Chapter 698: The Nine Gates

Like falling into a pond, hearing and vision twisted and distorted entirely.

Before Li Yan could react, his body suddenly grew light, then the light and shadows stabilized.

He was certain now—this was a layered space.

Whether “Shituo Forest” or “Dragon Palace Water Mansion,” the feeling here was identical.

He gathered his spirit and looked around.

He realized he had appeared inside a land god temple.

The walls were half-collapsed, wooden pillars and bracket sets supported rammed-earth walls, faintly revealing Tang dynasty style.

The walls were covered in moss and cracks, from which oozed yellow-black decaying grease.

This place immediately felt unpleasant.

Li Yan felt something stir within him and turned to look behind.

There lay a rectangular stone tablet on the ground, inscribed with “Land God Liu of this district… Tang Yonghui era…”

Above the rotten offering table, the clay deity statue had shattered, and a pitch-black void opened against the wall.

Li Yan understood—this land god temple must be one of the exits.

That oil-stealing rat spirit had escaped through here to steal incense offerings from surrounding lands.

He noted the location and cautiously walked toward the temple’s exit.

Outside the temple gate, another scene unfolded before him.

The sky and earth were gloomy, gray, shrouded in thick fog, with snowflakes drifting down from above.

Li Yan raised his hand to catch some, his expression turning grim.

These were no “snowflakes”—they were incense ash!

He recalled his experiences in “Shituo Forest” and “Dragon Palace Water Mansion.”

Such places were gaps between the Great Luo Dharma Realm and the mortal world—not real, but spiritual spaces.

The scenes formed were typically tied to mental projections.

For instance, “Shituo Forest” consisted of countless graves and Buddhist stupas.

In “Dragon Palace Water Mansion,” it was simply underwater caves.

This “Nine Gates Yin Xu” lay within the capital, never lacking human presence since ancient times, with remnants of Tang dynasty land god temples still lingering.

Perhaps it was connected to mortal rituals…

Thinking of this, Li Yan grew wary and pressed forward.

Indeed, the terrain here bore some resemblance to the capital.

Though fog obscured everything and incense ash blanketed the sky, he could still faintly discern the landscape, strikingly similar to beyond the Nine Gates, yet the streets were strange—cobblestone paths and rammed-earth roads intertwined as if mixed together.

The surrounding dwellings displayed mixed architectural styles.

Rammed-earth walls with thatched roofs, blue-gray tiled roofs—buildings from different dynasties seemed jumbled together, and the roads twisted and crossed.

Yet all of them were ruined, like ruins.

No plants, no birds or beasts, no human figures—like a land at the end of the world.

Gazing at this scene, Li Yan fell into thought.

This bizarre layout further confirmed his suspicion.

He too had seen the Great Luo Dharma Realm through the bronze nuo mask, aided by Er Lang Zhen Jun.

It was a wondrous place where matter and spirit coexisted.

In terms of his past life, perhaps it was some higher dimension.

He could observe it only through dreams.

This so-called secret realm was a spatial rift.

Objects from the mortal world projected into it spiritually, but less stably…

Of course, all this was merely speculation.

Li Yan stopped daydreaming and began exploring.

The place was vast and boundless; he sought the oil-stealing rat spirit, but after entering the “Nine Gates Yin Xu,” it vanished somewhere—he could only proceed by instinct.

Fortunately, though chaotic, the general outline of the capital was still discernible.

After advancing a short distance, Li Yan immediately halted, eyes wide with shock.

Before him, atop the ruins, a towering gate floated in midair, inscribed with “Zhengyang Gate.”

The gate stood closed, ancient and weathered, bristling with rusted iron arrows and splattered with patchy bloodstains.

The floating gate seemed propelled by some force, slowly shifting.

Such an eerie sight left Li Yan utterly baffled.

He had a hunch—the area he entered was merely the outer fringe.

The “Nine Gates Yin Xu” likely required passing through nine gates to enter.

Yet the gate was visible front and back, utterly empty—where was the entrance?

Boom boom boom~

As he pondered, the gate suddenly roared violently and began slowly opening.

Perfect opportunity!

Li Yan’s spirit surged—he floated like a kite and shot straight through the gate.

The instant he passed through, his vision blurred, revealing another scene.

Before him lay scorched earth, crumbling walls belching smoke, rivers of blood, and scattered, mutilated corpses everywhere.

Boom boom boom!

Another roar shook the ground.

From afar, rolling black mist surged forward.

Faintly visible within were countless hooves galloping, cries of battle roaring like tidal waves.

From the ruins came the sound of a huqin, accompanied by a mournful steppe chant.

Above the black mist appeared a massive faded animal-skin banner, depicting a gray wolf bowing to the moon, oozing black blood continuously.

