Chapter 172: 171. The Incomprehensible Weirdness

171. The Incomprehensible Weirdness

As an yin spirit who had lived for centuries and resided in Ghost Street for hundreds of years, Meng Changfeng had seen everything, encountered every bizarre phenomenon—he had met more than one person who crossed realms—but this woman, no, this female ghost, made this five-hundred-year-old yin spirit feel a chilling dread.

"What exactly are you? There's no ghost like you on Ghost Street," Meng Changfeng's bluish-black face darkened with gravity as he stared fixedly at the woman behind Li Yi.

He was certain the woman had not been on Ghost Street moments ago; she had appeared suddenly in an instant no one noticed, no one sensed.

Meng Changfeng tried to communicate, but the strange woman stood motionless, silent, her hollow, numb eyes still fixed on him, her eerie smile now radiating an indescribable sense of danger—and at that moment, rain began to fall from the sky above Ghost Street.

No.

Not rain.

What dripped from the sky was thick, viscous blood; the blood quickly stained the surrounding buildings, covered the ground, and even dyed every tormented soul and vengeful ghost on Ghost Street red, soaking the yin soldiers' bodies in crimson.

Why was blood raining from Ghost Street's sky?

Nothing like this had happened in centuries, and it defied all logic.

Meng Changfeng couldn't help looking up, but he saw no mystery—this blood rain seemed to appear out of nowhere, entirely beyond his understanding—but he knew the source was this woman, this strange woman who made a five-hundred-year-old yin spirit tremble with dread.

"Kill her."

This yin spirit refused to let such an unnatural event continue—he would break it, stop it, and strike first to eliminate the strange woman.

At his command, the yin soldiers immediately swung their hanging spears and raised their demon-headed greatswords, charging toward the strange woman with ferocious fury.

Ghostly flames blazed along the hanging spears; the demon heads on the greatswords glowed green.

Ten yin soldiers attacked, ignoring Li Yi's writhing agony, intent on slaying the greater threat—the woman.

In a single glance.

The woman, standing motionless with her eerie smile, was instantly pierced through by multiple spears; the ghostly flames on the spears erupted, igniting her body—then the demon-headed greatswords came down, cleaving her skull open, severing her arms and torso with additional blows.

Her body was now shattered into pieces.

"Is she gone?" The yin spirit Meng Changfeng frowned.

The ghostly flames on the spears could burn even yin spirits—he himself would lose a layer of skin if he touched them. If she survived such devastation, it would be impossible.

Yet the severed head still wore that chilling smile; even engulfed in ghostly flames, it showed no effect—her body remained intact, not dissolving into yin vapor like other vengeful ghosts, and worse, the blood rain above continued to drip, steadily staining the entire street red.

The air now reeked not merely of blood, but of thick, rotting stench.

A vague, growing sense of danger intensified.

"This…" Faced with this, the yin spirit Meng Changfeng could no longer comprehend—hadn't she been utterly destroyed? Could she still not be annihilated?

"Ahh~!"

Li Yi's agonized screams still echoed; he clutched his head, memories flickering between blur and clarity—but as time passed, his will could not withstand the incomprehensible strange force; part of his memory vanished completely, irretrievable—and with that loss, his pain rapidly faded.

Everything seemed to return to its origin—he remembered leaving Sanyang City for Ghost Street, encountering some danger, meeting a familiar person… wait, he had only encountered danger, not a familiar person. What danger? He couldn't recall. But it didn't matter.

He still needed to cross realms back home, still needed to cultivate diligently.

Thinking this, Li Yi's pain vanished; his consciousness gradually returned.

Afterwards, all anomalies disappeared.

He suddenly opened his eyes.

He was now on Ghost Street, surrounded by emptiness—no tormented souls, no vengeful ghosts, no yin spirit Meng Changfeng, no yin soldiers—the entire street had become desolate; ahead and behind, only Li Yi remained, not a single ghost in sight, and he had no idea why it had suddenly become this way.

"Ghost Street is abnormal—I can't stay here. I must leave quickly."

