At the edge of the wasteland, the wind and snow were held at bay by a withered, skeletal forest. Behind the trees, a dilapidated silhouette emerged—the abandoned ancient town of Qingshi Ridge.
Once a vital hub connecting the Central Plains to the Northwest Seas, it had long been forsaken by the Three Great Holy Lands after its spiritual veins dried up. Now, it served as a sanctuary for displaced vagabonds and rogue cultivators.
Cang Yaochen walked along the decaying bluestone path, cradling Jiang Li in his arms.
[System Notification] Sensory detection of the "Red Sand Imprint" (subjectively injected by the Host) is intensifying. Pain-Sharing Link: 100%.
Cang Yaochen looked down at the vivid crimson mark on Jiang Li's forehead. "Do you feel any better?" he asked, his voice cold yet low.
"A little," Jiang Li whispered weakly, leaning against his shoulder. Her fingertips lightly brushed the red imprint. "I can sense... something is here."
Cang Yaochen carried her into a derelict apothecary, flicking his sleeve to cast a barrier behind them. As he set Jiang Li down, he remarked, "The Red Sand Imprint is meant to protect you, but even I can no longer trace its true origins. It likely relates to the source of that person."
Knock. Knock-knock.
An untimely knocking echoed through the room—a dry, rhythmic sound like metal striking wood.
Cang Yaochen's eyes turned cold as he subtly raised his sleeve. The rickety wooden door creaked open to reveal a youth carrying a medicine basket.
The boy looked no more than fourteen or fifteen. His skin possessed a sickly, ashen-gray hue, and his right eye was covered by a swatch of pitch-black cloth. Most strikingly, his left arm was a prosthetic limb that hummed with a faint spiritual glow.
"You two... are from 'outside,' aren't you?" The youth showed no fear despite the murderous aura radiating from Cang Yaochen. Instead, he twitched his nose, sniffing the lingering scent of divine blood in the air. "I have herbs that can suppress 'Turbid Qi.' Only two low-grade spirit stones."
Cang Yaochen stared at the boy. Instinct told him the youth carried a familiar scent—the unmistakable aura of a Fragment of the Abyssal Mirror.
"What is your name?" Cang Yaochen asked icily.
"Everyone calls me A-Mu. I'm the only doctor around here." A-Mu stepped into the room. When his gaze flickered over the red imprint on Jiang Li's forehead, the gears in his mechanical left arm ground together in a frantic whirr.
"Red..." A-Mu muttered to himself. "That mark is identical to the symbols in 'that place.'"
"Which place?" Jiang Li struggled to sit up.
"The Guixu Mound beneath this town." A-Mu pointed toward the floor. "Every three years, the Holy Lands of the Central Plains send a batch of 'death row prisoners' here to be buried. I once saw a stone tablet in those pits covered in red marks just like that. They say those marks belong to the... Demon Seed... pinned down by the Buddha himself ten thousand years ago."
Cang Yaochen's pupils contracted sharply.
Ten thousand years ago, he vaguely remembered his True Buddha origin being at its peak; he had personally shattered the source of the Mara Demon. He had always believed the Demon's will had dissipated, but it seemed the so-called "Holy Lands" had not only secretly imprisoned the remnants of the Mara but were using them for some unspeakable agenda.
He looked down at Jiang Li. The Red Sand Imprint on her brow was vibrating in resonance with something deep underground.
"Lead the way."
Cang Yaochen rose, pulling Jiang Li back into his protective embrace. "Take me to the depths."
A-Mu gave a bitter smile. He twisted his mechanical hand and pressed a hidden mechanism on the floor.
"I wouldn't dare refuse, My Lord. I'm just a doctor trying to stay alive. But a word of warning: the things down there... they tend to 'recognize' their masters."
As the floorboards slowly ground apart, a powerful surge of energy erupted from the abyss below.