Lord Wangshu was fast asleep, wrapped in Life-Draining Silk as if sleeping in a soft cocoon. His expression was serene and peaceful, his gentle brows relaxed, as harmless as a baby.
Ji Ling took a step back, his tone changing. “How did he end up here?”
Lord Wangshu—one of the Three Primordial Venerables—was the highest-ranking of all immortals and deities after Lord Fusang. Above the ten thousand, below only one. Ji Ling and Bai Ze had only seen him from afar at a banquet in the Thirty-Three Heavens.
Back then, Lord Fusang sat above the nine-tiered heavenly court, while the Moon Lord, holding an ancient harp, knelt quietly below him. His silver hair fell like a cascade of white silk, just like a bright moon hanging high in the sky.
Now, how could such a bright moon be sleeping in an unremarkable little building in the dark underground?
Bai Ze’s expression was equally grim. He had thought the village’s strangeness was the work of ordinary ghosts, never expecting it to involve Lord Wangshu.
He said heavily, “If Lord Wangshu is involved, we can’t handle this. Take the people and withdraw. Report to Lord Fusang and let him decide.”
Ji Ling silently lamented his luck.
He had only been in the mortal world for a little over a month. First, he inexplicably got bound into a CP with an Evil God; now he’d dug up Lord Wangshu from underground. What rotten luck was this?
The puppets were still guarding the coffins, but compared to the true deity in the small building, the puppets were no threat. Ji Ling shifted his feet and slowly retreated.
Xie Yongci hadn’t seen what was in the small building. Seeing Ji Ling and Bai Ze looking like they were facing a great enemy, he also lowered his voice. “What’s wrong?”
Ji Ling said softly, “Hurry. What’s in here is beyond us.”
Xie Yongci hesitated. Ji Yao timidly poked her head out from behind her elder: “Brother… young master, we still have one more classmate we haven’t found.”
She had come with another male classmate.
Ji Ling paused at that, thought for a moment, and was about to speak when Bai Ze’s pupils abruptly contracted. The next instant, a harsh ringing exploded by their ears.
At first the sound of one or two bells swaying. Then a patch. Brass clappers struck brass bodies, linking into a wave of sound like the ocean tide.
Above their heads, the Life-Draining Silk trembled slightly. Thousands upon thousands of bells shook at once.
Ji Ling and Bai Ze turned their heads simultaneously, looking toward where the Life-Draining Silk connected.
The small building.
The wooden door creaked open, revealing a pair of long, slender hands. The next instant, Ji Ling found himself staring into a pair of eyes like cold moonlight.
Lord Wangshu’s eyes were pale, a shade between blue and purple, like the halo of a new moon. Seeing Ji Ling, his brows relaxed and the corners of his lips lifted, as if about to smile.
Ji Ling’s heart loosened. “Good. It looks like Lord Wangshu still remembers me.”
They had met at Lord Fusang’s banquet.
The fingers holding the Legacy Sound of Antiquity loosened, and Ji Ling put away the guqin.
Suddenly, the bells above him swelled in volume, shaking frantically once more!
Bai Ze shouted, “Ji Ling!”
Lord Wangshu raised his arm.
Behind him, countless strands of Life-Draining Silk pulled and strained. Moonlight poured from his fingertips like water, yet carrying the force of thunder. Ji Ling flew back two steps, rolled off the stone wall, and landed in a crouch. He summoned the guqin anew and looked up.
Lord Wangshu’s expression had changed.
When he had first seen Ji Ling, he had been warm and calm. Now, frost covered his face. He was cold to the extreme, his eyes deep as an ancient, eternal glacier. If a moment ago he had been like a living person, now he was like a razor-sharp sword—his only thought being to cut down everything before him.
And now, Ji Ling was right in front of him.
Bai Ze looked up at the dense mesh of Life-Draining Silk. He leaped into the air, fingers held together like a blade, about to slash at those threads.
A gust of air shot from his fingertips, piercing the sky—but the wind blade, sharper than a dagger, dissolved the instant it touched the Life-Draining Silk, vanishing as if swallowed by something.
Only then did Bai Ze see: the red papers hanging on the bells were not decorations. Each one was a talisman.
He cursed inwardly.
Under normal circumstances, these crude talismans would be easy to deal with. But now Lord Wangshu was pressing closer step by step, blade after blade of white light in his hands. They were suddenly stretched thin.
To use a gaming metaphor: Bai Ze was a learned support with poor combat ability, only able to land supplementary hits from a distance. Lord Wangshu was a true turret mage—a top-tier damage dealer, spamming AoE across the whole field.
Ji Ling could barely count as a damage dealer too—the True Solar Fire could also AoE. Unfortunately, the True Solar Fire burned indiscriminately. If he used it here, Xie Yongci and Ji Yao would be offered up on the spot.
