ATAVID CH85

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Jiang Qunyu had felt from the very beginning that this entire place within the Boundless Realm of the Nine Underworlds was thoroughly bizarre. Just the other day, those ghost attendants had mentioned that in the ninety-ninth year of Changning, every single servant and ghost attendant in the palace had been completely replaced. They also noted that in the twenty-odd years leading up to his arrival, three other people forced into the Nine Underworlds to ward off bad luck had already lost their lives—to say nothing of the thirteen others who preceded them before that fateful ninety-ninth year.

He still wasn’t entirely clear on exactly when Wei Xun had arrived in the Nine Underworlds, but he highly doubted that a cultivator of Wei Xun’s caliber would ever actually need someone to ward off bad luck for him.

He could directly ask Wei Xun, of course, but he was genuinely afraid that bringing it up would cause the man to have another flare-up of his possessive, unpredictable temper. Asking Xie Chuan would be equally useless; the man looked far from bright enough to hold the answers.

Since he had nothing better to do at the moment and needed a way to kill time, Jiang Qunyu carefully weighed his options and decided to investigate the Soul-Locking Palace the attendants had spoken of.

The Soul-Locking Palace was hidden far deeper than he had initially anticipated. Suppressing his aura completely, Jiang Qunyu spent over an hour weaving through the sprawling architecture of the pavilions and grand halls, carefully evading the patrolling ghost soldiers. After making countless twists and turns, he finally located it in a desolate, forgotten corner of the estate.

Even from a distance, the Soul-Locking Palace radiated a terrifying, violent energy. The entire structure was built from pitch-black abyssal stone, its walls deeply etched with intricate, ancient talismans meant to suppress malevolence. Thick currents of black mist and faint bloody light swirled around the building, and even the passing wind carried a biting, marrow-deep chill that made people instinctively hesitate to approach.

The exterior was heavily fortified. A dozen ghost attendants stood guard before the grand doors. Each possessed a commanding stance, their personal auras as deep and oppressive as a frozen lake. Shockingly, every single one of them was at least at the Nascent Soul Stage. They held their formations flawlessly without a single gap, rendering the entire palace virtually impregnable.

Jiang Qunyu had initially intended to slip inside directly, but he suddenly remembered that he was no longer a bodiless soul—he had a physical form now, meaning others could see him. This made things somewhat complicated.

Closing his eyes to focus, he tentatively tried to channel his demonic energy, only for a minuscule, weak flicker of light to spark in his palm.

Jiang Qunyu: “…”

It’s already been several days since I resurrected. Why hasn’t my cultivation returned to the Mahayana Stage yet?

He checked his internal meridians and found that his current cultivation level was stuck at the eighth layer of the Nascent Soul Stage. He chose not to force it; at the very least, it was two layers higher than when he had first woken up in this body.

Furthermore, even though he hadn’t actively practiced his cultivation techniques over the past few days, the dense demonic energy of the surrounding environment had been eagerly rushing into his meridians on its own. The innate talent of this physical body was truly blessed by the heavens.

Jiang Qunyu couldn’t help but indulge in a brief fantasy: once his cultivation soared all the way to the Integration Stage, he would finally be able to grind Wei Xun beneath his heel. Let’s see how that bastard tries to threaten him then!

The more he pictured it, the more delighted he became, a look of smug satisfaction dancing across his features. It took him a good moment to remember he actually had a purpose here. Expressionlessly, he raised his hand and summoned his red scythe, Shahun.

To Jiang Qunyu, it had only been a matter of months since he last wielded Shahun. But to this sentient spiritual weapon, a staggering 138 years had passed since they were torn apart.

The moment Shahun manifested, it transformed into a streak of warm, crimson light, eagerly pressing itself against his shoulder. The edge of the blade repeatedly nudged his clothing, desperate to coat itself entirely in his familiar aura. It was incredibly clingy.

“…” Jiang Qunyu tapped the blade with a mixture of exasperation and fondness. “Why are you so clingy too?”

Sensing the mild scolding, Shahun froze instantly. It hung limply and quietly in the air, its previous enthusiasm vanishing into an display of pure dejection.

Looking at it, Jiang Qunyu was inexplicably reminded of a golden retriever dropping its tail in utter grievance, and his heart softened immediately.

“…Alright, alright, it was my fault,” he coaxed softly.

The moment the words left his mouth, Shahun instantly revived. Forgiving him in a heartbeat, it happily flew back to press against his side, clinging even tighter than before.

As Jiang Qunyu allowed the weapon to snuggle against him, an unbidden memory flashed through his mind—the scene of his very first encounter with Wei Xun after his resurrection.

Oh, right! Back then, not only did that bastard call me ugly, but he also deliberately used his own name to terrify me, forced me into a wedding ceremony with spells, and even claimed I brought nothing but misfortune!

Yet, just like Shahun, Wei Xun had refused to let go of his hand, holding him tightly through the night while they slept.

