Chapter 229: The Female War God (Revised)

The setting sun spilled across the ten thousand miles of mountains and rivers, merging with fire and blood into one hue.

Tens of thousands of demon-men, dragging puppets and towering ghostly mists, turned the wasteland into a hell of demons—ghostly wails and wolfish howls surged like tidal waves, as if issuing the imperial decree of death upon mankind:

“Roar!!”

“Aaaah—”

……

A divine figure with flaming crimson hair streaming in the wind stood before a tide of blades, his golden armor and nine-foot golden spear glowing under the sunset—the only light in this blood-and-fire hell.

After glancing back at his fleeing allies, the golden-armored god dragged his fiery mane and charged alone into the apocalypse, his spear shrieking as it tore through the heavens, leaving shattered blades fluttering like butterflies and severed limbs falling like leaves.

Countless demon-men and ghosts were torn to shreds in the clashing clang of broken blades, their mangled bodies falling into rivers of blood with thudding beats like war drums.

Though clad in golden armor, he stood like an unyielding deity—ten-directional ghost envoys and north-south demon generals all turned into wandering souls beneath his spear’s tip; the blood-and-fire hell itself cracked open under golden light, birthing the dawn within the inferno.

But human strength has its limits, while demons and monsters are endless!

The golden-armored god had forgotten how long he’d fought in the tide, isolated and without hope, watching his strength drain bit by bit, his breath grow heavier, his spear swings tremble—yet the tide before him showed no end.

Just before exhaustion and supplies ran out, she finally spotted someone approaching from behind—a cultivator with five weapons slung across his back, his heavenly aura no weaker than her own, the famed “Female War God,” the North’s foremost warrior.

But seeing the hopeless, hellish scene, the newcomer merely called from afar:

“Friend, hold on a moment longer—I’ll go aid Ye Ci in slaying the Corpse Ancestor.”

With those words, he turned and left.

The golden-armored god did not retreat; instead, she raged through the ghost tide like a killing machine, trying to buy her allies even a single breath.

Only after piercing through the entire blood-soaked plain did she realize the Corpse Ancestor’s myriad incarnations were a ruse—his true body had been hiding here all along, attempting to feint east and strike west, slipping out behind her into Dragon Cloud Valley and the celestial net the orthodox sects had laid.

Facing certain death, the golden-armored god did not flinch; dragging her crimson hair, she used her mortal body to clash head-on with the only Seventh Realm left after the Martial Ancestor’s demise.

Though she barely withstood the demon blade Naxie’s strike, before her broken body hit the ground, a streak of light flashed across the sky—and a voice that struck terror into both orthodox and demonic realms rang out:

“Wah-kah-kah! So the true body’s hiding here—Zi Yuan Lie Su, Xuan Ji Dong Ling…”

Then the heavens were blotted out by a coiled-dragon red umbrella; a Daoist nun no taller than a stalk of green onion dragged lightning to tear open the sky, summoning an endless thunder array to lock the entire blood plain.

A white-robed scholar holding the Imperial Edict, a jade-faced monk manifesting a golden divine form, a witch-clan elder clutching a spirit-summoning banner, a yellow-robed Daoist holding the Five Elements Seal—all surged from the four horizons, turning the blood plain into a surreal spectacle.

And the first to leave, Shang Lianbi, only arrived belatedly once the advantage had shifted.

The golden-armored figure stood leaning on her spear amid the blood pool, watching Sikong Shitang bind the soul and imprison the spirit—the Corpse Ancestor, no older than thirty, ceased resistance and spoke:

“Compassion cannot command armies; sentiment cannot govern affairs. My master never lied to me.”

Sikong Shitang’s Dao heart shattered; he sat alone on the ground, like an old man who had lost his son.

Yet the demonic god who had nearly destroyed the world was finally erased beneath the clear sky and bright sun.

Seeing this, the golden-armored god finally relaxed her tension, closed her eyes peacefully, and collapsed—her body falling with a final soft clink of weapon hitting ground.

Thud—

But when she opened her eyes again, the battlefield was silent as a tomb.

The Daoist nun, no taller than a stalk of green onion, lay dead on the ground, the demon blade Naxie piercing her chest; around her lay the mangled remains of the Jade Mind Monk and Huang Lin the True Person, while the white-robed scholar’s bloodied head was held aloft by a figure.

He wore a black robe, five immortal weapons slung across his back, standing atop the heavens like a god descended.

……

The golden-armored god jolted awake, tumbling from a lavishly crafted phoenix bed, gazing out at the vast city beyond the tower.

