Chapter 966: Yao Guang Dead?

Qingque looked down again; the silvery figure was a little clearer than before, but it was still far away.

The blue of that dress stood out starkly against the overall dark‑red hue, bright enough as if someone had lit a lake‑blue lamp in this dead, stagnant place.

While Qingque darted among the branches, her mind was never idle.

The afterlife still has other people, which at least means she doesn't have to stay here alone until the end of time.

However, whether the other is a living person or a ghost, a Xianzhou native or something else, she can only tell by getting closer.

As she jumped, she calculated in her mind: she is now a dead body with a demonic‑yin form; meeting a kindred spirit wouldn't be surprising, but encountering anything else was uncertain.

But on second thought, once dead, what could be more troublesome than a demonic‑yin body?

Qingque kept thinking as she jumped down, her movements growing smoother and her heartbeat gradually steadied.

The dark‑red wind blew upward from below, smelling like rotting petals.

In that gust she detected a faint hint of another scent, barely perceptible, drifting from the direction of the silvery figure.

It was a very clean scent, cool to the touch.

Qingque landed two branches away from the person and finally saw some details.

The other was indeed a woman, tall and slender, standing with a relaxed posture.

Her long silvery hair shone brilliantly; even from this distance one could see the cold gleam emanating from each strand.

Qingque jumped forward another step.

Now she could see the dress clearly.

The skirt flared from the waist, the hem exaggeratedly spreading, extending from her waist down to her feet, forming a large shape resembling a peacock's tail.

The base colors of the dress were interwoven lake‑blue and indigo, its surface covered with eye‑shaped patterns like those on peacock feathers.

One side of the skirt featured a very high slit; each time she adjusted her stance, the long leg would peek out a bit, its skin so fair it seemed to glow in the dark‑red surroundings.

She wore a pair of thin‑strapped high‑heeled sandals, the straps winding from the instep to the ankle, accentuating how slender and long her feet were.

Qingque crouched on a branch not far from her, not hurrying to leap over.

She tucked herself into a hollow of a trunk, exposing only her eyes as she looked that way.

At this distance, she actually felt a hint of hesitation.

The other's aura was so steady that from the strands of hair to the tips of the toes it read "has weathered every great storm"; such composure cannot be faked.

Having spent so many years in Tai Bu Si, Qingque still had a knack for reading people; at a glance she could tell the silvery‑haired woman was far from ordinary.

She began to speculate about the other's identity.

A woman appearing in the afterlife with such presence must at least be a high‑rank ghost, perhaps even a favored figure beside the local king.

Qingque had heard storytellers speak of a "messenger who is a beautiful woman, collecting lost souls," and the one before her matched that description exactly.

Especially that peacock‑tail‑like grand skirt; even a storyteller would hardly dare fabricate that.

She thought again, perhaps this was someone who, like herself, had mistakenly entered this place.

But judging by the other's relaxed stance, as if standing in her own backyard admiring the moon, there was no hint of the panic that comes with being lost.

Compared with her own bewildered state when she first awoke on the trunk, the other was clearly far more composed.

Qingque ran through several rounds of mental calculations and finally arrived at a rather simple conclusion.

"Whoever she is, it doesn't matter."

She muttered softly, lifted a stray gray‑white strand from her eyes to behind her ear, and said, "At least she can speak."

Then she stood, cleared her throat, and slapped the hem of the dress twice, brushing off the red dust she had brushed onto the bark earlier.

She straightened her back, trying to look less like a hapless soul who had just tumbled out of a nightmare, and steadied her voice a bit.

"Hey, girl~"

Qingque stood on the branch and called out to the silvery‑haired figure; now that she was closer, she didn't need to raise her voice much, "Excuse me!"

This time, the silvery‑long‑haired figure turned around.

The face turned toward Qingque, the silvery hair swaying gently behind the shoulders.

Upon seeing the other's appearance, Qingque's eyes widened dramatically, her body freezing into a gray‑white stone statue.

An egg‑shaped face, skin extremely pale, standing in the red‑tinged surroundings like a piece of jade that never absorbs light.

The corners of her mouth held a slight curve, as if composure and cunning were blended in an exquisitely precise ratio.

Blue eyes, with elongated corners; the pupils seemed to hold a tiny misty sea.

The thoughts that had just raced through Qingque's mind were all halted by an invisible hand, and then a name leapt from the depths of her memory.

Yao Guang!

Yao Lao.

Qingque's expression changed in an instant; she subconsciously rubbed her eyes with both hands, then opened them again, and the other was still there, unmoving.

It was Yao Guang herself!

The General Rong Tao, who could make everyone's scalp tingle at the card table, had a face Qingque remembered perfectly—so clearly that even in this dim light she could recognize him at a glance.

But how could he be here?

Qingque's mind began to race.

She crouched on the branch, still clutching a short piece of branch she had broken off nearby to use as a cane.

The surroundings were quiet; the dark‑red mist in the abyss below continued to ripple slowly, the interlaced branches overhead swayed gently in an unknown wind, and occasional tiny red fragments fell from above, drifting onto her shoulder before sliding off.

Qingque swallowed hard.

What does Yao Guang mean in this place?

This is the afterlife.

She died, so she came here.

And Yao Guang?

Yao Guang also appeared here; doesn't that mean—

"Yao Guang is dead?"

Qingque silently spat the thought out.

A sudden, penetrating chill surged up her back, colder than when she was just swallowed by Jing Liu's light that pierced ten thousand rivers.

It made her scalp tighten and every hair stand on end.

What are you kidding!

Qingque almost shouted it in her mind.

That's Yao Guang!

General Rong Tao, whose light shines across the ten directions, illuminating the Dharma realm, the mighty spirit of the Patrol Hunt, a figure who could make Yu Que's astrological disk tremble three times just by sneezing.

Generals of this caliber in the Xianzhou Alliance are all qualified to sit in the chief's seat.

She's dead?

She died in an instant, and the Xianzhou had such a huge disaster?

Over at Luofu, Jing Yuan is unconscious, and here Yao Guang is gone; is the Xianzhou about to be turned upside down or what?

Qingque's breathing became short and rapid, a fine layer of cold sweat seeped from the corners of her forehead, and a few strands of her ash‑gray hair, damp, clung to her cheeks.

Her fingers gripping the branch began to tremble slightly.

Mom.

Dad.

Lord Fu Xuan.

The faces of these people popped up in her mind one after another.

If Yao Guang is dead, how chaotic must the Xianzhou be now?