The surroundings were pitch black without a single ray of light to guide the way, forcing Yan Zhu to feel her way forward by touching the cold stone wall.
The air was damp and carried a distinct chill. A faint, fishy stench lingered in the atmosphere, seemingly mixed with some indescribable, stale scent, much like opening a long-sealed book from the previous century.
The small cat nestled in her embrace remained exceptionally well-behaved. Its warm body pressed gently against her palm, and for the most part, it made hardly a peep, perhaps well aware of the gravity of their situation.
Yan Zhu suddenly recalled the creature referred to as a “spiritual beast” by that group of people. She lowered her gaze to look at the little fellow, which, aside from its striking odd-colored eyes, looked no different from an ordinary cat. It was still very difficult for her to connect it with the spiritual beasts of her own writings that condensed the spiritual energy of heaven and earth to cultivate.
Divine beasts were nurtured naturally by heaven and earth, while spiritual beasts were nourished by the spiritual energy of the cosmos. The lowest tier among them was the demonic beast, possessing only a few thin threads of extraordinary bloodline or being ordinary beasts that had gained spiritual intelligence through sheer chance.
Demonic beasts were generally used as mounts or even as ingredients for food. Naturally, there was no shortage of people who deliberately domesticated them to assist in battle or simply kept them as pets.
Ever since the Age of Dharma Decline, divine beasts had only appeared in fragmented accounts, effectively becoming creatures of legend. Spiritual beasts were also exceedingly rare, making them things one could only encounter by chance and never seek out on purpose.
The grading of divine beasts remained unexaminable to this day, but spiritual beasts, much like demonic beasts, were categorized into nine ranks. Rumors held that a first-rank spiritual beast gained rudimentary intelligence, with a cultivation level slightly surpassing the Qi Condensation stage of the human race.
Yan Zhu rubbed the little cat’s head. The warm, soft texture gave her an unwarranted surge of courage as she walked through the darkness.
After walking for an unknown length of time, Yan Zhu encountered a fork in the road.
Previously, she had been following the sole narrow path heading downward. Faced with the sudden appearance of two paths leading in opposite directions right before her eyes, she stopped in her tracks.
“Consulting the sound of water to cast divination…”
After running through a mental calculation, Yan Zhu decisively stepped onto the path on the right-hand side.
It was not because walking that way was safer—in truth, neither path was safe—but simply because Song Qing had taken this route.
Lacking any self-preservation capabilities, Yan Zhu realized that her top priority to protect her own skin should be reuniting with Song Qing.
With this thought in mind, she quickened her pace a little more.
“Meow—!”
No sooner had she stepped foot onto the path than the little cat in her arms let out a sudden, sharp cry.
A flash of cold light crossed Yan Zhu’s vision. An arrow grazed the hem of her clothes and violently struck a stone on the ground.
“Crack…”
A teeth-setting, crisp sound rang out as a slender fissure spread from the spot where the stone had been pierced. Soon enough, the rock split with a resounding snap, shattering into flying debris in an instant.
Yan Zhu’s heart leaped into her throat. Staring at the pitch-black path ahead, she shrank back in fear, not daring to take another step.
“Meow~”
At that moment, however, the cat broke free from her embrace and leaped onto the ground.
It turned its head to look back at her, its bright yellow eyes suddenly blazing with brilliant light. Immediately, a wave of energy radiated outward with the cat at its center, carrying a momentum that seemed capable of sweeping away everything in its path.
A few threads of silver light failed to pierce the protective Qi barrier surrounding the cat, wobbling and falling to the ground midway instead.
The black cat lifted its head slightly in a proud posture, walking forward with graceful, dainty steps.
The events that followed bore a striking similarity to what had transpired earlier. Thanks to this tiny guardian deity, Yan Zhu finally managed to safely cross another brief yet heart-pounding stretch of the journey.
“Thank you!”
Yan Zhu smiled and rubbed the black ball of fur that had sauntered up to her to claim its reward. The cat squinted its eyes comfortably, gently rubbing its head against her palm.
“Meow~”
Perhaps sensing no further danger, the little fellow leaped into the air and hopped right back into her arms.
So it really just treats me as a mode of transport.
