Kill——
The deafening cries of battle woke Mu Zhaoran from her daze. Half-asleep, she heard the clash of weapons, the sound of blades cutting flesh, and the occasional scream of pain.
She vaguely saw a sharp blade swinging toward her. She struggled to dodge, but it was too late. The blade cut diagonally from her left shoulder to her right waist, slicing her in half. She could even feel her intestines spilling out along the cut.
“Ahhh!”
Mu Zhaoran screamed in terror and suddenly opened her eyes. As she fully woke up, the sounds of battle from her dream vanished. Panicked, she looked down—and saw a man’s chest.
The chest was dry and withered, with a long, jagged wound from the left shoulder to the right abdomen. Blood, pus, and rotting flesh oozed from the wound, and the partially exposed intestines swayed with every movement, matching the scene from her nightmare.
The horse she was riding was a half-transparent skeleton spirit, and its hooves made no sound on the ground.
Mu Zhaoran gagged, then quickly looked around. She saw countless ghostly warriors in front and behind her.
Some rode skeletal horses, others wielded iron rings or long blades. There were over a hundred of them, all with demonic faces and fangs, charging fiercely in one direction.
Kill——
Kill anyone with the surname Ye——
The silent cries echoed among the ghost soldiers, resonating strongly with the hatred in Mu Zhaoran’s heart. From the spirit she was inhabiting, she glimpsed memories of its past life.
The spirits were once bandits in these mountains—terrorizing towns, robbing merchants, killing and plundering. Four years ago, Ye Rong led an army to suppress the bandits, killing them all at a burial site—the same burial ground where Mu Zhaoran had drawn her unclean talisman.
Her intense hatred for Ye Rong easily resonated with these restless spirits. Their decayed bones and limbs rose from the underworld, seeking revenge in the living world.
“Calling something like this…” Mu Zhaoran gagged at the stench of decay in the air. As the Holy Maiden of Nanrong, she looked down on bandits—but these ghostly bandits had answered her summoning.
Thinking of Ye Rong killing her parents, her rage surged. The furious screams of the ghost bandits crashed into her chest like thunder, amplifying her hatred into a massive wave.
Soon, Mu Zhaoran had no time to care whether they were bandits or not. In a trance, she became one of the ghostly bandits herself, with only one thought:
Kill——
Kill anyone named Ye!
The ghostly bandits moved silently through the night and quickly sensed their enemy.
In the deep, foggy night, a few firelights gathered at the bottom of a slope, marking a resting area.
Ye Rong sat astride a rock, calm but displeased, staring at the kneeling figure in front of him. The air smelled of blood. Nearby on the ground lay a huge brown bear, impaled with a red-tasselled spear, its blood still steaming as it pooled in the dirt.
“If I hadn’t arrived in time, this beast alone could have killed you,” Ye Rong said coldly. He held a narrow locust leaf infused with spiritual energy—throw it, and it could glide on the wind like a small boat.
“No wonder you chased all the way here,” Ye Rong continued. He had seen many magical tools, but it was strange to see this leaf in Ye Lizhi’s hand. “When I asked you about the Yanjin Order of the Heavenly Dao Palace, you wouldn’t say. Where did you get this leaf? Is it from the same person?”
Ye Lizhi was in a pitiful state, her clothes dirty, blood covering a claw wound on her shoulder. She knelt silently, not answering.
Ye Rong, knowing he couldn’t get answers, ordered his guards: “Take her back to the General’s Mansion. Have someone tend to her arm properly.”
The guard hesitated slightly: “What about the Holy Maiden’s side?”
Ye Rong waved it off: “The girl is seriously injured; she must return to the mansion to recover. The Holy Maiden is compassionate—she shouldn’t be made to serve someone who’s hurt. If rumors spread, it would bring criticism.”
The Holy Maiden also needed to reach the Heavenly Dao Palace on time—no delays were allowed. If she caredlessly delayed for someone unimportant, it wouldn’t trouble Ye Rong at all.
Ye Lizhi lifted her head, trembling from pain and fear of Ye Rong’s presence: “My injuries aren’t a problem. The Holy Maiden still expects my service.”
Ye Rong snorted: “The Holy Maiden has plenty of attendants; she doesn’t need you. My previous agreement was just to keep things orderly.”
Ye Lizhi wasn’t concerned with serving the Holy Maiden; she just wanted to escape the General’s Mansion, a cage she despised. She began to argue: “But General, the Holy Maiden—”
Ye Rong interrupted angrily: “You’re my daughter and yet insist on serving others? That’s shameful enough for me!”
Ye Lizhi bit her lip, wanting to laugh. In the mansion, no one treated her well for being the General’s daughter. Even servants could command her and humiliate her.
