Chapter 103: Mortals Slaying Immortals

The gentle streams and stone bridges, once picturesque, were now a scene of utter devastation. The carved beams and painted rafters lay in ruins, reduced to broken tiles and shattered bricks. This was not limited to the manor alone; the entire city of Luo was in similar disarray. Ghosts slaughtered the living, and demons feasted upon them. From above the city, a giant web formed by the Red Yin Demon-Gathering Sail descended relentlessly, growing denser by the moment. As the death toll rose, the silken threads of the web, pulsing like veins, gained a sinister, spectral vitality. This was the way of the Demon Sect: to destroy all living things to nourish oneself. Thus, the sect was filled with those who defied the natural order and those who dared to challenge the heavens.

The black web tightened, casting a shroud of darkness across dozens of miles. Every mortal soul that perished was immediately ensnared, fueling a sky-piercing resentment. Luo Xu of the Red Body Sect dared such a feat only because the righteous and demonic factions were on the brink of a great sword battle, and the remaining sword immortals were already trapped and vulnerable.

However, this finally drew the attention of a formidable master. A streak of crimson light, nearly a hundred feet long, streaked toward the city of Luo.

Zhou Qian rushed toward the back courtyard, his heart burning with anxiety. The further he went, the more malevolent spirits he encountered. By now, the air was thick with black mist and the wailing of ghosts. His sword light flickered incessantly, radiant with the heat of Li-fire; though these specters shattered upon contact, they would merely reform, making them impossible to eradicate. The cellar was located a hundred feet to the right of his own small courtyard, beneath a stone slab. It had originally been a secret escape route for the Hu clan princes. After the imperial army entered the city, soldiers had discovered it led outside the walls and ordered farmers to seal it off. Now, it had become a refuge—though for the spirits who could pass through walls and earth, it had become a death trap.

Reaching the site, he found the stone slab already pushed aside. Nearby lay the corpses of maids and servants in small groups. His heart sank. He bent down and leaped inside. Piles of bodies lay stiff and cold, their faces frozen in terror—the telltale sign of those whose bodies survived while their souls were devoured by ghosts. Zhou Qian recognized many familiar faces, people he had been close to, now lost.

He walked deeper, spotting the corpse of a young woman in familiar attire. He hurried over and turned her body—it was Xiao Yun, his personal maid. She had always been cheeky, with a sweet tooth and a habit of pestering him to make desserts, often making Zhou Qian wonder who the real master was. This gluttonous girl had always been scolded by Steward Sun, but now her face was twisted in horror, her eyes wide in death.

Gently, he brushed her face, closing her eyes, his heart heavy with grief. He turned to see the body of an old man sitting half-upright, his head hanging low. His heart constricted as if gripped by a vice: Old Sun! The steward who had treated him like a son was also dead.

He stumbled back out, listless. He hadn't seen Zhao’er. But a frail woman, in this city of Luo teeming with spectral horrors, how long could she have survived?

His strength seemed to drain away. He fell to his knees, bracing himself with his elbows, gasping for air. Waves of faintness washed over him, making it hard to breathe. Yet he could not fall—not here. The dead were gone, but the living remained, and his master was waiting for his help.

Trembling, he forced himself up and walked out, his eyes sweeping over the cellar, the stone walls, the courtyard, and finally, the attic. The attic?!

A sudden possibility flashed through his mind. He ran toward his small house like a madman. Perhaps, just perhaps, Sister Zhao’er hadn't gone to the refuge at all? Maybe this foolish woman was still there, waiting for him!

His boots thundered on the stairs. His heart felt as though it would burst from his chest. He kicked the door open and scanned the room—not a soul.

"That can't be," Zhou Qian whispered. "How could this be?" He tasted salt and iron in his mouth; amid the emotional turmoil, blood welled up and spilled out.

He turned to leave, moving like a puppet, when he heard a faint sob. He froze and shouted, "Sister Zhao’er?"

From the shadows behind the vanity, a figure trembled. Hearing his voice, she peeked out. Though her hair was disheveled and her face pale, it was indeed her!

Zhou Qian had never seen her so unrefined or discomposed. Like a startled rabbit, she darted into his arms, gripping him tightly, crying, "Why did you take so long to come?!"

Zhou Qian stroked her back, soothing her, and in turn, finding his own peace. "It’s alright, it’s alright..."

After he wiped her dirty, tear-streaked face, she loosened her grip, babbling, "They... the ghosts... they rushed in all at once. Everyone was running... they died the moment they were touched. I looked for you, couldn't find you, so I waited here. Old Sun called for me, told me to go... I wouldn't go, I was waiting for you..."

Zhou Qian breathed a sigh of relief. "Those ghosts are manifestations of Yin energy. I suspect the web in the sky is the work of demon-practitioners. Don't worry, the Daoist of Wine is an immortal; he will come to save us!"

Zhao’er kept her delicate hand clutched to his sleeve, trembling. "But... they are ghosts!"

Zhou Qian paused, realizing that Zhao’er, a mortal, felt a primal terror toward such creatures, as if encountering a natural predator.

"It’s fine. Demons and ghosts are born of heaven and earth, too. Immortals can kill them, and so can mortals. There is nothing to fear."

Zhao’er leaned into his chest, her heart slowly settling. After a long silence, she asked, "What do we do now?"