Does that mean… during these past hundred-odd years, he actually missed me terribly too?

As the thought lingered, a soft pink flush slowly crept up Jiang Qunyu’s neck, making the tips of his ears burn slightly.

Fine. Then I suppose I can reluctantly forgive him.

Sensing that its master had drifted off again, the crimson scythe trembled slightly. The cool handle nudged his palm as if complaining about being ignored.

Jiang Qunyu snapped out of his thoughts and cleared his throat awkwardly. Meeting the silent accusation radiating from the blade, he quickly softened his tone to coax the weapon, his voice carrying a hint of embarrassment: “Good Shahun, obedient Shahun, do me a favor? Go and draw those guards away from the entrance, alright?”

Seemingly satisfied by his gentle, pleading tone, Shahun straightened its blade. A soft crimson glow rippled across its surface with an air of arrogant nobility, and it tilted its tip slightly as a sign of agreement.

In the next second, Shahun broke free from Jiang Qunyu’s grip and transformed into a sharp ray of red light. It silently circled to a secluded spot on the opposite side of the courtyard and suddenly erupted with a massive wave of spiritual energy. The brilliant crimson edge sliced through the freezing air, intentionally causing a loud disturbance to draw the attention of the Nascent Soul Stage ghost attendants.

“Who dares to act so presumptuously here?!”

The ghost attendants guarding the palace immediately went on high alert. Shouting harshly, the majority of them drew their weapons and gave chase toward the sudden burst of crimson energy. The once-impenetrable defensive line instantly fractured, leaving a massive gap.

Jiang Qunyu acted without a moment’s delay. Utilizing the opening, he suppressed his aura to the absolute limit and glided forward like a specter. Using the deep shadows of the palace walls as cover, he darted across the threshold and slipped silently into the interior of the Soul-Locking Palace.

The moment he stepped inside, he was completely enveloped by a suffocating wave of freezing, violent energy.

The interior of the hall was extraordinarily vast, divided into multiple levels with stone stairs spiraling upward into dense layers of dark yin energy, making it impossible to see the top.

He had just positioned himself near the base of the first-floor staircase when the faint rustle of robes drifting down from above caught his attention. It was the ghost elders, descending the stone stairs from the second floor.

Jiang Qunyu’s eyes narrowed. With a swift movement, he leaped up onto a high crossbeam, holding his breath and perfectly blending his presence into the wooden structure.

A moment later, several solemn-faced elders dressed in wide, dark robes walked into view. They were huddled close, conversing in voices that weren’t particularly lowered, allowing every single word to reach Jiang Qunyu’s ears.

“Over the past few years, the Lord’s soul has become increasingly depleted, his physical condition deteriorating by the day! If we don’t find a way to get rid of that person soon, are we just supposed to watch the Lord’s soul completely scatter into nothingness?!” the Sixth Elder demanded, his face tight with anxiety and deep-seated resentment.

“Why are you shouting? Are you eager for your words to reach the Lord’s ears?” the Great Elder barked, his eyes flashing with a chilling glare that could freeze water.

The Sixth Elder showed no fear whatsoever, his lips curling into a mocking sneer as he spoke plainly: “When have I ever spoken falsely? If not for the constant nourishment derived from the blood and essence of those spiritual mediums, the Lord’s soul would have completely dissipated back in the ninety-ninth year of Changning! And you and I would have vanished into oblivion right along with him!”

At this point, a wave of intense hatred surfaced in his eyes, his voice growing more emotional: “That Wei Guanlan has occupied the Netherworld for so many years; what exactly is he plotting? After all this time, if it were an ordinary treasure, it would have been found long ago. The fact that there are no results points to only one possibility—the item he seeks is something only our Lord knows the location of! Yet the Lord would rather cling to life in this pathetic state than hand it over, choosing instead to drag all of us down to the grave with him!”

“Have you all forgotten? We swore our allegiance to him! Since he is the true Master of the Netherworld Palace, our very souls are bound to his. If the Lord dies, we perish along with him!”

“We have spent every single day running ourselves ragged to find spiritual mediums just to sustain the Lord’s life, but when has he ever spared a thought for us? If he dies, we are nothing but funerary accompaniments. He truly doesn’t care whether we live or die!”

Hearing this, the Great Elder’s expression turned incredibly cold, a terrifying aura erupting around him. Before the Sixth Elder could finish speaking, the Great Elder lunged forward and gripped his throat with a deadly, tight hold. His knuckles turned white as he snarled, “You are looking for death!”

“Heh,” the Sixth Elder gasped, choked by the grip, yet his demeanor remained completely indifferent. “One way or another, continuing like this leaves us with only death. What difference does it make if our souls shatter a bit sooner or later?”

A vicious light flashed through the Great Elder’s eyes as he prepared to strike.

Right at that moment, a clear, ethereal laugh echoed from the deepest recesses of the Soul-Locking Palace. The tone was casual, yet it carried an absolute authority that brooked no defiance: “Release him.”