She would never return to that oppressive house.
She lifted her head, voice trembling: “The General serves King Rong. The Holy Maiden left Nanrong to study at the Heavenly Dao Palace. I just want to help her. There’s no shame in that.”
Ye Rong was furious at her defiance. He grabbed the long spear from the bear, swinging it toward her: “I fight for the people of Nanrong, not the King.”
Blood spattered on her face, and Ye Lizhi froze, fearing he might kill her.
“You are the daughter of a lowly slave,” Ye Rong said coldly. “Take her back to the mansion and watch her closely. Don’t let her appear in public and embarrass herself.”
The words stung her eyes red. She grabbed the spear, cutting her palm, yet didn’t feel the pain. She shouted in anger: “My mother was a slave, but you—you forced her!”
Ye Rong’s expression changed. He grabbed her by the arms, pulling her close: “What did you say?!”
Her palm bled, but she defiantly repeated: “You forced my mother…”
Ye Rong’s veins bulged. Furious, he gripped her throat like iron, squeezing inch by inch: “You hate me? If so, return the life I gave you!”
Ye Lizhi could only struggle silently.
At that moment, a strong wind blew down the slope, carrying a thick stench of decay. Everyone looked up, shocked.
On the hilltop, shadowy figures appeared silently in the dim moonlight.
“What is that?” someone asked fearfully.
The shadows moved suddenly, and the sound of galloping hooves shattered the night. The ground trembled, horses neighed and reared, trying to escape.
Ye Rong’s eyes widened. He threw Ye Lizhi to the ground: “Don’t panic! Form ranks!”
The soldiers drew their swords, preparing for battle. As the dark figures rushed into the firelight, revealing decayed corpses and bones, the stench made them gag.
A guard whispered: “General…they’re not alive.”
Ye Rong swung his spear: “Alive or dead, kill them!”
The two sides clashed violently. Mu Zhaoran’s consciousness was trapped in one of the ghost bandits, moving forward with it.
She saw Ye Lizhi scrambling to escape and suddenly understood why her soul’s guilt mark hadn’t punished her this time.
The ghost bandits’ attack had cleared her path.
Mu Zhaoran felt frustrated but had no time to think about Ye Lizhi—she only wanted to kill Ye Rong.
Even though Ye Rong had brought twenty elite soldiers, trained in body cultivation, the ghost bandits held their ground in the initial clash.
Actually, these ghostly bandits were all useless even in life—some wounded, some broken. Even if the cursed talisman and their grudges held them together, they were still just a disorderly group.
Useless. Completely useless!
Mu Zhaoran watched as the ghost bandits around her were torn apart by long spears, their rotten flesh and bones scattering. She was both angry and frustrated, and focused her mind to activate the cursed talisman again.
The talisman’s runes spread into each ghost’s chest, glowing with a faint dark light. The bones on the ground were drawn together once more, forming into bodies that swung great blades to attack.
“Watch out! These things can’t be killed!” someone shouted. They saw the ghostly creatures they had just struck fall, rise again, and grow stronger, making the soldiers’ morale sink.
Mu Zhaoran moved her arm. It seemed her consciousness had overpowered the ghost she possessed. She suddenly realized she could control this ghost body.
She looked at Ye Rong, guarded at the center, then reached into the bodies of nearby ghost bandits, drawing their talisman energy into herself. Dark energy immediately filled her limbs.
She controlled the ghost she inhabited, swallowing several others. Her body grew larger, and she leapt from the horse, effortlessly smashing through soldiers blocking the way, heading straight for Ye Rong’s face.
Ye Rong blocked with his spear, but the ghost’s blade slammed against it, making the spear vibrate violently and tearing his hand.
Mu Zhaoran had no training in swordsmanship. She relied on her massive body and endless ghostly energy, swinging wildly.
If she had skill, Ye Rong might have been able to defend using experience—but her strength was terrifying, and her attacks were unpredictable. He was forced backward, and the wounds he received were corrupted by the ghostly energy, turning red cuts into black rotting flesh.
Ye Rong’s dodges slowed, his vision darkened.
Elsewhere, Ye Lizhi used the chaos to flee. She tore her skirt to wrap her wounded hand, loosened the reins of a black horse, and managed to control it, hoping to escape and catch up to the Holy Maiden’s carriage.
After riding a short distance, she looked back and saw a giant ghost, larger than the bear that had attacked her earlier, raising its massive blade to strike Ye Rong.
The ghost’s blade corroded Ye Rong’s spear, which cracked and broke with a sharp snap.
“General!” a guard shouted, but they were trapped and couldn’t help.
