“Young Master Chen, I’m telling you, whatever you do, don't go near that Black Wind Forest to the east.”

  “In there... there are Immortals haunting the place.”

  Chen Gensheng paused, his hand holding a bowl of murky water mid-air. “Immortals?”

  “You bet!” Shitou’s face was a mess of fear and awe. “Terrifying ones, carrying coffins on their backs.”

  “About a month ago, Erlengzi from the neighboring Wang Village went out at midnight to raid bird nests in Black Wind Forest. He saw them. He said he saw several Immortals drag a stiff, cold body out of a massive coffin, chanting incantations. Then... the dead man just stood up and started walking!” Shitou’s spit flew as he gestured wildly.

  “Since then, people have been vanishing from these parts every few days. No bodies, no tracks. Everyone says they were snatched by the Coffin-Bearers to be refined into... into those walking corpses!”

  Gensheng set the bowl down. “Do these 'Immortals' have a name? Which sect do they belong to?”

  “Who knows?” Shitou shook his head like a rattle. “We mortals don't dare pry. We just know there’s a lot of them, they’re like ghosts, and most folk never cross their path.” He looked at Gensheng kindly. “Young Master, you’re an outsider. Take my advice: stay inside after dark. They don’t usually come to a dirt-poor place like this to snatch people.”

  Gensheng curled his lip but said nothing.

  That night, as Stone Village fell into a deep slumber, a cyan figure slipped out of the village in total silence, heading straight for the pitch-black woods to the east.

  One year, then two. Time flowed like water.

  In the vast wilderness of eastern Qingzhou, two years was but a blink of an eye. But for the rogue cultivators and heretics lurking there, it was long enough for a total upheaval.

  A name—"Alchemist Chen"—had begun to circulate among the cultivators who spent their days with corpses and coffins. They said this Alchemist Chen appeared out of nowhere. His alchemy was miraculous. Where others blew up a furnace once a flight, he operated six arms simultaneously, refining three furnaces at once with a success rate that bordered on the divine.

  The pills he refined were sinister. "Corpse-Nurturing Pills" made of corpse oil and century-old Yin-wood; "Soul-Tempering Pellets" brewed from vengeful spirits and toxic herbs. Their effects were potent, their aftershocks even more so. The coffin-bearing corpse-refiners loved them.

  Slowly, Chen Gensheng had carved out a rock-solid foundation among these light-shunning rogues.

  Deep within the Black Wind Forest, inside a massive subterranean cavern shrouded in natural miasma.

  This was the lair of the largest corpse-cultivator faction in eastern Qingzhou. It wasn't exactly an organized sect, but a pack of like-minded rogues huddling together for warmth. They called themselves the "Pallbearers."

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  In the center of the cavern, Gensheng sat cross-legged. Before him stood the Myriad Insect Cauldron, etched with insectoid patterns and burning with the eerie green glow of Insect-Essence Fire.

  His six arms moved in perfect, fluid coordination. Two controlled the heat beneath the cauldron. Two precisely added grim, Yin-heavy herbs. The final two flicked through complex mudras, guiding the fusion of medicinal power.

  The surrounding corpse-refiners, leaning against their own coffins, had long since grown used to this sight.

  “Alchemist Chen, how are my thirty Corpse-Nurturing Pills coming along?” a hulking brute with a scarred face asked gruffly.

  “What’s the rush?” Gensheng didn't even lift his gaze.

  The brute choked on his words but didn't get angry. Instead, he chuckled. “Can’t blame me. My 'little treasure' has a big appetite lately; it gets hungry fast.”

  Bang!

  The cauldron lids flew off. Three distinct scents of pills, mixed with the stench of decay, filled the air. Gensheng’s six hands moved like lightning, grabbing a handful from each furnace and tossing them into three pre-prepared jade vials.

  “Five hundred low-grade spirit stones. No credit.”

  The brute scurried over, offered the stones, and took the vials as if they were holy relics, scurrying away with a grin. This was Gensheng’s daily life for the past two years. Through his alchemy, he had become the only wealthy man among these destitute corpse-refiners.

  Suddenly, a withered old man in black robes, his face dotted with corpse-spots, approached silently. He carried a massive, black wooden coffin. He was the strongest and most mysterious of the Pallbearers, known to everyone as Old Ghost.

  “You’ve been here two years,” Old Ghost croaked.

  “Mhm.”

  “Your alchemy is good, and you’re ruthless enough. But you’ve never had your own coffin.” Old Ghost’s clouded eyes fixed on Gensheng. “A true Pallbearer cannot be without a coffin. I’ve prepared one for you.”

  He stepped aside to reveal the massive crate on his back. Unlike common coffins, this one was crafted from Sinking Yin-Wood, its surface covered in dense, blood-red runes that radiated an intense sense of misfortune.

  “This is a Corpse-Nurturing Coffin,” Old Ghost stroked the wood with his skeletal hand. “Place a fresh corpse inside, feed it with your essence blood for forty-nine days, and use the secret techniques. You will have a fearless Corpse-Puppet.”

  He paused. “I dug this out of the ruins of an ancient, extinct Corpse Sect in my youth. In all of Qingzhou, there is only this one.”

  Gensheng stood up and walked to the coffin. He reached out a hand and slowly pushed the heavy lid aside. A blast of frigid air hit his face.

  With a thought, the bone-ring on his left hand—crafted from the remains of a Yin-Fire Butterfly—glowed.

  In the next moment, the body of a woman in a white dress appeared, cradled carefully by his six arms.

  Li Simin.

  Two years had passed, but her appearance hadn't changed at all. She still looked as if she were in a peaceful slumber. Her Void-Watching Eyes, which he had pressed back into their sockets long ago, were still translucent, though devoid of light.

  Old Ghost’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of the female corpse. “Top-tier corpse material. A natural spirit body... her soul remains intact even after death, unbothered by resentment. Perfect for refining a Life-Bound Corpse-Puppet.” He gave a raspy chuckle. “You hide things deep, kid.”

  Gensheng ignored him. He focused entirely on lowering Li Simin’s body into the massive coffin. The fit was perfect.

  He slid the lid back into place. Then, he forced out a drop of his Innate Essence Blood and let it fall onto the crimson runes.

  Hum. The coffin shuddered slightly, and the runes ignited with light. Gensheng leaned against the cold wood, feeling a faint, spectral connection forming within. He suddenly felt... a little less lonely.

  Old Ghost watched him, shook his head, and turned to leave. “By the way.” He stopped. “The south isn't peaceful lately. Word is, people from the Great Sects of Linglan Country are heading this way.”