My Portable Spirit Farm: Rise of the Humble Servant

Chapter 215: The Incorruptible Flesh Body

Chen Ping stood before the yawning black mouth of the cavern, his eyes locked onto the glowing teleportation array. He didn’t move a muscle.

His powerful Divine Sense swept out, meticulously scouring the array’s platform, the jagged edges of the cave, and the entire volume of the stone chamber. He probed every inch of solid rock and every microscopic fissure, searching for a lethal catch.

The results only deepened the frown on his face.

The teleportation array and the cavern entrance felt entirely disconnected from the overarching Restriction system and Qi flow of the external cave dwelling. It was an anomaly—a completely independent, forcibly embedded spatial hub.

While he couldn’t fully decipher the complex runic matrix of the array itself, the spatial fluctuations bleeding from its core were incredibly stable and pure. There were no signs of chaotic feedback or hidden triggers. The cavern entrance exuded a profound, suffocating stillness and an icy chill, violently contrasting with the artificially “clean” atmosphere maintained by the external Formations.

He found no obvious mechanical traps. No hidden spiritual tripwires.

But Chen Ping wasn’t satisfied. He lashed the interior with his Divine Sense several more times, obsessively scanning down to the granular level of loose pebbles and hairline fractures.

Paranoia was his armor. The moment a situation felt slightly discordant, he operated under the assumption of an unseen, catastrophic threat. It was the only way to guarantee his survival. In the brutal world of Cultivation, the next heartbeat could always bring death. A veteran survived by using his experience to violently carve out the safest possible path.

Even after his final sweep confirmed a total lack of danger, the cold knot of tension in Chen Ping’s chest didn’t loosen.

The safer a place appeared, the more terrified he became. And the more terrified he was, the more ruthlessly cautious he acted.

Chen Ping gestured toward the teleportation array with his chin, his cold gaze snapping to Han Feiyu and Han Jingying.

“You two. Go up first.”

Han Feiyu’s pale face lost whatever blood remained in it. His lips parted as if to argue, but facing Chen Ping’s dead eyes, he swallowed his words and gave a stiff, silent nod.

Tears welled in Han Jingying’s eyes. Biting her lower lip until it nearly bled, she shadowed her elder brother.

One after the other, the siblings gingerly stepped onto the circular stone platform, their boots resting over the dormant silver runes.

Chen Ping remained safely outside the chamber. He waited in absolute silence for the time it took to brew half a cup of tea, strictly observing the array for any delayed lethal triggers. Once satisfied, he closed the distance with a few quick strides and stepped onto the platform.

He positioned himself at the extreme edge, maintaining exactly one step of distance from the Han siblings. Beneath his skin, his true essence circulated like a coiled viper. The sword case on his back hummed faintly, primed for a hair-trigger release. In a hostile, unknown environment, one had to be ready to slaughter at a moment’s notice.

“Inject your true essence,” Chen Ping commanded.

Han Feiyu and Han Jingying obeyed without hesitation, driving their true essence downward into the formation base.

The dormant silver lines etched into the stone violently ignited. Like living serpents of liquid light, the runes rapidly snaked and intertwined across the platform. A torrential flood of blue runes erupted from the foundation, the blinding light swelling until it swallowed all three of them whole!

A fierce spatial pull grabbed Chen Ping’s core. He felt his physical weight vanish as his vision violently warped and tore, plunging him into a split second of absolute, suffocating darkness.

The jarring sensation of solid ground slamming into his boots returned, and the blinding blue light rapidly dispersed.

Chen Ping instantly anchored his stance. A thick spiritual shield flared to life around him as his piercing gaze swept the new environment.

He was met with a sterile, mesmerizing green glow.

He wasn’t standing on rough cavern stone. The floor beneath his boots was paved entirely with massive, perfectly geometric slabs of warm, translucent jadeite. In the Mortal world, this grade of stone was revered as Imperial Green. A single slab of this caliber could purchase an entire sprawling city.

Here, it was merely the floor for Cultivators to trample on.

Fist-sized night pearls were seamlessly embedded beneath the jadeite tiles. The pearls’ luminescence filtered up through the translucent green stone, drowning the entire circular chamber in an eerie, sterile, and breathtaking emerald light.

