Yi Miao was still startled by the human skull. A multicolored centipede wriggled in and out of it, leaving behind visible bite marks on the bone.
It was clear that these skulls had been gnawed by centipedes, suggesting these were no ordinary creatures.
For the first time, Yi Miao thought about the knowledge of insect cultivation. In traditional Chinese medicine, the remains of insects or plants were used to treat illnesses and save lives, each with its unique function. Even centipedes served as medicinal remedies. A poison like *Jinqianzi*, in small doses, could also save lives—it was all about mastering the right balance. With this method, one could domesticate all manner of insects and plants for human use.
However, nature’s supply of plants and insects couldn’t meet human demand. Thus, cultivation became necessary, including the breeding of insects for healing purposes.
Over time, people discovered that insects could not only heal but also kill. A creature invisible to the naked eye could be an undetectable weapon.
Gradually, the specialized study of insect cultivation emerged. Initially, insect techniques (*Chongshu*) were meant to save lives, with killing being an unintended side effect. Yet, some began exploiting this dark potential, leading to factions within the art. Many noble families still used insect techniques for healing, as recorded in ancient texts, which classified insects according to the Five Elements.
Hairy insects belonged to Wood, feathered to Fire, bare-skinned to Earth, armored to Metal, and scaled to Water. But in the world of insect masters (*Chongshi*), the classifications were different—something Yi Miao wasn’t entirely sure about.
From a broader perspective, humans could also be considered insects. If one disregarded form, even ghosts could be classified as such, differing only in shape and body. The art of insect manipulation extended further into ghost-raising (*Yangguishu*) and even human control (*Yangrenshu*).
It all came down to mastery.
As insect masters pursued darker ambitions, ordinary insects no longer sufficed. They began experimenting—breeding deadlier centipedes or hybridizing them with scorpions, techniques both similar to and distinct from modern biology.
Over time, insect techniques evolved into *Gushu*—the art of venomous worms (*Gu*). These creatures, born from human resentment, represented the pinnacle of insect manipulation. A person might suddenly fall ill and die, the true cause being a hidden *Gu* worm, which would perish with its victim. Such methods were undeniably effective—and terrifying.
Governments throughout history cracked down on these practices, forcing skilled insect masters to flee to remote mountains or foreign lands, where the art continued to evolve in new forms.
In short, the world of insect masters included both benevolent healers and malevolent figures who sought power and wealth through their craft.
Staring at the skull and the wriggling centipede, Yi Miao realized that Gu Rechang had also delved into insect and ghost cultivation. This immature multicolored centipede was clearly an artificial creation.
After some searching, Yi Miao found the tiny centipede inside the skull and burned it with a torch. Relieved that it hadn’t grown into a monstrous threat, he sighed—had it matured, his flesh would’ve been no match for its venom.
Surveying the cave, he found no more centipedes. Apart from the inscriptions on the walls and Gu Rechang’s lingering shadow, nothing seemed out of place.
The cave had been abandoned for a long time.
The insect left behind might have been forgotten in haste—or perhaps it was a failed experiment, deemed unworthy of retrieval.
His attention turned to the stone coffin. Its locking mechanism was deceptively simple—a basic latch with an odd keyhole. Despite trying over twenty methods (each capable of opening the world’s most secure vaults), the coffin remained sealed.
Tapping the coffin, Yi Miao deduced from the hollow sound that a body lay inside—likely long dead, given the cave’s overgrown vines and dust.
The coffin was immovable, firmly anchored to the ground. Clearing away debris, he found five veins of translucent stone extending beneath it, forming an eerie pattern.
Sweat formed on his brow. This was no ordinary burial—this was *Yangshi*, corpse cultivation.
Once the time came, the body inside would reanimate as something far worse than a typical zombie. If only he had explosives, he could’ve blasted the coffin to smithereens, ending the threat outright.
But after exhausting all efforts, the coffin wouldn’t budge.
Wiping sweat from his forehead, Yi Miao consoled himself—the corpse wouldn’t awaken anytime soon. His righteous heart eased slightly.
Yet hunger and thirst soon overtook him. While hunger was bearable, thirst was not. Exiting the cave, he followed the sound of running water and stumbled upon a nest of wild bird eggs. Guiltily, he cracked them open and swallowed them raw.
At the spring, he drank deeply.
Basking in the autumn sun, drowsiness crept over him—until a wild boar burst from the bushes, squealing.
Yi Miao ran, the boar hot on his heels.
“Brother Boar,” he yelled, “what did I ever do to you?”
The boar, of course, didn’t understand. It wasn’t chasing him—it was fleeing something else.
Before Yi Miao could ponder further, a massive black python slithered into view. Its tail lashed out as he clung to a tree branch.
With a yelp, he dropped to the ground and sprinted. Now the formation was clear: boar in front, him in the middle, python behind.
The snake moved unnaturally fast—likely hunting before winter hibernation.
Yi Miao realized it was no ordinary python. Its size suggested artificial breeding.
Perhaps the cave was its den.
No wonder Gu Rechang had left the coffin there—it was a calculated risk.
Just then, he recognized a voice—Zhen Yangzi, the Daoist priest from Three Purities Temple, who had used him as a scout.
With the python charging toward the cave, disaster loomed.
Out of humanity, Yi Miao shouted, “Zhen Yangzi! Cao Qinghua! Get out now!”
A series of screams followed.
Moments later, Zhen Yangzi stumbled out, blood streaming from his side.
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