Chapter 69:
Rebirth – Those Were Sounds of Sorrow, the Cries of Her Pitiful…
With the drawing of the Hegemon Sword, the earth trembled, the mountain shook.
The chains binding the ghosts shattered, and hands, pale and delicate, emerged from beneath the black veils, reaching for their throats, inhaling deeply, testing their newfound freedom.
The Jiang clan’s array was broken, the mountain, its energy corrupted by centuries of trapped souls, released from its prison.
The war horns sounded, and the mountain crumbled, the shadowy giants that had guarded it collapsing, their forms shattering, their power broken.
The ground shook beneath their feet, and the white snake, Xiao Bai, quickly coiled around Jiang Wan’s body and the Hegemon Sword, returning to Chen Henian’s side.
He and Zuo He climbed onto the snake’s back, its powerful body slithering down the mountain.
The red banner on the summit grew closer, like a wave of fire, the sound of horses’ hooves echoing through the valley, shadows descending, their hooves flashing, a ghostly army, a thousand strong, their black armor gleaming in the moonlight, their horses black as night.
The vanguard, their red capes billowing, their movements swift and agile, their backs laden with bows and arrows, Princess Zhaoping’s elite guard, the legendary “Mother Leopard” unit, their horses the fastest, their aim true.
Chen Henian and the others, carried by the snake, were surrounded by the ghostly warriors, watching as they unleashed a volley of arrows, their bows drawn and released in a fluid motion, the arrowheads burning with ghostly fire, streaking across the dark sky.
The arrows rained down on the village below, blue flames engulfing the houses, the rain unable to extinguish them, the fire spreading rapidly. The vanguard reined in their horses, their shadows like boulders, their formation shifting, their legs kicking their mounts’ flanks, clearing a path for the main force.
Princess Zhaoping, Jiang Wan, her sword raised, pointed towards the village.
The ghostly army charged, their battle cries echoing through the valley.
The Liany Mountains crumbled, the ghostly cavalry sweeping through the ruins, their shadows like a dark wind, the scent of blood and death filling the air.
The thunder of hooves, the flash of steel, the houses collapsing beneath their charge, Princess Zhaoping’s horse crashing through the palace gates.
A deafening roar, the ground shaking.
Hooves on rooftops, swords cleaving through wood and stone.
“Kill,” the ghosts’ voices, cold and merciless, their blades flashing, blood staining their armor.
Chen Henian couldn’t hear the villagers’ screams.
The Jiang clan’s palace was destroyed, crushed beneath the horses’ hooves, the villagers buried beneath the rubble, their bones broken.
The ghosts’ swords fell, heads rolling, the children’s screams, their faces contorted in terror, the flames consuming the grotesque wooden dummies, turning them to ash.
The fire would cleanse this cursed land, the earth reborn from the ashes!
The rain stopped.
Chen Henian witnessed the destruction, the ghostly army tearing down the walls of oppression.
“You got what you wanted,” he thought, looking at Jiang Wan.
If she could see this, she would laugh, a triumphant laugh, savoring every moment, the sounds of battle, the cries of her enemies.
But she was dead.
The firelight illuminated her face, pale and serene, a faint smile on her lips, her blood staining the Hegemon Sword, a white scar on her neck.
Zuo He, his heart aching, his eyes filled with unshed tears, looked at her lifeless body.
The black-veiled ghosts gathered behind her, their forms solidifying.
They murmured, their voices a mixture of grief and longing.
The Black Wraith, its master gone, its time in the mortal world ending, roared in anguish, circling above, unwilling to leave.
Chen Henian stood up, his voice echoing through the ruins. “Return to the underworld! Only then will you be truly free! Reincarnation will bring you new life! This is what she wanted!”
“Go.”
“Go…”
He lowered his head, his fingers forming a seal, his voice a soft chant, like a Buddhist monk in a storm, his eyes open, though deities were said to be blind, guiding them with his words, his mantra a farewell.
The black veils faded, the ghosts turning into shimmering lights, like fireflies, rising into the sky, disappearing into the darkness.
The ghostly cavalry lowered their swords, their movements ceasing, their forms still and silent.
Princess Zhaoping approached, her horse carrying her closer.
The horse stopped before them, and Chen Henian looked up, a gust of wind ruffling his hair, seeing only her eyes, dark and intense, behind the mask.
