Chapter 8
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: The Altar's Rice Worm (1)
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Yuyeon didn't know the detailed geography of the surrounding area.
'In this era, maps are military secrets. To get one, I'd have to raid an official residence or garrison, and I don't have the skills for that.'
But now, she figured she could probably even steal the king's private stash.
In any case, Yuyeon had never left Xifeng County, let alone visited another county or province.
That said, she did have knowledge of the broader layout. To the north of Northern Sea Province lay the ocean, and to the south was Yongning Province.
For reference, to the west was Northwestern Sea Province, and to the east, Northeastern Sea Province. The ancients truly had a knack for naming.
Yuyeon's goal was just as straightforward as those ancient names.
Head north. North was the direction of the sunrise, so following it would keep her on track.
Once she reached the sea, she'd be at the northern tip of the Southern Continent.
From there, whatever happened, happened.
There had to be at least one village along the coast. She'd follow the shoreline east or west until she found one.
Then figure out from there how to reach a major city. Once in a big city, her plan was to board a ship and cross to the Northern Continent.
For reference, crossing to the Northern Continent would land her in Namhae Province. After all, it was to the south of the sea.
By then, any pursuit would likely have died down.
'Not that I'm sure there's pursuit. I did leave a letter behind. Maybe they'll just let it go.'
If not, she'd find some remote mountain valley, hole up for about ten years surviving in the wild, and train on her own as a bonus.
'I don't know how, but if I keep at it, I'll get stronger than I am now. Or maybe there are Immortal Cultivators in Namhae Province too, and I can sneak a peek at their techniques.'
She wasn't worried about cultivation resources.
Thinking back, the dense energy needed to produce spiritual energy was exceedingly rare.
The amount of spiritual energy Immortal Cultivators required was absolutely insufficient from the natural energies that martial artists so prized and devoured. Even sucking it dry until death might yield only a handful.
Yuyeon hadn't truly understood until she gained her Spiritual Root. Why every tale of Immortal Cultivators involved fighting over spirit stones.
'Absorbing natural energy with a Spiritual Root feels like wringing water from dry sand.'
It took filthy amounts of concentration for next to nothing in return.
Thus, they needed energy that was abundant in total volume, pure, and densely packed.
Among things meeting these stringent criteria, the most readily available was Five Elements Spirit Stones—or spirit stones, for short.
These gems held a concentrated essence of one of the five elements' energies, resisted dissipation for easy storage, and allowed effortless extraction when needed.
In the world of Immortal Cultivation, spirit stones served as currency and the foundational resource for practice and arts.
But Yuyeon was the owner of a spirit vessel that auto-generated pure yin energy just by breathing.
'Thinking about it, that old monk was a patient soul. He waited eight whole years for a human spirit vein that produces spiritual energy on its own once captured.'
Or maybe he hadn't known that far. But that was too convenient an assumption.
In any event, Yuyeon's final plan was to hide alone in some mountain, break through at least to the Qi Refining Stage, then wander as a mountain spirit, broadening her horizons.
Of course, the plan went awry from the start with delightfully good fortune. Before reaching the sea, she arrived at a mountain village.
Lacking physical sight, Yuyeon relied instead on her sixteen strands of Divine Sense.
If she had eyesight, she might have simply climbed a peak, scanned the horizon, and spotted the village.
Human settlements always had smoke rising from chimneys at mealtimes. Finding the path there would be another matter, of course.
But for Yuyeon, summiting a peak gained her no extra range. So she'd long abandoned hopes of spotting homes from afar.
Without such aims, she mostly traveled mid-mountain slopes.
Then, by good luck, she stumbled upon a natural path cleared by human feet.
'Follow this, and I'll hit at least an isolated homestead.'
If fortune favored her, maybe a village. She didn't even consider a city; the recent mountains were too numerous and rugged for that.
Yuyeon had no particular reason to seek out human dwellings. Actually, she did. She was hungry.
'I want food. Something warm, with a good chew to it.'
The gnawing hunger and emptiness from early in her flight had intensified. She had money to pay, so petty theft was off the table.
After all, Yuyeon was a great hero following the Great Dao of Namgung, a paragon among paragons, a gentleman among gentlemen. She might waste coin foolishly, but never stingily. For reference, this was also how a young lady spent money.
