Kill—
Deafening battle cries jolted Mu Zhaoran awake from her stupor. Half-asleep, she heard the relentless clashing of weapons and fighting around her, punctuated by the sickening thuds of blades piercing flesh and agonized screams.
Mu Zhaoran vaguely saw a sharp gleam of light slashing toward her. She struggled to dodge, but it was too late. The blade, whistling through the air, came down in a diagonal slash from her left shoulder to her right waist, cleaving her in two.
She could even feel her intestines spilling out from the gash, splattering messily onto the ground.
"Ahhh!"
Mu Zhaoran let out a terrified scream and snapped her eyes open. As she fully regained consciousness, the sounds of battle from her dream instantly ceased. Panicked, she lowered her head to check herself, only to see a man's chest.
This chest was withered and shriveled, with a long, diagonal, and hideous wound stretching from the left shoulder to the right abdomen. The wound was a bloody, mangled mess, oozing pus and rotting flesh. With every jolt, the intestines dangling halfway out swayed from side to side—exactly matching the scene from her dream.
The horse she rode was also a translucent skeletal ghostly creature. Its hooves trod upon the ground without making a single sound.
Gagging in her throat, Mu Zhaoran immediately looked up and glanced around, seeing countless vengeful spirits and ghosts before and behind her.
Some rode skeletal ghost horses, others brandished iron-ringed broadswords. There were over a hundred of them, each with demonic faces and fangs, ferocious and menacing, galloping madly in one direction.
Kill—
Kill the one surnamed Ye—
Silent roars reverberated among this horde of ghost soldiers, resonating intensely with the hatred in Mu Zhaoran's heart. From the ghost she was possessing, Mu Zhaoran gleaned a fragment of its memories from when it was alive.
It turned out that her defilement talisman had summoned a group of ghost bandits. In life, these men had been bandits infesting these mountains and forests, harassing towns, robbing merchants, committing arson, murder, and pillage, wreaking havoc in the region.
Four years ago, Ye Rong led troops to suppress the bandits, quelling the banditry across various areas. He rounded up this gang of bandits and had them all executed by mass burial. The unmarked mass grave where Mu Zhaoran performed her talisman ritual was the very site where these bandits had been buried alive back then.
Thus, her hatred and murderous intent toward Ye Rong easily resonated with the ghosts buried beneath that ground. Hatred coalesced their decayed, broken bones and limbs, digging them out from the depths of the underworld to return to the mortal realm and exact their revenge.
"To have summoned such things…" Mu Zhaoran smelled the thick, putrid stench carried by the wind and felt nauseous. As the Saintess Nanrong, she naturally looked down upon these bandits, yet it was precisely these ghostly bandits that had answered her summons.
Recalling the scene of Ye Rong forcing her parents to their deaths, Mu Zhaoran's heart boiled with hatred. The angry roars of the ghost bandits around her crashed into her chest like tolling bells, churning the hatred in her heart into towering, raging waves.
Soon, Mu Zhaoran had no time to ponder the nature of these bandits. In her dazed state, she too seemed to become one among this horde of ghost bandits, her mind now consumed by only one thought—
Kill!
Kill the one surnamed Ye!
This army of ghost soldiers and bandits raced silently through the night, quickly picking up the scent of their enemy.
The night was deep, the fog thick. Several clusters of torchlight gathered at the foot of a sloping hillside, marking out a resting area.
Ye Rong sat imposingly on a flattened rock, his face cold and stern, his expression displeased as he stared at the figure kneeling before him.
The air was thick with the scent of blood. Not far away, a massive brown bear lay on the ground, a long spear with a red tassel embedded deep in its thick flesh, piercing through its body and plunging into the muddy earth.
Fresh blood continued to seep from beneath its body, still steaming with warmth.
"If I hadn’t arrived in time, this wild beast alone could have taken your life," Ye Rong said, looking down at Ye Lizhi. In his hand, he held a slender locust leaf, which contained spiritual energy. When tossed into the air, it could transform into a small boat, capable of riding the wind.
