Chapter 122

The purple-clad female ghost clasped her severed head to her chest, then suddenly threw back her head and laughed, thick, foul blood gushing steadily from her neck stump and nostrils like a ruptured spring, unstoppable and horrifying.

This scene unfolded in an instant.

She raised her severed head high and slammed it straight toward Chen Hang’s face!

Veins on her face twisted and bulged, forming a grotesque, venomous expression; her pupils had vanished, leaving only cold, milky whites that seemed ready to burst from their sockets.

At the same time, the horde of ghosts surged forward from all sides.

One after another, terrifying black shadows—twisted, hateful, bloody—radiated chilling yin energy, making hair stand on end and scalp tingle with dread!

“Aren’t you hungry, Young Master? Why aren’t you eating blood yet?!”

Ziying shrieked with laughter, her black hair writhing like serpents.

The surrounding evil ghosts bared their fangs and claws, whipping up a howling gale of yin wind, shrouding all in gloom and despair!

“Thank you, Miss Ziying, for your kindness—but I am a Jingxiu, and do not require blood offerings.”

Amid the circling, howling swarm of vengeful spirits, Chen Hang stood utterly still, his expression calm and unruffled.

He merely gazed calmly at the ghost holding her own head, his eyes like a deep, ancient well—unruffled, unchanging.

For a moment,

Ziying felt a strange unease beneath her chest at his gaze.

She awkwardly pulled her raised hands back and hugged her head again.

“Miss Ziying, you are naturally exquisite—why degrade yourself with such methods? Seeing it, I cannot help but feel pity.”

He smiled slightly and said:

“I am a true tenderhearted soul, unable to bear seeing a beauty torment herself. Please, don’t be so mischievous.”

Chen Hang drew a silk handkerchief from his sleeve and offered it forward with a faint smile.

As the face—fine as a painted scroll—leaned closer to him,

Despite lingering doubt, Ziying’s cheeks flushed hot; she hastily reattached her head to her neck and shyly accepted the offered handkerchief…

…

Among ghostly beings, those with and without spiritual awareness are divided into Linggui and Zhuogui.

Linggui preserve their true nature, having shed delusion and retained purity, aligning with the form of the unadulterated.

They can read characters, understand teachings, comprehend customs, and perceive yin and yang.

Such ghosts are, in truth, no different from the living.

As for Zhuogui,

They are like the group of ghosts dressed as villagers here—unawakened, without essence or heart, lacking wit.

Their actions are erratic, beastlike…

In the cultivation of the Underworld Ghost Dao, there exists a distinction between “Zhaoxiu” and “Jingxiu.”

Zhaoxiu delight in consuming the blood of living beings, using it to enhance their practice and nourish their magic power.

They gather the qi of the Three Calamities and Seven Killings into one, accumulating the Five Evils to reach the primordial true spirit realm, cultivating boundless resentment and malevolent power.

Jingxiu adhere strictly to the principle of “Weiyi Jingyi.”

They guard the Three Ones, guard Geng Shen, contain truth and spirit, draw in the essence of heaven and earth externally, and internally condense primordial qi—this is refining qi and uniting form, free of attachment and substance.

Ultimately, they seek the great freedom and liberation of transcending yin and yang, where form is unbound, and unbound form can be forgotten.

Only ghosts who have developed spiritual awareness may cultivate the Underworld Ghost Dao.

Along either the path of “Zhaoxiu” or “Jingxiu,” they progress from ghost to Nie, from Nie to Xi, from Xi to Yi…

Since stepping from the sedan, this purple-clad female ghost had radiated a persistent stench of murky blood, and with the pile of hearts and spleens on the tray before her, she was clearly a “Zhaoxiu” who feasts on blood.

Chen Hang had intended to kill Yan Ping and then dispose of this ghost as well.

But he had just heard the name Xu Zhi—she claimed Xu Zhi was among her “meat goods.”

Though Xu Zhi had not entered the Abyss,

And never entertained the idea of risking his life for coin,

Chen Hang suppressed his killing intent and began to feign cordiality with Ziying…

Meanwhile, elsewhere,

Ziying’s heart was equally complicated.

Chen Hang’s aura was unmistakably ghostly, with not the slightest flaw detectable.

But in recent days, many orthodox immortal cultivators had entered the Abyss—perhaps some had disguised themselves with techniques…

Even within the human pens, she had already captured several top-grade “meat goods.”

That was why she had suddenly revealed her terrifying ghostly form—to shock and unnerve.

Yesterday, she had used this very trick to terrify a Foundation Establishment true cultivator who concealed his aura with talismans, causing him to lose his composure briefly and expose his true identity.

Even the most resolute person, upon seeing a blood-dripping ghost face suddenly pressed against their own, would flinch—then, when their aura faltered and the scent of the living leaked out,

Even a trace would be enough for ghosts to sense something amiss.

