The north wind howled desolately, winter’s chill brought death, and Liang City was as silent as death.
Perhaps “as” should be removed.
At this moment, Liang City was littered with corpses, blood flowing like rivers, the stench rising to the heavens. The entire city resembled a massive grave, where even the sound of breathing seemed too harsh.
A crow flew in from the distance, perching on the eaves, its hoarse cry tearing through the silent night. Then came a second, a third, a fourth… They arrived in flocks, darkening the sky, landing throughout the city streets and alleyways, stepping on the bodies that filled every avenue and lane.
No one knew which crow had just landed when a pair of light apricot-colored cloth shoes stepped onto the main street of Liang City, instantly becoming stained with splotches of blood.
The owner of the cloth shoes was a young woman in a moon-white dress, appearing to be seventeen or eighteen years old. Against this bleak crimson backdrop, she resembled a white lotus blooming in a pool of blood.
She held a jade pendant in her hand, her index finger hooked through the cord, spinning it continuously as the pendant emitted a faint blue light.
“Seems like they massacred the city…” the young woman’s tone was remarkably calm.
Ordinary young women, upon seeing such a bloody and terrifying scene, would likely faint from fear. Unfortunately, He Simu was no ordinary young woman.
She was an evil ghost.
When people die with lingering obsessions and unfulfilled wishes, they transform into wandering souls unable to be reborn. These wandering souls, after devouring each other for a hundred years, become evil ghosts.
Evil ghosts feed on humans.
He Simu, unfortunately, was just such an evil ghost in search of food.
The night was pitch black, one couldn’t see their fingers stretched out before them, and corpses throughout the city lay one atop another. He Simu’s movements weren’t hindered in the slightest; she moved nimbly between the bodies, always managing to step precisely in the most suitable gaps. Unluckily, after just six steps, her foot was grabbed by someone.
“Save… save…”
He Simu looked down to see a man whose stomach had been slashed open, his flesh and skin torn apart, clutching her foot. His features were obscured by blood, his gaze already unfocused, but he tremblingly pointed to one side.
“Save… my son… save… Chen Ying…”
He Simu glanced in the direction he was pointing. There was a seven or eight-year-old child trapped beneath several corpses, only his pale little face visible. He seemed to be still breathing faintly, but his eyes were tightly closed, likely having fainted.
She turned her gaze back to the disheveled, dying man and said, “Your son is in much better condition than you. You’re the one who’s about to die.”
“Save…” The man seemed unable to hear He Simu’s words, stubbornly continuing his plea.
He Simu then squatted down, resting her hands on her knees, looking directly at the dying man: “If I eat you, then save your son, would you agree? You must consider carefully—those consumed by evil ghosts will lose a soul flame, suffering countless misfortunes after rebirth, requiring who knows how many reincarnations to recover.”
The man seemed to ponder confusedly for a moment before understanding her meaning. His cloudy eyes widened in terror, and his hand began to tremble.
“You refuse?” He Simu tilted her head.
The man trembled for a while, tears welling in his eyes, and he softly said, “…I… agree…”
He Simu narrowed her eyes, smiling somewhat pitifully: “Good.”
Then she decisively grabbed the man’s hair, forcing his head back, and bit into his neck. Her sharp canines pierced deeply into his blood vessels, causing fresh blood to gush forth, spattering He Simu’s face. The jade pendant in her hand flared brightly before dimming.
The man’s hand, which had been clutching her right foot, fell into the pool of blood. A bright light rose from the man’s body, slowly ascending into the night sky.
Humans originally possess three soul flames, located at both shoulders and the crown of the head. At the moment of passing, they unite as one, rising like a bright lamp into the sky, a meteor traveling in reverse—this is death as seen only by evil ghosts.
For a high-level evil ghost-like He Simu, what she consumed was the soul flame from the crown of a person’s head.
Missing one soul flame, the man’s ascending soul light was much dimmer than others. For the sake of one lifetime’s father-son bond, he would suffer for several lifetimes—wasn’t that a losing bargain? Yet mortals peculiarly love making such unprofitable exchanges.
He Simu decisively released her hand, and the man’s heavy body crashed to the ground with a thud. Accompanying this heavy, muffled sound, dawn began to break, and the impenetrable darkness started to dilute. As if sunrise was approaching, the crows became increasingly agitated.
She dusted off her hands and stepped over the bodies scattered across the ground, following the trail of blood left by the man’s crawl, heading toward where his son lay.
Truthfully, with He Simu’s power, she could have simply devoured the man without him being able to resist. However, ghosts who had reached her level always maintained certain principles. He Simu held great respect for her food and always upheld the principle of fair exchange and keeping her word.
When she stood before the pile of bodies, she reached out to lift the corpse lying on top of the child. Unexpectedly, the corpse was wounded at the neck, and when she lifted it by the head, the skull separated from the torso. The bloody, mangled trunk crashed back down onto the child.
The child’s already pale face grew even whiter from the impact.
He Simu was rather helpless, holding the filthy head, frowning as she stared at the terror-stricken wide-open eyes of the head’s owner.
“The army of Great Liang has arrived!” A cry came from the distant city gate, an elderly voice that seemed to use every ounce of strength to shout these words, trembling and nearly breaking.
From afar came the clamor of voices and hoofbeats. The overwhelming aura of living people dispersed the death energy like a storm. Around her, joyful sobbing could be heard as survivors emerged sporadically from their hiding places. The grieving crowd gathered on the main street.
At the end of the street, the city gates slowly opened. Dawn broke, and the morning light appeared. Countless hooves and military boots entered the blood-soaked streets, a grand procession with no end in sight.
He Simu turned to look and immediately spotted the man at the front of the formation.
He appeared quite young, still just a youth, riding a tall white horse, wearing silver armor, facing the gradually brightening morning light. This man had a tall, strong build, with high cheekbones and a straight nose, and exceptionally bright, clear, slightly upturned almond eyes.
He was an extremely handsome and noble-looking young man.
He came forth in the dawn’s light like a blade cleaving through darkness.
This was He Simu’s first glimpse of Duan Xu. Dawn was breaking, all things awakening—it should have been a fine moment, yet there was no beautiful scenery—after all, she stood amidst corpses scattered everywhere and wailing, grieving commoners, still holding a dead person’s head in her hand.
The youth’s gaze swept over the tragic scene in the city. His brows furrowed slightly as he looked up and gazed far down the long street.
Blood-soaked He Simu was indistinguishable from the other survivors and didn’t attract the youth’s attention. She tossed aside the head in her hand and curiously looked toward the young man.
—More precisely, He Simu was examining the slender black sword with silver engravings on both sides and the hilt at his waist.
Evil ghosts have excellent vision, and she can see every detail of the sword at a glance. He Simu thought this sword looked quite familiar; where had she seen it before?
She searched through her long memories for quite a while before suddenly realizing: wasn’t this the Po Wang Spirit Sword forged by her uncle over three hundred years ago when he was still alive?
Po Wang was a spirit sword second only to the Bu Zhou Sword, embodying benevolence, highly coveted by the immortal sects. This young man appeared to be just an ordinary young general with no signs of cultivating immortality or the Dao, yet he possessed the Po Wang Sword?