Chapter 103: A Difference

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Having already been overwhelmed by so many shocks, Xie Xiushi saw the scene before him and no longer had the thought to flee. His eyes rolled back, revealing the whites, and he collapsed straight down.

Su Yuanbai glanced toward the courtyard corner where the fainted Xie Xiushi lay, then lowered his gaze to Cui Ya, who was bowing deeply on the ground.

Each kowtow was not merely ceremonial; each impact was solidly struck against the earth, and with every bow, Cui Ya’s forehead bled vividly.

“Stop banging your head; it’s painful to watch. Which province is Nanxi Commandery in?”

Su Yuanbai asked calmly.

“Master Xian, Nanxi Commandery is in the Southern Wasteland Province,” Cui Ya replied, still bowed low, eyes fixed on the ground despite hearing Su Yuanbai’s instruction to stop bowing.

“Southern Wasteland Province? I recall Xi Chunxue and Xie Miaoan discussing it—it’s a land rife with demons and monsters. But the province closest to Canghai should be Yunhai Province. Why would I be in the Southern Wasteland?”

This awakening was different from the last time. Su Yuanbai retained every memory of what had happened on Sangyu Island and every word spoken by those on the island.

Naturally, he recalled the information about the Southern Wasteland Province.

It was from a conversation between Xie Miaoan and Xi Chunxue, deep within the mountainous underwater cave in Canghai’s depths, where they spoke about the Demon Training Institute and the twelve provinces.

“If Master Xian wishes to know how he arrived here, perhaps he should ask the man who fainted just now in the corner of the courtyard,” Cui Ya said, hands pressed to the ground.

“Hmm?”

Su Yuanbai murmured softly.

“This very man is the one who brought your resting place—the crystal coffin—here. He might know how you came to be here,” Cui Ya said respectfully.

Hearing this, Su Yuanbai approached the unconscious Xie Xiushi. His dark eyes calmly studied the black-skinned man who had fainted.

His three souls and seven spirits had been so frightened that his spiritual essence was unstable.

Su Yuanbai glanced at the fingers with which he had just crushed the red crystal fragments. On his fingertip was an imprint of a black goat with curved horns, surrounded by shimmering golden light.

“Has there been another change?”

Su Yuanbai whispered softly, bending down to gently press his fingertip, glowing faintly with golden light, onto Xie Xiushi’s Baihui acupoint.

Clang clang.

It was like the sound of chains vibrating.

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Su Yuanbai rubbed his fingertip where the black goat imprint with curved horns had faded away. The surrounding golden light had vanished without a trace, replaced instead by a delicate twin flower sprouting like a green bamboo shoot after rain.

One flower was red, the other white.

Though the twin flowers were no larger than ants, their full form was clear—exactly the otherworldly flower of the underworld.

Meanwhile, Xie Xiushi, lying rigid on the ground, began to undergo a strange transformation. A sudden flame ignited at his Baihui point, spreading like a vermilion bird across his limbs.

Fiery red veins traced his entire body, his dark skin becoming even deeper in hue, and a thick, curved goat horn sprouted from his forehead.

“That faint trace of divinity already grants him the divine authority of the Ghost Constellation’s Ghost Golden Goat?”

Su Yuanbai lowered his gaze, observing the changes in Xie Xiushi’s body. The divine aura he had sensed earlier on the Firehouse Ghost had now transferred to this dark-skinned man.

This was quite different from the previous time he had touched Duan Lingqi.

“So cold...”

Xie Xiushi slowly opened his eyes, a flicker of demonic red light flashing in his pupils. Suddenly, his body felt as if placed inside an icy abyss; the bone-chilling cold instinctively drove him to seek warmth.

He ignored even Su Yuanbai standing before him.

Cui Ya, bowing low, glanced sideways and saw a figure with goat horns wobbling toward her. Alarmed, she froze.

But the familiar figure was not approaching her—it was heading toward a burning side chamber, soon swallowed by the flames.

“Is Master Xian being controlled by a demon?”

Cui Ya raised her head slightly and asked Su Yuanbai, who had just come to her side.

“What’s all the commotion over there?”

Su Yuanbai did not answer Cui Ya’s question but instead cast a sideways glance toward another direction.

“That... is a fight between two martial artists,” Cui Ya hesitated before replying.

In her impression, the Daoists of the mountain held those from the valley in contempt, especially the martial commoners. The Daoists of Fufeng Temple had dismissed these martial folk as mere brute oxen who relied solely on strength.

Even when some Daoists were overturned and knocked down by these “brute oxen,” they maintained their haughty attitude.

Cui Ya did not know how this Daoist in the red crane robe before her regarded martial artists, hence her hesitation.

She had also seen Daoists who killed people—once accompanying her mistress.

The reason for killing was simply to protect the Daoist’s peace, even if the person only cried out in fear because demons had cruelly slain their family.

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But more often than not, there was no reason at all.

Whoosh.

The howling wind swept past, and in a daze, Cui Ya saw that Su Yuanbai’s figure had vanished.

“Impossible,” she murmured, standing up. Her eyes flickered with concern as she watched the direction where Gan Wen and Wu Yang were fighting, but soon her attention was drawn to a strange sight ahead.

The raging fire in the side chamber, which had shown no sign of abating, suddenly began to shrink. The figure engulfed by the flames slowly reemerged.

The eaves and green tiles of the outer courtyard’s grand hall were shattered, and the fight had long since moved from the roof to the courtyard.

The artificial mountain in the courtyard was overturned, soil scattered, flowers and grass tossed about.

Clang clang clang.

The constant clash of blades and clubs filled the air, shadows flickering. Only the deep furrows plowed into the ground and the splattered blood told of the ferocity of the battle.

“What use is cultivating a martial soul to embody yourself? You cannot compare to the fragment of demonic energy I possess!”

Gan Wen laughed mockingly at Wu Yang, who knelt on the ground.

His mouth stretched into a grin from ear to ear, his disheveled crimson hair flying wildly. The silver-patterned crescent blade in his hand was stained with blood. Despite the numerous wounds covering his body, a faint, eerie red glow around him grew stronger and more intense.

“Seeing you like this, I know clinging to martial arts was not in vain,”

Wu Yang said sternly, kneeling with his left hand gripping a staff. His eyes burned brightly as he stared at the wildly laughing Gan Wen.

Though Wu Yang’s gaze remained clear, the white ape phantom behind him was fading away, and his right arm had already been severed by Gan Wen. The exposed bone glistened beneath the dripping blood.

Not to mention the countless cuts on his body, like flesh being slowly carved away, had long since soaked his clothes crimson. Wu Yang knew that had Gan Wen not deliberately tormented him, he would have died under the silver-patterned crescent blade long ago.

Yet, even at this point, Wu Yang had no regrets.

“Martial arts? Now that demons reign supreme, what use is martial arts?!”

Gan Wen licked his sharp teeth with a long tongue, his towering figure—about thirteen feet tall—slowly advancing toward Wu Yang. For some reason, the rage rising within him had turned into a ravenous hunger.

He wanted to devour Wu Yang.