Chapter Thirty-Six

Such a flourishing Ancient Domain of Azure Mystery, in its pursuit of the secret of immortality, became tainted by misfortune, fell into decline, and ultimately shattered into countless fragments, sealed deep within the folds of time and space. Had it not been for the Azure Mystery Dao Master’s accidental entry, this ancient domain would have been utterly forgotten by the world.

“The Forgetting Spring Flower is an ominous thing for the dead. For the living, to touch it is to incur the wrath of heaven. The waters of the River of Forgetting are infused with immense netherworld spirit power—power capable of cleansing corpses, strong enough to resurrect the dead. Rumor has it, in that realm, there is neither life nor death,” the old priest said, taking a deep breath.

“If that’s so, it is truly immortality. Cultivators ascend step by step, but countless are trapped on the stairway. In a world of ten billion souls, fewer than fifty can reach the divine realm. The odds are less than one in a hundred million. And even then, true longevity equal to heaven’s is unattainable; at most, one might live a hundred thousand years,” Chu Tiange responded, his expression enlightened, filled with emotion.

If one consumes the Forgetting Spring Flower, the soul can traverse the Yellow Springs, be cleansed by its power, and achieve an alternative form of immortality—undying and indestructible.

This is indeed an irresistible temptation. All beings are equal—whether mortals or cultivators, anyone can walk this path.

“I understand why the living incur heaven’s wrath, but why is the Forgetting Spring Flower ominous for the dead?” Agudo asked curiously.

The old priest fell silent for a long time. “Perhaps because the River of Yellow Springs carries not just the waters of the River of Forgetting, but also the souls of the dead. The River of Forgetting is truly the final path for the deceased, a gathering of the most heinous sins throughout history. A man who commits five thousand sins becomes a Five-Prison Ghost; a ghost who commits six thousand sins becomes a One-Prison Ghost; nine thousand sins, a Two-Prison Ghost; thirteen thousand sins, a Three-Prison Ghost; nineteen thousand, a Four-Prison Ghost; thirty thousand, the master of the Five Prisons.”

“Ancient texts record that every drop of water in the River of Forgetting represents an extreme evil, a Five-Prison Ghost. It is a wellspring of sin. What’s gathered here is not only evil, but also resentment. Everything here, even this very world, is formed by accumulated sin…”

“Thirty thousand sins make a Five-Prison Master. The Yellow Springs are boundless and vast, far beyond just five prisons. Even those dead who traverse the River of Yellow Springs are instantly devoured by other ghosts of extreme evil. Through lingering obsessions in the mortal world as a medium, they return to the world of the living,” the old priest’s pallor deepened, knowing disaster was imminent.

“My Yellow Springs is the path for the dead—but through the dead as a medium, ghosts return to the mortal world. Is this the ‘return’ you speak of?” Chu Tiange finally grasped the point. He had not expected such terrifying danger hidden within the Yellow Springs.

Throughout the ages, as the path for the dead, how many Five-Prison Ghosts reside in the Yellow Springs? How many prison masters?

Chu Tiange thought again of the Divine Abyss.

To enter the Divine Abyss, the living must walk the Yellow Springs Road, seeking the bridge to immortality, the way to the immortal realm beyond.

Who would not long for immortality?

Yet to this day, none have crossed the Divine Abyss to tread the Yellow Springs.

As the old priest said, to consume the Forgetting Spring Flower is to lose even the soul, devoured entirely by evil spirits.

“So, no matter what, never think of consuming the Forgetting Spring Flower in your dying moments,” the old priest admonished Chu Tiange repeatedly.

“Thank you for telling me,” Chu Tiange nodded, putting away the Forgetting Spring Flower. “But this flower was given to me by Agen.”

“You mean… Brother Agen consumed the Forgetting Spring Flower? His soul journeyed to the banks of the River of Forgetting?” Agudo paled at the words.