History claimed that Princess Zhaoping had killed the Crown Prince. If it was true, then this ghost had killed his past life.
But he felt no fear, no hatred, even after a thousand years, only a sense of acceptance. He had lost, his death a mere footnote in history, and so had she, her suicide a final act of defiance.
Her gaze was fixed on him, a warrior’s gaze, her presence commanding, even in death.
He met her gaze, their eyes locking, a thousand years collapsing into a single moment, no resentment in her eyes.
She exhaled, her gaze shifting, looking up at the dark sky. This wasn’t her home, a princess belonged in a palace, a general on the battlefield.
“My descendants have failed me, a disgrace to the Jiang Dynasty. But you, my successor, you haven’t disappointed me,” she said, her voice echoing through the ruins, her eyes, though hidden by the mask, seemingly smiling as she looked at Jiang Wan.
“Brave warriors of the Jiang Dynasty, we have vanquished the demons!”
The cavalry raised their swords, their cheers echoing through the valley.
“It’s time to go,” she said.
Her form began to fade, the ghostly army turning into dust, swirling around Jiang Wan, then coalescing into threads of light, entering her body.
Chen Henian looked down, seeing the wound on her neck closing, the skin knitting together, the color returning to her face.
Her lifeless eyes regained their focus, a spark of life returning, and she gasped, her neck moving, her lungs expanding, her body rising, her hand wiping the rain from her face.
Chen Henian and Zuo He stared at her, stunned.
She looked at the ruins, then at them, her gaze questioning.
She looked at her hands, her breathing ragged, then a laugh escaped her lips, a joyous, triumphant sound.
She picked up the Hegemon Sword, her fingers caressing the familiar blade, a smile on her face, like greeting an old friend. “We meet again, old friend.”
Her eyes hardened, her gaze turning to Chen Henian and Zuo He. “Did either of you cry for me when I died?”
They both pointed at each other, neither speaking.
“I’m reborn, aren’t you surprised?” she asked.
She knew she had died, and in those twenty minutes of death, she had seen a lonely sword.
Seasons changing, the sword trapped on the mountaintop, the spirit within hearing the cries of her descendants.
Those were sounds of sorrow, the cries of her pitiful descendants.
She should awaken, she had to awaken.
But she was just a trapped soul, no reincarnation, only an eternity of slumber.
A soul couldn’t cry, couldn’t rage.
But the injustice, the pain, had been too much to bear in silence.
She had acted, splitting her soul, a desperate gamble, one part returning to the mortal world, the other remaining in the sword, listening to her descendants’ cries.
So Jiang Shisan had been born.
When the two halves reunited, the spirit within the sword had restored her body, granting her a new life.
Reborn, she had rushed back to the village, leaving Chen Henian and Zuo He behind.
Only the courtyard where the nests were kept remained intact, the rest of the village in ruins, the red walls stained with blood, bodies scattered among the debris. Xiao Bai, having circled the village, confirmed that the Jiang clan, their palace destroyed, were buried beneath the rubble.
Only the children remained, huddled in the corners of the courtyard, their bodies bruised and bleeding, their parents dead, their legs trembling, their fear paralyzing them.
The ghostly cavalry hadn’t harmed them, but that didn’t guarantee their survival. Jiang Wan looked at them, her eyes filled with hatred, her grip tightening around the sword.
She turned to Chen Henian and Zuo He. “This is a family matter, please excuse yourselves,” she said, her voice colder than usual.
Her intentions were clear, and Zuo He said quickly, “I shouldn’t interfere, but there are other ways. I’ll inform my sect, they’ll take care of the survivors, the victims, they’ll be safe, they’ll…”
“She’s already made up her mind,” Chen Henian interrupted him. “She’s calmer than both of us.”
“Listen to me! This is about human lives!” Zuo He pleaded.
“Xiao Bai! Take him away!”
Chen Henian, ignoring his protests, gave the command, and the white snake coiled around Zuo He, its tail covering his mouth.
“This is your affair, we won’t interfere.”
“Do what you must,” Chen Henian said, turning away, leading Zuo He to a nearby rock, their backs to the courtyard.
Jiang Wan smiled, exhaling slowly, a strange calm amidst the excitement, the adrenaline coursing through her veins.
She walked towards the surviving members of the Jiang clan, her sword dripping blood.
