In his second year of cultivation, Chen Huangpi felt an unbearable itch. A hundred sinister eyes tore their way out of his flesh, freely radiating malice. His master said this was called a divine ability.

After a hundred years of cultivation, Chen Huangpi had eighteen feet rooted in the soil of the underworld, nine heads piercing into the clouds, and from his bloody maw came obscure, wicked, unsettling sounds. He called himself the Yellow-Skinned Daoist Master.

Chen Huangpi looked up and saw his master seated high upon the Ninth Heaven, his entire body dark-green and black, with countless gods, immortals, and buddhas struggling and wailing within his shadow.

“Master… are we really cultivating immortality?”

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