The old priest’s expression did not change, as if he had long known. He nodded. “That is why I wish Agen to depart without any lingering attachments. Today is the seventh day after his death; his soul has not yet departed. In life, his greatest affection was for Agudo…”

“So you wish to hold a ghost marriage for Agen, to calm his soul and fulfill his last wish?” Chu Tiange suddenly understood.

A dead person’s lingering obsession can serve as a medium for the Yellow Springs, allowing ghosts to descend. Agen has not yet crossed over, has not stepped onto the Bridge of Forgetting; his soul remains in the tribe. If his wish is fulfilled, even if he proceeds to the Yellow Springs and his soul is devoured by Five-Prison Ghosts, he cannot return to the mortal world.

Chu Tiange speculated that the catastrophe in the Azure Mystery Secret Realm long ago, the terrifying anomaly stronger than the Heavenly Fiend, likely originated from the Yellow Springs.

After all, only in the Yellow Springs could such dreadful spirits exist.

A person who commits five thousand sins becomes a Five-Prison Ghost—by then, at least a formidable fiend. Thirteen thousand makes a Three-Prison Master—a Heavenly Fiend.

In the past, the anomaly surpassed even the Heavenly Fiend. Several divine realm experts were lost in sealing it; the price was steep.

Could there be a connection?

“The old man knows, what I am doing is unfair to you. But I cannot explain further now—I can only say my judgment is true. Agudo, you must be prepared, or else when the Five-Prison Ghost descends, your parents and everyone in the tribe will perish.”

The old priest looked deeply at Agudo, his gaze filled with profound guilt and helplessness.

He knew how unfair this decision was for Agudo, but at this critical moment, he had no other choice.

Were it not for absolute necessity, the old priest would never want to sacrifice Agudo.

Even gods once fell on the Yellow Springs Road, let alone ordinary folk like them.

“I understand—if it brings safety to everyone, I have no complaints,” Agudo nodded quietly, knowing she carried the hope and safety of the entire tribe.

She took a deep breath, burying her fear and unease, leaving only determination. If this journey brought vengeance for Brother Agen, she would willingly become his bride upon return.

“Perhaps it’s not so,” Chu Tiange shook his head, locking eyes with the old priest. “I’ve seen Agen’s soul. Perhaps this Forgetting Spring Flower is his clue to me. I want to know—is there a Forgetting Spring Flower nearby?”

Agen left a bell, left the Forgetting Spring Flower, and shook his head at Chu Tiange. Clearly, it was a hint.

The hint was for Agudo to live, to find the location of the Forgetting Spring Flower.

The old priest insisted on coming, saying he could help. He must know the location.

The Forgetting Spring Flower is a medium for the Yellow Springs. It can guide souls into the Yellow Springs Road, but also scatter its flowers in the mortal world.

The power of the Yellow Springs had long infected the Ancient Domain of Azure Mystery. As the oldest in the Agen Tribe, the old priest surely knew where the flower grew.

Moonlight stretched the shadows of the three.

The old priest took out a cloth bag and several wooden plugs.

The wooden plugs gave off a faint, pleasant fragrance.

“I know where the Yellow Springs Flower is. Near the tribe, there is only one place it could grow. I’ll take you there—be warned, the miasma is thick. Don’t linger. This is miasma wood—put it in your nostrils to ward off the poison.”

Chu Tiange imitated the old priest and Agudo, inserting two wooden plugs into his nostrils.

A cool sensation swept through his body, refreshing him, making even his steps lighter.

The old priest led them along the mountain path toward the summit.

“Ancient texts record that once, there were no anomalies in this world,” the old priest said suddenly.

When did anomalies begin? There are no records, nor any way to trace it. Chu Tiange’s interest was piqued.

“Please, go on,” Chu Tiange said.

The old priest slowly recounted an ancient history.

In that era, humans still lived in primitive ignorance, dwelling in caves where birds, beasts, insects, and fish multiplied. People ate bark, wild fruit, insects…

But one day, a sage discovered strange smoke rising from a branch. No one knew what caused it, but the light within could make trees vanish, releasing an enticing aroma. Birds caught in the light turned blackened, but their meat tasted superb.

