SS CH20

Tonight, Guyang City shook to its foundations, and a storm of blood and slaughter descended upon it.

Guyang City had four gates. Aside from the three guarded by the government—which remained sealed after nightfall unless an official order was presented—only the West Gate had been abandoned for years. To pass through it was to step into the vast, desolate wilderness. Martial arts affairs were customarily kept hidden from the government; as the fleeing crowd scattered, some headed into the city streets, while others fled toward the west.

Unfortunately, that road was not an easy one to travel.

Bu Xueyao had arranged everything meticulously. He had sent the “Heavenly Spiders” to infiltrate the crowd as eyes and ears, and dispatched the “Centipedes” to hunt them down relentlessly, giving the righteous martial artists not a moment to breathe. Step by step, they were forced into a trap, while other subordinates lay in ambush outside the West Gate.

The people of the Burial Soul Palace were hunting hounds waiting for their prey. Once they caught the scent of blood, they surged forward in a frenzy, determined to tear their targets to shreds.

The prey grew closer; the hunters felt their blood beginning to boil with excitement.

Yet, in the vast, desolate wilderness, a shrill, mournful crying sound suddenly echoed without warning.

It was miserable and resentful, three parts pitiful and seven parts terrifying. It was pitiful because the crier sounded like a weeping woman, and terrifying because the sound was right beside them.

One of the men in black felt his hair stand on end. He should have been alone behind his back, but now, a pair of cold, clammy arms wrapped around his neck.

With a “snap,” the woman’s crying grew even more shrill, until it reached a pitch where it morphed into laughter.

The man in black turned his head. He saw that he now had a woman with long, disheveled white hair by his side. Her pale face was painted with garish makeup, and blood-red tears trailed from the corners of her eyes as she wept and laughed at him simultaneously.

He wanted to swing his blade, but his hand still held it firmly, pointing forward. His body remained standing upright, but why were his eyes looking backward?

The woman gave a miserable laugh, kicked aside the corpse whose neck she had just twisted, and drifted toward the West Gate like a piece of duckweed with no roots.

There were twenty-four assassins here, forming a fan-shaped perimeter around the gate. The woman had exposed herself to all of them, yet no one dared to move.

Behind every single one of them, there was now a ghastly, chilling ghost. They were of different ages and genders, some dressed in rags, others in vibrant colors. Their expressions varied—joy, anger, sorrow, or grief—but they were all frozen, as if painted on paper.

The chilling night wind was mingled with the stench of decay, as if corpses from years past had finally clawed their way out of the dirt and back into the world of the living.

The white-haired woman looked up and saw a man in simple robes with wide sleeves walking from the wilderness. He lightly tapped his blood-red lips and said faintly, “The Ghost Physician has arrived.”

Sun Minfeng ignored the terrified Burial Soul Palace assassins and bowed to the woman from a distance, smiling. “Er Niang is as quick as ever.”

The woman known as “Er Niang” spoke as if weeping: “If one wasn’t clever while alive, one must be sharp as a ghost… Ghost Physician, you summoned all the evil spirits within a fifty-mile radius with your soul-calling incense—what are you planning?”

Sun Minfeng extinguished the remaining bit of incense in his hand and said, “The Venerable Master has ordered that all ghosts within fifty miles of Guyang City are to swarm out. You must slaughter every hound of the Burial Soul Palace before daybreak. Take care to avoid the innocent.”

The ghosts behind the assassins raised their heads, revealing pale, terrifying faces, their eyes flashing with a green, wolfish light.

Er Niang asked, “Where is the Soul-Taking Command?”

Sun Minfeng raised his hand, and a black jade pendant in the shape of a curved blade fell into Er Niang’s palm. Once confirmed, the ghosts let out a shrill, collective laugh!

“Evil spirits leave the nest—prepare to die!”

As slaughter erupted in the wilderness, Chu Xiwei stood before the gates of the Duanshui Manor.