The ghost raised its blade again, aiming for Ye Rong’s neck. He was too slow to dodge.
Ye Lizhi froze, unable to watch her father die. She gritted her teeth, yanked the reins, and rode straight at the giant ghost.
The black horse screamed, and she lashed it hard, forcing it forward.
Mu Zhaoran, caught off guard by the horse, was knocked sideways. Her blade missed Ye Rong and struck a thick tree, embedding itself in the trunk.
The horse stumbled, hit by the ghost’s bones, and collapsed against it. Ye Lizhi jumped off, ran to her father, and helped him up. “Father, go!” she urged.
Ye Rong’s vision was blurry. Leaning on her strength, he staggered to his feet and began retreating.
In the chaos, a soldier shouted: “Everyone, hold these ghosts at all costs! Escort the General out!”
The soldiers fought desperately, managing to block the ghostly bandits’ pursuit.
Mu Zhaoran kicked aside the exhausted black horse, pulled her blade from the tree, and howled in rage. She stomped forward, determined to kill Ye Rong. No one could stop her.
She swallowed several more ghost allies, filling her limbs with dark energy. Her body became a whirlwind, unstoppable, like a force that defied gods. She chased Ye Rong and his daughter.
Just as she raised her blade to strike, a beam of light shot from the horizon. The light carried a sharp sword aura, sweeping away the ghosts and destroying the cursed talismans inside them.
Mu Zhaoran’s eyes widened as she saw the sword coming straight at her, followed by a familiar figure—descending like a god from the heavens.
Yun Xiaoyang.
Seeing him, her massive ghost body froze. Her gaze locked onto him. Even though her ghost heart was already rotted, she felt its pulse strongly.
She was paralyzed. All the blood and hatred in her heart seemed to vanish, replaced entirely by the sight of him descending with his sword.
The sword approached her face but suddenly paused, as if blocked.
Mu Zhaoran squinted, feeling as if an invisible finger touched her forehead. Pain shot through her brow, and her consciousness left the ghost body, retreating rapidly.
In the next moment, Yun Xiaoyang’s sword pierced the ghost, shattering the cursed talisman inside.
The ghost’s rotten body exploded, and the last thing Mu Zhaoran saw was Yun Xiaoyang sweeping aside the blood and helping Ye Lizhi. “Are you alright, miss?” he asked.
At the burial ground, Mu Zhaoran suddenly opened her eyes. She sat up, clutching her chest.
Her heart was beating.
It was her own heartbeat.
The long night was ending; the first light of dawn appeared.
“Ah—” Mu Zhaoran screamed in frustration, punched the ground, breathed heavily, cleaned up the surrounding traces, and summoned a strong wind to sweep over the burial ground. She hurried back to the inn.
Inside, servants were already feeding the horses and preparing breakfast. Her hidden hairpin was still in place. She returned silently to her room and slid onto the bed edge.
The doll that had been acting for her sat up, tilted its head, and touched her cheek. “Master, why are you crying?”
Mu Zhaoran saw wet marks on the doll’s fingers and felt confused. Touching her own face, she realized it was covered in tears.
Her heartbeat was still racing. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Yun Xiaoyang descending with his sword.
His ice-blue robes glowed, his sleeves fluttered, and his hair swept across his cold, sharp features.
This feeling was so familiar. When she first met him in her past life, she had felt the same uncontrollable fluttering of her heart.
But now she wasn’t the naive girl she had been. She had experienced so much betrayal and pain. She should have hated him, even wanted to kill him.
Why did her body still react this way? Why did she still lose control at the sight of him?
Mu Zhaoran rubbed her eyes hard, leaned into the doll’s chest, and buried her twisted expression into its clothing. She muttered: “So disgusting… this feeling is so disgusting…”
Dawn was breaking, and the mist in the forest lingered.
Moments after Mu Zhaoran left the burial ground, a figure appeared in the fog.
The mist blurred the figure, but he was tall and well-built—a man.
Despite the stench of decayed corpses from the graves, he walked through the burial ground without hesitation, stopping at the spot where Mu Zhaoran had placed her talisman. Everything had been cleaned.
He stood still, lowering his dark lashes, scanning the ground carefully. He bent down, picking up a small, unnoticed branch.
The branch had absorbed ghost energy from the damp ground. One end was covered in mud, the other clean—like it had been held in someone’s hand.
He rubbed it gently, as if hoping to feel some leftover warmth—but in vain.
Finally, he shook off the mud, cleaned it carefully, and tucked it into his sleeve. He then took a broken wooden puppet, buried it deep in the ground, and disappeared into the thinning mist.
The day had broken.