The hills surrounding Raozhou, renowned for the delicate porcelain that flowed from its kilns like white jade into the markets of the Song empire, held secrets older than the current dynasty. While the main workshops buzzed with activity, churning out bowls and vases for imperial tables and wealthy merchants, other, more ancient kiln sites lay abandoned, crumbling back into the earth, their histories half-forgotten, whispered only in local folklore. One such place was the 'Dragon Spine Kiln', named for the long, undulating ridge it was built against, a site rumored to have produced ceramics of unusual potency for ritual purposes centuries ago, before being abruptly deserted. Locals avoided it, claiming the earth there felt wrong, the air unnaturally still.

  Xuanzhen arrived in the Raozhou area following the trail of rumors far more disturbing than usual pottery-town gossip. Tales had surfaced in nearby villages of disappearances – poor families scavenging for firewood or usable clay near the Dragon Spine ridge vanishing without a trace. Livestock left near the area overnight were found drained of blood, their bodies strangely cold and stiff even in the mild weather. And then came the sightings: furtive, terrified whispers of a figure seen hopping stiffly among the ruins at dusk, clad in rags, its face pale and rigid, emitting low, guttural groans. A figure that moved with unnatural speed despite its awkward gait, leaving behind a palpable aura of deathly chill.

  These weren't tales of mischievous sprites or common ghosts. They spoke of something far more visceral, something that inspired primal fear – the Jiangshi, the hopping corpse, animated by dark forces, driven by a thirst for life essence, qi.

  His inquiries led him to Elder Miao, the village headman of the closest settlement to the Dragon Spine Kiln. Miao was a man weathered by sun and worry, his face etched with the community’s fear. "Master Taoist," he began, his voice low and trembling, offering Xuanzhen bitter tea in his simple hut, "it's the old kiln. Cursed ground. We warned them... the families who went missing... they were desperate, looking for old pots, anything to sell. Now..." He shook his head, tears welling in his eyes. "Three families gone. And last night... young Wei saw it again. Near the ridge. Hopping. He barely escaped."

  Miao recounted the local legends surrounding the kiln. It was built, he said, not by ordinary potters, but by a reclusive, eccentric Taoist master centuries ago, known only as Master Ziyang. Ziyang wasn't interested in crafting everyday wares; he sought to imbue his ceramics with spiritual energy, experimenting with strange clays, rare mineral glazes, and unorthodox firing techniques timed to astrological conjunctions. He was rumored to be pursuing secrets of alchemy, perhaps even immortality. Then, one day, he simply vanished. The kiln fires died, the workshop fell silent, and locals began to shun the place, sensing a lingering, unnatural energy.

  A reclusive Taoist alchemist, a deserted kiln linked to ritual pottery, and now a Jiangshi. The elements clicked into place in Xuanzhen’s mind, forming a disturbing hypothesis. He suspected the Jiangshi wasn't a random occurrence, but likely connected to Master Ziyang's experiments – perhaps a failed attempt at creating an immortal vessel, a guardian bound by ritual, or the alchemist himself transformed by his own dangerous craft.

  "I must visit this Dragon Spine Kiln," Xuanzhen stated calmly.

  Elder Miao looked horrified. "Master, it's death to go there now! The creature..."

  "Understanding the source is the only path to resolution," Xuanzhen replied gently but firmly. "Fear feeds such entities. Clarity and courage may yet restore balance."

  Guided by a terrified young villager who pointed the way from a safe distance, Xuanzhen approached the ridge as dusk began to settle. The air grew heavy, unnaturally cold. The usual sounds of the countryside faded, replaced by an oppressive silence. The ruins of the kiln complex emerged from the overgrown hillside – crumbling brick structures, collapsed workshops, and towering, dragon-shaped kiln chimneys now half-swallowed by vines. Piles of discarded shards littered the ground, but these weren't the fine white porcelain of Raozhou; they were darker, coarser, some bearing strange, archaic symbols.

  Xuanzhen extended his senses. The qi here was deeply disturbed. There was the expected stagnant energy of abandonment, but overlaid upon it was a powerful, cold, and rigidly controlled necrotic energy, emanating strongly from the direction of the largest, most intact kiln structure. He also detected faint traces of lingering alchemical energies – residues of cinnabar, sulphur, and other potent substances used in waidan (external alchemy).

