Chapter 70:
The Ghost King Emerges – The Occupant of the Coffin Had Awakened…
“If any vengeful spirits want retribution, they can come to me. I can handle it,” Jiang Wan said. “I don’t confess guilt, only accept punishment. But before that, I have one more thing to do.”
She looked at Chen Henian. “Your wish hasn’t been fulfilled yet. Now that we have what we need, you can go. Only I can wield my sword, but I’ll accompany you.”
“Then you should leave now,” Zuo He said, taking off his backpack and retrieving a small, cylindrical object, like a signal flare or a firecracker, pulling the red string at its base, a shower of sparks erupting into the sky, a golden burst against the dark clouds.
“My sect will arrive tomorrow, I’ll explain everything to them, but you can’t stay here. I’ll take care of the aftermath.” He handed the backpack to Chen Henian. “I know the perfect place for them, better than anywhere else. The Tianyin sect, Hu Busun’s sect. She has many female disciples, and she’s a righteous warrior. They’ll understand each other’s pain, offer comfort and support. And the ghost control technique is a branch of yin magic, if they wish to continue their cultivation, the Tianyin sect can provide the foundation. You can decide their future later.”
It was the best solution. Jiang Wan nodded gratefully, bowing to Zuo He.
Chen Henian slung the backpack over his shoulder. “Then we’ll be going.”
Zuo He nodded, pointing towards a path. “Follow this path, it leads to the main road.”
Chen Henian couldn’t drive. They had to walk, a long journey, their pace swift, hoping to reach town by sunrise, their feet sinking into the mud, their shoes soaked, their clothes damp, the cold wind chilling them to the bone, their bodies burning with exertion.
He was covered in dirt, as if he had rolled in a mud pit, but his expression was calm, his discomfort unvoiced.
Jiang Wan carried the heavy sword, its weight like iron. They walked for miles, reaching town as the sun rose, drying their clothes and hair. They changed at the hotel, then found a carpenter to make a wooden box for the sword, lined with leather, easy to carry. They skipped breakfast, buying bus tickets, then train tickets.
They fell asleep the moment they sat down, awakened only by the train’s arrival.
Chen Henian wanted to return to his shop, to consult his master. He had the tools to break the array, but he didn’t know the method. But his master wasn’t there.
Disappointment and exhaustion etched his face. Zhou Xianzhi had left another note, carefully detailing the method for breaking the “Old Friend” array, three copies placed in different locations, his foresight anticipating Chen Henian’s questions.
But Chen Henian wanted more than just instructions, he wanted his master’s presence.
Zhou Xianzhi had taken him away from Dongpi Village, his home gone, his family dead. He was the last remnant of that village.
The journey back was long and arduous, sleep eluding him, his mind filled with memories, his gaze fixed on the passing scenery, his fingers tracing the faded red string. There were no roads in the mountains, only narrow paths, the undergrowth thick, the roots and vines snagging his clothes.
They were fortunate to find a small dirt road, a sign of human presence.
They met an old man who, mistaking them for students returning home, offered them a ride in his ox cart. They passed through his village, then continued on foot, the mountain path long and winding, Chen Henian’s memory of it faded, but he had a unique compass.
The closer he got to Yu Lin’s coffin, the brighter the red string glowed, guiding him to the foot of the mountain.
Night had fallen, the mountain shrouded in mist, its peak hidden.
“Manshou Mountain,” Jiang Wan said.
“Manshou Mountain?” Chen Henian looked at her, surprised.
“Hidden Dragon Lake lies beneath it,” she explained. “A place of triple yin, perfect for nurturing corpses and summoning spirits.”
“After my soul merged with my sister’s, I started having flashes of memory. This is where the High Priest found it, recorded in an ancient scroll.”
Chen Henian nodded, pushing aside the bushes. “Let’s go, we have to set up the array.”
The mist thickened as they climbed, the visibility poor, the red string his only guide, leading him to a barren tree, black birds perched on its dead branches.