She knew what she had to do, her gaze fixed on the children, their faces a mixture of fear and anger, their home destroyed, Jiang Wan the monster, the sword in her hand a terrifying sight, their bodies trembling, their eyes pleading for mercy, their desire to live a flickering flame.
But these were the children of demons, exploiters, they didn’t deserve mercy.
“Do you want to live?” she asked, her voice like ice. “You’re not worthy.”
She plunged the sword into a boy’s heart, her voice a roar. “The children of demons are demons!” She lifted another boy, smaller than herself, and slammed him against the wall, his head hitting the stone with a sickening crunch, his body going limp.
Those who tried to escape, she broke their legs, their screams echoing through the courtyard.
The nests emerged from their houses, their veiled faces turned towards the carnage, their silence a question.
“Kill them! Strangle them! Use your hands! Take back what was stolen! Inflict the pain they inflicted on you!”
Jiang Wan’s voice echoed through the courtyard, her actions a demonstration, her hands easily snapping a boy’s neck, even those taller and stronger than her, her sword piercing their flesh, leaving them writhing on the ground.
Her hands were covered in blood, her eyes cold and sharp as a blade.
The women heard the boys’ screams, their fear turning to something else.
She pushed the boys towards them, the two-legged ghosts now crawling on the ground, their legs broken.
A woman stepped forward, approaching a boy smaller than herself.
He was fifteen, he had chosen her as his nest.
She remembered him, his entrance into her room, the pain, the violation. She mimicked Jiang Wan’s actions, her hands closing around his neck.
He screamed and struggled, his hand striking her face.
She froze, the familiar sting of his hand, a source of fear, then Jiang Wan stepped forward, the Hegemon Sword severing his hand.
As the blood sprayed across her face, as his screams filled the air, something within her shifted, her grip tightening, her strength renewed, seeing the fear in his eyes, the pain.
Her face twitched, her lips moving, an unfamiliar emotion, a sense of release, as his body went limp, his struggles ceasing, his teeth biting his own tongue.
She continued to hold his lifeless body, a sound escaping her lips, a high-pitched, piercing sound, like a needle scraping against stone.
The other women followed, their voices rising, not in fear, but in triumph, their screams a release, their daughters watching, hidden behind their mothers, their memories of this night, of their escape, of their first breath of freedom, of their vengeance, forever etched in their minds.
Jiang Wan told them to tear off their veils, and they obeyed, some killing the remaining boys, others collapsing, their bodies wracked with sobs, their emotions, long suppressed, finally released, the pain and the joy intertwined, their souls awakened.
When it was over, Chen Henian saw bodies scattered across the courtyard, the youngest an infant, the oldest seventeen, as tall and strong as a man.
“They’ll nourish this land, eighty-eight in total,” Jiang Wan leaned against a rock, her voice calm, her heart still racing. “All the boys, five years and older, I killed them all.”
Her smile was serene, her eyes bright.
“Are you going to judge me?”
“No, you were right,” Zuo He said, his voice filled with pain. “No one can say for sure if those children would have changed. Only by eradicating them can we ensure these women won’t suffer again. I believe you did the right thing, but…”
“I understand, the laws of our world would have spared them, but I killed them,” Jiang Wan nodded, her eyes firm and unwavering, the blood on her sword still wet. “I don’t care what punishment I receive, I’ll accept it. I’ll go to Mount Jielü and face their judgment, I won’t make things difficult for you.”
Zuo He lowered his head, ashamed.
“You…” Chen Henian stared at her, his eyes wide with surprise, inhaling sharply.
He saw another image superimposed on hers, a more mature woman, her features sharp and angular, her gaze unwavering as she knelt before a high platform, her voice echoing through the courtyard.
A voice from above:
“Jiang Wan, you defied the imperial decree, murdered your brother, plotted treason, your crimes unforgivable! But in recognition of your past service, your body will remain intact.”
“Jiang Wan, do you confess your crimes?”
“I confess,” she replied, her voice calm.
A flash of steel—
The sword fell.
A voice from above, filled with amusement: “Farewell, Princess.”
“Damn you, Jiang Li, you’re nothing but a sickly dog, unfit to rule!” she cursed, then stood, picking up the sword, her gaze fixed on the platform, a sigh escaping her lips. “Brother, Zhaoping has failed you.”
Regret and sorrow filled her voice.
Brother.
Chen Henian heard the word, a pang of pain in his chest, the same pain he had felt when she had taken her own life.
