Chapter 26: Submission

The giant serpent had indeed become the nourishing fertilizer for the wild grasses; the Hundred Herbs Staff truly achieved a tremendous victory. Yet, the cave still gushed with spring water, a sign that the matter was not yet concluded.

A guttural roar—something between a dragon and a serpent—echoed through the cavern.

Suddenly, the serpent’s corpse split open with a thunderous crack, and from within burst a one-horned serpent, its entire body covered in golden scales. Beneath its elongated belly, four fleshy tumors dangled grotesquely.

“My thanks,” the one-horned serpent sneered, its ferocious face twisted into a wicked grin as it addressed Chen Jin.

Unfazed by the creature’s arrogance, Chen Jin once again summoned the power of the Hundred Herbs Staff. The staff slipped from his grasp, flying straight for the serpent’s vulnerable seven-inch mark.

The one-horned serpent, sensing danger, made a desperate attempt to escape. But Boyang stood nearby, eyes gleaming with vigilance. He had long since begun chanting an incantation—its length alone a testament to the power of the spell.

As the serpent darted away, Boyang’s spell reached its climax. The stone beneath the serpent’s body suddenly transformed to mire, trapping the creature in sticky mud, rendering it immobile and unable to evade the staff’s impending judgment.

Right on cue, the Hundred Herbs Staff struck, piercing the serpent at its seven-inch mark. Golden scales shattered in a shower, and dark, bluish-black blood oozed forth.

Seeing the poisonous blood spill, Boyang’s face changed dramatically. The untransformed dragon’s blood was lethally toxic; should it mix with the floodwater surging from the cave, it would be a calamity for the lands surrounding Wenma County.

Yet, before disaster could strike, the Hundred Herbs Staff sprouted roots, sinking them into the pool of venomous blood. In moments, every drop was absorbed, none spilling onto the rocks or into the floodwaters.

The one-horned serpent howled in agony, its sinister gaze sweeping over Chen Jin and Boyang, as if to etch their faces into its memory.

Then, as though making a fateful decision, the light faded from its eyes, and the once-radiant golden scales dulled. Death seemed to be overtaking it.

“It’s dragon pearl!” Boyang cried in alarm.

The so-called “dragon pearl” was not the true pearl of a dragon—for only true dragons possessed such a thing—but serpents, ever aspiring to become dragons, would condense a similar energy core from their soul and essence, hoping to present it to the heavens as proof of their transformation when the time came.

Since this one-horned serpent sought to become a flood dragon, it would certainly have forged such a pearl. Yet, it had not spat out its pearl to fight—clearly, it was not carrying it. Now, with its gaze lifeless and spirit fading, the serpent appeared poised to abandon its mortal coil, retreating its soul into the pearl for a chance at resurrection.

“It’s down there,” Chen Jin said, pointing to the gaping, ruined cavern entrance.

As the serpent’s body withered, the stench of the water gushing from the cave grew even fouler—almost as noxious as the serpent’s own blood.

Boyang fixed his gaze on the cave mouth, then reached for his neck, yanking free a tiny, fingernail-sized crimson jade gourd. Originally milky white, the gourd was now inscribed with dense vermilion runes, so intricate that they covered even its base color.

From Xin Yang’s memories, Chen Jin knew this was the Primordial True Breath Gourd, once the treasured possession of Ge Hong, later gifted to Boyang, and said to trace its lineage back to Ge Xuan, one of the Four Great Celestial Masters of Daoism. In the world of cultivation, old relics were not only precious but also powerful, so one could never look down upon a battered magical artifact—who knew if a ragged scrap of cloth might turn out to be the legendary Pangu Banner?

As for the gourd’s powers, Xin Yang’s memories told of its abilities: storage, functioning as a spatial treasure, as well as dispelling evil, transforming energies, dispersing spirits, and capturing souls. The sheer number of runes alone made it clear it boasted far more than these simple uses—especially after passing through Ge Hong’s hands, who could say how many powers he had layered onto it through the years?

Boyang then spat—no, he did not simply spit, but produced a mouthful of golden, sparkling spiritual fluid onto the jade gourd. This “golden nectar and jade dew,” though slightly yellow in hue, was a precious treasure of cultivation—essentially, saliva infused with the world’s primal energies during breath meditation.

But Boyang’s golden nectar contained a trace of his own true essence. Unlike the primal energy stored in the dantian, true essence resided in the heart, lungs, and other organs—a resource only possessed by those who had transcended ordinary meditation and opened the five viscera to nourish the five spirits, the crucial step toward manifesting the “yang spirit.”

Thus, this mouthful of golden nectar carried a sliver of Boyang’s own future path to immortality.

No sooner had Boyang spat the golden nectar than the Hundred Herbs Staff, still pinning the serpent at its vulnerable spot, underwent a sudden transformation. It swelled rapidly, sprouting more roots from its base, which in an instant enveloped the serpent.

The serpent’s body shriveled at once, and as it collapsed, the Hundred Herbs Staff grew ever larger—its trunk thickening, branches and leaves unfurling, roots plunging deeper, shattering the stone beneath Chen Jin and Boyang’s feet, filling the cavern with its tangled mass.

The once-gushing spring came to an abrupt halt—not simply blocked, but wholly absorbed by the staff’s roots.

Fed by torrents of unwilling springwater, the Hundred Herbs Staff soared skyward, transforming into a centuries-old, towering banyan tree. Its trunk pushed Chen Jin and Boyang off the mountaintop, forcing them to find another vantage point to gape in astonishment.

The banyan’s great canopy spread across the entire peak, its roots digging into the earth like coiling dragons.

A thunderous roar rumbled from deep underground.

Following the sound, Chen Jin saw a slab of stone a hundred steps to the right of the banyan split open. Hundreds of roots emerged, cradling a rough, transparent orb as they drew it up from the earth.

The orb, about the size of a human eyeball, emitted a series of anguished, serpentine roars—it was unmistakably the “dragon pearl” of the one-horned serpent.

The roots carried the pearl to the crown of the great banyan.

Then, before the stunned eyes of Chen Jin and Boyang, the banyan tree began to shrink, reverting to the form of the Hundred Herbs Staff—now topped with the rough, transparent orb.

The one-horned serpent had finally been subdued.

Yet, though the flash floods had ceased, the torrential rain still blanketed Wenma County. If such downpours continued, the floods would surely return—this time, even more violently.