“Alah!”

A low, chilling voice echoed from the black mist.

Then came a hum—a cloud of black arrows rose, dense as rain, arcing toward him in a shower.

Li Yan’s scalp prickled—he turned and retreated.

Even the Ten Great Masters of Shenzhou were flesh and blood—no one could survive such a terrifying assault.

Though this was the “Nine Gates Yin Xu,” and all scenes were spiritual projections, caution was still vital.

Boom boom boom~

Behind him, Zhengyang Gate opened fully, then began slowly closing.

At the very last moment before the gate sealed, Li Yan slipped out safely.

Bang bang bang!

Arrows rained down like hail, embedding the entire gate like a porcupine.

Yet strangely, all arrows quickly dissolved into black smoke, restoring the gate to its original state.

“Alah!”

The voice from the black mist sounded again, surging forward toward another region.

Li Yan knew nothing of this.

Gazing at the closed gate, he shuddered with lingering dread.

What he had just witnessed must have been the iron cavalry of the Golden Tent Wolf Kingdom.

Why did such things still exist within the “Nine Gates Yin Xu”?

His mind brimmed with questions.

He followed the moving gate for half a day, seeing only ruins, not a single soul.

Li Yan knew that to enter deeper, he must pass through the gates.

He wondered whether his teleportation technique could fool the cavalry blocking the gate…

As he pondered, his eyes suddenly lit up.

In the distance, another gate appeared, floating in midair, slowly moving.

Above it were the characters “Chongwen Gate.”

Each of the capital’s Nine Gates served different functions.

For example, Xuanwu Gate, also called the “Gate of Death,” was the route for prisoner carts, leading to the Cai Shi Kou execution ground, its archway carved with “Too Late to Regret.”

Chaoyang Gate was the “Grain Gate,” the entry for canal grain; grain carts from Tongzhou passed through here to storage, its archway carved with grain ear reliefs.

Fucheng Gate was the “Coal Gate,” Xizhimen the “Water Gate.” The Chongwen Gate before him was the “Tax Gate”—wine carts and merchant goods entering the city had to pay tolls.

The different functions of the Nine Gates might relate to this secret realm.

Li Yan had suspicions but could not confirm them.

Just like the Zhengyang Gate he had passed through—the Emperor’s exclusive “Dragon Carriage Gate,” used annually for Winter Solstice Heaven Worship and Jingzhe Plowing Rituals—yet inside lay the spectral remnants of the Golden Tent Wolf cavalry. Did this symbolize the loss of imperial authority?

As the two gates crossed, they roared open simultaneously.

Li Yan hesitated, then dashed into Chongwen Gate.

Before his eyes, light flickered, revealing another scene:

A dense, endless procession of merchant caravans trudged forward, their faces pale, eyes sunken black, like lonely souls on the path to the Yellow Springs, moving silently along the street—not a word spoken, not even the rotting mules and horses neighing.

It seemed bustling, yet deathly silent, deeply eerie.

Li Yan was pushed forward by the crowd within the caravan.

Even he felt his scalp prickling at this sight.

Boom—

The Chongwen Gate behind him slowly closed again.

With no other choice, Li Yan followed the caravan, making not a sound.

Fortunately, these things did not attack.

Following this eerie procession, Li Yan moved through the streets, and soon the gray mist enveloped him from behind.

The streets here, too, were twisted with architecture from different eras.

After walking for an unknown length of time, the chaotic streets ahead began to feel familiar.

Yet Li Yan’s expression changed abruptly.

The Chongwen Gate appeared again ahead!

After walking so long, he had merely been going in circles.

Li Yan gritted his teeth, broke from the caravan, and dashed into the surrounding ruins.

Yet no matter which path he took, he always ended up back before the Chongwen Gate.

A ghostly maze?

Or a secret realm’s array?

Li Yan glanced around, helplessly.

He was never skilled at breaking arrays, and this place was bizarre—seemingly caught in some kind of loop.

His only option now was to leave swiftly, lest he become trapped in this cycle.

Boom—

The Chongwen Gate opened slowly once more.

Li Yan was about to step forward when his expression flickered.

“Ding… ling… ding… ling…”

A clear, peculiar bell sound shattered the silence of the area.

The sound resembled fine porcelain clinking together.

Following the sound, he saw a strange procession slowly materialize outside the Chongwen Gate.

It was a crimson silk palanquin, carried by eight bearers—worn yet radiating an eerie sheen.

The “bearers” were not human, but hairy creatures with slender limbs, bald, grotesque heads, red mouths, and large eyes.

As they walked, their joints emitted clicking sounds—upon closer inspection, they were composed entirely of cicada molts.

