Pangushao, driven by desperation, desperately kicked off the well wall to evade the rapidly approaching momentum of the Six-Winged Centipede, leaping down into the deep well. Though his movements were swift, the centipede was faster. Seeing its pounce miss, it brandished its antennae and palps, suddenly emerging halfway from the steep wall like a black dragon turning its head to seek a pearl, lunging directly at Pangushao, who was suspended in mid-air.

Pangushao was no mere brute; his actions were calculated. He anticipated this maneuver after the centipede missed its lunge. As he jumped clear of the wall, he put all his force into his feet, executing a mid-air rotation, ripping off his Taoist robe, and flinging it overhead. His hand strength and precision were extraordinary, aiming the cloak squarely over the head of the Six-Winged Centipede.

The centipede’s feelers and palps were suddenly shrouded by the Taoist robe. Unsure what this object was, it became momentarily panicked, clinging to the wall and thrashing its head and tail violently, attempting to tear the robe off. However, the more it struggled, the more securely it became entangled, unable to free itself immediately.

Although Pangushao managed to obstruct the centipede with the robe while airborne, casting off the garment in a move called Bawang Xiejia (Overlord Shedding Armor) represented the utmost of his lifelong capability. After throwing the robe, his body immediately plummeted. Before his eyes, the well wall exploded into a scattering of light, like a field of stars.

The shaft beneath the Hall of Boundless Perfection, lined with stone lamps, plunged into an abyss of unknown depth; whether water or stone lay below, a direct fall would shatter even his body of steel and iron. Yet, Pangushao had not jumped to his death; it was a calculated gamble for survival.

Beneath his outer robe, he wore a set of fire-and-water-resistant climbing armor, the Juezi Panshan Jia. This armor was crafted from earth-shark skin, with tendons connecting the seams. On the inner sides of his elbows, wrists, ankles, and knees were numerous small, retractable grappling hooks. Normally nestled in grooves, they were deployed by pulling a tendon cord located behind the waist, causing the Panshan Baizi Gou (Hundred-Child Mountain-Climbing Hooks) to spring out instantly. The "Baizi" in the name referred to the multitude of fine, sharp steel hooks—a common feature in tomb raiding gear—that were concealed within the climbing suit.

The deep well, unlike an open space, contained airflow, which slowed his descent slightly compared to freefall. Pangushao yanked the cords in the air, using the well's draft to spread his arms like a bird, gliding toward the nearest wall. A press of the Baizi Gou on his wrist against the sheer, vertical cliff instantly decelerated his fall, allowing him to cling to the wall as lightly as a gecko.

Pangushao clung to the precipice, taking a long breath. The sequence—ripping off the robe to blind the centipede, then deploying the climbing armor to secure himself—was executed in one fluid motion, exhausting every trick in his arsenal. A single misstep would have meant either feeding the centipede or shattering into pieces upon impact. Despite his renowned bravery, his heart hammered wildly.

But before Pangushao could catch his breath, he heard the scraping sound of the centipede scaling the wall above. The Six-Winged Centipede had already broken free of the robe’s entanglement and was descending once more along the inner wall. Wounded from the prolonged battle, it was enraged and utterly determined to annihilate Pangushao.

Before entering Bottle Mountain, Pangushao had intended to use the Wrathful Bright Chicken to deal with the monstrous centipede, but by some twist of fate, he had fallen with it into the great well of the Hall of Boundless Perfection, with the exit sealed tight. Knowing he faced unprecedented peril and an adversary of unmatched strength, he dared not be complacent. He took a deep breath, utilized the climbing hooks to secure himself to the wall, employed his "Wall-Crawling Gecko" technique, and rapidly began descending toward the well bottom.

Though Pangushao's descent by climbing was exceptionally swift, the centipede pursued him from above with alarming speed. He was forced to let go of the wall, moving in a series of bounds and leaps, barely pausing on the surface. During the descent, he intermittently scraped the steep wall with his armor to dissipate the falling force, preventing a fatal impact.

The well was perhaps tens of zhang deep, plunging vertically almost to the mountain's base. Pangushao’s body fell like a leaf, and in the blink of an eye, the scene at the bottom came into view. Hundreds of coffins were piled there, a mixture of outer caskets (guan) and inner coffins (guo), alongside earthenware urns containing bones. All were ancient and varied wildly in style and era—from opulent lacquered sarcophagi inlaid with gold and jade to worm-eaten cypress coffins. It seemed the remains of dignitaries and commoners alike were heaped together in a disorderly mountain, the exact count impossible to determine.

