Volume One: The Journey of the Outcast—Fiery Demon-Slaying Chapter Thirty-Three: The Dissipation of the Shadow Spirit, Life Hanging by a Thread

With the coffin blocking the way, Tu Sanguang did not pause. He dashed toward Wang Kui and his companions, drawing the barbs from his elbows and flinging them back at the general. The general snatched up the long spear embedded in the ground, spun around, and swept the spear, deftly deflecting the barbs with practiced movements.

Now, Wang Kui, Tu Sanguang, and Ma Zhong stood together, facing the general before the golden coffin. Ma Zhong and Tu Sanguang formed the same hand seal Wang Kui had used earlier, and their palms struck the ground in unison. Where their hands touched, sigils appeared, and from the dust all around, a blue-black aura and a dark energy surged forth, gathering into the symbols beneath their palms.

As the two energies flowed into the sigils, they began to change. Both men plunged a hand into the earth beneath the sigils and drew forth the weapons of two underworld deities.

Tu Sanguang gripped the Sky-Splitting Crescent Halberd of the underworld god Fu Ming—like a spear but heavier, its power wild and domineering. Ma Zhong wielded the Three-Step Soul-Chasing Whip of the underworld god Fu Quan, forged from forty-nine iron-bone segments. It could take a head from three steps away, nimble yet deadly.

The general watched as the three armed themselves. Those eyes, dormant for a thousand years, now burned with a desire for battle. His lips curled into a smile; he raised his spear and swept it horizontally at the trio.

The three underworld deities charged him. Ma Zhong led, swinging the Soul-Chasing Whip toward the general’s head. The whip never reached its mark; the general leaned back, dodging it with ease.

Seeing the whip miss, Tu Sanguang swept the Sky-Splitting Halberd in a broad arc at the general’s legs. The general, though his lower body was out of sight, relied on the countless battlefields he had conquered millennia ago. His feet retreated, springing into the air, evading Tu Sanguang’s ferocious strike.

Wang Kui leaped high, grasped the Soul-Binding Broadsword embedded in the tomb’s ceiling, and kicked off, yanking the blade free with a metallic ring. Using the momentum, he plunged downward, cleaving at the general.

The general, airborne and retreating, caught the broadsword’s blow with his spear, holding it horizontally with both hands. Wang Kui rolled behind him, poised to strike his silver helmet, the force pressing the general’s body downward.

All impact settled on the general’s feet. The fractured stone slabs around the golden coffin gave a loud thud as his knees hit the ground, embedding into the rubble.

Though he resisted the broadsword’s blow, its force was like a mountain axe. The full-powered slash pinned the general in the stones, unable to move.

Ma Zhong followed with a second whip strike, aiming for the general’s head. Tu Sanguang, without hesitation, unleashed a towering vertical blow.

Deep in the rubble, the general had no means to evade. Two long weapons attacked from either side; behind him, the Soul-Binding Broadsword waited. In an instant, assaults rained from above, middle, and below. Outmatched, the general had no chance—one against three, not even an ancient war god could prevail, let alone against three underworld deities.

Though only possessed and unable to wield full power, three against one was sufficient to take his head. Death was certain, with no hope.

The general abandoned his spear as a defense, instead spinning it toward the unopened golden coffin as a sacrificial offering.

The three watched the spear fly but could not halt it. As the spear left his hand, the general’s head fell.

The underworld deities didn’t spare the decapitated general another glance. All eyes turned to where the spear had pierced.

The spear struck precisely in the seam between the golden coffin’s lid and its body. As it pierced, ghostly energy surged from within, pouring out through the gap.

A powerful wave of black, pure ghostly energy erupted, sending ripples through the air and flipping the coffin lid.

With a heavy crash, the lid struck the stone pillar before Wei Wudao, who quickly withdrew his head in fright.

Cracks began to spiderweb across the pillar as the coffin lid hit the ground with two resounding thuds. From the coffin, a mass of pure black ghostly energy burst forth, all absorbed into the silver armor beside the golden coffin.

Inside the second coffin lay a ferocious, terrifying man—eyes closed, yet his presence struck fear. His attire was lavish. He had died in his prime, around thirty, and though millennia had passed, his corpse was untouched by decay. Pure black ghostly energy seeped continually from his body, pouring into the silver armor.

Ma Zhong moved, swinging the Soul-Chasing Whip at the coffin brimming with ghostly energy.

With a thud, the black energy rebounded the whip as if it were solid, sending it flying back.

The three were stunned. Such pure ghostly energy required a thousand years to condense—yet who could possess a thousand years to gather such power?

