Before the Magistrate and the others realized what was happening, a long whip snapped out, curling toward Ghost Face like a venomous snake. There was a whoosh as it kicked up a fierce gust of wind, vicious enough to hurt where it touched bare skin. The nearby reapers felt like they’d been collectively slapped in the face, cheeks burning with pain where they were exposed to the air. As one, they turned their faces away and backed up as the whip wrapped precisely around Ghost Face’s neck.
The Magistrate was so filled with woe, he was on the verge of vomiting. Five hundred years earlier, when the Great Seal had first shown signs of weakening, the Netherworld had taken charge and gathered forces from all over to discuss the matter. Back then, a single call from the Netherworld had been enough to gather hundreds of immortals from all over, each one of them staunchly righteous. Every sentence they uttered was about “the people” and “the world,” so passionate were they about sacrificing everything for the Great Seal. But in the wake of the battle atop the peak of Kunlun Mountain, those people had disappeared en masse, as if by mutual agreement.
It was understandable. The road of cultivation was endlessly long. One had to face difficulties and dangers others could not fathom and endure loneliness beyond that of ordinary individuals. Perhaps one in a million had the natural talent, and those who were determined and willing to walk the lonely path, who didn’t look for instant success or give up halfway, were rarer still. But beyond all that, no matter how great one’s innate gift or how hard they worked, they still needed luck. Without it, success could slip right through one’s fingers at the last moment. Who wouldn’t prioritize self-preservation, having gone through such hardship just to get where they were? Who would rush to the front just to be cannon fodder?
If the Great Seal hadn’t been damaged, and thus pushed the Netherworld to the front lines to bear the brunt of the impact, the Magistrate would’ve also preferred to stay far, far away. He was just a puny little Magistrate! Even the Ten Kings of the Yanluo Courts were betting that the Soul-Executing Emissary’s pride would keep him from stooping to settle scores with them, thereby allowing the Netherworld to get away with all their petty machinations. But who among them would dare to truly go head-to-head with a King of the Gui from primordial times?
The Emissary alone was enough to scare them out of their wits, never mind the emotionally unstable Ghost Face.
The Magistrate’s expression was complicated as his gaze landed on Zhao Yunlan. Cowards filled their ranks. Perhaps only those true primordial gods and demons from before Chaos had shattered could have hearts large enough to set aside their own lives for the greater good. Zhao Yunlan might be a mere mortal now, but he still dared to wrap his whip around the King of the Gui’s neck without a moment’s hesitation.
As beings without honor, flitting about like flies as they fought for survival, it was impossible for them to understand the kind of incisive passion that gambled life and death in a single instant. It was hard for them to imagine the moment of trudging forward, like a moth to the flame, in the face of tens of thousands of enemies. Above all, it was hard for them to measure up to the Great Wild of the distant past, when the sky and earth first parted and there was nothing to fear.
And yet…Kunlun-jun had disappeared into the Reincarnation Cycle. How dare this man, Zhao Yunlan, who was clearly no more than a silver-tongued mortal, not be terror-stricken or panicked? Was the soul alone enough, even washed clean again and again by countless journeys through the Reincarnation Cycle? Even after losing the authority and power of the Mountain God…?
The three of them were in a stalemate. The veins of Shen Wei’s forehead pulsed as he forced his fingers closed. The white light vanished within his fist, taking all the Chaos around them with it.
Black smoke like spider silk suddenly flowed from the icicle buried in his chest, wrapping him within an enormous cocoon.
Ghost Face still held the other end of the icicle in one hand, and he had managed to slip his other hand between the whip and his throat before the whip had wrapped around his neck entirely. Hovering in midair, the King of the Gui met the eyes of the fearless mortals in the distance. He saw a hard light in Zhao Yunlan’s eyes, burning even brighter than the soul fire that had once brought light to the entire Place of Great Disrespect.
“If the Soul-Guarding Order hadn’t been damaged,” Ghost Face rasped, voice hoarse and broken, “my neck might be missing a layer of skin right about now. Tsk, how unfortunate.”
Squeezing the words out from between his teeth, Zhao Yunlan said, “Let. Go. Of. Him.”
“Him? He and I were born as twin Kings of the Gui. You know, even though circumstances left us so incompatible, I still had no desire to hurt him. He was the one who drove me to it, every step of the way.” Pausing between each word, Ghost Face continued. “If you want him, fine. Bring me the Soul-Guarding Lamp in exchange.”
Who the fuck even knew what a Soul-Guarding Lamp was?
Zhao Yunlan’s handsome face clouded over. “If you were smart, you’d jam an icicle in my chest too. Otherwise, I’ll make sure you never have a moment’s peace for all eternity.”
Through broken peals of laughter, Ghost Face replied, “If you were Kunlun-jun, I’d gladly die here today if it meant ending your existence, but…”
He quivered once, violently, and the Soul-Guarding Whip, which no longer had the Great Divine Tree’s protection, shattered into innumerable fragments. The force of it cut Zhao Yunlan’s palm open to the bone. “My dear Guardian, you truly have nothing to fear from me.” Ghost Face sighed. “I’m grateful for your soul fire, and thanks to his influence, I can’t help but…like you a little. There’s no harm in letting you live.”
There came another sharp laugh. Black mist filled the air, and just like that, both Ghost Face and the cocooned Shen Wei were gone.