  As shadows deepened, he heard it – a low, guttural groan echoing from within the main kiln building. Then, a rhythmic, stiff thump... thump... thump. The sound grew closer. From the shadowed archway of the kiln emerged a figure.

  It matched the villagers' descriptions perfectly. Clad in the tattered remains of what might have once been Taoist robes, its body was unnaturally stiff, moving with the characteristic hopping gait of a Jiangshi. Its skin had a pale, almost greenish tinge, stretched taut over sharp bones. Its eyes were open but vacant, filmed over with a milky opacity. Its fingernails were long, blackened claws. A palpable aura of deathly cold and raw, negative qi radiated from it. Yet, Xuanzhen noted something unusual. Embedded in the creature's chest, where a controlling talisman might normally be placed, was a large shard of dark, glazed pottery, pulsating with a faint, cold light, etched with complex symbols he recognized as alchemical notations mixed with binding runes.

  The Jiangshi seemed unaware of Xuanzhen at first. It hopped stiffly towards a pile of discarded pottery shards near the kiln entrance, its head cocked as if listening or sensing. It bent stiffly, its claws scraping as it sifted through the fragments, picking up specific pieces – shards bearing the same dark glaze and symbols as the one embedded in its chest – and placing them into a tattered pouch at its waist. It ignored other, seemingly more valuable, intact pieces.

  This wasn't the mindless, bloodthirsty creature of common lore. It was acting with purpose, following a directive. It was collecting specific components.

  Xuanzhen stepped forward cautiously, holding up a hand inscribed with a temporary calming rune. "Peace," he called out, his voice calm but infused with qi. "Your task binds you, but your nature brings suffering. What purpose drives this endless collection?"

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  The Jiangshi froze, its head snapping towards Xuanzhen. Its vacant eyes seemed to focus, or rather, the energy animating it focused. It emitted a low, rattling hiss, its jaw unnaturally stiff. It didn't attack immediately, but regarded him with a cold, assessing stillness. Xuanzhen felt the familiar draining pull of a Jiangshi's aura, but also a strange, underlying current of... waiting? Or perhaps, seeking?

  He realized this creature was likely bound by Master Ziyang's final ritual. The shard in its chest wasn't just a control mechanism; it was the core of its animation, perhaps containing a fragment of Ziyang's own will or the ritual's intent. The creature was likely compelled to gather the necessary components – specific ritually prepared ceramic shards – to complete Ziyang's unfinished alchemical work, perhaps an elixir of immortality or a powerful artifact. Its attacks on livestock and people were likely secondary, driven by the need for qi to sustain its unnatural existence while fulfilling its primary directive.

  Direct destruction might be difficult due to the protective shard and could unleash the bound necrotic energy unpredictably. Understanding the ritual, the purpose of the shards, seemed key. Xuanzhen needed to find Ziyang's workshop, his notes.

  Keeping a wary distance, Xuanzhen circled the main kiln building, using his senses to probe for hidden chambers or areas with concentrated residual energy. The Jiangshi watched him, hopping stiffly to block his path if he moved too close to the kiln entrance, clearly guarding it. It seemed programmed to protect the site and continue its collection.

  Xuanzhen located a collapsed section of wall at the rear of the kiln complex, leading into what might have been Ziyang's personal workshop. Pushing aside rubble, he entered. Dust lay thick as snow, disturbed only by the tracks of the Jiangshi. Scattered across decaying tables and shelves were alchemical apparatus – crucibles, mortars, pestles – and scrolls, many damaged by time and damp. But in a protected niche, sealed within a clay jar bearing protective symbols, he found a relatively intact set of bamboo slips – Ziyang's notes.

  He retreated to a safe distance outside the ruins, the Jiangshi resuming its eerie collection nearby, seemingly ignoring him now that he wasn't directly threatening the kiln entrance. Lighting a small lantern, Xuanzhen carefully unrolled the slips.

