Monster Chronicles: My Daoist Skill Comes from Mythology Chapter 1 Supreme Level 1 Child’s Secret Manual

Bone-chilling cold! This was Song Lin's initial sensation, as if he were imprisoned in a sealed ice cave, his very blood feeling on the verge of freezing solid. His chest bore an immense weight, his breathing grew restricted, as though a colossal stone was relentlessly pressing down. If the biting cold didn't claim him, the sheer suffocation would.

"Ugh!" Song Lin's eyes suddenly snapped open, but he was met with absolute pitch-black darkness, sweat already beading on his brow. "Why does this nightmare feel so incredibly real? I really must cease perusing those peculiar storybooks—they consistently plague me with such unsettling dreams." He let out a soft sigh, his mouth feeling parched as he pushed himself up in bed.

The room remained steeped in darkness, so profound that he could not discern his own hand before his face. "Little AI assistant, illuminate the room." "...Turn on the light!" What could possibly be happening? Had the lamp malfunctioned?

As his vision slowly adapted to the gloom, Song Lin began to perceive that something was undeniably amiss. The walls were constructed from dark mud, the ceiling was lined with tiles, and the furnishings within the room were stark: a simple wooden table and a pair of chairs. The blanket draped over him bore obvious signs of repair, riddled with visible holes.

What in the world was transpituating? Where was his computer? His refrigerator? His air conditioner? His life-sized inflatable model... ahem, his bicycle pump?

"This is... Ah!!" Song Lin grasped his head in agony as a fierce throbbing commenced, accompanied by an onslaught of unfamiliar memories flooding his consciousness. These were the recollections of a stranger, a young boy also named Song Lin. Chosen by an immortal at the tender age of sixteen, he had embarked on his journey to the Five Elders Xuanke Temple three years prior. He had initially harbored the delusion that the pursuit of immortality would usher in an era of opulence and serenity, only to discover that it marked the precipice of a harrowing ordeal.

Within the temple's storerooms, under the watchful eye of Dianzao, Song Lin toiled as a boy tasked with gathering medicinal herbs. He would rise before the first hint of dawn and labor until the deepest hours of the night, almost entirely devoid of respite for an entire year, enduring the so-called "benevolences" of his arduous work. Merely a few days ago, while foraging for Plague Magic Moss in the wilderness, Song Lin had inadvertently inhaled the potent spores, succumbing to unconsciousness until this very moment. The memories now occupying his mind were disjointed—mere fleeting impressions—yet sufficient to recognize that this world bore no resemblance to his familiar Earth. Instead, it was a realm steeped in witchcraft and Taoism, where demons roamed freely and perilous mysteries abounded.

Song Lin was still grappling with the disorienting influx of information. How had he, by any conceivable means, found himself transported to this alien world? He held a faint recollection of the day his transmigration occurred—during a visit to an antique market, he had acquired an ancient tome replete with mythical tales and supernatural legends. After dedicating an entire night to its perusal, he had awoken to find himself in this strange place. Composing himself, he slowly rose from the rudimentary bed and, using a fire starter left on the table, lit an oil lamp. Resting on the bedside table was a small, dark-yellow booklet. Its cover, fashioned from thick oiled paper, bore prominent characters inscribed in vermillion ink, proclaiming: "Supreme Zhengyi Child's Secret Talisman."

Upon opening the booklet, he noticed the Five Elders Xuanke Temple's "Five Thunders Protection Seal" emblazoned on the page furthest to the right. The vermillion script contained Song Lin's name, his date of birth, and a distinct red handprint. At its center lay intricate talismans, encircled by illustrations depicting celestial beings and divine maidens. The sight of this artifact triggered a surge of memory. This was, in essence, the Xuanke Temple's official identification token, signifying one's affiliation with the temple. Its utility, however, far surpassed that of a mundane ID card. Upon its reception, an individual was inscribed in the Heavenly Records, rendering them impervious to Yin talisman nullification and granting immunity from harm by spirits and specters. The talisman's potency was intrinsically linked to the cultivator's Taoist Realm. At varying stages, higher-tier talismans facilitated the activation of corresponding divine techniques.