A slow night breeze entered the room; the bustling city below, thick with human Yanhuo , still danced and sang in peace.

But her cheeks held no trace of relief from the nightmare; she turned to gaze at the golden armor standing in the hall, rubbed her temples, and exhaled deeply:

“Huh…”

Tap-tap-tap…

Perhaps hearing the noise, footsteps sounded outside the bedchamber.

Then the female official Hongdou appeared beyond the screen, kneeling and bowing her head:

“Empress Dowager, did you have another nightmare?”

Empress Dowager Guo paused a moment, then resumed her usual imperial poise, her tone calm:

“It’s nothing—just an old ailment. Any leads on the unrest in Lizhou?”

“Minister Shen Cang of the Ministry of Justice has already led a team there, accompanied by that young constable named Jiang Xian. They should have results soon.”

Empress Dowager Guo rose from the phoenix bed and walked alone to the terrace outside the hall; dressed in a loose pale-gold silk nightgown and towering far above average height, the wind traced sweeping curves along her silken fabric, her silhouette resembling a celestial goddess.

“The Southern Court envoys arrived today. Xie Jin is not among them—any trace of his whereabouts?”

“Hmm… not yet. The Ministry of Rites says Xie Jin may have gone to the Southern Frontier. Whether he’ll come or not is still uncertain.”

“He will come. Have your people keep a close watch.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

……

After giving her orders, Empress Dowager Guo stood alone atop the Heavenly Tower, overlooking the vast city.

Though her silhouette resembled a celestial empress, she was no true god—human strength has its limits; she could not suppress the surging undercurrents beneath the city’s Yanhuo . She did not know when her “divine aid” would finally reach this point…

—

Meanwhile, in Lizhou.

Cold wind swept snowflakes over the outskirts of a small county town in southern Lizhou.

Two fine horses arrived from the south, entering the city gates at midnight; Meiqiu, who had slept the whole journey, poked her head out from beneath her cloak, gazing at the still-open hotpot stall:

“Gujiji?”

Xie Jin sat atop his horse, pulling out a map and checking the route by the lantern light of a roadside tavern, his breath forming white mist:

“Still over a thousand li to Yanjing—we won’t make it in time for the envoy team. Let’s rest in the county tonight and continue tomorrow.”

Bu Yuehua followed beside him, bundled tightly in layers; her spiritual soul was injured, so she’d dozed most of the way and now said nothing, merely trailing behind as Xie Jin inquired about lodging. Linchuan County lay in central Lizhou, a vital transportation hub crowded with merchants from the Southern Court and the Western Regions.

Xie Jin had planned to find any random inn, but heavy snow had stranded all caravans within the city; every inn was full. Brothels still had rooms, but bringing a woman along—Bu Xianzi would never agree.

After walking the streets for a while, they spotted a caravan stranded roadside, unable to find lodging—its members, all wrapped in thick sheepskin, were skilled fighters guarding over a dozen carts of goods.

Among them was a man in a white fox fur coat, his head braided with countless tiny plaits, inspecting the carts and speaking in dialect:

“Kushka, Yazatashim…”

Bu Yuehua briefly sized up the caravan, thinking it a fat target—but she was no southern bandit, so she had no ill intentions, only curiosity:

“Where’s this caravan from?”

Xie Jin glanced briefly: “Their banner is from the Western Kingdom of Shajie—they’re famous for glass stones and beauties. These people are heading to the capital to celebrate the Young Emperor’s birthday. Tell your men to guard the carts well—Han people are all wolves with ill intent…”

“?”

The man in the fox fur, clearly of considerable cultivation, turned his head upon hearing them pass.

Bu Yuehua was slightly startled; only after walking a few steps did she ask curiously:

“You understand Western dialects?”

Xie Jin had been studying since age three, and fair-haired, blue-eyed, breast-sized Hujis were among his dream targets—he couldn’t let himself be mute. He replied modestly:

“When my father was County Commander, he often caught Western thieves and undocumented folk. I picked up a few phrases—nothing much.”

“Oh…”

Bu Yuehua found Xie Jin’s range of knowledge astonishing. After a moment’s thought, she asked:

“How do you say my name in Western dialect?”

Xie Jin considered briefly: “Aiyiguli—it means ‘moon flower’ there. You could also interpret it as ‘flower like the moon.’”

“Aiyiguli…”

Bu Yuehua nodded slightly, finding the name pleasant. But since Xie Jin was her junior, continuing this conversation might drift into moonlit romance—so she suppressed the urge to ask what he called himself, and glanced back at the Western caravan:

“The Young Emperor of Zhou will turn twenty soon, right? Is this his coronation?”