Swallowing hard in anticipation, Yuyeon followed the path to the village—and found people gathered beneath the sacred tree at its center.
'Just in time for some festival?'
From afar, she noted the lavish spread, laid mats, and folding screens. Clearly a ritual in progress, contrary to expectations.
Poor mountain folk, so no grand ceremony, but everything essential was properly arrayed.
"Properly arrayed" meant the ritual items bore faint traces of energy.
Immortal Cultivators would scoff, but for a mortal village, it was altar-worthy—evidence of a shaman with genuine spiritual potency.
Yuyeon didn't grasp that far, but spotting ritual tools infused with energy for the first time piqued her curiosity.
Maintaining her Concealing Form Formation, she was invisible to the villagers. Boldly, she circled around and approached the altar.
Atop it lay two items on a pristine white cloth: a rod festooned with bells and another draped in long banners.
Both pulsed with a divine aura. Yuyeon focused her Divine Sense to examine them.
The energy concentrated in the bells and banners—a type unfamiliar to her. Guessing its nature, she realized it was Incense Fire Merit.
These were likely wielded by the village Shrine Maiden in her divine dance. Tools communed with gods over ages, absorbing faint human devotion.
Incense Fire Merit was a novel power to Yuyeon, potent in its uniqueness, stirring her interest.
But the energy was too faint and naturally accrued over time. Extracting it for study would ruin the tools.
With conscience and pride intact, Yuyeon refrained. She shifted focus from the items to the rice cakes, like any other villager.
The aromas from the altar made her mouth water.
Cooked food after so long—it already thrilled her. The side dishes weren't numerous, but the pan-fried meat stood out.
Beast meat coated in golden egg batter. Back at Namgung Manor, she wouldn't have glanced twice.
'I won't miss that.'
She vowed it unconsciously, lips moistening, her resolve rivaling her Dao Heart.
Yet the lofty, dignified Great Young Master Yuyeon—as reiterated—had no intent to steal.
She'd simply join when the ritual ended and villagers shared the offerings, slipping in to fill her belly.
'It's a chance to earn merit aiding a traveler. They can't pass it up.'
For the villagers' sake, Yuyeon resolved to wait out the rite and eat together.
'I'll make sure they rack up that merit.'
For reference, it wasn't solely her long-deprived appetite keeping her. She wanted a close look at the ritual.
Unexpectedly, among living Immortal Cultivators, she was exceedingly rare in treading the Ghost Dao.
Ghost Dao wasn't meant for the living.
It was the path for the dead to escape the underworld's laws, akin to how Immortal Cultivators evaded heavenly ascension.
Yet Yuyeon, alive, had somehow embarked. Thus, she was intrigued by other ghosts.
For reference in her own Ghost Dao practice, and to see what entity dwelled in the humble shrine before her.
Soon, a woman resembling the Shrine Maiden approached the altar.
Young, wrinkle-free, perhaps fifteen—just marriageable age.
New to the role, evidently.
Her makeup hardened her expression, masking it somewhat, but Yuyeon saw through.
Curious if shrine servants bore unique auras, Yuyeon checked.
'No difference in her internal energy. Same as anyone.'
No vessel for blessings, and her health was subtly poor despite that.
Not a chronic illness—just temporary malaise from fatigue and mental strain.
Rest would cure it, but her pallor suggested no such luxury. Left unchecked, it'd turn chronic.
She wore the Shrine Maiden's signature layered white robes, voluminous, with wide, trailing sleeves fluttering at the slightest motion—attention-grabbing attire.
Compared to the ragged villagers, though.
Typically, female shamans—Shrine Maidens or mudang—donned far more vibrant garb, aiding rituals multifold.
But not for a rural Shrine Maiden lacking patrons; it was too costly.
Instead, her waist sash boasted colorful embroidery, saving face.
A white cloth draped her head, secured by cord, hair tightly braided for vigorous dance.
Another clue she'd recently inherited the role: the robes were subtly worn, passed down generations.
Scanning the fabric revealed multiple hands' stitches—clear variances in recent repairs, tailored to her frame.
Despite age, it was ornate for a village, managed meticulously enough that mortals overlooked flaws amid dances.
