Chapter Fifty-One: Dealing With

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“Why didn’t the yaksha leave the pass token in the beast ring’s mouth?!” The rakshasa, with red hair and green eyes, stared in astonishment at the fanged, gaping jaws of the beast ring, which kept opening and closing with nothing inside.

“Should we put the ring back in its mouth?” Duan Lingqi glanced at the two round rings that had fallen to the ground. He picked them up, and before the rakshasa could answer, he took the initiative to place one by the beast ring’s fanged mouth.

Snap, snap.

Fortunately, Duan Lingqi withdrew his hand quickly—otherwise, not just the two rings, but even his dragon claws would have been pulverized.

“The Ghost Gate Order has already been shown to it. Now, this mansion is as good as the Gate of the Dead. Without the pass token in the yaksha’s hand, there’s no way through.” The rakshasa gestured toward the plaque hanging above the residence.

At some point, the half-hanging plaque on the dilapidated mansion had transformed into a twisted, monstrous face with exposed fangs, crouching along the lintel as if its very body was the house itself.

Meanwhile, the nailheads upon the vermilion doors had become surging waves, and above the sea floated a solitary island.

“Sangyu Island?” Qu Hancheng, noticing the transformation of the vermilion doors, exclaimed in surprise.

He had once stood at the prow of a great sea-crossing vessel and witnessed Sangyu Island in its entirety. The image on the door matched it exactly, down to the swaying trees and shifting features—almost as if the island were still alive.

“But what should astonish you isn’t this,” Lin Lan interjected, turning around. His deep blue eyes narrowed as he looked toward the depths of the rising sandstorm, where the king of ghosts emerged. “It’s the ghost king lurking behind us, shrouded in soul-stealing, spirit-snatching Netherwind sand.”

This ghost king had two heads and four arms, with a pair of blood-red wings sprouting from its back. One head, with red hair and fangs, upturned nostrils, and hideously stretched lips, was unmistakably that of a yaksha, while the other was blue-faced, scaled, with deep-set eyes and a blunt skull.

Each of its four arms wielded a weapon—blade, axe, halberd, and sword—each blade wreathed in a black, baleful aura.

“What does the pass token look like?” Su Yuanbai asked calmly, his gaze fixed on the enraged ram-headed rakshasa, not bothering to look back at the ghost king behind him.

“It’s the bronze-green key that Chun, the registrar, handed to the yaksha. Turn around and you’ll see it.” The rakshasa bared his own fangs and glared maliciously at the ghost king emerging from the sandstorm. If he wasn’t mistaken, the yaksha had already been devoured by this ghost king.

Su Yuanbai finally turned slightly and saw, lodged in the hollowed chest of the ghost king, the bronze-green key.

“To command the Netherwind, rule a hundred ghosts, and devour the yaksha—this evil ghost king from the realm of hungry spirits will be no easy foe,” Lin Lan said, his voice heavy with foreboding.

He hailed from Chaoyuan Monastery on Mount Pingdu, whose archives were rich with knowledge of the underworld. With a glance, he recognized the origins of this ghost king.

Hiss—

A black axe was hurled from one of the king’s arms, but before it could strike the group at the mansion’s gate, the monstrous face crouched above the lintel snapped it up in its jaws.

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“Looks like we’re safe here,” Qu Hancheng said, peering up warily at the black axe caught in the fanged jaws.

“But we can’t leave, either,” Lin Lan murmured, glancing down at the wound that pierced his chest. Around the cut, the flesh was already beginning to fester, and the yellow earth piling atop his black robes made breathing difficult.

His time was running short.

Lin Lan pressed his forefinger to his lips and bit down, drawing blood. Instead of trickling drops, the wound spurted an exaggerated stream.

“Why is his soul bleeding?!” Qu Hancheng gasped in shock.

All the time they had spent in the underworld, no matter what injuries they suffered, only gas or wounds appeared—never any liquid, let alone crimson blood.

