The Ascension to Godhood Begins with the Blacklight Virus

Cheng Song followed behind Corporal Chen, traversing fields that had been almost completely harvested, littered with cart tracks and footprints. The air, thick with the stench of mud, decaying plants, and a faint fishy smell, grew increasingly heavy, gradually mixed with the sour, putrid odor of human and animal excrement, burning low-quality grease, and the distinctive stench of densely populated settlements.

As dusk settled and the light faded quickly, the outline of a yellowish-brown city emerged on the dim horizon, like a weary giant lying prostrate on the plain. The city walls were tall, showing signs of decay in many places. Beyond the walls, as far as the eye could see, lay a continuous, haphazard array of shacks, tents, and simple mud-brick houses, along with makeshift barriers constructed of sharpened wooden stakes and earthen mounds. Countless strips of yellow cloth, tied to tree branches, spearheads, and the roofs of the shacks, fluttered weakly in the evening breeze, appearing from afar like a vast, withered patch of moss covering the land beneath Guangzong City.

This was the camp of the Yellow Turban Army. Or rather, it was a giant refugee camp formed by countless displaced people attracted by the banner of "Yellow Heaven".

As they drew closer, the noise intensified. The cries of children, the groans of patients, the suppressed sobs of women, the hoarse shouts of men, the clanging of pots and pans, and the chanting of scriptures, rising and falling from who-knows-where, all blended together to create a suffocating, cacophony of despair and fervor.

"Stay close, Mr. Cheng. There are many people in the camp, be careful not to get separated," Corporal Chen said in a deep voice as he turned around.

Stepping onto the edge of the camp, Cheng Song felt as if he had been swept into a murky, slowly flowing river of mud. The road was narrow and muddy, crowded with people on both sides. Most of them were sallow and emaciated, their eyes numb, and they all carried a sickly aura. There were also some people, wrapped in yellow turbans, whose eyes shone with an almost burning piety unrelated to hunger or disease, moving among them, maintaining an extremely crude order—classifying the newly arrived refugees, carrying the seriously ill in a certain direction, and distributing the limited, unidentifiable gruel to those who could still move.

Cheng Song quietly activated the passive observation mode of the special extraction lens.

Suddenly, the field of vision became both eerie and clear.

A thin, almost ubiquitous, dark yellow halo permeated the air. This halo wasn't evenly distributed; rather, it radiated outwards from the center of the camp, becoming denser closer to the center. It was particularly noticeable on the fanatical believers chanting scriptures, their expressions fervent, like a thin, viscous layer of paint clinging to their skin, clothing, and even their breath. On the ordinary, listless refugees, the halo was much fainter, almost imperceptible, but still present.

This dark yellow aura shared the same ominous, polluting energy as the talisman water, but it was far larger and more complex, filled with a fanatical, distorted collective willpower imbued with intense devotion and conversion. Like an invisible membrane, it enveloped the entire camp and permeated everyone within it. Cheng Song noticed that some people lying by the roadside, critically ill, would have their illness temporarily suppressed after drinking the thin porridge offered by Huang Jin, which also emitted the same dark yellow aura. At the same time, the numbness in their eyes would quickly fade, replaced by an empty, infused devotion, and their connection with the dark yellow aura on their skin would become stronger.

Healing and transformation occur simultaneously here. The pollution of faith temporarily dispels physical ailments.

Jishetang was located relatively close to the center of the camp, hastily enclosed by a crooked earthen wall. Two burly men, holding wooden spears and with neatly tied yellow turbans on their heads, stood guard at the entrance, their eyes warily scanning everyone who approached. The smells here were more complex; the strong aroma of medicine could not mask a pungent odor, similar to burning hair.

Corporal Chen whispered a few words to the guard at the door. The guard glanced at Cheng Song a few times, especially lingering on the medicine box on his back for a moment, before waving him away.

Separated by a wall, it seemed like another world. Outside was a chaotic, desperate quagmire, while inside was a bustling scene under a different order. Dozens of people, also wearing yellow turbans but slightly cleaner hemp clothing, were busy at work. Some were sorting, drying, and grinding various dried herbs, while others were tending to several large pots bubbling on earthen stoves. The air was filled with the distinctive bitter smell of boiled herbs, but beneath this bitterness, a subtle, sweet, and slightly fishy aroma was even more pronounced, seemingly emanating from those large pots.