"No wonder you were able to chase me all the way here." Ye Rong had seen many magical treasures and spiritual artifacts, and this leaf was nothing particularly rare. Yet, it was strange to see it in Ye Lizhi’s possession. "When I asked you before how you obtained the Yanjin Order from Tiandao Palace, you refused to say. Now, where did this leaf come from? Are you unwilling to speak of that as well? Could it be from the same person who gave you the order?"
Ye Lizhi was in a sorry state, her dress stained and dirty. Clutching the bloody wound on her shoulder where the bear had clawed her, she knelt on the ground, silent.
Ye Rong knew he wouldn’t get any answers from her, so he simply turned to his guard and ordered, "Take a squad and escort her back to the general’s residence. Find someone to properly treat the wound on her arm."
The guard beside him bowed in acknowledgment but hesitated slightly. "What should we do about Her Highness?"
Ye Rong replied indifferently, "My daughter is severely injured and must return to the residence to recuperate. The Saintess is compassionate toward her subjects and should not force a gravely injured person to serve. If word got out, wouldn’t it invite criticism?"
Moreover, the Saintess had to reach Tiandao Palace by a predetermined date and could not afford to delay too long on the journey.
If the young Saintess were truly so willful as to delay the journey to Tiandao Palace for the sake of an insignificant person, Ye Rong would actually be pleased to see it. After all, it wouldn’t be his problem to deal with.
Hearing their whispers, Ye Lizhi quickly raised her head and said, "My injury is nothing serious. Her Highness must still be waiting for me to attend to her."
Ye Rong snorted coldly, unconcerned. "The Saintess has plenty of attendants; she doesn’t lack you alone. I only agreed earlier to avoid complicating matters and delaying important affairs."
Ye Lizhi, of course, had no intention of serving the Saintess. She merely wanted to seize this opportunity to escape the prison-like confines of the general’s residence. She tried to argue further, "But General, Her Highness—"
Ye Rong cut her off, displeased. "You are my daughter, Ye Rong’s daughter. Yet you’re eager to serve as a slave or maid to others. If you aren’t ashamed, I am!"
Ye Lizhi bit her lip, feeling a bitter urge to laugh. When she was in the general’s residence, no one treated her kindly just because she was the general’s daughter. Even servants could order her around and trample on her freely.
When she was treated like a slave or maid in the general’s residence, had her esteemed father, the general, not seen it? Had he not felt ashamed?
She could not return to that devouring mansion.
Ye Lizhi raised her head, trembling both from pain and the fear of Ye Rong’s imposing authority. "General, you are a subject of His Majesty the Rong King, willing to dedicate your life to defending the borders. The Saintess has left her homeland for Nanrong, traveling far to Tiandao Palace to study. I, too, am willing to ease Her Highness’s worries and offer my humble efforts. I do not feel ashamed."
Ye Rong hadn't expected her to dare talk back. Furious, he abruptly stood up, strode over, yanked the long-tasseled spear from the brown bear's body, and swung it around to point at her, declaring arrogantly, "This general dons armor and wields a spear for the people of Nanrong, not for that emperor."
The spear's warm, fresh blood splattered onto Ye Lizhi's face. Her entire body stiffened; for a moment, she even thought Ye Rong was going to kill her.
"The daughter of a lowly slave is indeed beyond redemption," Ye Rong said. He wasn't particularly disappointed in her—after all, he had long since decided she was of such base stock. Hearing such words from her mouth was hardly surprising. "Take her back to the general's manor. Keep her under close watch. Don't let her show her face outside again and disgrace us."
A buzzing filled Ye Lizhi's head. The words "daughter of a lowly slave" stabbed at her, turning her eyes red with rage.
She grabbed the sharp, red-tasseled spear before her. The sharp blade sliced open her palm, but she felt no pain. With hatred in her voice, she demanded, "If my mother was a lowly slave, then what are you, who lusted after her beauty and forced yourself upon her?"
Ye Rong's expression changed drastically. With a violent shake of his arm, he yanked the spear back, then curled his fingers and dragged her before him, roaring, "What did you say?!"