An emperor’s coronation meant he formally assumed rule; regents like the Prince-Regent or Empress Dowager must return the seal of authority within three days. Historically, emperors usually took power at fourteen or fifteen—those who waited until twenty were extremely rare.

Though Xie Jin hadn’t actively studied Northern Zhou affairs, he knew the Young Emperor Xiao Yang was about his age. When he was six, he’d secretly sighed—look at these native sons, six years old and already emperor, ruling the realm while drunk on his wet nurse’s lap, sucking and reading memorials—while I still had to go to kindergarten…

So the Young Emperor of Zhou was likely truly twenty now—but given the current situation, Empress Dowager Guo would never relinquish power. This could easily turn into a “Divine Dragon Coup…”

He remembered the “Divine Dragon Coup”—when the Crown Prince led court ministers to kill the Empress’s lovers and forced her to abdicate. What were Empress Dowager Guo’s lovers…

Oh my god…

Xie Jin felt this trip to Yanjing might not go as smoothly as planned—but since he was already here, no matter the problem, he’d have to face it. He simply said:

“We’ll know when we get to Yanjing…”

As they chatted idly, they nearly circled the entire Linchuan County before finding a small inn in its corner. The place was so shabby even Meiqiu shook his head. The innkeeper didn’t even need to hint—he had only one room left. A lone man and woman would have to share.

Xie Jin didn’t mind. After entering the second floor, he patched the drafty windows with rags and made a bird’s nest for Meiqiu out of his wide-brimmed hat.

Bu Yuehua followed inside, removed her white cloak, revealing a form-fitting azure dress and a serene, mature beauty—her peach-blossom eyes held the awkwardness of a mature woman sharing a room with a vigorous young boy.

As Master Wanyi’s teacher, she’d always maintained propriety—aside from being hugged twice in the Fire Phoenix Valley, there’d been nothing unusual between them.

But problems arise when a man and woman sleep together—Nangong Ye, that icy block, had pulled off heaven-reversing tricks. She didn’t believe her own witch-cult demoness heart could be firmer than a flirtatious Daoist nun’s. So she thought for a moment and said:

“Why don’t you sleep first? I’ll keep watch. We’ll switch watches in the second half of the night.”

Xie Jin finished sealing the windows and turned to look at the composed, serene “Little Master-Mother.” Though he didn’t respect ritual, he knew pushing too hard on his status was inappropriate. He thought for a moment:

“Before I left, the court showed me the Martial Divine Scripture. Hua Shijie is also a martial cultivator. Shall I teach you a bit?”

Bu Yuehua had asked Wanyi to find the Martial Divine Scripture hidden in the Imperial Astronomical Bureau to prepare for ascending to the Supergrade—yet that damn girl had been too busy sleeping with men and remembered nothing. Hearing Xie Jin offer, she was delighted:

“Won’t this be leaked?”

Xie Jin taught directly because he didn’t want to waste Wanyi’s time as a middleman siphoning his essence. He replied:

“As long as Hua Shijie keeps it secret, no one else needs to know.”

“I’m only learning for myself—how could I leak it to outsiders?”

Bu Yuehua sat down at the round table and gave Xie Jin’s body a brief glance.

“You’re going to teach me now?”

Xie Jin sat across from her and paused to consider.

“Hmm… The Martial Dao Divine Scripture is far too complex—it synthesizes every valuable aspect of ancient cultivation methods, meant for personal insight. It can’t be taught by speech or demonstration; it requires the Hidden Immortals’ secret technique, ‘Dream Transmission.’ That is…”

Bu Yuehua wasn’t foolish; hearing the word “dream,” her gaze drifted to the bed.

“We have to sleep together? Jinhuan, you’re Mu’s sweetheart—can’t you just… you know, a man and woman alone like this…”

“Hey!”

Xie Jin quickly raised his hand. “Sister Hua, don’t misunderstand. I truly have no other way to teach—you’ll enter the dream with me via the secret method, and observe for yourself. We don’t need to lie on the bed; sitting here is enough.”

“… ”

Bu Yuehua, seeing Xie Jin’s solemn and upright expression, gave a slight nod.

“Then try it.”

Xie Jin said nothing more, sat on the chair, silently called upon his ghost bride for aid, then feigned seriousness:

“Sister Hua, you must take off your hairpin first—it’s too yang-charged, it’ll block hypnosis.”

“Oh…”

“Heavenly spirit, earthly spirit…”

(End of Chapter)