"Wait here for a moment, I'll go and report to the divine messenger," Chen Wuzhang instructed, and then walked towards the only decent house inside the earthen wall, which was built of adobe bricks and thatch.

Cheng Song stood still, his gaze lowered, but his eyes had already scanned the entire interior of "Jishetang".

The layout was simple yet functional: herbal processing area, talisman water boiling area, talisman drawing area, material storage shed… The most eye-catching area was the talisman water boiling area, where seven or eight large iron pots stood side by side, with firewood burning brightly underneath, and murky, differently colored medicinal soups bubbling inside. Several men dressed in dark yellow tuxedos, with solemn expressions, were constantly stirring the soup in the pots with wooden sticks.

Next to the boiling area, there was a small, simply partitioned area with straw mats, where two or three people dressed in relatively clean yellow robes and wearing yellow turbans sat. Before them were low tables covered with cut pieces of yellow hemp paper, and beside them was ground cinnabar ink. These people held brushes, their expressions devout and focused, sketching complex, twisted talismanic patterns on the yellow paper. Cheng Song noticed that as they wielded their brushes, the lens could capture extremely faint fluctuations of spiritual energy. Accompanied by their silent, rhythmic chanting, wisps of dark yellow energy were drawn from them, or rather, from the fervent field of willpower permeating the entire camp, and channeled into the cinnabar at the tip of the brush, ultimately imprinting itself onto the yellow paper.

Those talismans are anchors for polluting energy.

Soon, Sergeant Chen emerged from the house with a man. The man was about forty years old, thin, with sunken cheeks and high cheekbones. He wore a faded yellow robe, and his yellow headscarf was tied neatly on his head. His face was somewhat pale, but his eyes were unusually sharp, scrutinizing people with a condescending indifference. Particularly striking were the several winding, dark red scars on the back of his right hand, as if they had been severely burned or corroded.

"Is this Mr. Cheng?" the thin man asked, his voice slightly hoarse but clear, with a deliberately slow tone characteristic of scholars. "My surname is Wu. I am honored by the kindness of my great teacher, who has appointed me as a steward of this Jishetang. My brothers have been kind enough to call me Envoy Wu."

"Cheng Song, a traveling doctor from Qinghe, greets Envoy Wu." Following the etiquette he vaguely remembered, Cheng Song bowed slightly and cupped his hands, keeping a very low profile. His tone carried just the right amount of awe for an important person and restraint in an unfamiliar environment.

Wu Shenshi's gaze lingered on Cheng Song's face, his hempen clothes, and the medicine box on his back, finally settling on the black-rimmed glasses that seemed out of place in this era, holding it for a full three breaths. "Mr. Cheng's... blindness is quite unique."

"I suffered from an eye disease when I was young, and my vision was blurred. My elders in the family found a Taoist priest to make this crystal, which allowed me to see things with difficulty. I am sorry that you are laughing at me, my sir." Cheng Song had already prepared his excuse and spoke frankly.

Wu Shenshi nodded noncommittally, ceasing his discussion of the glasses, and instead asked, "I heard from Sergeant Chen that Mr. Cheng is quite knowledgeable in traditional Chinese medicine and even treated infected refugees along the way?"

"I dare not claim expertise; I merely possess some family knowledge, travel around, and know a few herbs and folk remedies to make a living. Today, seeing a sick person on the road, I couldn't bear it and did my best, but I can't claim to be treating them," Cheng Song replied humbly and cautiously.

"Oh? Then, Mr. Cheng, take a look. What illness does this man suffer from? How should he be treated?" Wu Shenshi suddenly turned to the side and pointed to a patient lying under the thatched shed next to him. It was a middle-aged man, also sallow and emaciated, with large patches of festering sores on his body, barely breathing, just like the refugees outside.

However, with the aid of the lens, Cheng Song saw that the grayish-black pathogenic energy on this person's body and the dark yellow pollution from the talisman water were intertwined and fighting in a peculiar, almost balanced state. The dark yellow energy was suppressing the pathogenic energy, but it seemed to be running out of steam, while the pathogenic energy was also slowly eroding and wearing down the dark yellow energy. This was a special case of someone who had developed some kind of resistance or rejection reaction to the talisman water.

