The Dead City Descends

Xiao Chen stood above the Nine Provinces. Suddenly, the heirloom purple jade bracelet at his wrist burst apart, and golden light surged forth, plunging into the Yellow River below. The river roared like a writhing dragon.

When the Yellow River's waters poured into the Eastern Sea, they blazed with dazzling golden light, gathering over the vast ocean. It was the Ancestral Dragon's pearl, shattered long ago within those waves, now converging from all directions toward Dragon Island.

By now, the colossal cities, deep valleys, vast deserts, and sacred mountains that had crossed over from beyond were gradually manifesting beyond the seas. The only one that had not yet fully emerged—Dragon Island—descended at this very moment.

Ten thousand dragons roared. Dragon Island had broken its seal.

All the enormous shadows that had crossed over truly descended upon the mortal world. In this instant, the realm of men seemed to expand greatly, with many lands that had never existed appearing beyond the seas, some even connecting directly to the Nine Provinces.

In that moment, spiritual energy flooded the heavens and the earth, not only in the Nine Provinces but also in the distant Western lands. The ancient seals had loosened. Spiritual energy filled the world, restoring the scene of a sacred cultivation ground from the primeval age.

At the same time, the nine ancient lamps of eternity in the sky rapidly gathered together, then shot as one toward Yong Province.

In the sky, a colossal stone stele loomed, faintly visible, standing like a mountain peak amid rolling clouds. Those on the ground could not behold it.

Xiao Chen, as if summoned, arrived at this place. He recognized it—it was the Yellow River Divine Stele. He felt the desolate weight of the ages, as if ten thousand years had condensed before his eyes and then flashed past.

His heart trembled, words could not describe it. He stood silent, gazing at the heavenly stele. At last, he watched it grow fainter and fainter until it vanished completely between heaven and earth.

Then he sensed a disturbance from Yong Province—the heavenly stele above the Dead City seemed to be rising into the air, about to depart.

Indeed, moments later, an enormous heavenly stele soared to the highest point of the Nine Provinces, standing before Xiao Chen. It too began to fade and disappear.

A fierce wind stirred, and a rain of petals fell from the sky.

A moment later, a middle-aged scholar stepped upon a cloud, draped in a bagua diagram, holding a feather fan, elegant and refined.

Xiao Chen recognized him—it was the fortune-teller he had met in the imperial capital.

The scholar came directly before Xiao Chen and said, "I have come to see you off. May your journey be smooth. Go to the Dead City, summon the heroic spirits—a hundred thousand deathless warriors to slay the false gods."

Xiao Chen said nothing, but he now knew exactly who this man was. Only one figure from ancient times draped himself in the Rear Heaven Bagua: King Wen of Zhou, Ji Chang.

Fuxi had created the Primordial Yi, also called the Primordial Bagua; Shennong had created the Lianshan Yi, also called the Lianshan Bagua; Xuanyuan had created the Guizang Yi, also called the Guizang Bagua.

King Wen of Zhou, Ji Chang, had synthesized the experiences of his predecessors and created the Zhou Yi of sixty-four hexagrams. In terms of divinatory power, none beneath the Ancestral Gods could match him.

"Are there any unfulfilled wishes?"

Xiao Chen shook his head, saying nothing. He watched the stele slowly vanish in the sky, feeling a powerful force surging from Yong Province, as if summoning him there.

"Boom!"

From the distant Eastern Sea, the War Clan erupted in a blaze of light ten thousand zhang high, their killing aura piercing the heavens, as if they sensed the great upheaval. Upon Dragon Island, dragon roars soared, maddening the seas. The savage dragons had awakened, their divinity restored. The seal upon the dragon race had been broken not by a new Ancestral Dragon, but by the power of the departed Yellow River Ancestral Dragon.

Across the Nine Provinces and beyond the seas, light shot up from every secret land—the instinctive reaction of the strong to the abnormal changes in heaven and earth. All could sense a destructive aura exploding from Yong Province.

Trickles of fresh blood oozed from Xiao Chen's forehead, streaming down the center where the demonic mark pulsed and throbbed. Then a pitch-black space opened before him, shrouded in black mist, revealing the hazy phantom of the Dead City, as if it stood just ahead.