Thus, the ancient sage harnessed fire, beginning the gradual departure from barbaric, raw-eating days. People began to use tools to hunt and gather food. Wisdom awakened.

The sage’s discovery birthed the first glimmer of civilization. Humanity began to rise from the lower rungs of the food chain, each person developing their own thoughts.

Until one day, a father and son from a tribe followed their clansmen gathering fruit and hunting. That day, the father tasted a dark flower, and a lurking beast tore off his head, leaving his body exposed to the wild. Though minds were awakening, awareness of life and death remained faint.

Chu Tiange listened intently. Though brutal, it made sense—at that time, thought was still shallow, love and emotion scarce, death evoked no awe, only instinct remained.

The hunters returned, but the son paused, gazing at his dead father, feeling a surge of unfamiliar, complex emotion.

He softly called, “Return.”

The tribal chief would use this word, meaning “come back quickly after hunting.”

But after the son uttered it, the father’s corpse remained, unmoving.

The son’s feelings deepened. In that moment, he grasped the concept of life and death.

His father was gone—no more words, no more blessings or care.

As dusk fell, the tribe gathered around the fire, roasting meat they’d just hunted, celebrating their harvest.

Children played and laughed.

This warm scene stirred waves in the son’s heart.

He wished to slip away from the crowd.

But then, he saw an extra figure among them—a person who should not have been there.

It was his dead father.

The father held his own head, eating with the others, his face pale and blood dripping from his mouth.

It was a roasted beast leg. He tore at it ravenously, swallowing everything in an instant—only for the meat to drop out from the neck below.

He seemed famished—yet could never be sated.

The father noticed his son’s gaze, staring greedily.

The tribe finally sensed something wrong, exchanging uneasy glances as a chill swept through each body, nudging everyone away, bewildered by the father.

No one could believe their eyes. They had seen many dead, but never one who returned.

The son felt no joy, only icy fear.

He asked, “Father, you are dead—how can you speak?”

The father shook his head a few times, as if searching for the best angle to answer.

His eyes radiated unspeakable greed and hunger, as if gazing upon a rare treasure.

The son felt the greedy gaze, and his heart chilled further.

The tribe exchanged glances, faces pale with terror and confusion.

They could not believe—a dead man had returned, eerily holding his own head.

The scene chilled everyone, as if touched by the shadow of death.

The father said, “Son, it is you who created me. You could not believe I was truly dead, kept calling ‘Return,’ so I appeared. Only… now I am so hungry, I must eat meat!”

That night, though the fire burned bright, everyone felt cold, bodies trembling uncontrollably. Something called fear spread through the tribe.

A naive child looked up and asked the chief, “Can you eat meat even if your head falls off?”

That day, screams filled the tribe.

The dead father returned again, gnawing at the tribe with his fallen head.

Someone cried, “That’s ‘Return’! ‘Return’ eats human flesh!”

The father laughed, head in hand: “Humans, are you afraid of me? There will be more and more ‘Return’—as long as you hold me in your hearts, I will exist forever!”

The old priest looked at Chu Tiange and said, “From then on, the word ‘Return’ has been passed down through the ages.”

The origin of ‘Return’ began with the first dead who came back; the fearful sound became the third tone—ghost.

“Afterward, stories of ‘Return’ multiplied. Their traces increased. People feared ghosts returning, so they buried the dead in earth, letting the land block them. Indeed, the number of ghosts decreased, but so long as you hold them in your heart, they will exist forever.”

“So, the flower the father tasted before death was the Forgetting Spring Flower?” Chu Tiange mused.

Within the story, there were many clues—the Forgetting Spring Flower, the son’s obsession, led the Yellow Springs to descend through a medium.

Unsurprisingly, the tribe in the story—all perished at the mouth of the ghost.

The world’s first ghost came from the Yellow Springs.