These were “Mao Hou”!

Li Yan finally remembered what they were.

“Mao Hou” were a type of handicraft from the capital.

Made from cicada molts for heads and limbs, magnolia bark for bodies, glue from white jiang, and woodtongue for props—exquisitely crafted.

Skilled artisans could make Mao Hou enact countless scenes.

“Riot in Heaven,” “Imperial Procession,” “Life in the Marketplace”… each Mao Hou played its role, vivid and lifelike.

In short, they were ancient Chinese action figures.

Li Yan had learned of them while gathering intelligence—he’d heard that in the capital, a master Daoist craftsman could use Mao Hou as vessels to house and drive yin spirits, performing “Mao Hou Operas” at midnight, a supreme marvel of the capital’s Daoist arts.

Now, all these “Mao Hou” had been enlarged.

Besides the eight bearing the palanquin, others appeared like living people—wearing official hats and robes, carrying banners or dressed as generals.

Their movements were stiff, joints clicking “crack,” like puppets on strings, perfectly synchronized.

Through the crimson palanquin’s beaded curtain, a fat silhouette sat inside, barely visible.

Dressed in a general’s official robe, wearing a tiger-skin cap, his body pale and plump, atop his head two enormous rabbit ears.

It was the legendary Tu’er Ye!

Tu’er Ye was on patrol!

As the procession of Mao Hou carrying Tu’er Ye’s divine palanquin entered the Chongwen Gate, the tinkling bells caused the crowded, ghostly merchants to part like flowing water, clearing the central street.

As Tu’er Ye’s divine palanquin advanced, the black mist ahead churned, revealing a new path.

Li Yan’s eyes flashed with insight—he immediately recalled what he had learned.

Hu Yuanyuan’s venerated Old Fox Immortal had said Tu’er Ye would save children, and thus revealed the “Nine Gates Yin Xu.”

The “Old Ghost of the Capital” had also warned him: once inside, it was best to follow Tu’er Ye.

He was the only benevolent deity within the “Nine Gates Yin Xu.”

Without hesitation, Li Yan leapt from the crowd and followed behind the procession.

The Tu’er Ye within the divine palanquin seemed to sense him—he turned his head slightly, but ignored him.

Entering the newly appeared street, the gray mist surged behind him, and the street vanished.

Li Yan did not dare delay—he kept tightly to the procession.

The Nine Gates Yin Xu was truly bizarre.

The guiding incense wrapped around his body had grown fainter, indicating it was nearly the third watch of midnight.

If he had not found what he sought by then, Wang Daoxuan would summon him back by spell.

After walking for another unknown length of time, the view suddenly opened up.

It was a massive, abandoned city wall, built of rammed earth, ancient in age.

Upon the broken wall stood a colossal tree.

Since entering the “Nine Gates Yin Xu,” this was the first time Li Yan had seen vegetation—but he felt no joy.

It was a strange peach tree.

Its trunk was thick as a small hill, its roots knotted and coiled around the ruined wall.

Upon closer inspection, the twisted bark was composed of countless children’s faces, pressed tightly together, contorting in agony!

Above, lush green leaves shimmered, fresh and dewy; the dense roots were blood-red, rooted in the pile of white bones beneath the wall.

Among the leaves, several large peaches had already ripened, pink and tender like celestial fruits.

But Li Yan felt only unending nausea.

His second awakened divine ability allowed him to hear the voices of ghosts and gods.

Now, the endless, wailing cries of countless children echoed endlessly in his mind…

But what startled Li Yan even more were the white bones beneath the tree.

Piled bones vaguely formed an altar.

The altar was no ordinary design—its core enshrined a crude stone statue:

Human body, leopard tail, tiger fangs, roaring, disheveled hair, adorned with headdress.

It was the monstrous statue of the Queen Mother of the West, as recorded in the Classic of Mountains and Seas, deity of calamity, plague, and punishment!

Li Yan had once found an identical statue of the Queen Mother inside the “Dragon Palace Water Mansion” in Shu.

Over centuries, the Western Queen Mother had evolved from a monstrous deity into a benevolent god of fortune.

Yet this ancient, cruel statue had begun to receive incense offerings.

The source was here!

Directly before the altar was not empty.

Dozens of officials, clad in tattered ancient official robes, were performing a ritual.

Their faces were blurred and twisted, movements stiff as puppets, yet carrying an eerie, solemn rhythm.

They were paper figures!

Behind them were written on yellow paper their birth dates, times, and names.

Vice Minister of Revenue Zhou Mingyuan, Lady Lin, wife of the Salt Transport Commissioner, Marquis Xiao Jinghuan…

All were participants of the “Peach Banquet”!

(End of Chapter)