Half a piece of flesh had been sliced from Ye Lizhi's palm by the spear's blade. Blood dripped like flowing water from her fingertips. Her voice trembling, she stubbornly met his gaze and repeated, word by word, "I said you… lusted after her beauty… back then, you forced my mother…"
A vein throbbed at Ye Rong's temple. He was already enraged to the extreme. He reached out and clamped his hand around her neck, his fingers like iron pincers tightening around her throat inch by inch. Gnashing his teeth, he said, "Very well. I had no idea this was how you saw me. You hate me, is that it? Since you hate your father so much, why not return the life I gave you?"
Ye Lizhi's face flushed crimson from the choking. Gurgling whimpers escaped her throat; she couldn't utter another word, only feebly clawed at his sleeve.
Just then, a fierce wind suddenly swept down from the hillside, carrying a thick, rotting stench that assaulted their senses. Everyone covered their noses and looked up, immediately horrified.
Atop the hillside, a dense, shadowy mass of figures had silently gathered at some unknown time, casting dark silhouettes under the dim moonlight.
"What is that?" someone panicked and asked.
Before the words faded, the shadows on the hillside suddenly moved. Battle cries instantly tore through the night's silence. The thunderous sound of horse hooves grew louder and louder from the hillside, shaking the mud and stones at the foot of the mountain. The horses tied beside the trees, startled, reared up and neighed, desperately struggling against their reins to flee.
Ye Rong's eyes widened. He could no longer bother with Ye Lizhi, flinging her to the ground as he shouted in a deep voice, "What's all this panic? Form ranks and prepare for battle!"
Everyone drew their swords, standing ready. Only when that dark mass of riders charged into the firelight, revealing decaying bones and rotting flesh, the stench growing so foul it made people nauseous, did they realize something was wrong.
A personal guard protected Ye Rong's flanks, exclaiming in shock, "General, those… don't look like living people."
Ye Rong swung his spear, boldly advancing. "Whether they're human or ghost, kill them all!"
The two sides clashed, immediately plunging into fierce combat. Mu Zhaoran's consciousness was trapped within one of the ghost bandits, forced to charge forward with it.
She leaped over the splattering rotten flesh and blood, glanced at Ye Lizhi scrambling up from the ground on all fours and fleeing into the distance, and suddenly understood why the sin mark on her soul had not punished her this time.
The ghost bandits' charge had actually broken the siege for her.
At this thought, Mu Zhaoran felt stifled with anger, but for now she had no time to trouble Ye Lizhi, wanting only to kill Ye Rong first.
The twenty or so men Ye Rong had brought out were all elite troops under his command, most of whom had practiced body-refining techniques. Even against this group of ghost bandits, in the initial clash, they did not fall behind.
In contrast, this group of ghost bandits had been wounded or maimed even in life. Even though foul runes and resentment had gathered them together, they were still a motley crew.
Useless, utterly useless!
Watching the surrounding ghost bandits being torn apart one by one by spears, rotten flesh and dry bones scattering all over the ground, Mu Zhaoran seethed with rage and hatred. Concentrating her mind, she tried to activate the foul runes once more.
The foul runes were scattered within the chest cavities of each ghost bandit, glowing with a dim, eerie light. The rotten bones on the ground, drawn by the runes, once again gathered together, brandishing large blades to hack forward.
"Watch out! These things can't be killed!" someone shouted loudly. Seeing the ghostly creatures that had been cut down rising one by one again, their ghost qi surging, the soldiers' morale instantly dipped.
Mu Zhaoran moved her arm—perhaps her consciousness had overpowered the ghost bandit possessing her—and suddenly realized she could control this ghost body.
Mu Zhaoran lifted her gaze toward Ye Rong, who was being protected at the center, reached out to grab a rune from the ghost bandit beside her, and drew it onto herself. A sinister ghost qi immediately filled her limbs.
Controlling the ghost bandit she possessed, she devoured several companions in succession, her form swelling a full circle. Leaping down from the horse's back, she effortlessly charged through the soldiers blocking her path, heading straight for Ye Rong's face.
Ye Rong crossed his spear to block, but the ghost bandit's large blade struck the spear shaft with such force that it trembled violently, tearing the skin of his palms.
Mu Zhaoran had never learned any blade techniques; she simply relied on her massive form and the inexhaustible ghost power within her, hacking wildly.
