Green smoke rose straight upwards.
Profound Daoist resonance seemed to descend through the heavens, layer upon layer.
The offering table began to tremble faintly. Incense, fruit, candles, and ingots scattered across the floor. The sound of gurgling water came from nowhere, pounding against the eardrums.
Quick as a flash, Xue Cuo held the incense burner steady. The blazing red before his eyes quickly dimmed, the talisman in his palm began to glow, and lotus Daoist aura unfolded in shimmering layers, its gentle radiance scorching the ghostly bridegroom away.
Xue Cuo tore off the red veil in one motion and kicked over the table.
“Your Grandfather Xue is here!”
The veil lifted, and suddenly a fierce wind roared through the mourning hall.
Where once it bustled with noise, now it was utterly empty. The ghosts had vanished without a trace, leaving only cold leftovers and drifting paper money.
Smoke curled thinly from the incense burner, but all at once it thickened, surging outward. The smoke sank down like a fine, unending rain, sweeping across the hall.
Xue Cuo looked, and his face blanched.
The mourning hall had transformed into a cavern dripping with blood: skulls piled like mountains, bones like forests, flesh churned to pulp. Tables and chairs were nothing but human bone. The “fine dishes” that had fallen to the ground were human hearts and livers, raw and bloody.
The cavern seethed with the grudges of unnumbered souls, with hatred, with curses damning every living being to eternal unrest. No wonder the murderous aura soared to the skies!
Xue Cuo drew a sharp breath. Horror struck his heart, yet fury surged up with it. His lips pressed thin, his fingers lightly joined.
The Supreme Freedom Technique was driven to its limit.
The youth’s figure lifted slightly into the air. A wind rose from nowhere, setting his scarlet robe aflame and his black hair streaming like silk.
Whoosh—
Thirty-two green talismans shot forth at once.
A roaring tide surged like thunder, its crashing waters drowning out wails and curses.
Lotus petals fell in countless numbers. Where they touched the corpses, specks of gold light burst forth and flew into the lotus blooms.
A ghostly hand, silent and unseen, appeared behind Xue Cuo’s head… then struck.
Buzz—
The talismans gleamed faintly, forming a Daoist image of Stars Shrouding the Moon. This talisman array he had devised in childhood, and after twelve years its might was now beyond compare.
Waters from the great loch came pouring down.
The Daoist image was ancient and obscure: stars shining over the long river of primeval wilderness. Through sea-change and shifting constellations, it had never altered.
The ghost hand recoiled in pain.
Xue Cuo’s killing intent flared. Holding the incense burner in one hand, he seized his chance: fingers joined, thirty-two green talismans blazed. “Ignite!”
The water burst apart.
A wisp of black mist exploded into the air, murderous qi scattering.
A shrill howl split his ears. Xue Cuo staggered back half a step, his shoulder slashed without him knowing when.
Now unseen foes crowded all around. Sensing the strange power of the talismans, they would not meet them head-on but turned into the cavern’s fiends, dragging him into struggle.
Suddenly a premonition struck Xue Cuo. He wheeled round, pupils shrinking.
Behind him stood a man in wedding robes: headless, one-armed, towering tall, muscles bulging, a halberd in hand, murderous aura raging with brutal ferocity.
And behind him, it was like mountains collapsing and seas surging… all echoed with broken cries:
[General]
[Kill]
[Kill, kill, kill]
Within the blood-soaked cavern, black mist thickened into ghostly soldiers clad in armour and brandishing blades. Each one stood at the Original Void Realm, hundreds, thousands, arrayed behind the man. As his halberd struck the ground, they hurled themselves forward in a death charge.
Xue Cuo’s aura rippled out, lotus Dao unfurling in waves. Thirty-two talismans glimmered like stars, at once forcing the crimson ghost-soldiers back.
The soldiers fell back, the halberd came down.
That strike, laden with boundless killing intent, tore through Daoist aura, stars unable to block it. Xue Cuo had no way to dodge.
Clang!
The halberd fell upon the incense burner. It held unmoved, only quivering faintly.
What a great incense burner! Truly a treasure bestowed by Her Ladyship!
Xue Cuo’s eyes lit. He flung out talismans, hefted the incense burner and smashed. With incense burner as weapon and talismans upon his body, he fought with astounding bravery, driving the ghost bridegroom back several paces.
His battle-spirit soared. Just as he meant to wield the burner like a shield, he felt the talismans dimming The halberd’s murderous aura nearly shattered the burning incense!
Xue Cuo thought, bad! He hastily slipped the burner back into his sleeve.
Without it, the ghost bridegroom, chest swelling from the blow, straightened. His colossal muscles flexing as he glared gloomily at Xue Cuo.
Xue Cuo turned and bolted. The halberd thundered in pursuit.
This time, no incense burner. The halberd slashed down again, ghost soldiers swarming about him. Front and rear, no escape.
Decisively, Xue Cuo cast talismans, scattering the soldiers, widening the gap between himself and the ghost bridegroom.
But without the burner, he was driven and beaten relentlessly.
His bodywork was exquisite, yet within this blood cavern the bridegroom’s strength was near inexhaustible. Xue Cuo’s life hung by a thread more than once; his scarlet robe seeped blood, his state pitiful.
At that moment the halberd shifted from cleave to slice, a blade sweeping across. Forced to take it, he was struck and spat a mouthful of hot blood.
Clutching his chest, he was preternaturally calm.
His star-bright eyes fixed upon the bridegroom. His fingers lifted, and twenty or thirty different talismans burst forth from him.
The green slips fluttered like willow leaves.
