Chapter 39

A mountain of corpses and a sea of blood, with white bones drifting in the void.
A colossal stone tablet loomed before her, sometimes near, sometimes far, forever unreachable.
Countless threads pierced her body, dragging her forward, forcing her step by step toward the monument against her will.
Sharp, jagged stones tore at her bare feet, leaving them bloodied and raw, yet this agony was nothing compared to the thousand lacerations already scarring her body.
There were inscriptions on the tablet, but they flickered in and out of existence, veiled in mist whenever she was about to make sense of them. She squinted, desperate to see, but the harder she stared, the blurrier her vision became. Tears of blood streamed down her forehead, and she could not help but exhale a heavy, ragged breath.
That breath seemed to dissipate the mist for an instant, and the tablet suddenly stood clear and unveiled.
It was densely packed with writing.
Or, to be precise, it was a list of names.
Sheyun, Zhu Xuanguang, Fang Qinglan, Lin Mengdu, Yuan Canmiao, Biyang, Youyue, Xu Weique...
From the mighty powers of the various sects across the land to the renowned elite disciples, and even the reclusive cultivators whose names were once merely whispered, they were all there.
How could there be so many names on the Immortal Registry?
Yet, as she scanned them one by one, she found only her own name missing.
The name Xie Chang’an seemed scrubbed away by the heavens, left in isolation.
She watched in growing horror as the mist began to shroud the tablet once more. The surroundings blurred, and the pain intensified until her soul felt as though it had been torn into a thousand fragments, only to be forcibly stitched back together.
A chanting voice echoed from afar, like a song or a ritual incantation, intangibly pulling her backward with every step.
The tablet receded into the distance, but the sound grew clearer.
"Return, O soul! Why abandon your eternal home to wander the four corners of the earth?"
"Return, O soul! Why forsake your place of joy and depart for that land of ill omen?"
Xie Chang’an’s head felt as if it were splitting. She longed to silence the singer, but reality defied her; the voice grew ever more distinct, drilling into her eardrums and burrowing into her mind, giving her no peace.
She thought to herself that she was surely dead—shattered, her spirit extinguished. Under the blade of the Rugu Sword and the wrath of the heavenly thunder, there was no possibility of survival.
If she was dead, she should be able to rest in eternal silence. How could she have imagined she would be subjected to such maddening, soul-piercing noise?
"Return, O soul..."
It felt as if eons had passed in her endurance, but the voice possessed the persistence of water dripping through stone, tireless and repetitive. It even seemed to grow more aggressive, as if dissatisfied with the previous melody, switching to a new tone with every cycle.
Xie Chang’an could bear it no longer. Her fury and malevolence surged to the surface.
She finally opened her eyes!
Not out of any longing for the world of the living, but to find the one calling her soul and sew their mouth shut.
"Return, O soul, Xie Chang’an!"
Xie Chang’an: ...
Her body seemed beyond her control, but she managed to turn her head slowly toward the source of the voice.
Under a willow tree, a man was waving a white banner, listlessly humming the soul-summoning tune.
"Xie Chang’an, if you don't come out now, I'm going to start singing even worse!"
"Stop... singing."
She gritted her teeth, her head throbbing. With a single thought, she appeared before him and reached out to grab his throat.
The young woman was drenched in blood, her spirit-form unstable and flickering. Her face was stained with grime and blood that seemed never to dry, even her hands coated in the crimson fluid of her own wounds.
But as the man looked up, her movements faltered.
Why was it him?