Li Yi picked up his backpack again, pulled out a clay horse, and dripped blood onto it.

The clay horse, nourished by blood, immediately revealed its supernatural nature—black yin wind coiled around it, a horse's neigh rang out, and the clay horse transformed into a steed.

"Go, take me out of Ghost Street, back to the Danger Zone," Li Yi mounted the horse, bringing along everything he'd brought from Sanyang City, then spurred it into a wild gallop.

With Ghost Street now empty, the yin horse could gallop freely; in mere moments, his surroundings blurred, Ghost Street's buildings vanished, replaced by familiar high-rises—and with the aid of this yin horse, Li Yi once again successfully crossed realms, arriving back in the familiar Danger Zone.

As soon as he left Ghost Street's influence, the clay horse immediately suffered Earth's energy pollution, collapsing in large patches—but it still strained to run, carrying Li Yi toward the old district of Tianchang City.

But Li Yi knew the clay horse couldn't make it—he'd experienced this before; last time, energy pollution had destroyed it halfway.

This time was the same.

At the same spot as before, the clay horse reached its limit, let out a final mournful cry, and dissolved into mud, unable to carry Li Yi further.

Li Yi had prepared for this—he grabbed his belongings and leapt down, landing firmly on the ground.

"I'm back."

Looking at the familiar surroundings, he knew his crisis wasn't fully over—this was the Danger Zone, home to supernatural beings—so he immediately pulled out his sniper rifle, loaded a round, and prepared for any threat.

As Li Yi continued forward, he suddenly stopped, turning back toward Ghost Street.

For some reason, he felt something had happened on Ghost Street—but he couldn't recall what, only vaguely remembered that Ghost Street was dangerous, that he'd nearly died there and couldn't have returned.

"Maybe I'm overthinking—nothing actually happened," Li Yi murmured briefly, slung his backpack, gripped his sniper rifle, and quickly departed.

His figure moved swiftly through the night's Danger Zone, following the safe route he'd previously mapped, steadily withdrawing—he remembered parking a car on the Danger Zone's outskirts, the key hidden under the wheel; once he reached it, he could drive away swiftly and return to the old district.

Hope everything goes smoothly.

Yet at the same time.

On Ghost Street.

The yin spirit Meng Changfeng erupted in rage—he had just watched Li Yi, who had been screaming in agony, awaiting death, vanish inexplicably.

Yes, a living man had simply disappeared.

Without warning, without trace—he was gone, vanished into thin air.

But Meng Changfeng understood: Li Yi had escaped. His assassination attempt had failed. He had let loose Meng family's greatest enemy. If Li Yi grew stronger and crossed realms again, the Meng family of Qingzhou would face unimaginable annihilation—and Meng Changfeng, as their yin spirit, would be dragged down with them.

"What did you do?" Meng Changfeng could not accept this outcome—he roared, eyes red, his three-meter-tall body charging forward, stirring a storm of yin wind.

He knew—all of this was the work of the woman before him.

Her head had been split open, her body shattered—how could she still possess such power?

And she was still smiling, still watching him.

That eerie smile, though chilling, now felt mocking to Meng Changfeng—he, a five-hundred-year-old yin spirit, had failed to kill a mere martial cultivator below the Qi-Opening stage—and he could not accept such failure, could not tolerate such humiliation.

He would act himself—kill this strange woman, then pursue beyond Ghost Street, cross realms, and slay Li Yi.

Meng Changfeng raised his fist; yin wind howled, his divine power as a Soul-Transformation cultivator erupted—he condensed his fist intent, forming a towering mountain that descended from the sky, crushing down.

This was his pre-death fist intent, named "Crush the Eight Provinces."

Five hundred years ago, he had truly achieved it—unbeaten across the Eight Provinces, his fists dominating the Four Seas; he had forged this invincible aura into his fist intent, becoming a Soul-Transformation cultivator, one step away from becoming a Ghost God of the Manifestation Realm—but his potential exhausted, he remained trapped in Soul-Transformation his entire life, and after death, became a yin spirit.

