Chapter Six: The Mountain Town

Twilight unveiled its curtain.

In the lands governed by the Celestial Gate, as night fell, towns and cities shimmered with lights. Yet in regions outside their jurisdiction, dusk brought a suffocating tension and unease.

For in this world, ghosts abounded.

The Seven Levels of the Netherworld merely signified their ranks. Ch’i, Mei, Wang, Liang, Ba, Xiao, Kui… the Twenty-Four Wraiths.

These names arose from their abilities; each specter possessed unique powers, and their classifications followed accordingly. Some among them wielded such formidable strength, they could perfectly manipulate the thoughts and emotions of living beings, approaching the realm of divinity itself.

After all, even the mighty of the Divine Crossing Realm could not sway the hearts of men.

This vast world, with its myriad races, teemed with ghosts too numerous to count—many unrecorded, unknown. Danger reigned here; without cultivators, all would become fodder for these entities.

A carriage rolled through the night, lanterns hanging from its sides dispelling the surrounding darkness.

The horses were no ordinary breed: three-headed stallions, swifter by threefold than the famed blood-sweating steeds.

Inside the carriage sat four—three men and one woman; three elders and a youth.

After days of travel, the group eyed each other warily, their journey punctuated by intermittent coughs.

“The Celestial Gate is truly a blessing. Even in old age, we have a place to retire. Anhua Town, seventy years ago, was even awarded as one of the hundred most livable towns,” remarked the wrinkled elder on the left with a sigh.

The gaunt elder on the right frowned, “What nonsense is that? Though our years are waning, we ought to be useful! Would you have us spend our days with the old folks in town? That would diminish our immortal standing!”

The old woman sighed, “The waves of the Yangtze push forward, and the number of disciples is strictly managed. Aside from the Three Teachings, each may recruit thirty thousand disciples; the Nine Gates, only ten thousand. No more. If the Bureau of Immortal Nurturing finds out, who knows how many spirit stones they’ll fine us. In a few days, Elder Zhang’s three secular disciples will report. Whether we wish to leave or not, we must.”

“Ah, the realm of cultivation now belongs to the young. When I’m too old, perhaps I’ll open a tofu shop in Anhua Town.”

She glanced at the youth beside her, speaking earnestly, “I know your temperament—if you must rely on others, then do so thoroughly. Do not waste your days.”

Chu Tiange nodded awkwardly, cursing inwardly at the sect leader’s lack of decency.

The mountain town hid a bloody omen; for ghosts, a cultivator of the Mortal Bone Realm was a rare delicacy. Though these elders were aged, their vitality far surpassed ordinary men. Even the old woman could wield a broad axe with one hand.

Such elders, capable of brandishing axes, were favorites of ghosts.

The road stretched far—over six hundred li to Qingxuan City yet.

Mountain paths at night grew darker still; beastly roars and the rustling of trees echoed intermittently.

Chu Tiange closed his eyes, turning inward, summoning the star map as he meditated upon the Three Thousand Thunder Sword Technique.

This technique split into two realms: the first, drawing thunder into the dantian, condensing arcs of lightning with true energy; the second, transforming true energy into violet thunder, of astonishing power.

Primarily offensive, with slaughter as its secondary attribute, once mastered, its might was immense, concealing many profound mysteries.

Yet Chu Tiange had not gathered spiritual energy, unable to absorb the essence of heaven and earth to forge spiritual power. With his immortal bones as aid, he managed to gather a few faint arcs.

Beneath the stars, several afterimages flitted, swift as lightning—each one Chu Tiange himself.

Though unable to summon true thunder, the technique’s essence lay in its footwork.

Once perfected, three thousand forms would strike simultaneously; swords falling in relentless waves, enough to annihilate all enemies.

Now, with four afterimages, he could at least survive before the bloody fiend.

Immersed in his practice, oblivious to his surroundings, he only awoke when the forest echoed with incessant birdsong.

Inside the carriage, he found himself alone; the three elders were gone.

Alarmed, Chu Tiange hastily lifted the curtain.

Mist curled outside, and he saw a Taoist sitting at the front, guiding the three-headed horses.

“Where are they?” Chu Tiange, relieved to see the Taoist, inquired.

