Fu Juan’s words implied she was willing to serve as a safety net. For Jiang Yiguang, who burned with the desire to improve, this was indeed a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. If she had encountered soldier souls alone, she probably wouldn’t have produced any thoughts beyond “self-preservation.” Jiang Yiguang naturally wouldn’t refuse. After all, these soldier souls from different eras used lethal battlefield techniques, skills forged in blood-soaked melee. They weren’t flashy, but they were extremely effective, pursuing a single goal: to kill with one strike in the shortest possible time.
The drumbeats shifted and changed. The Yin soldier formation summoned through spells and divine powers, led by the four ghost generals, showed no signs of turmoil. Instead, it was the opposing formation—exactly as Fu Juan had predicted—that was disrupted by the drumbeats representing “military commands.” The soldier souls that had originally assembled into formation immediately fell into chaotic confusion. They were, after all, merely lingering obsessions from the past, having lost all capacity for thought, relying only on primal instinct to slaughter. Had that been all, the entanglement might have continued for some time. But Fu Juan was clearly a ruthless one. Though her legs were immobile, her eyes were incredibly sharp. Jiang Yiguang didn’t even hear her pull out a talisman or chant a spell; she simply uttered a low cry of “Thunder, come forth!” and violent thunderbolts, thick as pythons and writhing dragons, crashed down furiously upon this desolate, uninhabited wilderness!
Fu Juan possessed an Innate Dao Bone, and thus enjoyed heaven and earth’s favor. She truly didn’t need ritual altars, divine incantations, or the condensation of the Five Qis all that much—she herself was a secret script inscribed within the universe. It was just that her cultivation wasn’t profound enough, and her magical power hadn’t reached a robust, inexhaustible level. Every time she pushed her Dao arts beyond her limits, it damaged her very foundation. Jiang Yiguang took a moment to glance back at Fu Juan, but on her calm face, she could discern no trace of pain. Her eyes were cold, stern, and deep, as if in her whole life there had been no regret, no retreat. It was as if she didn’t care about her body one bit.
Was this her abusing her identity as the “female lead”? Jiang Yiguang mused to herself. But Fu Juan didn’t know this was a story-world, nor that she would be the “female lead” who’d rise to the pinnacle after great rises and falls. She wasn’t just cold, detached, and unapproachable; she was also somewhat gloomy. Not even caring about her own body—she was probably just as indifferent toward this entire world, wasn’t she? Was she aiming for “Supreme Dao, Forgetting Emotions”? Associating this with her own possible ending, Jiang Yiguang couldn’t help but shiver.
But the gale-force winds, reeking of decay and blood, surged toward her face, leaving her no time to ponder further. She raised her ritual sword and, through her clashes with the soldier souls, vigorously promoted the noble virtue of “learning.”
Amidst the collision of the battle formations, the baleful energy and bone-chilling cold unique to armies shot skyward. Finding a weak point, Fu Juan was clearly relentless in her pursuit of the enemy. The “domain” that had been about to coalesce crumbled layer by layer under the onslaught; the scattered soldier souls were also blasted apart by the Thunder Arts. The suffocating pressure of the dense, packed soldier souls finally dissipated. Not only Fu Juan, but even Jiang Yiguang could now clearly see the young woman in military uniform riding a tall horse within the battle formation: she had neat, short hair, her eyes lucid and bright, yet her entire body was swirling with a dense, murderous aura of baleful and evil energy!
She was the “General” of this dead-soul battle formation!
Jiang Yiguang looked at the medals on her uniform and fell silent for a moment before lowering her voice: “She was a soldier with meritorious service while alive.” But after death, she had been refined into a murderous ghost by the evil Daoist—from a heroic figure who once defended her homeland, into an “evil ghost” the Mystic Sect needed to eradicate! How absurd, how outrageous! A wave of righteous indignation surged within Jiang Yiguang, wishing she could hack that evil Daoist to pieces.
“That evil Daoist is truly hateful,” Wang Xuanming frowned. When dealing with malevolent demons, devils, and monsters, he could show no mercy. But facing this soldier riding toward them, he was overcome with a mix of fury and unbearable pity. His ritual sword hummed in midair, but in this moment, it was very difficult to point it at the person ahead.
Fu Juan remained as cold as ever. She stated flatly, “Do not ask about her life before death.” This was a Yin ghost who consorted with an evil Daoist. Baleful energy swirled around her; whatever merits she had accumulated in life had long since been completely eroded. Additionally, this ghost emanated a strange, evil aura—who knew what she carried on her person? Fu Juan raised a hand, and instantly the four guardian ghost generals moved into action, wielding their weapons and taking positions at the front. Her spiritual power was being consumed every second. She didn’t have much time left.
A handgun was holstered at the female ghost’s waist, but it was merely something materialized through baleful energy and ghost qi. A gunshot wouldn’t be any use here; it was far less effective than an ancient cold weapon. In her hand, a spear quickly materialized. Riding her horse, she thrust and swung it, stirring up gusts of gale-force winds. Although she hadn’t yet grown into a Ghost King capable of creating a ghost domain that inverted Yin-Yang and confused the four cardinal directions, the level of “Ghost General” was already troublesome enough for Fu Juan and the others. Clanging sounds rang out as the erupted baleful energy rolled like air blasts. On the guardian ghost generals’ armor, wherever the spear tip touched, signs of corrosion immediately appeared.