The air was frigid, carrying the crisp, sharp scent unique to deep-earth jade.

The chamber was expansive—roughly 20 zhang in diameter. Aside from the Imperial Green floor and a matching jadeite dome above, the enclosing walls were carved from pitch-black, mirror-smooth obsidian.

The old ghost certainly knew how to spoil himself, Chen Ping sneered internally.

For an ancestor to forge such a sickeningly opulent “burial chamber” for his final moments spoke volumes of his grotesque vanity.

“Ancestor…”

A choked, violently trembling sob shattered the silence, instantly drawing Chen Ping’s attention.

Han Feiyu and Han Jingying were frozen, looking as if they had been physically nailed to the jadeite floor. Their bodies shook uncontrollably, their wide, terrified eyes locked dead center in the room.

There, resting upon a three-foot-square Mystic Ice Jade Bed that aggressively radiated a bone-piercing frost, sat a solitary figure.

He was dressed in a simple, unadorned gray Daoist robe. His hair was as white as crane feathers, contrasting sharply with a bizarrely youthful, unwrinkled face. His expression was an absolute mask of serene, grandfatherly benevolence. His hands rested naturally on his knees, and his eyes were lightly closed, as if he had merely drifted into a profound state of meditation.

The most horrifying detail was the total absence of decay. After eight centuries of death, the corpse was flawless. The skin possessed its natural hue, the individual strands of his beard were distinct, and even the gray fabric of his robe retained its original luster!

A millimeter-thin, almost invisible layer of Mystic Ice coated his entire body, freezing him perfectly in the exact second of his passing.

A sharp, agonizing sting hit Han Feiyu’s nose, and a catastrophic wave of remorse violently crushed his chest.

It was the face! The exact, benevolent face that had visited him in his dreams on that stormy night, promising guidance, power, and the salvation of their bloodline!

He had utterly betrayed his ancestor’s trust. His own pathetic greed and blind ambition had invited a wolf into their home. He had personally gift-wrapped the meticulous, centuries-old legacy meant for the Han family’s resurrection and handed it to a ruthless executioner!

Han Feiyu’s knees buckled, nearly sending him crashing to the floor.

Beside him, Han Jingying was paralyzed by the sheer impossibility of the sight. She had never dared to imagine that an ancestor who had perished centuries ago could leave behind an incorruptible flesh body!

And the Mystic Ice Jade Bed he rested upon… it had to be a world-shaking treasure in its own right!

But none of it belonged to them anymore.

The light died in Han Jingying’s beautiful eyes, replaced by a hollow, consuming desolation. Just days ago, she had been a high-spirited, untouchable core disciple of her Sect. Now, she was a shackled prisoner. A pathetic piece of cannon fodder dancing on a madman’s strings.

Chen Ping completely ignored the weeping siblings. His predatory gaze bypassed the serene face and instantly locked onto the simple, archaic black Storage Ring resting on the corpse’s right index finger.

But he didn’t lunge for it.

A violent, sickening sense of dissonance coiled in his gut, making his skin crawl.

It’s too opulent. The outer cave dwelling, while refined, was a crude, hyper-pragmatic survival bunker. This inner sanctum was a decadent, billionaire’s mausoleum. Would an ancestor—a man who willingly exiled himself to die in secret to protect his Sect from powerful enemies—waste astronomical resources forging a vain, hyper-luxurious tomb?

The psychological contrast was jarring, and in the Cultivation world, extreme anomalies always hid extreme malice!

Chen Ping’s Divine Sense exploded outward again like a shockwave. He brutally interrogated the jadeite floor, the Mystic Ice Jade Bed, the mirror-black walls, and the corpse itself.

He swept the room once, twice, ten times. His conclusion remained terrifyingly absolute:

There were zero mechanical traps. Zero hidden Restriction fluctuations. He couldn’t even detect the most microscopic trace of a residual soul clinging to the corpse. It genuinely appeared to be a flawlessly preserved, empty shell of meat.

The “cleaner” the room proved to be, the heavier the dread settled in Chen Ping’s chest.

He reached out and roughly patted the shoulders of Han Feiyu and Han Jingying, violently snapping them out of their miserable stupors.

Since he had the perfect meat shields, it was time to put them to work.