Yet this man before her remained utterly composed, serene.

Not only did he not panic—he turned the tables, teasing her playfully, leaving Ziying flustered, her heart fluttering uncontrollably.

“Young Master, my Lady Yue is about to wed. If you have no pressing matters, would you care to join us for a cup of wine?”

After a moment’s thought,

Ziying’s lips curved slightly as she smiled:

“You’ve just arrived in this region—you must pay respects to two elder ghost cultivators. After the wedding banquet, I’ll personally ask Lady Yue to introduce you to them. What do you say?”

“When is your lady’s wedding scheduled?”

Chen Hang paused, then asked.

“In three days—certainly not to the detriment of your affairs,” Ziying cooed.

“Don’t take this as boasting, but a man as refined as you—Lord Shanhu and Madam Feihua would surely delight in you. With their favor, I can’t promise great advancement, but at least you’ll never again worry about external obstacles in your cultivation.”

“But… I have nothing of value to offer as a wedding gift to Lady Yue.”

Chen Hang feigned hesitation before sighing.

His words further eased Ziying’s suspicions.

If this man were truly an immortal cultivator, he would never risk entering a mansion to attend a wedding.

And as for Lady Yue arranging an introduction to Lord Shanhu and Madam Feihua afterward—that would be nothing short of walking into a lion’s den.

“Poorly endowed, and unfamiliar—this must be correct… He’s likely a Linggui born of Zhuoyin, newly manifested.”

"His family is poor, and he looks entirely unfamiliar—he must be the one. This one is likely a spirit ghost born of Turbid Yin, only just recently taken form."

In that case, Chen Hang’s claim of being a “Jingxiu” who avoids blood offerings was almost certainly true.

After all, newly born Linggui rarely yet understand the pleasures of blood—she herself had eaten only vegetarian offerings for years after gaining awareness…

Seeing the slight relaxation in Ziying’s expression, Chen Hang naturally noticed.

He lowered his eyelids slightly, his inner tension easing.

His knowledge of Zhuogui, Linggui, and the distinction between Zhaoxiu and Jingxiu came from an obscure Daoist text.

But what had truly fooled this female ghost was the assistance of the “Sanjing Lianxing Technique.”

“I wonder if this is merely a coincidence—or the real Xu Zhi… Only by investigating firsthand can I find the truth.”

Chen Hang silently shook his head.

At that moment, Ziying was directing her ghost servants to carry away Yan Ping’s dismembered body—like lifting a slab of pork, utterly routine.

Yan Ping’s severed limbs were distributed by Ziying, who wore a look of disgust, to the village Zhuogui, inciting a frenzied scramble among the ghosts.

Though these village Zhuogui were far stronger than Ziying’s Linggui, even Chen Hang had to tread carefully,

Ziying treated them as beasts and dogs, commanding them freely.

Yet the village Zhuogui obeyed without resistance, suppressing their ferocity utterly—a curious phenomenon.

Seeing Chen Hang’s curiosity, Ziying was unsurprised but offered no explanation, only smiled softly and invited him into the sedan.

Chen Hang had already resolved to uncover Xu Zhi’s fate—he naturally accepted.

He smiled faintly and stepped with Ziying through the gauze curtain into the sedan.

As the ghosts shouted in unison, a chilling yin wind surged from the ground, and the golden-threaded sedan soared upward, darting deeper into the Abyss.

As the ghosts all shouted in unison, a chilling, icy wind suddenly surged from the ground, and the golden-threaded palanquin soared upward, darting deeper into the abyss.

The golden-threaded sedan had not yet landed.

Yet inside, Ziying’s face was flushed crimson…

Her eyes shimmered with dewy mist, and she sat restlessly, unable to settle.

For Xu Zhi’s sake, Chen Hang had forced himself to suppress his usual demeanor, feigning a carefree, charming persona to draw out her confessions.

Though he had never before attempted such verbal finesse, he was not ignorant of the subtle arts between men and women.

In just a few words, he had stirred her cheeks to flame and her spirit to confusion, drawing out many secrets.

Had not a sliver of reason held firm in her spirit, she would have spilled every detail of the mansion’s affairs.

“This Young Master is stunningly beautiful—rare even among a thousand. If I could spend one night with him, even dying again wouldn’t be a loss!”

"This young master has an exceptionally fine appearance, outstanding among a thousand—should I have the pleasure of coupling with him, even dying again would not be a loss!"

At that moment, the bearers shouted again, calming the yin wind, preparing to descend slowly—the mansion was near.

Lady Yue, though not favored, was still the child of Lord Shanhu and Madam Feihua. When she left home, dozens of powerful ghosts served as guards, and a retinue of servants and attendants accompanied her for chores.

Far below, a vast, yin-choked mansion sprawled across a wide expanse.