Capital elites might doubt such shabby robes drawing divine response, but Yuyeon's aesthetics deemed them beautiful.
Poor village rite, no lavish music. A drum sufficed, supplemented by clanging metal odds and ends. But bells dominated the din.
The Shrine Maiden shook bells and banners in dance—a charm in its rhythm.
Yuyeon probed for arcane spells or profundities in the motions.
Perhaps her novice skill, but nothing profound emerged. Just a visually pleasing performance.
'Hm, maybe that's plenty.'
Villagers' prayers swelled, tempo quickened, rite cresting.
Yuyeon knew not the spirit invoked nor the rite's aim.
Yet such fervent summons might draw local mountain gods or ancestor ghosts on Ghost Dao—but no response.
Eventually, villagers flagged, only the Shrine Maiden persisting.
Yuyeon concluded no profound meaning in the dance. But what desperation drove this village?
Helping was for those with leisure.
With her own nose to the grindstone, she'd wait out the rite, snag food amid sharing, then be off.
But Yuyeon grew careless.
Her "gaze" was Divine Sense. Scrutinizing the Shrine Maiden meant sustained probing.
Mid-examination of dance and tools, the Maiden's aura shifted.
She stared straight at Yuyeon's position. Before Yuyeon could react, the shaman cried out maniacally.
Yuyeon felt like she'd been struck by lightning from a clear sky.
'If you gaze into the abyss... well, the rest is omitted.'
This principle applied precisely to probing with Divine Sense. Those with keen intuition sensed the observer.
All actions birthed reactions; even Divine Sense's information-gathering followed suit.
Fully reliant on Divine Sense lifelong, Yuyeon overlooked this basic truth.
Moreover, only the old monk had ever reacted to her probes. She assumed anyone but him was safe.
Which held somewhat true.
Plus her Concealing Form Formation—even worst case, no detection.
Also somewhat accurate.
Yet the unforeseen was inevitable, and Yuyeon learned a harsh lesson today.
Fantastic Spirit Summoning Ritual!
I'll show you something amazing!
The village heard the fanfare, but inwardly, she lacked confidence. She'd give her all, but harbored no do-or-die resolve.
Spirit Summoning was perilous. Mortals begging gods—even lavishly—risked wrath. Best case, weakened divinity; worst, divine retribution and death by spirit sickness.
The teacher first proposed it, but perished before pleading.
Cunningly, the killing ghost targeted her first. Bereft, villagers floundered.
Now, Jang Jina acted dutifully. In anger, she'd declared it—like her master.
The orphaned fire-field refugee child became Shrine Maiden's assistant, then successor.
Fortunate: a fake shaman untouched by spirit sickness. No god, no punishment.
Yet her master taught dance, rites—everything—as true heir. Thus, her mimicry passed muster, no mishaps feared.
Failure? Divine indifference. Perfect excuse to flee.
Villagers, facing death or resettlement, would welcome partial success.
She could fake Shrine Maiden elsewhere or join a shaman troupe as assistant, scraping by.
This rite: closing her master's work, final filial farewell.
But mid-dance, trance overtook her. Master's steps flowed unbidden.
Whence the stamina? Villagers exhausted, she danced on alone.
'In spirit-summoning rites, fix solely on the plea. Deviation severs sincerity.'
Master's words resurfaced. Never intending true summoning, she'd pondered her instead—from start to end.
From bewildered flight to fire-field village, "adopted" by master. Bewildered, repulsed by shaman fate.
Lying about fetching water to skip practice, getting drunk alone, losing the jar—punished hauling heavy pots till replacement.
Village wedding feast, first seeing master dance outside altar. Too busy eating to watch front; regretted. Not divine dance, untaught—stolen by eye.
Thus, bells shaken, banners waved amid memories. Thick robes swirled, trapping heat, body aflame. Fever stirred her latent intuition.
Shrine Maiden Jang Jina never knew she had it. Just a vague sense of scrutiny.
Instinctively, she turned toward the unease.
Recalling that night master prepared summoning.
'Teacher, why attempt it? See hope?'
'Foolish child. Dive in first. Paths emerge post-plunge. Sometimes, that's the answer.'
Thus, unhesitating—scarce time anyway—she cried reflexively.