The Ghost Festival City

Yan Qingcheng possessed a beauty that could sink fish and drop wild geese, outshine the moon and shame the flowers—a true peerless enchantress. Yet now her eyes burned with fury. As a daughter of heaven, being made a female slave was worse than death. She glared at Xiao Chen with unconcealed rage.

"A captive must know her place as a captive," Xiao Chen said flatly, turning away from her to examine Liu Mu's injuries.

The peerless seductress Liu Ruyan laughed lightly. "Xiao Chen, if you trust me, you could leave her to my training. I guarantee I'll turn her into a proper slave girl."

"Very well. She's yours."

By now, the chaos and slaughter that had lasted through the night were gradually subsiding. The great showdown among the major factions seemed to have reached its conclusion. Though some cultivators noticed Xiao Chen and Liu Mu, no one came to provoke them—they had already witnessed the terrifying combat prowess of both.

Of course, if the heads of the great alliances had been present, it would have been hard to say whether Xiao Chen and his companions could have escaped.

Dawn had arrived, but the sun did not rise. A strange, cold wind began to blow across heaven and earth. The island, normally sweltering, had become eerily frigid.

"Woo... Wooo..."

Like ghostly wails, the bitter wind carried a piercing shriek. In the midst of this sea of bones, it seemed all the more sinister and terrifying. Then a yellow wind swept across the sky, its breath still deathly cold, painting the world the color of decay.

The yellow wind was an omen of great calamity—the herald of demons breaking forth from hell.

Of course, that was only a legend. But at this moment, the atmosphere was undeniably ghastly. Every cultivator stared up at the sky.

"Boom... Rumble..."

At that moment, yellow clouds blanketed the heavens and black lightning bolts split the air, making the scene even more uncanny and sinister.

Finally, a torrential rain began to fall—a rain of yellow.

A watery curtain draped the world. Yellow rain, as sinister as the fluid of rotting corpses.

This celestial anomaly made everyone's heart tremble.

Liu Mu suddenly spoke: "If I recall correctly, today is the Ghost Festival."

Ever since entering the World of Immortality, Xiao Chen had long since lost track of time, knowing nothing of the day or year in this realm.

"Yes... it is," Liu Ruyan stammered, her voice quavering.

"The Ghost Festival... it's nothing but a folk tale," Xiao Chen said dismissively.

Liu Mu nodded. "True, of course it can't be taken seriously. I only mentioned it because this strange weather and the endless white bones around us made me think of it."

But as soon as he spoke, amidst the thunder that split the ears and the curtain of pouring rain, an utterly bizarre thing happened. A colossal, majestic ancient city materialized out of nowhere in the sea of bones, looming in the downpour.

Xiao Chen and his companions saw it. Every cultivator saw it. In that instant, they all held their breath, scarcely believing their eyes.

This rain-shrouded ancient city was far too grand. It exuded an imposing aura, its walls a full hundred meters high—taller than any city on the continent. It bore the marks of countless ages, an ancient wall that had weathered unknown millennia, as if it had crossed the river of time from a forgotten era.

The huge city gates, a hundred meters tall, stood wide open, facing the crowd directly. Even the deluge could not obscure the scene within.

Inside the city, ranks of soldiers—as deathly as ghostly troops—practiced in perfect unison beneath the rain. Their ancient armor belonged to no recognizable dynasty.

Then someone cried out in shock, recognizing the armor from ancient texts. Some were the war-garb of Heavenly Soldiers from times of old, others the armor of Nether Soldiers.

Within the ancient city, enormous bestial shadows seemed to stir, resembling Tyrant Dragons and Lion Kings, though the distance and curtain of rain made it impossible to be certain.

Someone exclaimed, "What is that embedded in the gate tower?"

Everyone looked up. A huge skull was lodged in the masonry, eliciting cries of alarm from many.

"It looks just like the legendary skull of the Buddha!"

"The Buddha, Laozi, and other great powers have vanished for ages. How could his skull be embedded here?"

"It seems to have been smashed into place."

"Almost as if someone tried to batter down the gate tower."

A chill ran through the crowd. This ancient and mysterious city was beyond uncanny under the rain.

The yellow rain, like the fluid of rotting corpses, poured from the sky; heaven and earth were filled with a deathly aura. The city in the rain seemed like a ghost-city from the underworld reborn in the mortal world. Thick black lightning bolts tore the void, crashing down from on high with earth-shaking roars like the howling of evil spirits. It was a scene of pure terror.

The yellow sky darkened. The sickly yellow clouds turned pitch black. Though it was morning, it was darker than midnight. Heavy black mists coiled like ghostly vapors, and the color of the lightning shifted to a mournful, blood-red.

That mournful red was blindingly vivid. Amidst the churning demon clouds, terrible blood-red beams tore down, like roaring rivers of blood descending from the heavens, casting this dark world in a hellish glare.

The boundless sea of bones was heavy with yin energy, but it could not compare to the sinister ancient city sitting at its heart. In the center of the bone sea, the divine stele was nowhere to be seen—perhaps because of the city's appearance, the expanse of bones seemed to have grown vast beyond measure.

Then the stench of blood reached everyone's nostrils. Someone screamed, "Blood... it's blood!"

In the dark sky, mournful and vivid lightning danced wildly. By its light, they could see clearly: the rain pouring down was turning bright red. The stench of blood filled the air. Heaven and earth were now draped in a curtain of blood—rainwater had become blood!

This was too horrifying, too terrifying. Everyone present drew in a sharp breath. Scalps tingled, spines went cold, every hair stood on end, and a shudder that came from the very soul overcame them.

The ancient city, its walls over a hundred meters tall, not only radiated an air of hoary antiquity but now, bathed in blood rain, seemed unspeakably sinister. It was like a colossal primeval beast that had torn through space from the depths of time, its murderous aura shaking the soul.