"Return, O soul! Why abandon your eternal home to wander the four corners of the earth... Xie Chang’an?! You really haven't dissipated yet!"
Zhe Er was overcome with joy and reached out to pull her, but his hand passed through her.
"You may be dead, but thank goodness your spirit is still intact. I’ve been looking for you for so long—I thought I’d never find you!"
Memories flooded back, and Xie Chang’an’s expression remained indifferent.
"Why look for me? Have you become a ghost too?"
Zhe Er should have retorted, but he didn't. Instead, he gave a self-deprecating smile.
"Just about. Something happened at Mount Fuguang. Almost half the people are dead."
Wha...t?
The agonizing pain of her soul tearing apart persisted. She was deeply impatient and had no interest in reminiscing with an old acquaintance, but this news was too shocking to ignore. She couldn't help but look up.
The man before her was in a sorry state, his spiritual energy weak, clearly on his last legs. His once refined features were now covered in blood; he was no better off than Xie Chang’an, the ghost.
If she was truly dead, then Zhe Er was standing on the threshold of the underworld.
Anyone with a stick could send him to join her as a true spirit.
"After the Master passed away, Lin Mengdu’s faction took full control. I had expected as much, thinking we could just lie low. We had our own peak, after all; we could just close the gates and live our lives."
Zhe Er was one of the disciples under Master Canmiao.
Although the eldest disciple, Zhou Linlin, was not a genius like Shen Xi, he was hardworking and possessed above-average talent. But in a major sect like Mount Fuguang, where their master was the renowned Master Canmiao, talent alone was not enough—especially with Lin Mengdu’s faction constantly scheming.
Master Canmiao had certainly wanted to find a genius disciple to inherit her mantle, but genius was not easily found. In the three hundred years from when she took over as sect leader to her death, she never found a suitable successor. The only one with any potential was Zhe Er.
But Zhe Er’s temperament was ill-suited for managing the sect, and he was even worse at maneuvering against old foxes like Lin Mengdu.
Given his age and cultivation, he could never convince the others to follow him.
Once Master Canmiao died, Lin Mengdu’s faction naturally gained the upper hand.
Lin Mengdu himself stayed in the background, acting as the Grand Elder. He pushed his eldest disciple, Pei Jin—the senior brother of Daoist Wenqin—to the front.
Pei Jin and Daoist Wenqin used their master’s authority to purge the sect, declaring that those who followed them would prosper, and those who defied them would perish. For a time, they were untouchable, pushing aside all of Master Canmiao’s former disciples.
But then, the new sect leader, Pei Jin, died.
He was found in his meditation chamber, a sword driven through his brow and out the back of his head. There was no hope of rescue.
Mount Fuguang was thrown into chaos, with everyone accusing and suspecting one another.
"They investigated and concluded that I was the killer. The wound on Pei Jin’s head bore the mark of the Queyue Sword."
The Queyue Sword was Master Canmiao’s blade. She hadn't passed it to her eldest disciple, but to Zhe Er.
Many believed that because Pei Jin was Lin Mengdu’s eldest disciple, his cultivation must be high. In truth, it was not.
The most formidable person under Lin Mengdu was Daoist Wenqin. Pei Jin had only average talent and had only reached the Sword Intent realm after all these years; his strength lay in administration and sect affairs.
Therefore, if Zhe Er had truly wanted to kill him, it wasn't impossible.
"The night it happened, I wasn't even at Mount Fuguang. That became one of the charges against me. In reality, I had gone out to clear my head. My junior sister was distraught over the Master’s death, and I felt the same, so I told her I’d take her to the market at the foot of the mountain. Just before we left, she was called away by the eldest brother and asked me to bring her back some candied haws. I went alone."
Faced with universal condemnation, Zhe Er denied it, of course, but he couldn't explain the whereabouts of the Queyue Sword.
"I lost the sword. I don't know how. I used to keep it with me at all times. The day after I returned from the market, I woke up and found it gone. I searched everywhere, but I couldn't find it."
These unexplainable gaps became the evidence against him.
"The eldest brother and the others believed me and argued on my behalf, but once Daoist Wenqin decided to get rid of me, no one could stop him."
This mystery ignited the long-standing tensions within Mount Fuguang.
Master Canmiao’s faction and Lin Mengdu’s faction fell into a bloody, all-out war.

Although Lin Mengdu maintained his status and never showed his face, Daoist Wenqin’s faction was numerous and powerful, holding the upper hand even without him.
At first, both sides showed some restraint, but as the slaughter intensified, bodies piled up.
Each side was determined to eliminate the other; the disciples of the two factions were locked in a fight to the death.
Zhe Er’s side suffered heavy losses.
Several fellow disciples, including the eldest brother Zhou Linlin and the third brother Wu Qifeng, were all killed.
The junior sister was missing.
Many low-level disciples were either dead or wounded.
Master Canmiao’s entire faction had been virtually wiped out.
Only Zhe Er managed to break through the encirclement and escape the mountain, barely clinging to life with half a body.
"It’s too early to talk of revenge; I don't even know if I’ll survive until tomorrow."
Every word he spoke was soaked in blood, his face deathly pale. He looked up and saw—
Xie Chang’an’s face was cold and indifferent.
Zhe Er: "...Are you even listening to me?"
Xie Chang’an said coldly, "I am already dead. What reaction do you expect from a ghost? If there is only one thing I want to do right now—"
Zhe Er: "Take revenge?"
Xie Chang’an: "You are too noisy. I want to strangle you."
Zhe Er: ???
She followed through on her words. Zhe Er had been unable to touch her just moments ago, but now her hands were clamped around his throat, and he found he could not break free.
Xie Chang’an had been awakened by the soul-summoning chant, her murderous intent already peaked. Forced to listen to this tale of grievances and blood feuds, her patience had reached its limit. Disregarding old ties and past friendships, she felt only a bone-deep exhaustion and an urge to lash out. She couldn't be bothered to think; she simply chose the most direct solution.
"Wait! Wait..."
Zhe Er couldn't breathe, his eyes rolling back.
"I didn't gather your soul—your spirit never fully dissipated! That jade you have..."
He could no longer speak, his legs kicking out in desperation.
Jade?
She narrowed her eyes, her heart stirring, and her grip loosened slightly.
Zhe Er scrambled away, clutching his throat, his heart pounding. He realized that Xie Chang’an hadn't been joking; she had truly intended to kill him.
"That jade on you... is it the Divine Light Soul-Fixing Jade?"
Xie Chang’an looked down and saw a piece of jade dangling from her chest.
The jade itself wasn't particularly rare; it was the kind elders gave to children to stabilize their spirits when they were young. But...
She hadn't expected it to remain even after she had died.
"You said something about what happened after I died. Continue."
She looked up at Zhe Er.
Zhe Er realized that after her death, she had become—no, the ghost of her had become—capricious and unpredictable, her gaze cold and devoid of any humanity.
Though he had just escaped the desperate situation at Mount Fuguang, filled with resentment and despair, he couldn't help but shudder at the sight of her eyes.