He had sprinted back using his light-agility technique, taking less than half an hour to return. Unfortunately, as he looked up, he saw the entire manor consumed by a sea of fire. The flames raged as if to burn the heavens; now and then, crumbling walls would collapse under the weight of the inferno, sending sparks flying everywhere.

The rolling heat nearly singed his hair and clothes, and the scent of thick, charred wood mingled with an indistinct, fishy stench of blood. Eyes bloodshot, Chu Xiwei didn’t even hesitate before rushing toward the fire.

However, someone blocked his path.

It was the gasping Xue Chanyi.

Xue Chanyi had been ordered by Xie Wuyi to escort Lu Mingyuan and the others to safety. Throughout the journey, she had not dared to look back, fearing that if she did, she would lose the courage to leave. Only when the righteous group had dispersed did she shake off the pursuing Burial Soul Palace assassins and race back to the manor, only to see Chu Xiwei about to rush into the inferno.

“Lord Chu…”

Before she could finish, Chu Xiwei was upon her, his hand clamped around her throat. His eyes were as red as blood, and in the reflection of the flames, he looked ferocious enough to devour someone alive.

“Where is he?”

“You…” Choked, Xue Chanyi could barely breathe. She lashed out with her red silk ribbon, but Chu Xiwei didn’t even try to dodge. He took the blow, though his hand loosened slightly. As soon as she was free, Xue Chanyi retreated, guarding herself.

Chu Xiwei kept his gaze locked on her, saying every word with agonizing precision: “Where is Ye Fusheng?”

Uncertain of his stance, Xue Chanyi didn’t dare answer. She subconsciously gathered her strength to flee, but her ankle suddenly grew heavy—Chu Xiwei had grabbed her. With a forceful swing, he slammed her onto the ground. She hit her back hard and saw stars.

That icy hand clamped around her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes.

Xue Chanyi’s mind buzzed; countless images swirled like a vortex until, with a roar, all that remained was the sea of blood before her.

Chu Xiwei’s voice sounded like a vengeful spirit crawling out of the eighteenth level of hell, carrying a cruel, irresistible lure: “Where is Ye Fusheng?”

Xue Chanyi trembled, her eyes vacant.

“…Wanghai Tide.”

Before the words had faded, Chu Xiwei had vanished into the night like a ghost, moving with lightning speed.

In less than the time it takes to brew a cup of tea, he reached the exit of the forbidden mountain area. He found only broken mechanisms, a fallen stone door, and the familiar corpse of a woman on the ground. Beyond that, a trail of blood snaked forward, disappearing beneath the giant rock.

The person who bled had entered the forbidden zone, but the entrance was sealed. That meant there was only…

His icy gaze lingered on the woman’s corpse for a moment. A short flute slid from Chu Xiwei’s sleeve. He pressed it to his lips and channeled his inner energy into a sharp, piercing, and long-drawn note. The sound was like a ghost’s scream—painful and grating. A moment later, ghost shadows were seen flickering in the distance.

“Bury her, then put out the fire at Duanshui Manor.”

Leaving these words behind, Chu Xiwei leaped away using the Xiafei qinggong. He skimmed low over the ground, his inner strength crushing the grass and trees in his path to create the shortest possible line.

He had practiced martial arts since childhood, but he had always been lazy, believing that brute force was beneath a scholar. Now, as he raced against life and death, he wished he could be faster. He hated even more that he had been blind that day, that he hadn’t stayed seven more days, that he hadn’t looked at that man even once.

Now, having missed each other, he was consumed by regret.

In an instant, Chu Xiwei reached the edge of the cliff. Without hesitation, he took a breath of inner energy and leaped.

—Ten years from now, I will be waiting for you to take my head. I will not break my promise.

Master, it has been ten years. They say the wicked live for a thousand years—you really are still alive.

Since you have survived, then you are not permitted to die before I kill you.

“…Are you alright?”

They were in darkness so profound one could not see one’s own hand. For the first time in his life, Xie Li was this panicked; he couldn’t even react fully, only feeling a sudden, bone-chilling cold that made him shiver uncontrollably.