And the great skull embedded in the gate tower made it all the more shocking. It resembled the legendary Buddha's holy relic.

It seemed to have been violently smashed into place. Around the skull, the ancient city wall was spiderwebbed with enormous cracks; the wall above the main gate had suffered terrible damage.

Clearly, someone had once attacked this city with a Buddha's skull.

But the skull had been imprisoned within the sinister black walls.

If the guess was correct, then the implications were terrifying. To make the merciful Buddha strike out in such fury, he must have been truly enraged. Yet in the end he lost even his own relic, showing how sinister this ancient city truly was.

After all, legend held that the Buddha was as powerful as Laozi, his cultivation surpassing ancient and modern times, with few peers in that era.

Had the Buddha and Laozi vanished for endless ages because of this city? Everyone thought of this terrible question.

The scarlet blood rain continued to fall. Through the wide-open gates, the Heavenly Soldiers and Nether Soldiers in their ancient armor were clearly visible, now stained red. Bloody silhouettes swayed, making the scene doubly horrifying.

"This is terrible... we can't stay here..." Some cultivators' voices trembled. They hurriedly retreated, leaving the bone sea and entering the Dead-Silent Forest. But no sooner had they entered than screams erupted.

"Ah..."

The dark sky, the mournful lightning, the scarlet blood rain, the screams of agony—all wove together into a tapestry of fear and horror.

"Tree demons! Evil ghosts!" Those people shrieked in terror. "All the ancient trees have come alive! They've turned into evil ghosts!"

The dense groves of ancient trees behind them had become a realm of gloom. Every tree writhed madly in the blood rain, human faces manifesting on their aged trunks, as if possessed by vengeful spirits. All the branches reaching out like ghostly hands, binding the cultivators' bodies tight, slowly corroding them and absorbing them into the wood.

Only a few powerful cultivators managed to escape. Dozens died in that forest of trees.

Xiao Chen and Liu Mu exchanged a glance. They both felt a chill. Everything today was too aberrant, beyond comprehension.

Liu Ruyan, that enchantress whose charm could topple kingdoms, had shed her seductive demeanor. Her voice trembled. "Today is the Ghost Festival. The legends are true. The gates of the underworld are thrown wide open. The breath of life is at its weakest, and a lord of death is descending upon the world!"

"Nonsense. In all your years on the Immortal Continent, have you ever seen such a sight?" Liu Mu coughed lightly, his face pale, his body truly frail.

The scarlet blood rain poured down in torrents, but it could not touch Xiao Chen's body. His invisible protective qi kept it all at bay. He stared silently at the ancient city. "The dragon race, which once fought the gods, was all sealed away. That might be tied to this ancient city."

"I think so too," Liu Mu agreed.

The slaughter among the cultivators in the bone sea had long since ceased. They had split into several major factions confronting one another from a distance. Xiao Chen and his group belonged to the "independents," outside those great powers.

The appearance of the ancient city and the blood rain forced even the hidden movers and shakers to confer once more. In the end, all the cultivators dispersed across the bone sea gathered together. The leaders seemed to have reached a unanimous agreement: lay aside all grievances and cease fighting.

Figures moved in the gloom. The confrontations among the secret puppeteers had led to a great melee, resulting in over two hundred deaths. Now fewer than four hundred people remained on Dragon Island, and of them, over three hundred were gathered in this sea of bones.

No one dared act rashly. Faced with the unknown, everyone sensed that the gravest danger was upon them. They could only huddle together and watch the ancient city in grim silence.

In the distance, a solitary figure passed through layer upon layer of the blood curtain, walking toward Xiao Chen's group. His steps were unsteady, staggering. It was the monk Yizhen. His moon-white robes had been dyed crimson with blood. A faint light glimmered around him. The blood covering him was clearly not from the world's blood-rain curtain, for his robes were torn and ragged. He had obviously gone through a ferocious battle.

"Yizhen..." Xiao Chen hurried to meet him.

Yizhen's face bore a look of grief. His voice trembled. "My senior brother is dead. He died a terrible death, sliced into eighteen pieces by three sword blows." After saying this, he could no longer stand upright. His body swayed and he collapsed.

Xiao Chen quickly caught him. His eyes blazed with two beams of divine light.

That monk Yichi had died like this. Xiao Chen fell silent.

"Do not grieve. You survived, and that is what matters." He tried to console Yizhen.

Yichi's cultivation had been at least at the Mortal-Shedding Fifth Heaven, perhaps even Sixth Heaven. To have been shattered by three sword blows, the man who did this must be truly terrifying.

This great clash among the hidden powers had caused many experts to fall. Of the entire Damo Alliance, only Yizhen had escaped with his life.

"Was it Dugu the Sword Demon?" Xiao Chen asked.

"I only saw a figure wreathed in black mist. He cleaved my senior brother in pieces, annihilated the entire Damo Alliance, and even wounded me from afar with a single sword strike across the void. But I never even caught a glimpse of his true face." Yizhen spoke with a fury and murderous intent completely foreign to his transcendent demeanor of the past.

Xiao Chen's left hand conjured a starlight screen. Beams of divine radiance flowed into Yizhen's body, stabilizing his injuries.

"The reason I survived is that someone came to my aid." When Yizhen recalled that moment, his voice grew agitated. "A woman, veiled in a swirl of colorful mist. She... she actually used Divine Law!"

"What?" Liu Mu hurried over in astonishment. "Are you certain? She wielded the power of time?"

"I saw it with my own eyes. She called upon a legendary divine law, causing the fearsome figure in the black mist to slow to the pace of a snail, as if he were mired in quicksand."