If she had possessed some skill, Ye Rong might have managed to cope with experience alone, but her opponent's strength was astonishing and utterly chaotic. Forced to retreat repeatedly, the wounds he suffered were invaded by foul ghost qi, the crimson gashes quickly turning into blackened, rotten flesh.
Ye Rong's evasive movements grew increasingly sluggish, and his vision darkened intermittently.
Meanwhile, Ye Lizhi took advantage of the chaos to flee the battle, tearing a strip from her skirt to wrap the wound on her palm. Untying a black horse's reins, she struggled to control the mount, intending to seize this chance to escape and catch up with the Holy Maiden's carriage procession.
After galloping some distance, she couldn't help but glance back. This glance happened to catch sight of the malignant ghost—its form now twice as large as the brown bear that had attacked her earlier—brandishing a ghostly, sinister large blade, swinging it down toward Ye Rong's head.
Ye Rong's spear, corroded by ghost qi, emitted a sharp cracking sound and snapped in two.
"General!" his personal guards shouted, but they were deeply trapped in the encirclement of ghost bandits, powerless to offer aid.
As the malignant ghost raised its large blade once more—this time aiming to slash at Ye Rong's neck—and Ye Rong's movements were sluggish, clearly unable to dodge, Ye Lizhi's hand gripping the reins paused. In the end, she could not stand by and watch her father die before her eyes. Gritting her teeth, she fiercely tugged the reins, turned her horse around, and charged straight toward the enormous malignant ghost.
The black horse let out a piercing scream as Ye Lizhi whipped its hindquarters so fiercely that blood nearly splattered, refusing to let it retreat.
Mu Zhaoran was just reveling in her triumph when the horse’s cry reached her ears—too late. She was knocked off balance, her broadsword narrowly missing Ye Rong and instead embedding itself deep into the trunk of a thick tree beside them.
The impact was significant. The black horse, pierced in the chest by the Malignant Ghost’s bones, gasped heavily and staggered before collapsing onto the ghost. Ye Lizhi leaped from the saddle, rushed over to help Ye Rong up, and urged anxiously, “Father, hurry and go!”
Ye Rong’s vision was already blurring. He gave Ye Lizhi a heavy look, leaned on her support to stand, and stumbled forward in escape.
Amid the chaos, a soldier shouted, “Everyone, hold off these ghostly things at all costs! Escort the general away!”
The soldiers rallied, fighting desperately, and indeed managed to block the ghost bandits’ pursuit.
Mu Zhaoran kicked aside the panting black horse, scrambled to her feet, and yanked her broadsword free from the tree trunk. Letting out a frenzied roar to the sky, she stomped forward with earth-shaking steps, giving chase.
Opportunity knocks but once. She had to kill Ye Rong here! Nothing and no one would stand in her way!
Mu Zhaoran devoured several more of her companions, her Ghost Qi flooding through every limb and vessel. Her form transformed into a raging gust of wind, charging toward the father and daughter with a force that would slay gods and slaughter buddhas.
Just as she caught up to them, raised her broadsword, and was about to strike, a streak of light suddenly shot from the horizon. Beneath that light, a chilling Sword Qi swept forth, cutting down a swath of ghost bandits and scattering the foul Runes hidden within their chests.
Mu Zhaoran’s eyes widened as she watched the sword light hurtle straight toward her, followed closely by a familiar figure descending like a deity to the mortal realm.
Yun Xiaoyang.
Yun Xiaoyang!
The moment she saw him, her massive body jolted to a sudden halt. Her gaze seemed glued to him, unable to look away. Though the heart within this ghost bandit’s chest had long decayed, she inexplicably felt a violent, throbbing heartbeat.
She stood frozen in place, utterly immobile. The sea of blood, the deep-seated hatred—all of it seemed to drain from her heart in an instant. Once again, her heart and eyes could hold nothing but that figure, sword in hand, charging toward her.
The sword light pierced her vision, but as it neared her face, it inexplicably stalled for a moment, as if encountering some resistance.