Cre-ak! At that precise moment, the door to the room began to slowly swing open. Stepping through the threshold was a man of sharp build, his skin dark and his brows shrewd, exuding a potent aroma of medicinal herbs. This individual was Zhang Jin, Song Lin's roommate; the adjacent bed belonged to him. Noticing Song Lin had regained consciousness, Zhang Jin exclaimed in startled disbelief, "By all the heavens, you have finally awakened! Lord Dianzao declared that if you did not stir soon, he would cast you into the Beast Garden to be fodder for the hounds."

"Cough, cough. I only just regained my senses, my head feels quite muddled," Song Lin responded, gently rubbing his forehead and affecting an air of weakness. Fortunately, the fragments of memory he possessed identified this person; otherwise, remaining unrecognized here might have genuinely led to his being thrown to the dogs. "Are you alive or dead? If you possess life, then get to your chores!" A booming voice emanated from the vicinity outside the room. A towering, burly man, adorned in a purple robe and sporting a full beard, strode in with imposing authority. His appearance was peculiar—his right forearm was adorned with two luminous, continuously rotating emerald-green eyeballs.

"Your complexion looks quite good. Are you just pretending?" The man in purple robes sported a jade talisman token on his waist, inscribed with the words 'Supreme Three Five Grand Commissioner Scripture'.

"Greetings, Taoist Wude." Upon recognizing him, Zhang Jin immediately bowed deeply, subtly signaling Song Lin with a glance.

Song Lin quickly grasped the situation and mirrored the gesture, clasping his hands and bowing respectfully.

Judging by the jade talisman token adorning his waist, this individual held a higher rank than Song Lin—he was an official altar-opening Taoist and a cultivator who had received the Grand Commissioner Talisman.

The talisman jade token, resembling a jade pendant, served to indicate a Taoist's liturgy and standing; while Child Talismans were considered quite basic, higher-ranked individuals would never be seen with a thick cluster of talismans hanging from their waists.

The talisman Song Lin carried was indeed a Child Talisman, the lowest tier, creating a vast disparity in status between him and those with higher-ranked talismans.

"Still breathing? If you aren't dead, get to work! The next time I catch you slacking off, I'll personally feed you to the dogs!"

Taoist Wude let out a cold snort, and a crimson killing intent flashed in his eyes. The two young men trembled and hastily apologized before the burly figure stormed out of the room.

"Wude... a truly fitting name for someone so immoral," Song Lin murmured softly.

The memories embedded in his mind revealed that Taoist Wude was notoriously ruthless and merciless, frequently forcing them to labor from before dawn until well into the night.

Song Lin wasn't the first to suffer under his tyranny—many had already met their end due to his harsh demands.

"Well, he is a Taoist. What else can we do?" Zhang Jin sighed. "Let's go, it's our turn to work now too."

For ordinary individuals, years of cultivation are required to sense Qi and be granted the Child Talisman.

At this initial stage, known as Meditation, they are not yet capable of obtaining the temple's Righteous Skill. At best, they can enhance their physical strength, perform minor illusions, and practice rudimentary martial arts—a far cry from true Taoists.

Only after cultivating to a certain degree beneath the Child Talisman can one merit the Grand Commissioner Talisman and officially ascend to the ranks of a Taoist.

The pair departed the chamber.

Xuanke Temple was situated on the periphery of a bustling marketplace, sprawling across a considerable area and housing over a thousand servant Taoists alone.

Servant Taoists were a common sight, hurrying through the corridors, diligently carrying water, hauling firewood, or guiding peculiar-looking mutated beasts.

At every junction, guards stood tall, three zhang in height, clad in distinctive yellow turbans.

In stark contrast, the Taoists moved with effortless grace—some took to the skies, others phased through walls, and a few were even transported in sedan chairs borne by paper effigies.