Pangushao, an expert in tomb raiding, was nonetheless astonished by the chaotic jumble of coffins at the bottom. Before he could examine things closely, he landed near the base, clinging to the wall. Only then did he see the myriad skeletons and desiccated remains surrounding the piled coffins. Some corpses retained the semblance of life, while others were mere skulls. The difference in the attire and appearance of these remains was vast—a clear mix of Han and non-Han peoples, spanning eras from Shang-Zhou to Tang-Song dynasties.

Standing atop a jade guo, Pangushao surveyed his surroundings, utterly bewildered and muttering curses about the secrets of Bottle Mountain. His gaze lifted to a massive, verdigris-stained bronze alchemy furnace situated amidst the mountain of piled coffins and remains. It was cast with inscriptions of birds and beasts. Though he lacked time for detailed inspection, he was certain it dated back to the Qin or Han dynasty.

Pangushao’s experience was extensive, and as members of the Ban Shan (Mountain Moving) Sect often traveled disguised as Taoists, he possessed some knowledge of Huang-Lao philosophy. Seeing the giant bronze furnace, he immediately grasped the situation. This deep well was the Alchemical Well within the Bottle Mountain Palace, necessary for directing the upward ascent of the fires used to refine Yin elixirs. The ancient coffins and remains had been secretly excavated by the alchemists from various regions to fuel these fires. In antiquity, people believed that the flesh of a jiangshi (zombie) could be used as medicine, known as "stifled incense," because the incorruptible corpses retained the vital ‘dragon energy’ of the earth’s ley lines. Since this energy was intangible, cooking the flesh was thought to extract it.

Furthermore, the materials used for burial containers—wood, stone, jade, bronze—absorbed the earth’s spiritual energy over long periods underground, making them suitable as fuel for the alchemical fires. The pursuit of immortality through consuming elixirs has a long history; who would not desire the path to ethereal quietude, to transcend the mundane, to ascend and become timeless like heaven and earth? However, even within the internal and external disciplines of cultivation, there were hierarchies. Most alchemists would disdain using human remains to create Yin elixirs. To discover that Bottle Mountain, supposedly an imperial alchemical center, was in fact a repository of filth, using such unspeakable means to forge true elixirs, was horrifying.

Pangushao swept his gaze around, confirming his understanding. The well floor was riddled with numerous rock fissures and holes, consequences of Bottle Mountain’s tilted geological structure. The Six-Winged Centipede could use these passages to dart between the various halls, but trapped below in the well, Pangushao was like a frog in a well, unable to discern directions, nor knowing which fissure led outside. Just as he considered retreating into a crack, he heard the sound of many feet clawing the wall high above—the Six-Winged Centipede was rapidly closing in.

Seeing how quickly the centipede approached, Pangushao wondered how he could maneuver against it in this cavernous well. Fleeing into a crevice seemed impossible, and even if the centipede followed him into the mountain’s cracks, his death would be certain.

In a flash of inspiration, he scanned his surroundings, leaped off the jade guo, and tumbled into the pile of corpses below, grabbing a body to shield himself. The ancient corpse had withered, purplish-brown skin, a gaping mouth full of broken teeth, sunken eyes, and patches of white hair and beard still clinging to its head and jaw, presenting a gruesome and eerie sight.

But Pangushao was fearless enough to hide among the dead and feign death. He propped the dried corpse against the side of the jade guo, effectively concealing himself beneath it, surrounded by the skeletal remains of others. Concealed within the bone pile, he activated the Tortoise Breathing technique, drastically slowing his respiration and heart rate.

The Ban Shan grave robbers often navigated underground tombs with stagnant air, places thick with Yin energy and miasma. The defense against this, besides ingesting medicine, required mastery of breath-holding. Those skilled in this art could slow their life signs to barely above that of a corpse. Subterranean earth turtles have extremely slow respiration and heartbeats, yet they can live for centuries. Once, a tombstone was unearthed covering an earth turtle that had survived underground for hundreds of years, sustained only by the meager air in the crevices, surviving without food, nourished only by rainwater seeping through the earth. When hungry, it consumed the surrounding air at an incredibly slow pace until it was dug up centuries later, long after the stone tablet had crumbled—yet it still lived. Thus, the subterranean breathing method used by tomb raiders is also called the Tortoise Breathing Technique.

Pangushao employed this method, suppressing his breath and life signs beneath the dried corpse, keenly aware of any disturbance outside. He heard a rapid swish-swish-swish sound against the well wall as the Six-Winged Centipede reached the bottom from above.