Yan Zhu couldn’t help but laugh softly. However, the black cat appeared to be only in its infancy, its body warm, soft, and remarkably light, making her quite happy to carry it.
The human and cat continued walking forward along the path.
Before long, a flickering firelight seemed to reflect from up ahead, illuminating one side of the stone wall brilliantly.
Stung by a physiological burst of tears, Yan Zhu blinked hard and waited a moment for her eyes to adjust to the bright light.
She arrived at a spacious area that looked much like a dead end.
Enclosed on all four sides, the path behind her had been blocked off by a stone wall that had sunk down the moment she entered.
Ghostly, pale-blue wisps of eerie fire drifted aimlessly through the air, their chilling luminescence making the scene appear all the more bizarre.
On a slightly elevated platform ahead rested an enormous coffin, its color as striking and vivid as fresh blood. Talisman papers were pasted around it in a precise sequence, accompanied by layers of yellow silk cloth densely covered in incomprehensible, baffling characters.
An icy-cold wind cut straight through her clothes, causing Yan Zhu to instinctively clutch the cat tighter against her chest.
As if something was struggling to break free from its confinement, a series of bizarre noises echoed from inside the coffin, growing louder and more frequent by the second.
Yan Zhu’s breath hitched. She hurriedly retreated a few steps, putting more distance between herself and the gently vibrating coffin.
She unfastened the branch of tung wood that she had previously wrapped in cloth and tucked simply against her waist. Brandishing this sole “weapon” horizontally before her, she stared nervously at the reactions unfolding across the room.
Blood trickled out through the seams of the coffin in steady streams, latching onto the surface textures and dripping down.
The coffin suddenly rocked violently. The bronze soul-suppressing nails meant to keep the evil aura in check flew off one by one in a specific order, hitting the ground with crisp, ringing sounds.
Immediately following that, the coffin lid was blasted into the air, violently smashing against the nearby wall.
A wooden puppet dressed in blood-stained garments shook its half-severed head and sat up, its hollow eyes blazing with a fierce red light.
It raised its hand, picked up the scattered limbs lying nearby, and reassembled them. Only after completely reassembling its body did it struggle awkwardly to its feet.
At the final moment, this fellow seemed to realize it was missing half its head; its neck twisted as it frantically looked around in all directions, trying to find it.
Failing to find the missing body part, its gaze abruptly locked onto Yan Zhu.
“Any living human who enters shall die!”
The rule left behind by the puppet-maker was triggered. It let out an angry roar and instantly lunged forward, moving with a speed that left behind only a blur of afterimages.
“Swoosh—!”
Half a skull was chopped off and sent rolling to the ground.
The puppet confusedly patted its empty neck, while the head lying on the ground opened its mouth wide in an expression of sheer terror.
The web of Yan Zhu’s thumb tingled from the force of the impact. She lowered her head to look at the pristine, flawless tung wood branch in her hand, then raised her eyes to gaze at the puppet trapped in a state of sorrow, finally shifting her gaze to a deep gouge etched into the opposite wall.
“…Did I… cause that?”
She was so astonished that the words slipped out involuntarily, her voice rising in pitch with extreme disbelief.
Yan Zhu inspected her smooth, white arms, which looked no different than they had before, and ultimately decided it was much more credible to attribute this victory to the tung wood branch.
By the time she recovered her wits, the headless puppet had already been dismantled into pieces by the little black cat. The energetic little fellow was still aggressively chasing after even the half-head it had discarded.
Casting a cautious glance around the perimeter to confirm there was immediate danger, Yan Zhu let out a sigh of relief. Gathering her spirits, she gripped the tung wood branch and slowly walked toward the coffin.
“Yo!”
A low, deep female voice of unknown origin startled her badly.
“Who is it?!”
Yan Zhu nervously scanned her surroundings.
Seeming to find her reaction amusing, the speaker immediately let out a light chuckle.
“Who is there playing god and playing ghosts!”
Unwilling to appear too cowardly, Yan Zhu feigned anger and spoke up.
The black ball of fur decisively bit down “dead” onto the puppet’s head and sped back to her side. Its back arched completely, its short fur bristling as it let out a hoarse warning growl.
“It’s just me.”
Accompanied by these words, a snow-white hand reached up and rested on the edge of the coffin.
“Little doll, do you not remember me?”