"We shall go—" Before he could finish, a ghost lunged through the eaves. Zhou Qian drew his sword, the blade wreathed in Li-fire, and sliced it in two. The two halves of Yin energy roared and writhed, trying to merge again, but Zhou Qian’s sword moved with lightning speed, striking nine times in an instant. The Yin energy shredded like willow catkins and finally dissipated into the air.

"See? Nothing to fear." Though he said this, he trembled inwardly. Had he arrived a moment later... the thought was too terrible to contemplate.

Holding Zhao’er’s hand, he crept down the stairs, whispering, "I intend to get you to safety first, then—" He stopped, realizing there was no corner of Luo left untouched.

"Shall I let you run wild then?" Zhou Qian muttered, looking at the rolling black clouds that had blotted out the sun.

Suddenly, a sense of mortal peril struck him. Without a thought, he grabbed Zhao’er and dove out through the window as wood splintered. At the same moment, a giant hand formed of black mist crushed the small building. With a thunderous boom, the Qinzhi Pavilion shattered into debris. Zhou Qian shielded Zhao’er with his own body, taking the brunt of the falling timber and bricks. Finally, he could not stop the blood from spilling, staining Zhao’er's cheek with an eerie, haunting crimson.

Straining to shove a hundred-pound log off his back, he shielded Zhao’er. Two ghost-servants stood in mid-air, green-faced and fanged, their two-zhang-tall forms casting a shadow that smothered him. An overwhelming pressure pinned him down, making his scalp crawl. These were no ordinary ghosts; he was surely no match for them!

"Get on my back! Quickly!" Zhou Qian urged anxiously. Alone, he had a fifty-fifty chance of escaping; with the two of them, the odds were slim. But did he really have a choice?

Zhao’er hugged him, tears streaming down her face. One only sees a person’s true character in the face of death. She could feel the warmth of his blood seeping from his wounds—not just warming her body, but her soul.

The ghost-servants lunged again. Zhou Qian dodged, thrusting his sword into the creature, but the Li-fire flickered and died under the corrosion of the corpse-qi. He had never encountered such a thing; even the superior Li-fire could not withstand the corpse-qi of a thousand-year-old zombie!

The giant hand gouged a crater a yard deep into the ground and lunged again. Zhou Qian narrowly evaded it. In just two moves, he was drenched in sweat and nearly killed. These were indeed vicious creatures capable of entangling disciples of great sects; their cultivation must be centuries deep. Zhou Qian knew that this time, he might not survive.

"Knowing you... Zhao’er is so lucky," she whispered against his ear. Zhou Qian smiled bitterly; that was what he should have been saying.

Elsewhere, the Emei disciple Xie Yudie was losing her battle against the Fire Toad Xiang Jie. Her sword light was scattered, her magic waning, and even flying on her sword had become an exhausting struggle. The reason was simple: Xiang Jie’s body was nearly indestructible. Whether by sword or spell, unless he was struck in a vital spot, he would recover in moments. The bloodline of the Earth-Fire God Frog was truly troublesome. Xie Yudie was also at a disadvantage, for her techniques and sword were purely for subduing demons, yet none could counter this specific creature. Had Xiang Jie not been blinded by lust, wanting to capture her alive, she would have perished long ago.

"Heh heh, little girl, I haven't tasted a female sword immortal yet. Now I can enjoy it to the fullest!" Xiang Jie laughed lewdly, oblivious to the yellow gourd hiding nearby.

Far outside the city, the Daoist of Wine, who was locked in combat with Luo Xu, curled his lips and sharply snapped a hand gesture.

"You—" Before Xiang Jie could finish his filth, the gourd appeared out of thin air, its mouth aimed directly at him. It spat out hundreds of flying swords like lightning—the signature technique of the Wine Daoist, the Division of Sword Light. Caught off guard, Xiang Jie could not withstand such power; his body was riddled with holes, dead beyond revival.

At the same time, hundreds of lightning phantoms erupted around the Hu mansion, forming a grand formation—the Innate Taiyi Lightning Sword Array, the supreme secret of the Gourd Arts. It could be hidden in the void, only to be unleashed at the critical moment with inconceivable power. Lightning, carrying the majesty of heaven, was the nemesis of ghosts. Hundreds of electric blades struck the four ghost-servants. Thunder roared, and the ghosts dissolved into black smoke. Lu Mingzi turned ashen, black blood pouring from his mouth.

Zhou Xun, with a keen eye, exerted his full strength to catalyze the Formless Sword Qi. Man and sword united into a single, colorless blade, a yard long, and slashed at Lu Mingzi. The strike was ruthless, cleaving him in two. A black infant-like soul tried to shoot into the sky, but the primordial spirit was fragile; the heavenly winds slowed it just enough for the colorless sword light to strike upward and annihilate it.

"Unity of man and sword?" Zhu Fei muttered, dazed.

"What?" Zhou Xun turned to ask.

Zhu Fei shook his head violently. He wouldn't admit this was a top-tier sword-control art that even ordinary sword immortals struggled to master. That would only inflate this mortal’s ego—and he hadn't even grasped it himself yet!

Meanwhile, the Wine Daoist’s thunder-god avatar was torn in two, and from it came a voice cold enough to chill the bone:

"Daoist of Wine, you dare to trick me!!!"