He placed the longevity lock and the Hegemon Sword on the ground, then, with a stick, drew the array in the dirt, a closed circle, the stick broken into three pieces and placed in the center, his voice echoing through the silent forest. “Power of heaven and earth, spirit of the Bagua, break the illusion, reveal the path!”
He clapped his hands.
A gust of wind swirled around him, rising towards the sky, his hair whipping around his face, his eyes clear.
The array was complete. The mist dispersed.
The barren tree was gone, replaced by a lake, its surface dark and still. The red string on his finger pulsed, its warmth spreading through his hand, its end stretching towards the lake, a thin, red line disappearing into the depths.
Yu Lin’s coffin lay at the bottom of the lake, the string a tangible link. He knew what he had to do. He removed his jacket, tossing it onto the grass.
“You’re going into the lake?” Jiang Wan asked. “Do you know how deep it is?”
“No,” he replied, sliding down the slope. “But he’ll catch me.” He chuckled. “If he lets me drown, I’ll drag him out of his coffin and beat him senseless.”
His excitement, his urgency, was evident.
“I can catch you too,” she said. “And no one else can enter this lake.”
With Jiang Wan guarding the shore, he felt a sense of reassurance. He smiled, then plunged into the dark water.
He didn’t know how deep Hidden Dragon Lake was. The water was black, his descent reckless, his breath held, his eyes open, seeing only swirling darkness, the coldness numbing his skin.
The temperature was unbearable, the lake seemingly lifeless. The red string tightened around his hand, pulling him deeper, its strength defying the water pressure.
Strangely, the cold faded, his body adjusting. Holding his breath wasn’t enough at this depth, but he didn’t feel the need to breathe, the silence absolute, only the scent of rust, like blood, filling his nostrils.
He wasn’t like a normal person submerged in water.
The scent of the coffin, he thought, the red string connecting him to its occupant.
The water didn’t enter his lungs, the string swaying like a red carp.
He reached the bottom.
He saw it, a coffin standing upright, its base embedded in the mud, its surface covered in rust, the metal corroded, but still intact.
Just a single coffin, the darkness absolute, not a fitting resting place for an emperor. Yu Lin had slumbered here for a thousand years, a cold and lonely place.
He reached the coffin, his hair swirling around him, his hand touching the rusty metal, trying to pry it open, but the sharp edges cut his finger.
He recoiled, his blood dissolving into the water, but the thin red stream didn’t dissipate, flowing towards the coffin, seeping into the cracks.
He watched as familiar black mist emerged, engulfing the coffin, corroding the metal like acid, then a force pulled him forward, before he could even see inside.
He wasn’t agile in water, his movements clumsy.
His hand brushed against another hand, a human hand, its long, slender fingers like chopsticks, a familiar coldness, then warmth.
Their palms touched, the red string connecting them, a flash of light, entering his forehead, his eyelids growing heavy.
This wasn’t good. He forced his eyes open, looking at the open coffin, his gaze meeting a pair of dark eyes, darker than the lake itself.
The occupant of the coffin had awakened, and his soul was being pulled from his body.
He sank, then a hand reached out, pulling him into a dark embrace.
Ripples disturbed the lake’s surface, then vanished. Jiang Wan frowned, watching the water, then the sword in her hand trembled, and she looked up, the moon, now a crimson red, a sign of a powerful evil.
Had he succeeded? But he hadn’t emerged yet.
She paced along the shore, a strange sound reaching her ears.
Dong—dong—
Dong—!
Bells!
Zuo He, standing on the mountain, heard the sound coming from the summit, birds scattering from the trees, the bells ringing continuously, not just from the Tianyin sect, but also the Southern and Northern sects, their combined resonance reaching every Daoist practitioner, a summons.
The Tianyin disciples rushed down the mountain, and Zuo He followed, counting the chimes, fifteen in total.
He reached the foot of the mountain, finding Hu Busun gathering her disciples, their urgency a sign of a powerful enemy.
His eyes widened, realizing the bells’ significance.
An ancient warning:
The Warning Bell, fifteen chimes.
The Ghost King emerges, bringing chaos to the mortal world.
Whenever the bells sounded, the Daoist sects would gather.
Who was this Ghost King?
He already knew the answer.