He sobbed, choking on his breath for a long while, but received no response. When they had tumbled inside, Ye Fusheng had reached out to protect his head and face. That hand was now covered in sticky tears and mucus, yet Ye Fusheng didn’t complain, nor did he pull his hand away.

Xie Li felt that hand growing colder and colder, trembling slightly.

He climbed out of Ye Fusheng’s arms, but it was too dark to see anything. He fumbled blindly until he touched Ye Fusheng’s back, which was covered in wet heat. Even without seeing it, Xie Li knew it was blood.

His scalp went numb with terror, and he stammered, “You, you…”

Ye Fusheng knew his condition was dire. He had been suffering from the “Dream-Severing” poison for over a month. He hadn’t had a single night of sound sleep, only daring to take brief naps, fearing that even a moment of relaxation would lead him to sink into a nightmare—and Heaven knew what he would do then.

But ultimately, a person was made of flesh and blood. Even if forged with the hardest outer shell, one would inevitably rot and die from within.

He had been hit by a poisoned needle during the duel, which triggered the “Dream-Severing” poison he had been suppressing. After taking a blade from Li Feng, he had exhausted himself using his light-agility technique to escape. Now, his internal energy was in chaos. He could no longer suppress the poison, nor could he stay conscious.

He could no longer hear Xie Li’s voice. Before his eyes was darkness, intermittently flashed with bizarre, distorted human figures. His ears buzzed, filled with a clamor of voices, as if his entire brain had been thrust into a beehive, stung into shreds by thousands of toxic thorns.

When a thought arises, the six desires emerge; when a thought is extinguished, the seven emotions are cut off.

He pushed Xie Li away and braced his knees to stand, but his right leg had lost all sensation. He slumped back down, his whole body trembling like chaff in the wind.

Xie Li crawled over in a daze. “What’s wrong? Don’t scare me, I’m afraid…”

His voice cut off abruptly. Ye Fusheng’s hand clamped over his face, his five fingers pressing down with such force that Xie Li’s bones ached—it felt as if he were trying to crush his skull. Xie Li’s limbs turned ice-cold, his heart drumming like a war drum.

Fortunately, Ye Fusheng released him.

Xie Li was thrown back by a great force, his back striking the wall. The pain brought tears to his eyes, but then he heard two “clicks” in the darkness—Ye Fusheng had dislocated his own remaining movable hand and leg.

The acute pain cleared his head slightly. He hissed, “Go.”

Xie Li lay on the ground, dumbstruck, repeating, “Go?”

“Close… close that stone door. The mechanism is seven inches above your head. Then find a place to hide,” Ye Fusheng squinted, barely making out the layout of the stone room. “No matter what sounds you hear, don’t come over… Take the Duanshui saber. If anyone threatens you, stab them.”

The Duanshui saber landed in front of Xie Li. He held it, but instead of feeling safe, he grew more terrified.

He asked, trembling, “What is wrong with you?”

“Cough, cough… Don’t ask too many questions, child. It’s annoying.” Ye Fusheng wiped the blood he had coughed up and leaned weakly against the wall. “Be a good boy and go.”

Xie Li crawled over on his hands and knees, shivering as he reached out to touch his forehead, finding it covered in cold sweat. He paused, then suddenly hugged Ye Fusheng and wailed: “What is wrong with you… Don’t scare me, don’t leave me behind. I’m really scared…”

“I beg you, don’t leave me alone…”

Tears smeared all over Ye Fusheng’s face. He suppressed another mouthful of blood and managed a bitter smile: “Silly child, in this world, who cannot live without someone else?”

Before the words were out, his internal energy stalled in his meridians. Ye Fusheng’s face instantly drained of color, and he pushed Xie Li away.

Xie Li was startled, grabbing for his hands in a panic, only to be thrown through the opening.

Ye Fusheng was shaking violently, screaming with all his might: “Get out!”