“The Daoist arts of Chaoyuan Monastery are a bit different,” Xi Chunxue said, watching Lin Lan descend the steps.

The blood gushing from Lin Lan’s finger didn’t fall to the ground; instead, it coagulated and twined into a scarlet thread.

“Palace of Retribution, Northern Nether Capital—charged with correcting injustices, presiding over judgments and punishments.” Lin Lan intoned devoutly, his soul now shrouded in a faint black light, not the heavy, murderous aura that wreathed the ghost king’s blades.

The Netherwind sandstorm not only failed to shake Lin Lan’s soul, it clung to that faint black light, imbuing it with the force of the Netherwind.

Any evil spirit that approached was not aided by the sandstorm; rather, it was scoured to oblivion by the winds.

“To cut off greed, dissolve desire, transform stubbornness to goodness, turn evil to benevolence.” With a flick of his finger, Lin Lan whipped the scarlet thread at several evil spirits unaffected by the sandstorm. Struck by the thread, those spirits spun around and hurled themselves at the ghost king.

But the ghost king was no easy prey. With four arms moving as one, it cleaved one spirit in half with a blade, skewered three more with its halberd, and impaled another with its sword. Each motion was fluid and unstoppable, each weapon wielded with masterful technique.

After slaughtering the evil spirits, the king didn’t bother flinging them aside. Instead, it fed the corpses to its dual maws, tearing and swallowing them whole.

Its once ten-foot-tall form swelled even larger, and the black aura swirling around its weapons grew denser.

The sandstorm howled and raged, completely shrouding the king’s form, making it impossible for Lin Lan to track him.

Lin Lan’s piercing blue eyes could not be harmed by the storm, but his sight was still sorely hindered.

“Damn!” Suddenly, Lin Lan realized something else. If the ghost king held the pass token and the Ghost Gate Order had already been used, it could pass through the gate!

Just as he turned, the sandstorm surged violently, its winds and grit barring his retreat.

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And just as Lin Lan suspected, the evil ghost king, hidden within the sandstorm, had already emerged at the mansion gate.

“I thought just making it to the world of the living would be a stroke of fortune, but now I get to devour a few more choice souls to perfect my ghostly form!” The two heads and four eyes of the ghost king gazed hungrily at Xi Chunxue and the others standing before the vermilion doors. Its tongue snaked out to lick its lips, and the blade, sword, and halberd in its arms fell with sudden violence.

Its free hand did not remain idle, either, grabbing at a seemingly oblivious man before it.

That man was Su Yuanbai.

“Give me the pass token,” Su Yuanbai said calmly, meeting the ghost king’s gaze.

“You? You dare…!” The ghost king intended to crush this insolent fool’s bones to dust and let him taste terror—only to find it couldn’t crush him at all!

Both heads, all four eyes, fixed on the handsome man, who stared back with eyes as black as ink.

“If I can’t crush you, then I’ll eat you!”

“Then I’ll take it myself.” Su Yuanbai frowned slightly, glancing down at the bronze-green key in his hand, stained with lingering ghostly energy. He clearly disliked the aura it carried.

So he handed the bronze-green key to the stunned rakshasa.

“Open the Gate of the Dead. We’ve lingered here long enough,” Su Yuanbai said evenly.

The ghost king’s four eyes darted to the key in the rakshasa’s hand, and the blood-red wings on its back began to beat furiously.

Escape!

But its body refused to move, and the world began to spin.

Thud, thud.

Both heads tumbled to the ground and rolled.

The ghost king saw a body with a gaping hole through its chest, riddled with cracks like a spider’s web. The arm that had seized the handsome man had exploded, flesh and bone scattered.

With a soft snap, the blood-red wings on its back dropped to the earth like withered autumn leaves, and its massive form shattered like a broken porcelain jar, scattering in all directions.

Its consciousness faded, slipping into darkness.