“They’ve gone to enjoy their retirement, of course. You thought they’d join you in the mountain town? That’s absurd. The Celestial Gate would never send frail elders to their deaths,” the Taoist replied.

“So they sent me to die instead?” Realization dawned on Chu Tiange—the elders’ talk of retirement last night had been quite literal.

“How much farther?”

The Taoist pointed ahead, “Over that mountain, and you’ll be there.”

Chu Tiange followed the direction indicated, gazing ahead.

In front, a towering mountain rose, coiled like a giant serpent, shrouded in mist.

“Huh? The mist here is much thinner…” Chu Tiange muttered, returning to the carriage to continue his meditation.

A month ago, a tide of ghosts swept through; Chu Tiange doubted only one bloody fiend existed. Only by strengthening himself could he hope to survive.

By noon, he ate a few prepared pig trotters and a goose leg. The young Taoist, having entered fasting, avoided common food as it hindered his cultivation.

Time passed swiftly; as the sun set, darkness enveloped the woods. The carriage finally crested the mountain, reaching its base.

The three-headed horses halted abruptly, refusing to move despite the Taoist’s urging. Their brown eyes narrowed, sensing a great terror.

“Damn, should’ve applied for higher-grade horses. Even if not seven-headed, five would’ve sufficed. Then we’d not arrive so late,” the Taoist grumbled, calling toward the carriage.

“Brother, get out. I’m hungry—let’s roast something.”

“Didn’t you say common food hinders cultivation?” Chu Tiange opened the curtain, surprised.

“I prefer roasting pills,” the Taoist smiled, dismounting.

A bonfire soon blazed. Chu Tiange took out the last goose leg.

The Taoist produced a pill, waved it over the fire, swallowed it, and then mounted a horse, detaching the carriage.

“Filial Son Town is three li up the mountain. You’ll have to go on alone; I must return and report.”

Without a backward glance, the Taoist rode off.

“Damn!” Chu Tiange watched his retreating figure, displeased.

The Taoist dared not enter the mountain town; surely, more than one bloody fiend lurked there.

Suddenly, the woods’ branches shook erratically, emitting eerie rustling.

A wave of oppression swept in, chilling to the bone.

Chu Tiange frowned, knowing something had locked onto him.

“Three Thousand Thunder True Technique!”

Wind stirred, tousling his hair. Without hesitation, Chu Tiange formed a sword with his fingers, lightning flashing at his fingertips as he pierced the void.

Instantly, five afterimages sprang forth, hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder, sprinting toward the mountain’s waist.

Of all strategies, positioning was paramount.

If one ran fast enough, moved nimbly enough, no ghost could seize him.

In his former life, Chu Tiange was a Divine Crossing Realm powerhouse, countless horrors falling to his blade. Yet until he returned to his peak, he must proceed cautiously.

Invincible when he must; cautious when he must. Otherwise, even with a divine artifact like the Heaven-Crafting Pearl, death would render all moot.

Now, Chu Tiange unleashed his full movement technique.

Lightning flickered like tiny insects, swirling about him, arcs crackling, snapping branches as they fell.

He sensed the bizarre aura behind growing fiercer, an invisible blade pressing against his back, sending a shiver through his heart.

He knew not to look back, nor to engage the Taoist; this was a moment of life and death.

“Chu Tiange, wait for me!” The Taoist’s voice lingered.

Chu Tiange’s heart sank, but he kept a calm face, quickening his pace, dragging his "companions" toward the mountain town. Their shadows flitted through the night like phantoms.

The woods at night brimmed with danger and riddles, every inch potentially hiding strange powers. Chu Tiange understood the taboos, refusing to look back or speak, fearing to provoke disaster.

The Taoist’s voice faded with the wind, seemingly giving up pursuit. Yet Chu Tiange remained uneasy, knowing this eerie conflict was far from over—merely a prelude to greater unrest.

He accelerated, wary and alert.

As he ran, Chu Tiange dropped a spark of lightning, its crackle echoing somewhere unseen.

Soon after, the Taoist’s blood-curdling scream pierced the night, chilling to the bone.

“Chu Tiange! Save me! Save me! Help!”

Chu Tiange pretended not to hear.

The cries waned, the oppressive feeling vanished.