They exchanged glances, eyed Wei Wudao behind the pillar, and looked at the two coffins before them, then dispersed. Wang Kui leapt to the pillar where Wei Wudao hid; Ma Zhong and Tu Sanguang jumped to another intact pillar.

Wei Wudao hadn’t caught on. What were the three underworld deities planning—were they about to sever those massive pillars? If both pillars fell, the tomb’s dome would collapse, burying them alive.

Before he could process this, the deities set to work.

Weapons struck the pillars with relentless force, their momentum fierce.

The already fractured pillar was nearly severed by Wang Kui’s broadsword. Wei Wudao realized they truly meant to bury themselves alive—a terrifying thought struck him. The underworld deities only needed to leave their hosts; they didn’t require him to break the curse to depart.

With this realization, Wei Wudao fled desperately. After only a few steps, the pillar crashed down, and stones began to fall from the dome.

Dodging debris, he dared not look back, rushing headlong for the tomb entrance, scrambling upward toward the end of the main burial corridor.

The collapse of the first pillar triggered a vortex of falling stone and earth. Massive blocks started to drop, drawing ever closer to Ma Zhong and Tu Sanguang. Wang Kui leaped at the remaining pillar, delivering a heavy blow—stones exploded.

Tu Sanguang followed with a vertical and horizontal sweep, shattering the base of the pillar until only a sliver supported the tomb. With a glance, the three dashed for the corridor.

As Wei Wudao had guessed, before reaching the main tomb’s exit, the underworld deities left their hosts. The three men collapsed, unconscious, their bodies reverting, the snake-scale markings fading.

Wang Kui was lifeless—his soul had already been sacrificed to the snake spirit broadsword within the tomb, repairing his ruined meridians.

The collapse continued, ever larger stones and earth falling from the tomb’s ceiling. The pure ghostly energy from the golden coffin was almost entirely absorbed by the silver armor.

The silver armor, tempered by the ghostly energy, began to turn pitch black, an eerie silver gleam emanating from it. Within the golden coffin, the man’s corpse shriveled and collapsed, becoming a skin stretched over bones.

With a crack and a thunderous crash, the dome collapsed entirely.

The main tomb had been excavated deep, its space vast. The pillars bore the dome’s weight, constructed from massive stones interlocked. When the pillars snapped, the dome lost its support, making collapse inevitable.

Yang Chengzi crouched in the corner, motionless, watching the tomb opening in the earth. Chen San slept soundly, oblivious even to the collapse. Suddenly, a figure crawled from the tomb.

Yang Chengzi had waited, eyes wide, nearly all night. Finally, they emerged. Just as he thought this, a thunderous rumble shook the ground—the whole field caved in, revealing a huge pit, darkness swallowing everything below.

Yang Chengzi was stunned, then realized—the tomb had collapsed, and it was enormous.

He patted Chen San on the back. “Get up, get up, someone’s out.”

Chen San, deep in slumber, hadn’t heard the collapse. Only after Yang Chengzi’s nudges did he stir, rubbing his eyes and glancing at Yang Chengzi’s back.

“At last. I’ve fed the mosquitoes all night. Didn’t you say grave robbing wasn’t our concern? Let’s go, let’s go, back to sleep.” He yawned.

Yang Chengzi, frowning, had no patience to explain, stretching his limbs as he stood.

“See for yourself.”

As Yang Chengzi moved aside, the pit came into Chen San’s view. He stared, mouth agape, rubbing his eyes in disbelief.

“Did they dig such a huge pit to rob a grave?”

Yang Chengzi didn’t answer, instead asking, “Look—do you see any ghostly energy coming out of the pit?”

Chen San was slow to react, spotting Wei Wudao crawling from the field. “Can’t see from here. Let’s go take a look.”

Seeing only one person emerge, Yang Chengzi turned to Chen Wan’er. “Wan’er, go fetch the Master. Perhaps he can seal this ghost. Go protect Chang Yu. Chen San, let’s question that man in the field—find out why no one else made it out.”

Chen Wan’er transformed into a swirl of spiritual energy, drifting toward Chang Yu. Chen San and Yang Chengzi sprinted to the field, hauling the panting Wei Wudao up from the tomb entrance.

Chen San peered deep into the pit. At first, nothing seemed amiss, but then he saw—a mass of ghostly energy coalescing on the eastern side, more gathering from the surroundings, the black aura swelling, stones above being pushed aside.

“There’s a big mass of ghostly energy growing—it looks ready to burst out.” Yang Chengzi’s frown deepened.

He barked, “What did you do in there?”

Wei Wudao, startled by their sudden arrival, trembled but quickly regained his composure.

“I—didn’t I tell you not to come out before noon? If you’d been dragged down with those things, don’t blame me for not saving you.”

Yang Chengzi realized Wei Wudao mistook him for a villager. He slapped him.