Pangushao stealthily peeked out. The centipede was crawling around the bottom among the piled coffins and corpses, occasionally probing the dead bodies with its two long antennae, clearly searching for the living creature that had injured it earlier. It had endured numerous gunshots and pecking attacks from the Wrathful Bright Chicken; half of its six transparent wings were shredded, and its body seemed on the verge of falling apart. Yet, its ferocity remained undiminished. Its antennae twitched, and it moved with startling speed across the well floor.

Pangushao was inwardly shaken. Had this beast truly achieved a perfect physical transformation? How could it move so vigorously despite such severe injuries? As he pondered this, his vision suddenly dimmed—the centipede had just crawled directly over him. The leaf-like segments of its abdominal plating were inches from his face. Fortunately, the dried corpse above provided cover. The great centipede circled several times but failed to locate Pangushao.

Pangushao had hoped to wait out the injured centipede, planning to remain hidden in the corpse pile until its wounds took effect and it died, allowing him to act afterward. But he had not anticipated the creature’s ferocious nature, its ability to remain mobile despite being riddled with wounds. Unbeknownst to him, the centipede, though powerful, was not ignoring its injuries; rather, the incessant crowing of the chickens within Bottle Mountain had thrown its spirit into chaos, driving it into a frenzy where it could not afford to rest.

After several fruitless circles searching for a living target, the Six-Winged Centipede crawled to the edge of the alchemy well and began rubbing its body against the wall. Pangushao found this strange. He cautiously looked over and saw that in that corner of the well, piles of medicinal herbs and fungi were stacked, alongside numerous shattered elixir bottles and jars. Various pills were scattered everywhere. The old centipede was grinding its wounds against the medicinal substances, actively treating itself.

Pangushao cursed under his breath, "Vicious beast, still refusing to die!" Though he yearned to finish it, he was unarmed. His two mirror-cased pistols were lost somewhere. Recalling how his junior brothers and sisters had met their demise by its claws, he felt a burning hatred, his teeth itching with rage. He then thought of the current state of the Ban Shan Sect—weak women and children left behind after their migration from the Peacock River in the desert to the inner lands. Now, he was the sole survivor of a line stretching back a thousand years. Despair washed over him, and he nearly shoved the corpse aside to fight the centipede to the death. Yet, he was acutely aware that if his momentary valor led to another failure, the Ban Shan line would be extinguished forever. He forcefully restrained himself, hiding beneath the stench of the corpses to await an opportunity, resolving not to act rashly without absolute certainty.

As Pangushao’s thoughts churned, he felt a sudden tickle and itch near his ear, nearly causing him to break out in a cold sweat. A three-inch-long centipede had emerged from the eye socket of a skull beneath him. It seemed to have sensed that Pangushao was alive and began crawling from beneath his ear up onto his face.

Pangushao thought, "Misery! I must have tumbled into the centipede’s lair. What can I do now?" He felt the small creature traverse his ear, climb onto his forehead, and then use its dozens of legs to crawl across his bridge of the nose. Its two segmented antennae waved agilely back and forth. The sensation was maddeningly itchy, but worse was the creeping dread that his Tortoise Breathing technique was about to fail.

Pangushao knew that if his breathing rhythm faltered, the Six-Winged Centipede would detect him instantly. He forced himself to remain still, allowing the small centipede to crawl across his brow and face without making the slightest movement. Fortunately, the discordant clamor of the mountain chickens had made all the centipedes erratic; they were unwilling to readily deploy their venom. Had he been struck by the potent poison of a Bottle Mountain centipede, even with divine abilities, his life would have ended there.

The crawling, multi-legged centipede continued to traverse his face, sending shivers down his spine. Only Pangushao’s astonishing self-control kept him perfectly still, like a corpse, not even twitching a brow. Yet, what he feared most came to pass: after several passes, the creature decided to crawl directly into Pangushao’s mouth.

The alchemy well was filled with mountains of skeletal remains, and the centipedes were accustomed to burrowing in and out of them. This one sensed a trace of vitality in the body but was uncertain, so it blindly crawled toward Pangushao’s open mouth.

Pangushao tensed instantly. Letting a centipede crawl into his mouth was unthinkable, and the situation had arisen too suddenly to have been anticipated. Forcing the act of feigning death was no longer viable, but any significant movement would certainly alert the Six-Winged Centipede.

Pangushao reacted with astonishing speed and decisiveness, choosing to do what others would not dare contemplate. He steeled himself and, the moment the small centipede poked its head in, before it could arch its body to enter, Pangushao preemptively bared his teeth and clamped down hard, biting it fiercely.