Looking far below, he saw a vast, grim mansion steeped in dark energy, covering a huge expanse of land.

The corridors stretched in straight rows, pavilions and towers soaring high.

Bamboo fences, stone bridges, thatched halls, bell and drum towers—all were present!

“Wait!”

At that moment, Ziying spoke, as if suddenly remembering something, hastily pulling back the curtain and ordering the ghost bearers:

“Don’t rush back to the mansion—turn around first and take the Young Master for a walk through the Human Pen!”

“The Human Pen?”

All the ghosts instantly turned their heads, their eyes glowing pale white, drool spurting from their mouths and soaking their bodies.

“This Young Master seems to be Jingxiu—he doesn’t require blood offerings…”

A ghost with a bare chest and belly, its head as large as a bushel, chuckled loudly and boldly leaned toward the sedan curtain, greedily:

“Pretty girl, aren’t you feeling sorry for our hard work? Are you going to let us all taste some blood meat? I heard the Young Lady recently captured many cultivators from beyond the Abyss—called the Xuanzhen Sect?”

“Give us one! Just one to share! A cultivator’s flesh is the crispiest and most chewy!”

“Pretty girl, if you’re kind enough to show mercy, we’ll remember your grace forever!”

With one leading, and the lure of cultivator flesh, the ghosts erupted into shouts and clamor, their ferocity fully exposed.

Ziying softly tried to soothe them, but the ghosts paid no heed—their noise only grew louder, drowning out her voice with a thunderous roar.

After several attempts, Ziying’s expression hardened, her eyes turning cold.

She suddenly thrust out her hand, snatching a particularly loud ghost with lightning speed, then clenching her fingers—easily crushing his skull.

No red or white matter splattered.

Only clouds of yin energy spilled out, swirling once before dispersing into the heavens and earth, vanishing without a trace.

One wisp of the leaking yin energy drifted toward Chen Hang inside the sedan.

He felt it briefly, then his previously indifferent gaze grew serious, a faint hint of delight appearing.

“So it can be done this way? No… it should have been this way all along!”

Chen Hang thought.

After killing the ringleader, Ziying rose silently from the sedan, her eyes streaming blood, a chilling yin wind sweeping around her as she stepped toward the ghost bearers.

“What lowly vermin are you, to dare crave the flesh of cultivators? Don’t overstep your place!”

She let out a sharp laugh:

“If you dare make another sound, I’ll serve you up as dried snacks for the guests to chew on! Luckily, the Young Lady’s wedding banquet is short on dishes—I’ve been worrying about how to feed everyone! Don’t go looking for death yourselves!”

All the ghosts dared not look up, trembling like dogs with their tails tucked between their legs.

When Ziying turned back and saw Chen Hang smiling at her, her face flushed red; she hastily wiped the pus and blood from her face.

“Young Master, I’m not usually like this—it’s all these ghostly brutes…”

Her voice grew softer and softer, until it was barely a whisper.

“She’s around Foundation Establishment Second Layer—roughly equal to Yan Ping. Killing her wouldn’t be hard.”

Though he thought this, Chen Hang’s expression remained unchanged:

“How could I doubt you, Young Master? I trust Ziying fully.”

The purple-robed ghost let out a soft sigh, covering her face with her sleeve, too shy to meet his gaze.

…

…

Skin like hibiscus, simmered to release fragrance; breasts made into dumplings, ghosts vie to taste.

First cut off both arms, hang them in the butcher’s shop; then slice the tender flesh for broth.

Cold winds rolled, blood surged; skin peeled, bones exposed, arms severed, tendons torn…

The soft sedan slowly circled through the Human Pen.

Seeing Chen Hang remain composed amid the wailing, never showing any sorrow for his kind—only the ordinary distaste Jingxiu felt toward blood offerings—

Ziying finally allowed herself to relax.

She joyfully ushered Chen Hang into the mansion and lodged him in a quiet room.

Yet even now, she didn’t forget to summon several major ghosts to guard the door—called “guardians,” but in truth, to watch him.

…

…

Night fell.

Within the Human Pen.

Yu Wanrou’s mind suddenly cleared; she slowly opened her eyes, seeing only a blur of flickering shadows.

She let out a faint, bitter laugh, trying to rise from the ground—but found both arms severed; piercing pain surged into her mind, tears spilling uncontrollably.

“Sister Yu, I just gave you a Blood-Nourishing Pill to seal your wounds. Don’t move yet.”

At that moment, a voice came from before her:

“Luckily you’ve already formed your Dao Foundation—your body is beyond ordinary. Otherwise, I couldn’t have helped you.”

“You…”

After a long pause, Yu Wanrou realized the voice was speaking to her—not a hallucination, but real.

“You?”

She lifted her head, then burst into tears again:

“Chen Hang, how did you end up locked in this Human Pen too?”