Song Lin was utterly amazed, his vision overwhelmed by surreal and fantastical spectacles, making it difficult to look away.

By absorbing the memories of his predecessor, he came to understand the harsh reality of this world: the principle of survival of the fittest governed all. Taoists wielded absolute authority over servant Taoists.

Much like Song Lin's predecessor, even if poisoned to death, no one would have spared a second glance.

Only by becoming a Taoist could one truly seize control of their own destiny. Song Lin declared silently.

"Hey, stop lost in thought. All Taoists began as servant Taoists. We merely need to accumulate Taoist Merit. One day, we'll certainly rise to the rank of Taoists!"

Hope flickered in Zhang Jin's eyes as he envisioned the day he could tread the immortal path.

Song Lin, however, inwardly chuckled at his companion's idealism. He perceived the stark, unvarnished truth.

It was akin to new entrants brimming with ambition upon entering the workforce, confident that their innate talents would pave their way to success, only to discover they often fell short of the decisive factors.

Even in a seemingly "fair" competition, crucial elements like resources, connections, and opportunities are invariably hoarded by the established elite. What conceivable chance does the average individual possess to emerge victorious?

Nevertheless, Song Lin was not one to readily surrender. Presented with the right circumstances, he might, in time, ascend to the rank of Taoist.

He adamantly refused to remain a servant Taoist for the remainder of his days. Sooner or later, he knew he would either succumb to exhaustion or perish from exposure to toxic herbs.

The two proceeded through the corridor, traversed a small wooded area, and soon noticed a towering cliff face in the distance.

The precipice reached a height of one hundred zhang. From its base, they could faintly discern, approximately ten zhang up, formations resembling human faces with a yellowish-green hue.

"Climb up there!" Zhang Jin sprang into the air, soaring upward a zhang before expertly scaling the cliffs, utilizing ledges and crevices with practiced agility, reaching the intended spot in a remarkably short time.

Song Lin emulated his action, placing his feet with care on ledges and into gaps until he too had ascended ten zhang above the ground.

Servant Taoists who had attained the Child Talisman did indeed possess rudimentary Taoist Realms, albeit at the foundational Meditation phase where their barely perceptible True Qi served to bolster their physical strength.

Even in ordinary society, they would undoubtedly be considered top-tier martial artists.

Upon reaching the ten-zhang mark on the cliff face, Song Lin discerned that the yellowish-green human face patterns were, in fact, a peculiar type of moss.

This moss, coated in a toxic yellow powder, writhed unceasingly, giving the uncanny impression of being alive.

It was identified as Plague Magic Moss.

Typically found in miasma-infested forests, ancient legends whispered that it was a remnant from the descent of the Plague God himself.

Zhang Jin, after covering his nose and mouth with a cloth, secured a hemp rope around his waist to a jutting rock. He then carefully retrieved a cloth bag and an iron spatula from his pocket, gingerly commencing to scrape the moss away, bit by painstaking bit.

"Brother Song Lin, you must exercise extreme caution. The powder is incredibly potent. Do you recall the last time you inhaled some and subsequently fainted?"

"Let us expedite our work and complete this before nightfall. This particular harvest of moss is valued at two units of Taoist Merit. We shall divide it equally, fifty-fifty."

Having dedicated eight years to his studies, Zhang Jin's accumulated experience far surpassed that of Song Lin.

The duo toiled with utmost meticulousness at the perilous ten-zhang height, extracting the moss while carefully modulating their strength to prevent the toxic powder from becoming airborne.

The undertaking was fraught with extreme danger. Only at this moment did Song Lin truly grasp the reason behind the alarmingly high mortality rate among medicine-gathering youths.

With an internal sigh, Song Lin fastened his safety rope, retrieved his tools, and resigned himself to the demanding task at hand.

Suddenly, a scraping sound, indicative of something crawling, echoed from directly above them.

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