Cheng Song stepped forward, squatted down, and pretended to examine the sore, take the pulse, and observe the tongue coating. His medical knowledge, which he had temporarily supplemented in his mind, was working rapidly. Combined with the energy entanglement he saw through the lens, he made a judgment.

"This person's ailment is likely caused by the pathogenic qi penetrating deep into the blood and manifesting as sores," Cheng Song said slowly, mimicking the tone of a medical book. "Observing the sores, their color is dark purple, the pus is thin and foul-smelling, the pulse is deep, thready, and weak, and the tongue coating is grayish-black and dry. This is a critical sign of severe deficiency of vital energy and invasion of pathogenic toxins."

He raised his head and looked at Wu Shenshi: "Ordinary methods of clearing heat and detoxifying, and promoting tissue regeneration are probably no longer effective. We need to replenish vital energy, strengthen the body's resistance and consolidate its foundation, and supplement with blood-activating and detoxifying herbs, and proceed slowly. If we only use strong medicines to attack, or simply try to expel the toxins outward, there is a risk of separation of Yin and Yang."

What he said is the conventional approach in traditional Chinese medicine for severe sores and ulcers, when the body's vital energy is extremely weak. It is not surprising, but it is obviously much more detailed and profound than the practice of most Yellow Turban doctors here who only know how to distribute talisman water.

A flicker of surprise crossed Wu Shenshi's eyes, but he quickly concealed it, his tone remaining calm: "Mr. Cheng is indeed quite knowledgeable. In your opinion, how should the medicine be administered?"

"Ginseng, astragalus, angelica, honeysuckle vine, and soapberry thorns can be used, decocted and taken frequently as appropriate. Moxibustion at acupoints such as Guanyuan and Qihai can be used to warm and unblock the meridians and support Yang energy. However…" Cheng Song paused, his face showing difficulty, "These medicinal materials, especially ginseng and astragalus, are quite valuable and require time for recuperation; it's not something that can be achieved overnight. Right now, in this camp…"

He didn't finish his sentence, but his meaning was clear: your talisman water only treats the symptoms, not the root cause. For such a critically ill patient, it will probably have limited effect and may even hasten their death.

Wu Shenshi remained silent for a moment, his face expressionless, yet his sharp eyes seemed to see right through Cheng Song. "What Mr. Cheng says makes some sense. Our Taiping Dao uses talismanic water to heal the world, a supreme and wondrous method bestowed by the Celestial Master, capable of exorcising evil and preventing plagues, and universally saving people. However, your family's profound medical knowledge should not be neglected. Currently, there are many sick people in the camp, and although the talismanic water is effective, we are often short-handed. Since Mr. Cheng is skilled in medicine, would you be willing to stay and assist at the Jishi Hall? Firstly, you can save lives and accumulate merit; secondly, you can observe the Celestial Master's wondrous methods and perhaps gain something from them."

This is a formal recruitment, and it carries an air of urgency that cannot be refused.

Cheng Song's face showed struggle, which eventually turned into determination. He bowed again and said, "My knowledge is rudimentary. If I can do my best at Jishitang and observe the Celestial Master's supreme methods, it would be an honor. I only fear that my limited knowledge and skills will fail to live up to the expectations of the divine messenger."

"It's alright. Just do your job well." Envoy Wu waved his hand and said to Sergeant Chen, "Take Mr. Cheng to settle in. He'll be in Shed No. 3, Section B. Starting tomorrow, he'll help out at the herbal medicine shop and get familiar with the place."

"Yes, divine messenger." Sergeant Chen replied, gesturing for Cheng Song to follow him.

Shed No. 3 of the B section was one of a row of simple shacks inside Jishetang. It was slightly better than the shacks of the refugees outside, at least it could keep out the wind and rain. Inside, there was only an earthen bed covered with dry straw and a broken wooden table. But for Cheng Song, this was enough. It gave him a relatively fixed base and a preliminary identity as one of his own.

"Mr. Cheng, please get some rest. The herbal medicine shop will start work at around 5 a.m. tomorrow," Sergeant Chen said before leaving.

