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

The mid-year trial was just three months away, and Jia Chunfang was clearly using him as a stepping stone to disgust Elder Zhongzao.

The trial was filled with experienced disciples at the mid-stage of the Firewood Realm, as well as disciples from other sects. They had all sorts of ailments at their disposal. With this medicine, he might be able to withstand a fatal ailment outbreak and have a chance to survive.

Is a 50% drop in bodily function a big price to pay?

In the Po Zang Guan (a Buddhist temple), those who don't survive don't even qualify to be fertilizer. As long as a person lives, they can use their lung fire to seize more resources, and the lost functions can be made up for sooner or later.

In this cannibalistic world, having an extra life is more important than anything else.

Song You folded the paper and, along with the white pill, stuffed it into the pocket of his shirt. He had decided beforehand not to bring anything to the Soul Treasury Temple, and the same applied to this pill. Rather than worrying about being discovered, he decided to keep it in the World of Returning Light as a trump card.

He could feel the outline of the pills through the fabric, which gave him more confidence.

Someone is secretly stealing Bharat's core research results. There's a lot going on behind the scenes, but Song You doesn't want to investigate.

From this perspective, if he could establish his own pharmaceutical company in the world of returning light, researching lesions and coping methods, it would definitely be of great benefit to his cultivation.

This matter needs to be planned slowly. He is still too weak. He can handle a few unarmed ordinary people without much trouble, but if he is targeted by the enemy, his life will be in danger.

Song You had an idea in mind: before expanding, he should keep a low profile as much as possible.

He activated the fire in his lungs, and the flames shot out from his mouth, landing on the pure white medicine box, which quickly turned into a small pile of ashes.

He then tried to destroy the box with the outer flames. Several flames fell, but apart from the cloth handle disappearing, the box remained unchanged.

The outer flame was still not strong enough. Song You stood up, picked up the four boxes on the ground, walked to a low-lying area a dozen steps away, dug a deep pit with his hands, threw the boxes in, and covered them with soil.

He stepped on it, tamping the soil down, and then kicked over a thick layer of fallen leaves to completely cover up the traces of his movement.

After doing all this, Song You let out a long breath and followed the path trodden by Raj and his companions toward the high wall.

He stopped after walking a short distance.

In the grass, the Shudra girl lay there, her eyes open, her facial muscles contorted from the suffocation she had just died from.

Song You looked at the corpse. On this land, the lives of the lower classes were just like those of the disciples in the outer chambers of the Soul Treasury Temple. They could be used as consumables at any time, and no one would care.

Song You didn't have any further emotional fluctuations. He activated his lung energy, opened his mouth, and the outer flames landed precisely on the girl's body.

Within a dozen or so breaths, the corpse on the ground disappeared, leaving only a pool of grayish-white powder.

The night wind blew through the woods, swirling up the powder and scattering it into the surrounding soil and grass, leaving the area clean and tidy, with no trace of anyone having lain there.

Song You extinguished the outer flame, calmed his breathing, and continued walking forward without making any unnecessary noise.

After experiencing a terrifying experience, Song You walked to the outside of the high wall, where the gap was hidden in the shadows.

He stopped two steps away to catch his breath, pressing his ear against the wall. The wall was thick and soundproof, but Song You's hearing had been enhanced, and he could tell that no one was inside.

He took the black magnetic card out of his suit pocket and stuck it on a specific brick surface.

A mechanical clicking sound was heard, and the hidden door opened after the wall dented.

Song You stepped inside, the door closing behind him. He activated the fire in his lungs, merging his entire being into the darkness of the passage.

The passageway was made of concrete, and the ground was very flat. The air was filled with a musty smell that had never seen the sun for many years. Walking along the passageway, the footsteps made no sound.

As he walked, Song You observed the material of the walls. The cement showed no signs of weathering, indicating that the secret passage had not been built for long and that the ventilation system was functioning well. He kept these details in mind.

After walking for a while, a fork in the road appeared ahead.

Song You stopped and mentally reconstructed the terrain outside. The road on the left sloped upwards, leading to the manor in Barat, while the road on the right pointed directly to a row of large tin warehouses.

It seems the purpose of this secret passage is clear: in case of an emergency, security guards and workers outside can use it to quickly retreat to the manor, or Bharat can escape directly from the manor to the outside of the warehouse. Normally, such emergency passages are unused and unmonitored.

Song You's goal was to resupply, so he turned right and headed towards the warehouse.

At the end of the passage was a gray fire door.

Song You walked to the door, placed his hand on the doorknob, listened for a moment without any movement, and was just about to open the door when he heard the sound of leather shoes stepping on the cement floor outside.

He withdrew his hand, pressed his body against the door, held his breath, and heard people talking outside the door.

"This shipment took a lot of effort," a man's voice said, also speaking American English, but different from the American in the airplane cabin.

"Mr. Smith, Boss Bharat is very satisfied with your efficiency," another voice with an Indian accent said in English.

"Of course, the efficiency is high." Smith quickened his pace. "These children were all brought in from Eastern Europe, South America, and East Asia, exactly as you requested. Our people handled the formal adoption procedures, and their identities and backgrounds are spotless; no one can find any problems with them."

"Very good," the Indian man replied. "The boss instructed that the source of the test subjects cannot be wrong. The previous losses were too great, attracting the attention of the international police, which would not benefit anyone."

"You need to speed up your drug research." Smith tapped a metal object beside him. "The consortium is pushing hard. With so much money invested and no results, Mr. Barat's pharmaceutical group will face their withdrawal of investment. Those orphans are being used up too quickly, and we're under a lot of pressure to restock."

"Please tell the consortium that with this batch of fresh test subjects, the clinical data will soon be complete. We now have a direction for improving the side effects of the new drug," the Indian replied.

The two walked and talked until their footsteps faded into the distance.

Song You stood behind the door, going over these words in his mind.

This is a case of multinational capital colluding with local Indian thugs, using adoption as a pretext to bring children to this private estate for human experimentation.

The logic of capital operation is always profit maximization. The consortium represented by Smith provided funding and channels, while Bharat provided the venue and an experimental environment where Indian supervision was practically non-existent. Those orphans who were sent there would not even leave their names, but would only become a set of data in the experimental report.

Song You kept this matter in mind, but he had no intention of meddling in other people's business. Although he was also an orphan, with his current strength, directly confronting such a transnational interest group would be tantamount to courting death.

He only takes what he needs.

After confirming that there was no further movement outside the door, Song You pressed the doorknob, pushed it open a crack, and slipped into the warehouse.

The warehouse was extremely spacious, with spotlights shining from the ceiling. Rows of tall shelves were neatly arranged, piled high with various wooden crates and cardboard boxes.