“Ignite.”
A golden flash lit the cavernous hall. The red ghost soldiers, charging, abruptly felt a strange sensation. Looking down, they saw in shock their bodies shattering.
The halberd stood planted before the bridegroom, shielding him from most of the attack. He gazed a long while at the wounded Xue Cuo, then extended one hand.
Blood dripped from Xue Cuo’s lips. His brows arched faintly, and almost without thought he flung two talismans. They landed in the bridegroom’s palm and burst into black mist.
Bridegroom: “…”
With grim force, he withdrew his hand, raised his halberd high, and struck down mercilessly.
Xue Cuo braced to counter… but suddenly thick fog welled before him. At its end shimmered a golden pool, lotus blossoms in bloom.
A distant divine voice fell from the Ninth Heaven, piercing through spirit and soul, sounding in his ears:
[Xue Cuo, light the incense]
Startled, Xue Cuo raised the burner. The incense was half spent, only a thread of scarlet left.
The Yin Fire caught the stick. Smoke rose, straight and unbroken.
The faint divine voice spoke again.
[Lord of the Solar Wheel, the Great Eastern Emperor is willing. He may assist you.]
[Speak His honoured name.]
Xue Cuo froze. A Daoist title flashed through his mind: Supreme Deity of the Primeval Beginning… Sovereign of the Vast Cosmos… Radiant and Resplendent, the Great Eastern Emperor.
At the Goddess’ prompting, he recited the name, offering incense almost at the same instant. Immersed in the act, he raised his head.
The long halberd, brimming with a murderous aura fit to tear heaven and earth apart, cleaved down!
At the final instant, the descending blade was seized by a vast golden hand, half-translucent.
The killing force stirred Xue Cuo’s hair; he instinctively avoided looking.
From every direction warmth surged forth, majestic and unconquerable, like the newborn sun rising with blazing radiance.
Before Him, the world’s malign spirits were like slugs beneath noon-day glare, shrivelling in moments.
Almost at once, the sound of rushing water filled Xue Cuo’s ears, louder, clearer.
A faint figure appeared, lotus in hand, drifting slowly closer. Xue Cuo squeezed his eyes shut and leaned meekly against the wall.
Resounding torrents mingled with the ancient, piercing cries of birds.
Heat and chill alternated.
Fire and water resounded together.
The blood-cave demons, fierce and murderous, had never met such a sight. Beneath the crushing terror, they could not strike back at all.
The incense burned swiftly. Within four or five breaths only ashes remained.
The golden deity lifted His gaze, meeting the ethereal figure across three myriad years of grievance. His magnificent form trembled faintly.
[Goddess of the Great Loch, it has been thirty thousand years since that battle.]
[High Lord.]
[Are you soon to rise again?]
The golden deity’s eyes shone like molten gold, touched with inexplicable sorrow: [The Great Way is broken. I have already fallen.]
The goddess sighed, her pale-blue figure thinning, then dispersing altogether, as soft as a passing breeze.
The golden god’s form also grew transparent. Suddenly He stretched out a hand, as if to touch the youth with eyes still closed.
Crash—crash—!
The vast loch-waters heaved, curling around Xue Cuo.
Golden Deity: “…” Merely tying a karmic thread. No need for such stinginess.
He drew back His hand, then vanished. Both divine thoughts withdrew, leaving not a ripple behind.
Xue Cuo’s ears twitched. Realising that Her Ladyship and the Golden Crow had departed, he let out a quiet breath of relief…
Elsewhere.
A white tiger with man’s body and beast’s head lounged indolently upon the bridal palanquin, clad in black robes and soft armour.
The faceless bearers looked sickly pale. Though lacking features, they could not hide their unwillingness.
That once-fine treasure of a sedan was in tatters, its retinue of evil spirits battered black and blue, claw-marks still visible.
The drumming ghost was ready to weep.
They had never invited this lord!
The fellow had seized the palanquin on his own, all arrogance, even thrashing every ghost in the company.
Yin Feixue had already overturned the mountains in battle… yet here a ghostly tiger of divine bloodline had appeared, spewing lofty words.
Divine beast bloodline? Smash it all!
From a scorned little monster, Yin Feixue had fought step by step to his present rule of a city. He had never once believed in bloodline theories. What of an ordinary tiger? What of a divine one?
He lacked neither talent nor diligence. Why demean himself?
What he lacked, he forged. Yet monsters such as he were rare. The demon clans were scattered and withered; those that remained squabbled, cutting themselves into ranks and classes, heavenly beasts above, lesser beasts below.
Were phoenixes truly nobler than sparrows?
He would say, no!
Yin Feixue held to his own creed: the virtuous and the capable deserved respect.
Want to win his submission by blood alone?
Dream on.
The faceless ghost in red sobbed as he carried the palanquin to its end. Yet curiously, the white-clad ghost did not appear, and the suona’s wail fell silent.
The gathered spirits gaped at the collapsing mountain, ablaze with fire, criss-crossed with streams. A landscape most splendid. Yet this was no Ghost-Weeping Ridge!
Yin Feixue arched a brow, sprang from the palanquin, studied the scene, and leapt into the fissure below.
There lay a cavern, fire fiercer still, water rushing clear, scouring the miasma and demons.
Scarlet light pulsed heavy and thick.
Sensing something, Yin Feixue turned.
In the blaze stood a youth in crimson, eyes closed, brows like ink strokes, complexion like snow.
A cold silver chain circled his waist, tracing intricate, delicate patterns. Faintly discernible were two characters: [Loch] and [Water].
It’s him?
