My Portable Spirit Farm: Rise of the Humble Servant

Chapter 217: Old Ghost’s Body Seizure

It was just like before. The shimmering barrier devoured the bead of essence blood. Violent ripples tore across the shield’s surface before it silently split down the middle, creating a rift just wide enough for one person. A blast of profound, sterile cold rolled out from the gap.

Han Feiyu shuddered, his fingers spasming. But with his sister’s survival on the line, he gritted his teeth and stepped through.

The freezing air instantly swallowed him, but he ignored the chill. His eyes locked onto the black Storage Ring resting on Han Liren’s left index finger. That was the target. The singular key to his survival.

He reached out, his fingers stretching toward the band. Just as his fingertips brushed the cold metal…

The trap sprang.

A blinding, eye-searing emerald green light erupted through the sterile chamber! It was a hundred, a thousand times more intense than the tomb’s previous gentle glow. The accumulated light of every jade slab and night pearl detonated at once.

The smooth jadeite floor beneath his feet came alive. Countless intricate silver runes, glinting with a cold metallic sheen, swarmed from the depths of the stone. Like living vipers, they coiled around Han Feiyu’s ankles and calves, slithering upward at an impossible speed!

Han Feiyu stiffened. The dead calm on his face shattered, replaced by absolute, primal terror. He tried to thrash, to retreat, to trigger his own Self-Destruction—but he was already too late.

The silvery-white runes didn’t just bind his flesh. Like countless icy steel needles, they viciously plunged into his Meridians and Dantian, completely shattering and freezing the meager trace of true essence he had just mustered.

He couldn’t even blink. Only his terrified mind continued to race as the bone-piercing cold and the stench of death closed in.

The last thing Han Feiyu ever saw was the “benevolent” corpse resting on the cold jade bed.

Those tightly sealed eyelids violently snapped open! Within the shriveled sockets, there were no whites or pupils—only two leaping, bone-chilling clusters of deep green hellfire.

Simultaneously, a ghastly, heart-stopping green light spewed from Han Liren’s slack jaw. The overwhelming emerald radiance that had flooded the tomb suddenly reversed, violently pulled backward as if drawn by a massive vortex. Like a hundred rivers rushing to the sea, the light surged back into the old ghost’s flaming eyes and gaping maw!

In the next instant, boundless soul power condensed into a searing beam of green light. Ignoring the physical distance, it shot from the center of Han Liren’s brow like an arrow from a ballista, piercing cleanly into the forehead of the paralyzed Han Feiyu.

The entire process was blindingly fast.

From the eruption of the runes to the invasion of his mind, barely a single breath had passed. Han Feiyu’s body violently convulsed. The spark of his own consciousness guttered out like a candle in a hurricane. In the final fraction of a second before his soul was completely annihilated, a single, turbid tear slid silently down his cheek.

A Body Seizure?! Chen Ping’s pupils shrank to pinpricks. Despite his extreme caution, witnessing this grotesque, terrifying violation firsthand sent a shockwave through his mind.

This wasn’t a peaceful resting place. It was a meticulously crafted, centuries-old Body Seizure trap! The Han family ancestor, Han Liren, was never completely dead. He had simply been lying in wait for a descendant with the direct bloodline and passable talent to deliver themselves to his doorstep.

And Han Feiyu just happened to be the most talented scion of the current generation. That explained the “dream visitation.” That explained why only a Han descendant could bypass the bloodline locks.

All the puzzle pieces slammed into place.

Chen Ping’s gaze sharpened into a bone-scraping knife. He wanted nothing more than to butcher this old ghost on the spot. What absolute bullshit. The ancestor had dangled a pittance of inheritance just to lure his own flesh and blood here to steal their body.

Truthfully, the Han family’s morbid internal drama was none of his business. But now, he was forced to make it his business. He had exhausted his efforts, meticulously planned, and patiently waited to harvest the final spoils of this tomb as the ultimate hunter. And now, some ancient parasite had crawled out of the woodwork to steal his hard-earned loot?

Absolutely unacceptable. In that instant, Chen Ping’s mind was made up. To hell with this “venerable ancestor.” Today, he was going to slaughter a legend!

The very millisecond the green light pierced Han Feiyu’s brow, Chen Ping moved. No hesitation.

The sword case on his back erupted with a clear, murderous hum. All forty-nine mother-child flying swords shot out like a swarm of enraged hornets! It was the first time he had unleashed the full set. The blades crisscrossed and spiraled, instantly coalescing into a massive, high-speed drill of blinding cold light.

Howling through the air with the devastating force of a thunderbolt, the churning vortex of blades slammed toward the newly possessed vessel!

He had to strike the exact moment the Body Seizure finished—when the ancient soul and the new flesh were still rejecting each other and the ghost’s power was unstable. He had to annihilate him instantly. If he let this old monster fully acclimate to the vessel, the fight would turn into a nightmare.

Yet, facing a terrifying sword formation perfectly capable of shredding an ordinary mid-Foundation Establishment cultivator… the possessed Han Feiyu merely lifted his eyelids.

Deep within his gaze, the residual green flames of the soul-transfer lingered, but they were overpowered by an ancient, icy indifference. It was the gaze of a being who had weathered centuries, looking down upon all living things as mere ants.

He didn’t even bother forming Hand Seals. With arrogant, practiced ease, he simply raised his right hand, pressed his index and middle fingers together, and pointed at the roaring metallic drill.

A three-foot-long emerald green flying sword, flawlessly condensed from pure wood-attribute true essence, materialized instantly at his fingertips. Though slender, the blade hummed with a hyper-condensed, vigorous vitality that barely masked its world-severing sharpness.

The verdant blade stabbed perfectly into the dead center of the swirling sword formation!

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

A dense, ear-shattering barrage of metal on metal echoed through the tomb! Impossibly, Chen Ping’s ultimate forty-nine-sword vortex was forcefully stalled by a single, casually manifested blade of true essence. The drill’s momentum violently seized. The formation groaned under the unbearable strain before finally detonating outward, scattering the forty-nine flying swords across the chamber.

Though the physical blades remained intact, the formation itself was utterly broken in a single move.

Chen Ping’s expression darkened. Any lingering shred of optimism evaporated. The old ghost had just stolen a new body, yet his horrifying mastery over true essence was completely beyond the realm of Foundation Establishment! This was the absolute, crushing superiority of a Violet Palace realm cultivator’s experience in Arts.

If only that damn Restriction hadn’t been there. Chen Ping cursed inwardly.

Without the barrier, Han Feiyu wouldn’t have needed to die, and Chen Ping could have effortlessly claimed the black ring. He could have just commanded his swords to pulverize Han Liren’s original corpse into fine paste, permanently erasing the old ghost’s avenue for revival, regardless of his heaven-reaching abilities.

But the damned protective shield had turned a clean harvest into a highly unpredictable gamble.

As Chen Ping commanded his scattered swords to re-orient toward the ancient monster, his peripheral vision remained locked onto the old ghost’s discarded original corpse.

He remained completely still, waiting for an opening.