White light surged across the field. This was clearly a pitch-black underground, yet it felt as if a bright moon had risen out of nowhere.
Wherever the moonlight reached, it was desolate, murderous, chilling to the bone.
Lord Wangshu stood still. Blades of air, cold and sharp, carved Ji Ling, Bai Ze, and Xie Yongci apart, forcing each of them to dodge alone, unable to support one another.
Among everyone present, Xie Yongci was the worst off.
Ji Ling and Bai Ze, though inferior to Lord Wangshu in combat, were both deities—their own safety was assured. But Xie Yongci’s cultivation base was the weakest, and he still had to protect the student behind him. He lasted less than a minute before he was battered, his trench coat covered in knife wounds and bloodstains.
Seeing moonlight slanting down, all escape routes sealed tight, a white blade splitting the darkness above about to pierce his brow, Xie Yongci squeezed his eyes shut.
In the blink of an eye, Ji Ling had no time to think. He pressed his lips together, the Contract emerging from his mouth, and rapidly recited that incantation.
In his capacity as Contract Master, he was summoning one of the Three Primordial Venerables—the Abyss Lord, Changming.
Bai Ze, at a diagonal position, saw everything clearly. His eyes widened and he blurted, “Ji Ling, do you want to die?! Are you insane?!”
One evidently deranged Lord Wangshu wasn’t enough—he was also summoning an Evil God? Were they afraid they wouldn’t die fast enough?
And besides, the Abyss Lord had only made the contract with him because circumstances forced it. Ji Ling’s job was to stand obediently to the side as the Evil God’s seal-suppressing accessory, and not to get in the Abyss Lord’s way when there was nothing to do.
But now, Ji Ling dared to claim the status of Contract Master, proactively using the contract to summon the Evil God?
If the Evil God got angry, would he tear everyone present limb from limb?
Bai Ze felt Ji Ling had lost his mind.
Ji Ling pressed his palms together and closed his eyes. “Please.”
A Contract Master could forcefully restrain the contracted party—but that was only when the master was stronger. Given the Abyss Lord’s status, Ji Ling couldn’t force him to act. He didn’t know whether the Abyss Lord would be willing to come.
If the Abyss Lord wasn’t willing, the situation here would become very bad.
Although Ji Ling had discovered that the Abyss Lord was different from what he’d imagined, he still didn’t know the Evil God’s true personality. And in this moment, all he could do was bet.
Bet on the gentleness of the Evil God who had rescued a cat that night. Bet that he would be willing to appear, willing to save two people he barely knew, willing to help Ji Ling resolve this crisis.
Ji Ling looked into the void.
The next second, within the water-like moonlight, a layer of pitch-black mist abruptly surged.
A cold white hand reached out of the mist and caught that wisp of moonlight directly.
The blade sliced through skin. Blood dripped from the palm. The moonlight dissipated without a trace. The Evil God emerged from the mist. The Abyss Lord stood before Lord Wangshu with his hands behind his back. His handsome, sharp brows were as gloomy as a deep abyss. He took the blow without changing expression, tilted his head slightly, and cast his wine-red eyes coldly toward Ji Ling.
Bai Ze: “…”
This great deity had saved two mortals, no mistake—but his expression was absolutely terrifying. Bai Ze couldn’t tell for a moment whether he’d come to help or to hang Ji Ling up and beat him. He stared blankly at the Abyss Lord, his lips quivering slightly, countless pleas flashing through his mind.
—The kind that showed weakness:
“Your Excellency, Ji Ling is young and doesn’t understand things. He summoned you just to play around.”
—The kind that threatened:
“Your Excellency, if you kill Ji Ling, the seal transfer will fail, and you’ll have to go back to staying under Goddess Mountain.”
—The kind that begged:
“Your Excellency, please be magnanimous and spare Ji Ling’s life!”
But before he could get a word out, the Abyss Lord’s gaze moved away from Ji Ling’s face. His expression was cold and calm, as if today were just an ordinary day—as if Ji Ling hadn’t inexplicably summoned him into the depths of the earth, as if he hadn’t inexplicably faced off against Lord Wangshu, as if the moonlight hadn’t cut his palm open.
Ji Ling unconsciously pressed his lips together and clutched the hem of his clothes.
For no reason, he was a little nervous.
When he had made the contract with the Abyss Lord, his own requirement was not to harm ordinary people, while the Abyss Lord’s requirement was that Ji Ling must not use his position as Contract Master to pressure him. Now, Ji Ling had broken his word first—betrayed his promise, overstepped his bounds.
Lord Wangshu’s gaze also fixed on the Abyss Lord’s face.
He had no wits now, couldn’t tell north from south, didn’t recognize Ji Ling or Bai Ze. But instinct told him: the man in the black-purple robes before him was the strongest being in the field.