Cheng Song put down his medicine box and sat on the cold earthen bed without lighting a lamp. He didn't rest immediately, but instead pressed his ear close to the thatched wall of the hut, listening carefully to the sounds outside.

The sounds of chanting, wailing, coughing, clattering pots and pans, and patrolling footsteps mingled together. But amidst this cacophony, he keenly detected a faint, persistent, low-pitched groan emanating from deeper within the Jishetang, near the area heavily guarded by earthen walls and sentries. It sounded like countless people screaming in suppressed agony, or perhaps like the pumping of a giant bellows, occasionally punctuated by the dragging of heavy objects and the crackling of flames. The faint, sweet, rotten stench in the air seemed even stronger in the stillness of the night, drifting in wisps from that direction.

He closed his eyes, recalling everything he had observed in Jishetang during the day.

The herbal medicine shop processes common medicinal materials such as Scutellaria baicalensis, Coptis chinensis, Glycyrrhiza uralensis, Pueraria lobata, and Bupleurum chinense, which are of poor quality and many are even moldy. However, the basic decoction made from these herbs does have a faint, pure "medicinal aroma" under a lens, which can help to strengthen the body and dispel pathogens to a certain extent.

The spiritual power and guiding will that those people in the talisman-drawing area infuse when drawing the talismans are the key to the special effects of the talisman water.

Meanwhile, in the talisman water boiling area… Cheng Song frowned. He saw that after the drawn yellow talismans were thrown into the large pots to burn, as the ashes blended into the medicinal soup, the craftsmen responsible for stirring would, when no one was looking, take out a small, pitch-black ceramic bottle from their bosom or sleeves and discreetly sprinkle a tiny bit of dark red powder into each pot. The powder dissolved instantly upon entering the boiling medicinal soup, with almost no visible color change, but the lens clearly captured a burst of dark yellow energy that was far more concentrated, purer, and more sinister than the talisman ash. This energy quickly mixed with the medicinal soup and the talisman ash energy, forming the final talisman water that was a mixture of clear and turbid, with turbidity predominating.

That dark red powder was the true core of the talisman water! The energy fluctuations it emitted were from the same source as the energy permeating the air in the camp and the frenzied energy emanating from those Yellow Turban warriors, but it was more concentrated and more ominous.

What is that? Where did it come from?

Cheng Song recalled the strange dark red scar on the back of Wu Shenshi's hand, the scattered whispers in the camp about the sacred bone and the return to the Yellow Heaven, and the roars and sounds of flames coming from the depths.

He had a terrible suspicion in his mind, but he needed evidence.

As night fell, the noise in the camp gradually subsided, leaving only the sound of the wind, the whistling, and the continuous, strange roars and flames in the distance.

Cheng Song rose silently and went to the edge of the shack. He extended his right hand, and with a slight thought, a silvery-gray fluid silently welled up from beneath the skin of his hand, quickly covering his entire palm and forearm. Its shape wriggled and changed, eventually blending almost seamlessly with the rough earthen wall and the mottled shadows. Thousand Forms' mimicry ability activated. Although the lack of energy prevented him from achieving perfect transformation or maintaining it for a long time, in this dim light, short-distance shadow movement and blurred outlines were sufficient.

Like a shadowless figure, he slowly blended into the darkness outside the shack, avoiding the occasional patrolling Yellow Turbans, and stealthily made his way towards the depths of Jishetang, towards the direction from which the roars and flames came.

That is the Bone Church.

Perhaps, the talisman water is hidden there, or even the most crucial secret of the entire Yellow Heaven's Cry instance.

Just as he was about to approach the heavily guarded area, a new line of blood-red text slowly appeared before his eyes:

[WARNING: You are approaching a highly polluted source – the "Shrine of the Flame". Extremely dangerous! Immediate evacuation is recommended!]

The hidden clue "Firewood and Elixir" has been activated. Shall we investigate further?

Cheng Song stopped in the shadows, gazing at the silhouette of the building ahead, which glowed faintly with a dark red firelight and resembled the panting of a giant beast. He took a deep breath of the air, which was filled with a strong, sweet, and burnt smell.

He knew that retreating might bring him temporary safety.

But then he would never be able to reach the truth.

He remained silent for two seconds, then made his choice with his mind beneath the blood-red warning text.

Step forward.