The Immortal of Plague begins by establishing the root of lung fire.

During his university years, Song You achieved perfect grades in English and, after undergoing rigorous training from Meng Meng, became proficient in both speaking and listening.

The person above spoke at a moderate pace and with clear enunciation, sounding like an American. He mentioned several cross-border mergers and acquisitions and the Nasdaq index, suggesting he was a capitalist from Wall Street.

The two exchanged a few compliments, rambling on about golf and the weather in New Delhi—all meaningless drivel.

The Americans were already in the cabin before the plane took off.

Song You refocused his attention. Time was of the essence; one night at Po Cang Temple was equivalent to a day and a half here, enough for him to study.

The emergency lights on the top of the warehouse were too dim, so Song You opened his mouth and spat out a ball of grayish-white flame, which he held in his hand, illuminating the surroundings with its eerie light.

The light from the firewood had been used to sharpen his eyes, and by its dim light, the words on the pages were clearly legible.

He opened the "Illustrated Catalogue of Herbs," and the first dozen or so pages recorded variations of common herbs, some of which he had memorized when he worked at the pharmacy.

My gaze swept over the basic content quickly, the pages turned, the paper darkened, and the line drawings next to the text looked strange.

Song You's gaze fell on a plant called Back Mountain. The illustration depicted an umbrella-shaped plant, but the root system below formed a complete human-shaped vein.

The written description of its cultivation method states that a living person must be found, and a small hole, about one inch in size, must be made in the middle of their spine. The seed is then inserted into the hole, and the person planted with the seed cannot stand and must crawl on the ground all day long.

Seeds take root in flesh and blood, and the root system spreads along the body's meridians. The sweat that seeps out when a person crawls is the nourishment that irrigates the seeds.

The mountain-backed plant is considered mature only when the living person has exhausted their last drop of sweat, collapses, and their body turns into a pile of powder.

Song You's breath hitched for a second, his fingers gripping the rough pages of the book tightly. Even though he was used to the inhumanity of the Soul Concealment Temple, this cultivation method still made him break out in a cold sweat on the back of his neck.

This kind of thing doesn't need to be memorized deliberately; it's etched into your mind at a glance.

The hundreds or thousands of medicine drawers in the pharmacy contain ingredients that were extracted from living people in this way.

Song You shook off unnecessary emotions and memorized every word.

The two consecutive cross-disciplinary journeys, coupled with the intense concentration required for memorization, had taken a heavy toll on Song You's body. A fine layer of sweat appeared on his forehead, his abdomen rumbled, and a feeling of emptiness surged through him.

Suddenly he noticed a peculiar fragrance in the air, a mixture of strong masala spices and meaty aromas.

Song You turned his head following the scent and saw a cold chain insulated box tied to his side and behind him. The label was printed with Sanskrit, indicating that the group of Indians had brought their own goods.

Do not open the box from the top, as this will break the seal and be discovered.

Song You moved his body and crawled to the bottom of the incubator.

He adjusted the outer flame and burned a fist-sized hole in the hard plastic at the bottom.

Reaching in and feeling around, I found several vacuum-packed bags. I tore them open and found smoked wild game meat inside, the meat firm and rich in fat.

Song You chewed heartily, the high-calorie food quickly replenishing his energy, and the aroma of the spices was both pungent and filling.

The Indians smuggled high-end ingredients, which benefited him greatly; he ate three large pieces, and his stomach felt full again.

Glucose can only be used in emergencies; only solid protein and fat can sustain the body's energy expenditure in the long run. He then pulled out an unopened glass bottle containing some kind of pale yellow liquid.

Song You bit open the cork, took a swig, and the burning sensation of the strong liquor went down his esophagus, dispelling the chill in the warehouse.

After eating and drinking his fill, Song You continued reading until his memory was fully developed and his eyes started to ache.

The warehouse scene before me began to distort; it was time.

He returned to the wooden bed at Po Cang Temple. Without resting, Song You once again emptied his mind and guided his Qi into his body.

As the spiritual energy of heaven and earth entered his body, excruciating pain tore at his meridians, and he once again fell into the world of returning light.

And so it goes.

Three full hours had passed in the world of light.

He had hollowed out about 10% of the wild animal meat at the bottom of the insulated box.

Song You leaned against the wooden box, rubbing his temples. He had overestimated himself; his mind was crammed with the first quarter of the "Illustrated Compendium of Herbs," pushing his mental limits.

My temples are throbbing; if I keep memorizing, my brain will shut down first.

Song You leaned against the wooden box, mentally analyzing the pharmacology.

Po Zang Guan's "Illustrated Catalogue of Herbs" is absurd, yet it possesses a self-consistent pathological logic, which he understood better than some of his disciples who could only memorize by rote.

The outer disciples are prone to causing explosions when sorting medicinal herbs, which is due to the conflict between the herbs during the preparation. Once the relationships of mutual generation and restraint are clarified, the job in the pharmacy does not seem so fatal.

It was time to leave. He rolled up the book, turned on the outer flame to envelop it, tilted his head back, and forcefully swallowed the book back into his stomach.

Stomach acid churned, and the feeling of something stuck in my stomach returned.

Just then, conversations broke out in the upper cabin, and the leather seats of the Americans creaked and groaned.

"Balart, how's your contact with Ruikang Pharmaceutical going?" the American asked.

Upon hearing the name Ruikang Pharmaceuticals, Song You stopped rubbing his temples, his heart sinking. Something seemed off about the signing.

Bharat replied in English, "Meng Wenyuan is very cautious, but they urgently need overseas contract manufacturers. As planned, we will first give them a letter of intent for cooperation with extremely high profits."

The American chuckled twice: "Very good. Once the news gets out, Ruikang Pharmaceuticals' stock price will rise. Then you can find a reason to unilaterally cancel the cooperation. My funds will start going long and short beforehand, reaping profits from both sides. After it's done, you'll get 30% of the profits."

Bharat replied respectfully, "It's a pleasure working with you."

The American voice continued: "There are a few knowledgeable accountants in Meng Wenyuan's team. Be careful when you're doing the books, don't give yourself away."

Bharat assured them, "Don't worry, we have three sets of accounts at our factory in Khalidwa. Even if they investigate for a month, they'll only see what we want them to see. Once the contract is signed, the penalty clauses are enough to bankrupt them."

Song You sat in the dark warehouse and heard everything clearly.

This group set up a scheme to slaughter Ruikang Pharmaceutical. These people in finance are even more ruthless and insidious than the elders of Pozang Temple who kill openly and without bloodshed.

Song You's mind worked quickly. Judging by actions rather than intentions, Meng Wenyuan's offer to take him abroad was a favor in itself.

Take this message back to repay the favor, and the two will be even. You might even be able to get some benefits out of it.

I need to find an opportunity to contact Meng Wenyuan, but there's no rush now. I still have to overcome the life-or-death ordeal at Po Cang Temple.

My body recovered, but my mental exhaustion reached its peak. The suitcase and metal bulkhead in front of me began to crumble and turn into countless colored blocks.

Their gazes converged again, and Song You sat in the bungalow of the Po Cang Temple.