He stepped forward and vanished from the sky in an instant. The Nine Provinces trembled.

In the next moment, Xiao Chen appeared atop the walls of the Dead City. Heaven and earth seemed plunged into darkness, as if an enormous black curtain had covered everything. He could not see his hand before his face.

The nine ancient lamps burned with eternal light, descending from the sky to anchor above the Dead City, illuminating the mist-shrouded, monstrous city with a faint, eerie radiance.

Clouds roiled. Within the Dead City, chaos reigned—every building trembled and shook, as if each one held a prisoner struggling to break free.

As for the streets, they were packed with dense, shadowy figures, as if countless deathly spirits were walking, along with many enormous beings moving with heavy steps. Through the faint lamplight, one could see mountain-like silhouettes covered in dreadfully gleaming scales—savage dragons and giant beasts never before seen or heard of.

At the very center of the Dead City, a terrifying demonic presence surged—a beam of black light shot straight into the sky, emanating waves of immense power. The mournful sound of a death knell rang out.

That was the place once suppressed by the heavenly stele. The black light clearly came from the Demon Well, also known as the Abyss of Evil.

The bell tolled through heaven and earth. The Nine Provinces trembled. The mighty of the mortal world felt nothing but dread.

Heaven and earth quaked, as if ten thousand years of history reenacted themselves, layer upon layer of phantoms appearing in the mortal realm.

That giant who stood between heaven and earth split open the desolate darkness, and the world bloomed with the hope of life. He was the backbone of the earth. The ancestors struggled in the wilds, shedding blood and heads to prolong the hope of life. They cut through thorns, blazed trails, and threw themselves forward relentlessly. Flesh and blood sank into the mire, and corpses piled like mountains, paving the way toward a bright future…

A song of ancient times rose in the distance—a sorrowful, bloodstained weeping song that echoed across the Nine Provinces.

"The shattered mountains are the spine of heaven and earth. The dry yellow clay is the blood of the land. The piled corpses are the sorrow of the ancestors. A thousand years later, zither and harp harmonize, silk and bamboo play sweetly, praising the supreme Dao and eternal prosperity. Who still remembers that Suiren lit the way for mankind? How can we forget that Shennong tasted herbs and died far from home? Does anyone still know that Nuwa wept blood to mend the heavens, using her own flesh and blood so that our race could flourish? In times of triumphant celebration, the Great Dao is exalted above, a single illusory divine song buries the meritorious deeds of the ancestors. Living beings are as ants, the Great Dao lies ahead, harmony is eternally praised, not a word is said of Yan and Huang… A nameless ache.

Splendid palaces, majestic halls— the false gods stand before, the sorrow of the ancestors forgotten. Even the small spirit tablets have been left aside; where shall they be placed?

Can you remember a name called Yan Huang? In your blood flows the hope of the ancestors. Only the Dao and harmony are spoken; the spirit of the nation is buried.

The blood of the sky, the essence of the earth, yin and yang in battle, weeping blood, dark and yellow. The tears and blood of the ancestors— can they move your heart of stone?"

Images of the past appeared before the mortal world. The ancient song came in fragments, as if heaven and earth themselves wept blood.

Xiao Chen stood atop the Dead City, and before he knew it, tears soaked his face. He murmured to himself, "Can you remember a name called Yan Huang? In your blood flows the hope of the ancestors…"

From within the Yellow Clay Altar, the eight primordial sounds rang out in unison, vibrating through the acupoint spaces within him, carrying Xiao Chen as they rushed into the heart of the Dead City. The nine divine lamps in the sky dove down and circled around him, their brilliant light piercing the heavens.

"Rumble…"

The Dead City shook. The ten-thousand-strong deathly army roared, shaking the Nine Provinces.

Within the towering city, every street gleamed with cold light. The ancient armors were dust-covered, but the warriors' spirit remained. They wielded rusted bronze weapons, and the aura of slaughter condensed in every ancient avenue.

These were true masters lost long ago within the Dead City, but now they seemed to have forgotten everything, becoming one with the deathly army.

