“San You, what did you pull out of the well?”
Fu Sang was standing with his back to Huo Wei, and the light was dim. She craned her neck to look over, but could only make out that he was holding something long and black.
She couldn’t see what it was exactly, but the blood energy radiating from it made Huo Wei nauseous even from this distance.
‘This thing really feels ominous and sinister.’
“You’re really bold because of your skill, but could you not just grab everything with your bare hands? What if it’s dangerous?”
Seeing that Fu Sang didn’t respond and didn’t move, Huo Wei called out again.
Before her voice faded, a sudden gust of wind arose. It wasn’t cold, but it gave Huo Wei goosebumps all over. At the same time, the Weeping Soul Coin at her waist suddenly went wild.
Something was coming!
“…San You!!!”
Huo Wei’s short hair was whipped into disarray by the wind. Just as her vision was obscured by strands of hair, a red figure suddenly flashed past her eyes.
A second ago, all Huo Wei saw was the formless, colorless wind.
But as this wind crossed some invisible line, as if passing through a barrier, a ghostly figure in crimson robes with hair like a waterfall materialized out of thin air, dragging the iron chains at its limbs as it brushed past her. Along with it came a yin energy so pure and so terrifying unlike anything Huo Wei had ever felt before.
She didn’t get a clear look at the ghost’s features, only heard a roar that made her scalp prickle.
Humans and ghosts didn’t share a common language, so Huo Wei didn’t know what that roar meant. She only instinctively felt danger.
But Fu Sang knew.
It was Qi Changying shouting:
“Don’t touch it!!!”
Fu Sang turned around.
He found that Qi Changying’s eyes had turned completely blood-red, his hair and robes whipping wildly in the wind. The oppressive pressure of a Crimson Evil rained down like needles…he had lost control.
Because he had touched this thing in his hand, this ghost wanted his life.
Fu Sang reacted quickly. He gripped the long nail tightly, and the Ghost Blood Whip coiled around the snake-bone object as per his will. With a hard pull, the red cord that had bound the nail snapped, and Fu Sang held it fully in his hand.
If he guessed correctly, this well, the blood of some unknown person in it, and the long nail in that blood together formed the array eye of the entire Seven Watch Blood Crying Prison formation.
A formation as ferocious as the Seven Watch Blood Crying Prison, that uses life and death as its foundation, would naturally not have gentle materials as its activation.
Since the suppressed ghost was Qi Changying, the objects to set up and activate the formation had to be connected to him. So Fu Sang boldly speculated that this Sin-Bearing Well contained Qi Changying’s own blood, and the ritual tool that had been pinned at the bottom of the array eye, soaked in that blood for a thousand years, could naturally restrain the thousand-year fierce ghost before him.
Fu Sang tightened his grip on the long nail and thrust it back at Qi Changying!
In that instant, whether it was his imagination or not, the icy temperature of the snake-bone nail seemed to spread along his skin and grow into his very bones.
Fu Sang didn’t have time to examine the strange sensation, because the next second, the sharp tip of the long nail wounded the Crimson Evil before him.
It pierced through his palm and dug deeper, carving a deep black gash along his wrist and forearm.
Living people, even spirit masters, can’t easily wound a spirit’s body, because underworld spirits are spiritual entities. They were already dead, so sharp weapons naturally can’t harm them.
Strictly speaking, what flowed from their wounds wasn’t blood either. These dark black fluids, if anything, could be considered the resentments accumulated during their lives and after their deaths.
Grief, sorrow, anguish, hatred… countless negative emotions accumulate, reforging new flesh and blood after death, making spirits hard to harm and never to bleed from wounds again.
There were only two situations that could directly damage their spiritual bodies; self-harm by the spirit itself, or, as in this case, using a ritual tool deeply tied to the ghost’s own soul.
In the latter case, what actually wounded the ghost wasn’t the tool itself, but the ghost’s obsessions, emotions, and bonds that it carried.
Now that Qi Changying was wounded, black blood splattering from his arm, it proved Fu Sang’s guess was correct. This tool in his hand was indeed specially made for Qi Changying by someone a thousand years ago, refined for a full millennium, and now had become the only weapon that could be used to kill this ghost.
After all, the Seven Watch Blood Crying Prison couldn’t just keep harming people while suppressing the ghost forever, everything had to come to an end eventually.
For instance, using his own blood to forge a nail that could end him completely.
Fu Sang himself had no particular prejudice against Qi Changying’s identity as a Crimson Evil. Although he was a legendary fierce ghost of the highest rank, Qi Changying has been clearheaded and normal from the moment they met until now. He had no reason to insist on his death… that is, if Qi Changying hadn’t just lost control and attacked him.
Whether to kill him or not lay in a moment’s decision. Once decided, there was no room for hesitation, which is why the strike just now had been delivered with all his strength.
Now that the snake-bone nail had drawn blood, he was about to urge the Ghost Blood Whip to restrain Qi Changying’s movements. But before he could act, a chill suddenly spread across the left side of his face, and his vision blurred slightly, making him instinctively close his eyes.
After a moment’s pause, Fu Sang realized it was Qi Changying’s splattered, ice-cold blood.
The chill spread not only across his face but also grew into his eye.