“Look clearly—I’m a Maoshan priest, not a villager. What were you doing in the tomb? Why are you the only one out? Where are the others?”

Wei Wudao, frightened and confused, finally recognized the priest’s robe and dropped to his knees, his bravado replaced by tears.

“Ah, Master, there’s a fierce ghost in there. The three underworld deities I summoned couldn’t defeat it. They’re still in the burial corridor. The innermost chamber has collapsed, burying the ghost below, but I don’t think the stones will hold him. Save me, Master, save me!”

Hearing that even three underworld deities failed, Yang Chengzi was shocked. Though he was a priest, not a sorcerer, he knew underworld deities—commanders who quelled chaos in the netherworld.

Their power didn’t rival the divine thoughts of Daoist ancestors, but only because Daoist arts harnessed pure energy, countering ghostly powers—a fundamentally unfair comparison.

Ghosts versus ghosts had no such restraint. If three underworld deities couldn’t defeat the ghost, then…

Yang Chengzi felt uneasy. Still, the lives of the local people were at stake; he couldn’t ignore it. He shoved Wei Wudao aside.

“Are they all dead?”

Wei Wudao, knocked sprawling, quickly sat up. “I—I don’t know. When I left, the deities were still possessing them, destroying the tomb’s pillars. If they didn’t escape, they’re likely crushed by falling stones.”

Yang Chengzi glanced at the tomb. “Lead the way—let’s check below. If there’s a chance, we’ll rescue them. The tomb chamber collapsed, but the corridor should be intact. If they made it to the corridor, there’s hope.”

Wei Wudao, terrified at the prospect of returning, shook his head. “No, no, I won’t go. I never want to enter that tomb again. Go yourself if you must.”

Yang Chengzi glared at him, murder in his eyes. If not for this man robbing graves, the monster below would never have been released. At least, he himself would never have encountered it. Now, thanks to them, disaster loomed for the local people—untold suffering and countless deaths. The rage made him wish to end Wei Wudao right there.

Seeing Yang Chengzi silent, Chen San stepped in, grinning at Wei Wudao.

“You’re a priest—you mustn’t stain your hands with this kind of blood. This man released something unspeakable; he deserves death. I’m no priest or monk, so I have no mercy. Killing someone here in the dead of night—no one would know.”

He picked up a palm-sized stone, weighed it in his hand, and nodded at Wei Wudao.

“This will do. If one blow isn’t enough, don’t blame me for a few more.”

Yang Chengzi didn’t stop him, only stared coldly at Wei Wudao.

Wei Wudao, seeing Chen San’s intent, crawled to Yang Chengzi’s feet, clutching his leg and begging, “Master, don’t kill me—spare my life. I’ll take you down, whether they’re dead or alive, I’ll lead you.”

Still angry, Yang Chengzi kicked him toward the tomb. Wei Wudao nodded frantically, scrambling toward the entrance. In a blink, the three disappeared into the tomb.

Once inside the main corridor, Chen San and Yang Chengzi were stunned. The eternal lamps hadn’t extinguished despite the chamber’s collapse, nor was there any sign of disturbance. At the corridor’s end, two men lay prone, unconscious.

They rushed over; another man lay behind them, hidden by the wall leading to the left chamber. Only upon approaching did they see him.

Yang Chengzi surveyed the corridors. “Drag them outside. I’ll check inside for the current situation.”

Wei Wudao nodded, grabbing Ma Zhong’s feet and dragging him out. Chen San swallowed his words, hauling Tu Sanguang out as well.

Yang Chengzi quickly assessed both corridors, sensing the ghostly energy coming from the left, so he ventured that way. After a few steps, he found the passage blocked by stone and earth, unable to see within. He could only withdraw and wait for the monster to emerge, dragging Wang Kui out as well.

Each man was pulled from the tomb. Wei Wudao slapped Ma Zhong’s face, but Ma Zhong didn’t respond.

Yang Chengzi checked Wang Kui’s breath—he was dead. He examined Wang Kui’s eyes, noting the blood traces along his meridians, and frowned. “He’s dead. His eyes are hollow, his soul gone—death by soul loss. The other two should awaken after a few hours’ rest.”

Wei Wudao panicked. “What? Dead? He was possessed by an underworld deity and escaped the tomb. How could he die?”

Yang Chengzi glanced at him. “Ask the underworld deity you worship. Now’s not the time for this. The monster in the pit may soon break free. If the Master can seal him inside, all may be well. If not, the devastation here will be your responsibility.”

“We only wanted some burial goods—who could have known…”

“Enough. Move them elsewhere, find a place to hide. Chen San, we’ll wait for the Master, then descend into the pit.”