“This spear technique—” Wang Xuanming stared in stunned disbelief.
“Don’t just stand there,” Fu Juan frowned, her voice deep. The wind in the wilderness blew ever more fiercely; the negative energy was bone-chilling, as if countless ferocious ghosts were sobbing and wailing. While the guardian ghost generals blocked the female ghost’s fierce offensive, Fu Juan wasn’t idle either. She covered her mouth and coughed a few times, then once more invoked a Heavenly Constellation Divine Power. The wilds filled with Flying Sand and Rolling Boulders; the view ahead became dim and murky; heaven and earth grew dark.
A soft click sounded, as if something had fallen to the ground.
The female ghost, who had just seemed to gain a slight upper hand against the guardian ghost generals, did not continue her assault. Instead, she made an astonishing move: without hesitation, she dismounted and rushed to pick up the jade vase that had fallen to the ground! Fu Juan’s eyes sharpened. She would not let this chance slip. Five thunders crashed down from her palm; the imposing shadow of the fine steed instantly collapsed within the thunderclaps.
“That thing reeks so strongly of blood!” Wang Xuanming’s scalp prickled. He couldn’t afford to hesitate. A flaming talisman landed on his ritual sword. With a whoosh, the sword shot out like a bolt of lightning, striking the jade vase and smashing it to pieces in an instant. A brownish-red liquid seeped into the soil. After a sizzling noise, that small patch of earth instantly lost its vitality, turning into scorched, dead earth as if seared by flames. “Is this that life-extending water?” Wang Xuanming asked in shock.
Fu Juan didn’t answer.
Because after the jade vase shattered, the baleful energy on the female ghost grew even denser—clearly, she was thoroughly enraged. But the moment she revealed an opening, the guardian ghost generals’ weapons had already pierced through her form. The vast, mighty force—designed to exorcise evil and suppress demons—instantly quelled the surging baleful energy. Fu Juan flipped her wrist, and several talismans radiating golden light floated out: it was the Zhenwu Emperor Ghost Suppression Spell.
Ghosts exist because of obsession. Their obsession—isn’t that also a weakness?
The battle formation had already shown signs of breaking apart. Once the female ghost was captured, it collapsed completely. At the same time, the ghost generals and ghost soldiers who had stepped forth from the Gate of Fengdu also exhausted their spiritual power and dissipated like mist and clouds.
Jiang Yiguang looked at the female ghost suppressed by the spell talismans.
At times like this, she revealed her “true form”: her limbs were mutilated and missing, the thick stench of blood enveloped her.
But Jiang Yiguang did not feel the fear she had anticipated. She turned toward Fu Juan, whose face was cold and stern, and asked, “Will you liberate her soul?”
“Though non-humans are now permitted residency, she’s already tainted by baleful energy and malice. It’s highly likely she’s been stained with blood. She can’t be allowed to remain,” Wang Xuanming had also collected himself. He recalled the regulations of the Xuanzhen Dao Court. No matter if human or other being, everyone had their own burdens and helplessness. But as members of the Dao Court, they couldn’t let momentary compassion cause greater disasters. There had been precedents before—a certain fellow Daoist, out of softheartedness, had ended up allowing an entire town to turn into a Ghost Domain, with not a single survivor left.
Fu Juan said blandly, “The matter of the evil Daoist still needs investigation.” She paused, then added, “Let’s go.”
Jiang Yiguang asked, “Where to?”
Fu Juan replied, “Crabapple Street.”
When they returned, Wang Xuanming, that nuisance, was following behind them.
Jiang Yiguang was preoccupied with thoughts about the plot and couldn’t be bothered to push Fu Juan’s wheelchair. Wang Xuanming, by contrast, was full of attentiveness, eager to get close to Fu Juan—unfortunately, he was coldly refused. Jiang Yiguang found it amusing, yet also felt a sliver of inexplicable, secret delight. When she realized this, her brows knitted tightly again. She kept involuntarily thinking of Fu Juan. Wasn’t this brand upon her heart carved a little too deep?
Inside the quiet little courtyard on Crabapple Street.
After the fright from the female ghost, Ah He didn’t dare leave the old lady’s side for a moment. She feared that if she left, that dreadful thing would return to harass the old lady again. Night gradually deepened. The tourists strolling the streets had long since dispersed; scattered, waning lights fell onto the ground, casting mottled, faint shadows.
Ah He crouched inside the house. The old lady was already asleep.
Only by drawing very close could Ah He hear the shallow, feather-light breathing, as if it might disperse at any moment.
Suddenly, Ah He heard footsteps. She sniffed, catching a familiar scent. After a moment’s hesitation, she quietly slipped out of the house. In a few leaps, she crossed the courtyard and landed on Jiang Yiguang, who was lazily yawning. Jiang Yiguang instinctively caught Ah He. Exhausted and sleepy from the day’s events, her eyes glistened with unshed tears. She gave Ah He’s fur a good rub, which restored a bit of her energy. Lowering her voice, she asked, “Is the old lady asleep?”
Ah He was still somewhat afraid of Fu Juan. Sensing Fu Juan’s gaze land on her, she shrank further into Jiang Yiguang’s arms, preferring to face Jiang Yiguang’s clawing hands rather than deal with Fu Juan. “She’s asleep,” Ah He’s voice was soft and thin, but when she told Jiang Yiguang that the “female ghost came again,” her tone sharpened, her eyes showing fear and unmistakable loathing.