Mu Zhaoran narrowed her eyes, vaguely sensing an invisible finger tap her between the brows. A sharp pain shot through her forehead, and her consciousness abruptly detached from the ghost bandit’s body, her vision rapidly pulling away.
In the next instant, Yun Xiaoyang’s longsword pierced through the ghost bandit, shattering the foul Runes within.
The ghost bandit’s rotting flesh and remnants exploded across the ground. The last image Mu Zhaoran saw was Yun Xiaoyang flicking his sword to shake off the blood and filth, turning to help Ye Lizhi up, and asking, “Miss, are you alright?”
In the mass grave, Mu Zhaoran suddenly opened her eyes, sat up from the ground, and clutched her chest.
A heartbeat.
It was her own heartbeat after all.
The long night was nearing its end, a sliver of pale dawn appearing on the horizon.
“Ah—” Mu Zhaoran let out a furious roar, venting her rage as she slammed a fist into the ground. After taking two heavy breaths, she climbed to her feet, erased all traces around her, summoned a gale to sweep through the mass grave, and hurriedly returned to the posthouse.
In the post station, servants had already risen early to feed the horses and prepare meals. Mu Zhaoran still had the hidden hairpin on her. She silently returned to her room and slumped onto the edge of the bed.
The puppet that had taken her place sat up from the bed, tilting its head to examine her for a moment before reaching out to touch her cheek. "Master, why are you crying?"
Seeing the wet traces on "her" fingertips, Mu Zhaoran reached up in confusion and felt her own face, only to discover it was streaked with tears.
In her chest, her pounding heart had yet to calm. Whenever Mu Zhaoran closed her eyes, all she could see was Yun Xiaoyang descending from the sky on his sword, fingers poised in a gesture.
His ice-blue robes shimmered with a faint glow, sleeves fluttering in the wind, his flying hair constantly brushing past his cold, stern eyes.
This feeling was all too familiar. In her previous life, when she first laid eyes on Yun Xiaoyang, she had also been uncontrollably smitten, her heart suddenly awakening to love.
But now, she was no longer that naive and ignorant girl from her past life. Having endured so much betrayal and pain, upon seeing him again, she should have wanted nothing more than to kill him.
Why did her body still react this way? Why did she still lose herself at the sight of him, unable to suppress the stirrings of her heart?!
Mu Zhaoran rubbed her eyes fiercely, then leaned sideways into the puppet's embrace, burying her twisted expression in the fabric of "her" chest. Muffled, she muttered, "How disgusting… this feeling is so disgusting…"
Dawn approached, yet the night mist in the mountain forest lingered.
Only moments after Mu Zhaoran left the mass grave, a figure slowly materialized within the dense fog that pervaded the area.
The mist obscured the newcomer's form, but it was still evident that he was tall and slender in stature—a man.
Due to the corpses rising from beneath the earth and breaking through the soil, numerous grave pits remained scattered across the ground. The putrid stench of decay mingled with the mist. Even after being swept through by fierce winds multiple times, once the gusts subsided and the night fog gathered once more, the foul odors seeping from the ground remained unbearable.
Yet the newcomer seemed entirely unbothered, his steps never faltering as he walked into the mass grave. He stopped precisely at the spot where Mu Zhaoran had earlier drawn her talisman. The area had been thoroughly cleaned by her, leaving not a single trace behind.
He stood there for a moment, lowering his dark lashes as his gaze swept inch by inch across the ground. His eyes suddenly focused, and he bent down to retrieve an utterly inconspicuous dried twig from among the scattered stones.
Saturated with Ghost Qi in this damp, shadowy place, one end of the twig was caked in Putrid Mud, while the other remained clean, as if it had once been held in someone's palm.
He gently rubbed the clean end, as though trying to feel a trace of lingering warmth.
Yet, in the end, it was futile.
Finally, he shook off the Putrid Mud clinging to the twig, meticulously wiped it clean, and tucked it into his sleeve. Then, he took out a broken wooden puppet and buried it deep within the rotting earth of the mass grave before turning and vanishing into the gradually thinning mist.
Daybreak had arrived.
The scavenger has arrived~
Both the female lead and supporting female characters carry certain stereotypical labels, requiring growth and struggle to break free from these constraints.