  The notes were dense, filled with esoteric alchemical formulae, astrological calculations, and increasingly obsessive passages. Ziyang had been attempting to create an elixir of immortality, or rather, a way to transfer his consciousness into an undying vessel. He believed the unique clay of the Dragon Spine ridge, fired under specific astrological alignments with potent mineral glazes, could create a ceramic matrix capable of holding a spirit. The Jiangshi was his 'Guardian Vessel' – an earlier experiment, a reanimated corpse bound with a 'Kiln-Fired Soul Shard' and programmed to protect the site and gather the remaining charged shards needed for the final ritual matrix. Ziyang hadn't vanished; his notes ended abruptly, suggesting the ritual to create the Guardian had backfired, perhaps killing him or trapping his own spirit partially within the ceramic shard embedded in the creature.

  The notes also detailed the ritual process and, crucially, the specific harmonic resonance required to stabilize or dissolve the Kiln-Fired Soul Shard. It required not just standard Taoist exorcism techniques, but the application of specific sonic frequencies and elemental counter-energies related to the five phases (Wu Xing) as applied in ceramics – water to counter the excessive fire used in the ritual, wood to ground the unstable earth element of the clay, metal (in the form of specific chime tones) to disrupt the binding runes.

  Armed with this knowledge, Xuanzhen prepared. He gathered specific materials: water from a deep, pure spring, a sturdy branch from a lightning-struck tree (representing potent wood energy), and a set of small, precisely tuned bronze chimes.

  He returned to the kiln site as the moon rose, casting long, eerie shadows. The Jiangshi was still active, its pouch bulging with collected shards. Xuanzhen approached the main kiln entrance, placing the chimes, the water vessel, and the wooden branch carefully on the ground, forming a small ritual circle.

  "Guardian," Xuanzhen called out, his voice calm but firm. "The ritual that binds you was flawed. The master you serve is gone, his ambition unfulfilled. Your task is endless, your existence a torment to yourself and others. It is time for release."

  The Jiangshi turned, emitting a low growl, its cold aura intensifying. It hopped towards him, claws raised.

  Xuanzhen did not retreat. He struck the first chime, its clear, metallic note cutting through the dead air. The Jiangshi flinched, its movements momentarily faltering. The shard on its chest pulsed erratically. As the creature lunged, Xuanzhen struck another chime, a different tone, simultaneously sprinkling the pure water in an arc before him and grounding the end of the wooden branch firmly into the earth within his circle.

  He continued the sequence – specific chime tones, splashes of water, grounding the wood energy – following the counter-resonances described in Ziyang's notes. Each chime strike seemed to disrupt the energy field around the Jiangshi, each splash of water cooled its necrotic aura, the wood energy drew the chaotic earth element towards stability. The creature staggered, groaning, clearly distressed. The Soul Shard on its chest glowed brighter, then began to crack, hairline fractures appearing on its dark surface.

  With a final, resonant chime sequence, Xuanzhen poured the last of the water directly onto the ground before the creature and struck the earth firmly with the branch. The Soul Shard shattered with a sharp crack, falling from the Jiangshi's chest in pieces.

  The creature froze mid-hop. The deathly cold aura vanished. The unnatural stiffness left its limbs. With a long, rattling sigh – perhaps the final exhalation of Ziyang's trapped consciousness or simply the release of necrotic energy – the corpse collapsed, falling inert to the ground, becoming once again just dead flesh and tattered robes.

  Silence descended, broken only by the wind sighing through the ruined chimneys. The oppressive atmosphere lifted. Xuanzhen examined the shattered Soul Shard fragments – the symbols were now dark, lifeless. He gathered them carefully, along with Ziyang's notes.

  He advised Elder Miao and the villagers to give the body a proper burial with purifying rites. He recommended the kiln site be formally sealed, perhaps with a small shrine erected nearby dedicated to the local earth spirits, acknowledging the past imbalance and restoring harmony. Ziyang's notes and the shard fragments, he would take with him, ensuring the dangerous knowledge wouldn't fall into the wrong hands.

  Leaving the Raozhou hills behind, Xuanzhen reflected on the Kiln-Fired Guardian. It was a tragic figure, born of misguided ambition, bound to an endless task. Master Ziyang, in his quest for immortality, had created only an unliving prison. It served as a stark warning about the perils of unchecked ambition and the dangerous power inherent in manipulating the fundamental forces of life and death, whether through alchemy or any other means. Sometimes, the pursuit of eternity led only to a cursed and restless undeath.