No one had ever emphasized that a ghost’s blood would harm a human, so this should have been a completely harmless little incident.
But at this moment, that chill burrowed into Fu Sang’s left eye, tearing out an excruciating, bone-deep pain.
“Urgh!”
Fu Sang couldn’t help but let out a muffled groan.
He was no stranger to pain and had a pain tolerance far beyond that of ordinary people. Yet even so, the pain from his left eye made his whole body stiffen, cutting off even his originally fluid offensive.
Things were not looking good.
If nothing unexpected happens, Qi Changying would immediately seize this fatal flaw and turn into the blade that took his life.
Fu Sang had never cared much about life or death.
He didn’t care if he died. He only hoped Huo Wei would be clever enough to run fast and not lose her life here with him.
Countless chaotic thoughts raced through Fu Sang’s mind. But as time passed, what awaited him was not death.
The fierce ghost that had been radiating killing intent just a second ago suddenly calmed down, like ice being poured into boiling water. The restless, seething yin energy in the air gradually subsided.
At the same time, the pain from the Crimson Evil’s blood shot through his body like an electric current, traveling from his left eye into every bone. The snake-bone nail slipped from his hand, and he could no longer stand, involuntarily dropping to one knee.
Seeing a crimson robe hem approach, Fu Sang clutched his left eye and subconsciously looked up with his remaining right eye.
He saw Qi Changying standing before him, hair and robes fluttering. The wound he had carved on his arm was still bleeding, black blood slowly trickling down his pale skin, the wound healing bit by bit.
Before the pain numbed him completely, Fu Sang also saw the blood-red in Qi Changying’s eyes fading away, returning to a lifeless, gray-white.
After that, the scene before his eyes suddenly flickered, as if he had been in the gloomy Black Mountain Pass just a second ago, then the next second shifted to somewhere else entirely.
That was…
A clear sky.
Winter.
Warm sun.
…It must have been some winter day, because the sunlight felt warm on his skin, yet the wind that blew against his heart was cold.
The mountains in the distance looked somewhat familiar, but their hues were different from what he had seen.
Images overlapped, flipping one after another, like frozen frames connecting into a complete motion.
Then, his line of sight shifted slightly, looking downward.
It was an ordinary little village, but the scene seemed chaotic.
Someone was killing.
There were several people, killing a group of people.
Countless corpses lay on the ground, the earth dyed dark red by their blood. The killers wore black armor and wielded broadswords. The slain wore coarse clothes with narrow sleeves, tears and snot streaming down their faces, their expressions filled with pain and despair.
The armor was the standard issue of the Chao-Su soldiers.
Looking at the civilians’ attire, the timeline should be the Li Dynasty.
Qi Changying’s blood had splashed into his eye.
So now, what he was seeing was Qi Changying’s memory?
That made sense.
The scenes before his eyes flickered repeatedly, like static on an old TV with a bad signal.
Fu Sang felt dazed. By the time he came back to his senses, a figure had appeared before him.
It was a Chaosu soldier, standing right in front of him, his blood-splattered face twisting into a sinister grin as he raised his arm high.
But the person in the memory didn’t panic, didn’t dodge, and didn’t even blink.
If nothing unexpected here, the soldier’s broadsword would sever the memory owner’s neck in five seconds at most, turning him into another cold, mutilated corpse.
But life is full of surprises.
Because before that, an arrow flew in, piercing the soldier’s sword-wielding arm with great accuracy.
Fu Sang heard the sound of horse hooves behind him.
The memory owner was slightly taken aback, finally showing some reaction. He turned his head to look in the direction the arrow came from.
He saw a figure in crimson.
It was a young man holding a halberd and dressed in a crimson outfit, his ponytail rising behind him in the wind.
He dismounted and strode straight toward Fu Sang’s direction.
Fu Sang was slightly dazed.
He recognized that the young man in crimson was Qi Changying.
At that time, Qi Changying looked only thirteen or fourteen, his features green and youthful…similar yet different from the Crimson Evil he had seen.
They were similar in outline and features, but different in that back then, Qi Changying’s skin still had the rosy color of the living, his pupils were the deep black of ordinary people, and the right side of his face lacked the Ten-Thousand-Deaths-Without-Reincarnation rune that had tormented him for nearly a thousand years.
Dressed in red and riding a white horse, he was full of vigor and in high spirits.
“Kid, are you hurt?”
The memory owner kept staring into Qi Changying’s eyes, so Fu Sang could clearly see that Qi Changying’s expression shifted slightly in an instant. Then the scene abruptly turned, as if he had been pulled into someone’s embrace.
He caught a faint, delicate fragrance, like lilies, that seemed completely out of place in this setting.
And when the view steadied again, it was Qi Changying raising his arm to shield him.
Qi Changying’s beautiful crimson outfit was torn, and some weapon had carved a long gash on his arm.
Something splashed onto the left side of his face, making the memory owner instinctively close his eyes.
From that moment on, illusion and reality overlapped. The left eye no longer seemed to hurt, replaced by a faint sensation of warmth and soreness.
Later, Fu Sang realized that he had been splashed by Qi Changying’s blood once again.
Only this time, the blood was warm.