The moment the words fell, an invisible yet staggering pressure descended upon the entire grand hall, weighing heavily upon everyone present.

The faces of the ghost elders turned stark white. Trembling violently, they could no longer maintain their footing and fell to their knees in unison, not daring to lift their heads.

Jiang Qunyu up on the crossbeam: “…?”

Where did that voice come from?

“Please appease your anger, Lord,” the ghost elders cried out, bowing deeply as their voices shook with terror.

“Fei Ling, I am not yet angry, so why must you flare up so intensely?” the ethereal voice echoed once more, its cadence smooth and measured. “What Xiu Yuan said isn’t entirely wrong. However, I have no intention of forcing you all to die with me. You need only wait a little longer.”

As the immense pressure faded, the Great Elder suppressed the chaotic energy in his chest and answered with utmost reverence, “Yes, Lord.”

When he stood up, he threw a freezing glare at the Sixth Elder before turning on his heel to lead the way out. The Fifth Elder followed closely behind. Passing by the Sixth Elder, he let out a helpless sigh, patting him on the shoulder as he murmured a quiet warning: “Just exercise some patience for a little while longer. Besides, the spiritual medium brought in this time possesses exceptional talent. It will be more than enough to nourish the Lord’s soul and sustain him for a few more years.”

The Sixth Elder remained kneeling on the floor, his features twisted in fury, filled with a deep resentment that had nowhere to be unleashed.

After a long silence, once the remaining elders had completely departed, he clenched his fists tightly, rose to his feet in anger, and strode out of the Soul-Locking Palace.

As the heavy palace doors closed, the surrounding area fell into an absolute silence, leaving only the dense currents of yin energy flowing through the space.

Jiang Qunyu dropped down lightly from the crossbeam.

The moment he stabilized his footing, that clear and ethereal voice drifted down once more, this time carrying a distinct hint of amusement: “Since you have been eavesdropping for so long, fellow cultivator, why not come upstairs for a chat?”

Jiang Qunyu was undeniably curious about this individual. Everyone else within the Netherworld area referred to Wei Xun as “Wei Guanlan,” with some even calling him a demon lord, yet they treated the owner of this voice with absolute reverence, addressing him as “Lord.”

Knowing Wei Xun as well as he did, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that the person upstairs was most likely the legitimate Master of the Netherworld Palace.

With that realization, all the confusing thoughts that had plagued him over the last few days instantly sorted themselves out.

According to the original plot line he remembered, Wei Xun was supposed to have died at the hands of Lan Yuanzhou and Shen Peiqiu during the great war between orthodox and unorthodox factions a century ago. It made no sense for him to appear in the Nine Underworlds acting as the Master of the Netherworld Palace.

But if Wei Xun and the actual Master of the Netherworld were two entirely different people, everything clicked into place. Wei Xun had clearly wanted to obtain something from the Nine Underworlds, which led him to imprison the true Lord here while assuming his identity to conduct his affairs.

Furthermore, it explained what the ghost attendants had said about the massive upheaval that occurred in the ninety-ninth year of Changning, after which every servant in the palace was replaced. Except for those few plotting ghost elders, no one else had ever seen the true face of the Master of the Netherworld. It would have been incredibly easy for Wei Xun to seize the opportunity and usurp the position.

As Jiang Qunyu rapidly organized his thoughts, he began to make his way up the stone stairs.

The higher he climbed, the heavier the yin energy became, the air infused with a crisp, unusual fragrance. The top floor was vastly more spacious and well-lit than the levels below, decorated with an extraordinary level of luxury and refinement. Jade tiles lined the floor and strings of elegant pearls hung from the ceiling, a stark contrast to the decaying atmosphere downstairs.

Resting lazily upon a soft couch near the window was a young man.

His skin was so pale it appeared almost translucent, clearly a result of being deprived of sunlight for years on end. His lips carried a faint, pale-red tint, and his features held a striking, alluring beauty that closely resembled the captivating spirits described in old folk tales. Yet, his entire being was cloaked in a frail, sickly aura—the unmistakable look of someone bound for an early grave.

Jiang Qunyu needed only a single glance to recall a specific description from the original text:

A face of supreme beauty wrapped in a fragile, sickly form—a short-lived individual whose soul could shatter into nothingness at any given moment.

He thought to himself expressionlessly: Indeed, those words have absolutely nothing to do with Wei Xun, but they describe the person right in front of me to a tee.

Shifting his gaze, he noticed another figure curled up in a dark corner of the room.

The person was wearing an incredibly bright red wedding robe, huddled there in a miserable, disheveled heap. This was undoubtedly the unfortunate soul the ghost attendants had mentioned, brought in recently to ward off the bad luck.

Perhaps hearing the sound of footsteps, the person abruptly snapped their head up.

The moment their eyes locked, the calm facade on Jiang Qunyu’s face shattered entirely into pieces.

He let out a massive curse in his mind.

Holy shit, why is Wen Xingyao here?!