In the distant sky, King Wen of Zhou, Ji Chang, listened to the ancient song, tears streaming down his face. "In the endless ages past, yin and yang reversed, the real world was grievously wounded. The ancestors went away in sorrow to distant lands. The Dead City reappears, and this time, the reversal will be complete. The realm of the dead will become the false."

The Dead City was silent no more. It seemed to have come alive. Though thick clouds concealed it, one could still see countless battle shadows moving within.

A black beam shot to the heavens. The Demon Well at the very center of the Dead City erupted like a bottomless abyss of inexhaustible demonic power, sending forth a terrifying soul-summoning song.

The death knell rang throughout the land, summoning all half-ancestors.

"Primordial…" "Tongtian…" "Sun God…" "White Tiger…" …

The mournful bell resounded through heaven and earth. Though no actual name was called aloud, many half-ancestors sensed that a voice was summoning them.

In that moment, not only the mortal world but also the World of Immortality and the Cultivation World were shaken, even more violently. Heaven and earth seemed on the verge of splitting apart.

The so-called 'all illusions' would cease to exist, and the true reality would be restored. Aside from the mortal realm, in the end, how much would remain of the other worlds?

An irresistible force surged up from the Demon Well of the Dead City, forcibly summoning the White Tiger Saint Emperor, the Three-Infant Lord, the Sun Holy God, and others.

Primordial, Tongtian, Zhunti, and the others did not resist. They all answered the summons, for this was their only chance. At this moment, the many half-ancestors united to resist, perhaps there was still hope.

The White Tiger Saint Emperor and the Sun Holy God were the first to charge. Without a word, from outside the Dead City they struck at Xiao Chen.

A sun burst forth with ten thousand zhang of radiance, hurtling toward Xiao Chen, while countless curse scripts pressed down from the sky, enveloping him.

The Yellow Clay Altar shot up beams of Xuanhuang qi, blocking all attacks without letting them harm Xiao Chen in the slightest.

Of course, this was only the beginning. The Heaven-Reaching Death Bridge emerged, and another half-ancestor descended.

The enormous death bridge pressed down from the sky, crashing toward Xiao Chen and the Yellow Clay Altar. Naturally, it could not strike them directly, but the ancient stone bridge's true target was the Demon Well. It rammed into it head-on.

"Boom!"

Yong Province quaked, as if a volcano had exploded. Vast torrents of energy violently erupted from the Demon Well, and the Heaven-Reaching Death Bridge was naturally sent flying. Mists roiled.

The nine ancient lamps swayed with brilliant light. Xiao Chen clearly saw a figure shaken out of the abyss—a tall, stalwart corpse, long stiff, that fell rigidly onto the open ground beside the Demon Well.

"Sovereign Youchao!"

Cries of surprise came from the sky. Some half-ancestor had recognized the corpse's identity.

Lost in the abyss for endless ages, now seeing the light of day once more. The Ancestral God had long since fallen. Before the false half-ancestors were destroyed, the true Ancestral God's corpse appeared first. This was hardly a good omen.

In the distant sky, King Wen of Zhou frowned. "How can this be? Are there still living Ancestral Gods? Even if they survive, are they still truly themselves?"

In moments, more than a dozen half-ancestors had gathered. They stared at the corpse of Youchao, then with a single cry, all rushed forward, each trying to seize it.

"The dry yellow clay is the blood of the land. The piled corpses are the sorrow of the ancestors. A thousand years later, zither and harp harmonize, silk and bamboo play sweetly, praising the supreme Dao and eternal prosperity. Who still remembers…"

The ancient song played on. The stiff corpse of Youchao wept tears of blood from its face, then exploded with a thunderous roar. The shattered flesh and blood rushed toward the Yellow Clay Altar, coalescing upon it to form more yellow clay.

Xiao Chen had never felt such a heavy heart. An inexpressible oppression made him want to weep aloud. He murmured, "The tears and blood of the ancestors—can they move your heart of stone?"

In that very moment, the broken stone man within Xiao Chen's body seemed jolted awake by the ancient song. It rose from its seated meditative posture and stood upright!

Bones cracked and shattered in Xiao Chen's limbs. The broken stone man fused with him from the inside out. His arms and legs turned completely to stone, and the four War Swords leaped of their own accord from his acupoint spaces, erupting with sword-light that pierced the heavens!