Though his power after becoming a yin spirit was far less than in life, when he unleashed this fist intent, he could still kill a Qi-Condensation cultivator—and now, wielding it with his yin spirit body, he could effortlessly destroy ghostly entities.

As this fist descended, nearby yin soldiers recoiled in fear, scrambling to avoid it.

But the shattered strange woman took the blow head-on.

The ground trembled, Ghost Street shook, nearby buildings seemed ready to collapse.

This punch was devastating—if it had been aimed at Li Yi earlier, Li Yi would have died instantly. But Meng Changfeng had held back, wanting the yin soldiers to kill Li Yi, unwilling to act himself—and by the time he realized it, Li Yi had vanished. That was why he was so furious.

Now, he would make this strange woman bear his full wrath.

"Is she dead now?" Meng Changfeng retracted his fist, his bluish-black face cold as ice; he prepared to summon a yin horse, possess a corpse, and cross realms to kill—no, Li Yi would not live.

That man's potential was terrifying—give him a few years, no one in the Four Seas and Eight Provinces could match him; only a thousand-year-old ghost god might stand against him.

Such a being must be extinguished.

As Meng Changfeng turned to leave, a strange sound halted him.

Behind him, on the ground, a series of bone-clattering sounds rose—and the strange woman's corpse rapidly reassembled itself in an impossible way, standing whole again, her pale, numb face still wearing that eerie smile, sending chills down the spine.

"Why… isn't she dead?"

The five-hundred-year-old yin spirit roared, a nameless unease rising in his chest—he wanted to strike again.

But as he turned, raised his fist, he froze—fear sprouted from his very core.

Ghost Street was now filled with countless figures—endless, stretching beyond sight—and every single one was identical: the pale-faced strange woman, each one smiling, each one staring at him with hollow, numb eyes.

Above, the sky no longer rained blood—it rained foul, stinking corpse fluid.

Looking up again, he saw a sky piled high with countless corpses—interwoven, stretching endlessly—old, children, women; some in long robes, some naked, some screaming in agony, some even smiling peacefully.

This sight exceeded the comprehension of this five-hundred-year-old yin spirit.

Even Meng Changfeng could not help retreating, his scalp prickling: "You… you evil thing… how many have you killed?"

But only countless pale faces, smiling, and countless hollow eyes answered him.

With so many strange women—even if Meng Changfeng, this yin spirit, charged through them all, he could not possibly kill them all before they overwhelmed him.

Moreover, Meng Changfeng now felt Ghost Street was profoundly wrong.

At first, he hadn't noticed—but now, Ghost Street had changed utterly; not a single familiar thing remained. He had been drawn, unknowingly, into an unknown world—and even his original ten yin soldiers had mysteriously vanished.

"Yin soldiers, follow me—break out of here! Don't wait to die!" Meng Changfeng steadied his mind, roared, and summoned a gale.

He intended to lead the remaining yin soldiers in a final battle, to return to Ghost Street.

But no yin soldier responded—the remaining ones stood frozen, each with a strange woman standing behind them, one pale, corpse-spotted hand resting on their shoulders; the yin soldiers looked as if their lives had been drained.

But this was not over—the street was now filled with countless strange women, each extending a hand, slowly advancing toward Meng Changfeng, as if wanting to place their palms on his shoulders too.

Seeing this, Meng Changfeng stepped back again.

But soon, he felt something behind him—he stopped.

Turning, Meng Changfeng's pupils shrank—he saw behind him, too, countless figures stretching endlessly, each one smiling eerily, watching him.

He could not believe such horror existed—he swung his fists, desperate to carve a bloody path.

But no matter how many he killed, the figures remained countless, and their number seemed to grow with every passing moment.

Despair and terror took root in his heart.

Meng Changfeng's fist intent shattered—he roared, seeking a way out—but what met him was a tide of strange figures, ready to swallow him whole.

As one after another arm rested on his shoulders, everything abruptly ceased.

Ghost Street returned to stillness.