A palm-wind struck forcefully, shattering the mechanism. The stone door slammed down. Xie Li felt a rush of dust hit his face. He lunged forward again, only to hit the cold, unyielding stone.

Lost and desperate, he finally began to weep and scream. For all his precocious maturity, he was still just a child.

“Ye Fusheng! Ye Fusheng…”

Xie Li drew the Duanshui saber and hacked at the door frantically, his eyes red, all his strength channeled into his hands, while his legs turned as soft as noodles.

Yet, an inch might as well have been the end of the world.

Xie Li finally slumped to the ground, still punching the door with his fists, sobbing until he could barely breathe. “Open the door! What happened to you… Please, open the door…”

However, despite his desperate cries, there was no sound from inside. His small body trembled constantly, like a camel crushed by the final straw.

He sobbed, murmuring, “Dad… Mom…”

The world was vast and cold, with nowhere to belong.

Ye Fusheng lay motionless in the stone room. His only movable hand clenched and unclenched, finally curling into a fist, his fingernails digging deep into his flesh until it bled.

The energy in his chest churned as if it were about to explode. His mind was a tangled mess. Everything he saw and heard transformed—countless faces flashed before him, all of them dripping with blood.

Ye Fusheng let out a shriek. He wanted to retreat, but there was nowhere left to go.

Gradually, he began to laugh. That pair of hazy peach-blossom eyes sank like two cold pools, deathly still. Only the laughter grew stronger—not with joy, but with the sound of a heart being torn to shreds.

—You dog, aiding a tyrant, rebelling against your superiors—you deserve to be hacked into a thousand pieces!

—Beast! Beast!

—You dog slave, I cannot kill you today, but even after I die, I will turn into a vengeful ghost and curse you to suffer an eternal death!

—Master, why was it you? Why, why was it you!

“…Suffer an eternal death… Heh.”

The “Dream-Severing” poison blurred reality and memory. Everything he saw was etched into his heart, yet it was too painful to look back upon.

Ye Fusheng tilted his head back and closed his eyes. The smile on his lips seemed to freeze, and his trembling body gradually grew weak, like a dying fish.

In his trance, he heard a loud crash, like thunder exploding in his brain. Following that, Xie Li’s crying drew near. Ye Fusheng struggled to open his eyes and looked. The dim firelight stung his eyes, revealing the outline of a person.

Chu Xiwei held a fire-starter, channeling his inner energy to split the stone door with one strike. The firelight dispelled the darkness of the room, suddenly revealing a figure curled in the corner.

This time, Chu Xiwei finally saw his face.

For ten years, he had carved this man’s appearance into his heart. Every night in his dreams, he wanted to tear the man to pieces, yet he would wake in a state of loss.

The man before him looked exactly as he remembered, though in a wretched state—covered in blood and sweat, face and clothes caked with grime, limbs curled in an unnatural way, his head lolling to the side. If not for the faint rise and fall of his chest, he would have looked like a corpse.

It was as if Chu Xiwei had been splashed with a bucket of ice water. He felt a bone-chilling cold. He had no idea how terrible his own expression was; he simply knelt on one knee, his hands trembling as he touched Ye Fusheng’s face.

Ye Fusheng seemed to sense movement. He struggled to open his eyes, looking as dazed as someone who hadn’t fully woken up, his eyes reflecting no one. He began to close them again.

If he truly closed them now, he might never wake up again.

“No… I don’t permit you to sleep…” Chu Xiwei’s throat was raspy. He gripped Ye Fusheng’s shoulders tightly. All the words he had saved for ten years were suddenly impossible to utter.

“…Master, Chu Yao has come to keep the ten-year pact. I won’t kill you—do you dare to die?”

The man in his arms shivered, seemingly hearing the words. His eyelids fluttered constantly. His blood-stained left hand moved with great effort, groping for Chu Xiwei’s face.

Unfortunately, before he could feel it clearly, he lost all his strength. His cold fingers slipped from under Chu Xiwei’s eyes, leaving a red streak of blood on that pale face, like a tear.

“Master!”