According to the classics, in the northern part of the once Wilderness, there was a small blessed land where White Soil was produced.
The livelihood of the people living there was akin to gold panning, except they were panning for White Soil to sell to the people of the Lihuo Institute.
The annual output there wasn't even enough to nurture a single seedling of Heavenly Materials and Earthly Treasures, yet even this was considered exceptionally high.
The reason it can be seen in the classics now is partly because the Wilderness has long been abandoned, and partly because that small blessed land has also collapsed...
The White Soil that the Lihuo Institute has today is all from their stock, reducing with each use, and acquiring new White Soil from other places is akin to saving up to buy a three-entry courtyard on the edge of the palace city, purely for amassing resources for the descendants.
The Dean of this generation shouldn't expect to gather enough for one person's research while still alive.
As for the other Five-Colored Soil, it's all up to luck; even the Lihuo Institute doesn't have enough for what Yu Ziqing needs.
After Yu Ziqing finished reading a general introduction, he felt that the Black Soil he got last ti was given too perfunctorily.
No wonder the Deceitful Ghost said that there are always so large downstream clients trying to source Black Soil through roundabout ans without knowing where the news ca from.
He didn't hold much hope for the Langya Institute either; just being able to procure so classics would suffice.
...
At night, in the East Sea, a pitch-black ship with no reflective surfaces silently erged from beneath the sea.
The Saints wandering in the deep sea spent a lot of ti avoiding the Dragon Clan's territory to steer clear of unnecessary trouble.
With dark clouds covering the moon, a Bald man with a hamr-shaped mark on his face ca to the bow of the ship, gazing west.
"We're not far from the Four-Direction Land now; we must be cautious.
That Remnant has already fled back; it's uncertain if he was slain by the Evil."
The Hamr Face Bald murmured quietly to himself.
Behind him, another Bald with a jellyfish tattoo on his head spoke softly.
"That Evil is stronger than any seen in the past thousand years; his status in life must have been very high, and he's been dead for a long ti.
The legends should be true, that those Remnants have completely vanished.
The Remnant we saw this ti didn't even know us and yet dared to flee back to the Four-Direction Land.
He might already be one of the few survivors.
It's also possible that he received so inheritance from those Remnants and knew very little about many things.
Whether or not he was killed by the Evil, I think it doesn't really matter."
The Hamr Face reflected a cold expression and snorted coldly.
"In the deep sea, arrogance is the Dao to Death!
Have you forgotten about those who lost their lives to a tiny jellyfish, a palm-sized little fish?"
"Forgive my slip of the tongue." The Jellyfish Bald's face tightened as he touched the tattoo on his head, imdiately admitting his mistake.
"Don't land on the Four-Direction Land; just gather information from the sea.
First, find out where that foolish giant shark t its end and locate what it swallowed.
Is everything that needs preparing ready?"
"Everything is prepared; the bloodline of that foolish giant shark within five generations remains alive, and the sacrificial altar has been set up." The Jellyfish Bald replied in a deep voice.
The Hamr Face Bald lifted his head, watching as the black clouds gradually drifted away, revealing a bright moon like a silver disk.
"Go check again, we'll begin at noon tomorrow."
The next noon, with not a cloud in the sky and the sea calm without waves, the weather was excellent.
The Black Ship rested at the bottom of the sea like an ordinary wreck, silence as death.
The Hamr Face Bald entered one of the cabins, resembling a massive circular lake within.
In the center of the giant lake, towering thousands of feet high, was a vast hollow where a prepared sacrificial altar stood.
In the lake, tightly drawn chains were embedded in the bodies of giant sharks of varying sizes, binding them firmly in the water.
Around the altar, black-robed balds knelt, and the altar was constructed from thick bones.
The Hamr Face stepped onto the altar, shaved off his eyebrows into the offering spot, and dripped a drop of heart blood into the second offering spot.
The spot in the center for placing offerings remained empty for now.
The Hamr Face looked up at the plaque at the center of the altar.
Covered with red cloth, the plaque was bound by nine dark red weaves holding the red cloth in place.
Surrounding it was even a long-term functioning formation that distorted perception and consciousness.
The Hamr Face looked at the plaque, ford a Seal with his hands, and muttered in a low, indistinct language unknown.
It resembled a step in the Sacrificial Technique, but at that mont as he formally began, his mouth uttered not a Sacrificial Text but a Spell.
As the Spell sounded, the other balds clasped their hands into a Seal and chanted softly.
In the surrounding massive circular lake, the taut chains creaked unpleasantly as the water's flow accelerated.
All the giant sharks, big and small, beca entangled and were subsequently torn apart from the smallest.
All flesh, bones, demon souls, everything — even the grudges of those giant sharks perished without a trace — were incorporated entirely into the blood.
In the circular lake, the blood gathered into a river, roaring with a cry akin to the desperate wails of the dying, filled with malice and despair.
All the blood continuously surged to the central offering spot, spiraling down but it did not sway the magic platform at all.
The blood ceaselessly condensed, forming into a heart-shaped blood crystal, still pulsating at the mont.
Suddenly, black-grey gas was released from the plaque covered in red cloth at the center of the altar.
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