"Hall Master, I would like to take a look at the Fourth Yard first."
Cheng Xinzhan spoke.
The old Hall Master smiled at that and said, "You are not the first to say that. Almost everyone with the qualifications to take a Fourth-Yard corpse says the same. I’ll repeat my warning one more time—listen well:
"If you take a Third-Yard yin corpse and fail to bring it to sentience within three years, or if you take a Fourth-Yard yin corpse and fail to bring it to sentience within five years, the corpse will be reclaimed. On top of that, you must, within one year, find and return another corpse of the same grade. If you cannot, then you yourself will be forged into a yin corpse."
The old Hall Master spoke this offhandedly. Cheng Xinzhan instantly soberly understood: this was a demonic order, not some kindly tolerant orthodox sect.
Cheng Xinzhan was not frightened by rules, of course, and replied, "I’m willing."
The Hall Master nodded. He knew well that everyone who came in thought themselves a peerless genius, fated with great fortune: find one perfect corpse and one’s cultivation would leap forward, rise under the Daoist eye of the Divine Lord, and stride into high position. Yet most such people returned the corpse and ended up themselves being refined into a corpse. Most of them, because their own cultivation was too low to be admitted into the corpse-dwelling proper, were tossed into the sea like refuse; only a few were placed in the First or Second Yards for later selection.
Those who had stayed long in this teaching knew best how difficult it was to raise a rare corpse; the longer one lived, the more one feared death. People like Lai Youde—young, newly arrived—were truly those who would not cry until they saw the coffin. No amount of counsel would change them. The Hall Master could only hope that this young man, who had the General’s favor, would be lucky.
"Come with me."