Chu Tiange relaxed, his avatars dissipating, breath ragged, sweat beading on his brow—clearly exhausted.

The mountain town lay ahead.

At twilight’s edge, a cluster of lights pierced the encroaching darkness. Voices rang out, laughter and chatter. Oddly, the townsfolk seemed unconcerned by the bloody fiend.

Suddenly, a streak of blood appeared behind, staining his clothes.

Chu Tiange’s heart skipped. He spun around.

“Hehe, my dear, tell me—am I beautiful? Fifteen, to the bridal chamber. Wash clean, wear the shroud.”

A woman’s coquettish voice echoed in his ear.

Chu Tiange’s pupils contracted.

“My dear, let’s have children together—such a fine son—his head for me, his feet for you.”

A madwoman, her face hidden by tangled hair, clad in tattered opera robes, only her lips painted a garish red visible.

“Get lost!”

A stone flew, striking the madwoman’s forehead.

She shrieked, fleeing in terror into the woods.

“Thank you, elder,” Chu Tiange turned, spotting a grizzled old man nearby, and expressed his gratitude.

The old man’s skin was dark, brows thick, eyes large, a red tumor hanging from his neck. He grinned, “No need, it was nothing. That woman’s mad—married the town’s filial son, then lost her mind, even cooked her own child to eat.”

Chu Tiange paused in silence, sighing, “How tragic.”

“Heh, isn’t it just?” The old man laughed, “This late hour, young man, are you visiting Filial Son Town for family?”

“I’m seeking relatives. Do you know Zhang Sangui?”

Filial Son Town contained a Celestial Gate informant; Chu Tiange’s first task was to contact Zhang Sangui.

“Sangui? His house is at the east end of West Village. I’m Old Ma, I’ll take you there.” The old man headed toward town, offering advice.

“By the way, best not wander these days. That madwoman’s got her eye on you, she’ll surely come looking. Don’t leave Filial Son Town lightly, lest misfortune befall you.”

“Thank you for the warning, I’ll be careful,” Chu Tiange replied, following Old Ma, casting a glance behind—his gaze touched with a faint chill.

In the darkness, the madwoman watched him, eyes bloodshot.

For a moment, their gazes met. Chu Tiange’s pupils contracted; she seemed to mouth words at him.

He turned away, touching the jade bracelet on his left wrist. It felt warm, as if hinting at something.

He looked up at the sky.

The sunset bathed half the heavens in blood-red, an indescribable eerie atmosphere.

As Chu Tiange stepped into Filial Son Town, the lights, once bright, extinguished one by one.

Every house went dark, and the noise faded away.

A profound silence enveloped the town.

A strange discomfort gnawed at Chu Tiange; he sensed something would happen tonight.

With the lights gone, only faint moonlight guided him through the empty streets.

In this open street, he was an easy target for the bizarre.

Chu Tiange’s true purpose was to draw out the hidden bloody fiend, not merely avoid danger. If the fiend appeared, he could engage and await reinforcements.

But Filial Son Town felt far more perilous than expected, truly hiding grave dangers.

Old Ma walked in silence, leading him into an alley.

Chu Tiange hesitated, brow furrowing.

At a corner, Old Ma vanished. Deeper in the alley, a lone oil lamp burned bright, yet its glow seemed swallowed by the darkness.

From within came wailing and sobs.

Chu Tiange narrowed his eyes, slowly retreating.

In tales of terror, evil ghosts lurked in the dark, the living fell in deep alleys.

Suddenly, Chu Tiange stopped, body tense. The darkness grew thick and oppressive, a chill stabbing at him—something was approaching.

“To act, or not to act?” Chu Tiange hesitated, worried he might not subdue the anomaly in one strike.

As he hesitated, a cold hand lightly touched the back of his own.

“Chu Tiange, what are you doing wandering the streets alone at midnight? Didn’t I say I’d meet you?”

He turned to see a dwarf with awkwardly mismatched limbs, head tilted, eyeing him curiously.

“You… are Zhang Sangui?” Chu Tiange studied him.

“I’m Sangui. Come, I’ll take you home. It’s not safe outside at night,” the dwarf grinned, his pupils gleaming with a faint green light.

At that moment, Chu Tiange glanced at the dwarf’s feet—there was no shadow.