash. The violent energy softened, flowing like warm water.
Power surged into his dantian. What had once been a narrow stream of qi expanded rapidly—swelling into a roaring river.
Above him, clouds parted. The Big Dipper burned brighter, threads of starlight descending into the crown of his head.
Crack.
A sound only he could hear—the shattering of a bottleneck.
He opened his eyes slowly. Golden light flickered deep within his pupils.
Qi Refinement — Level Two: Achieved.
Now his vision pierced the night, able to see the veins of leaves a thousand meters away. His spiritual sense spread outward—every movement within a hundred meters lay under his awareness.
He checked his phone. One unread message.
Shen Qingqiu:
"Mr. Jiang, we've located the monk's fang—but something's gone wrong at Wolong Temple. I'll pick you up at the school gate tomorrow morning. It's urgent. Please come."
Jiang Che slipped his phone away and watched the first hint of dawn glow red along the horizon. A faint smile tugged at his lips.
"Looks like Jiangcheng runs deeper—and dirtier—than I thought."