Chen Zhou walked around the corpse, extended two fingers, and lightly tapped on the charred corpse's ribs.
The touch was icy cold. The sound of his knuckles tapping was crisp, lacking any of the resonance that flesh or bone should have.
“It's hollow.”
Chen Zhou withdrew his hand, a thin layer of ash still clinging to his fingertips. “This is merely a residual illusion left behind here.”
Hearing this, Shen Liang was slightly taken aback. “Just an illusion?”
“Yes,” Chen Zhou nodded.
As he spoke, he looked up at the surrounding palace.
Raging flames surged between the pillars, heatwaves rolled upward, and thick smoke obscured most of the sky.
Yet Chen Zhou stood there without any discomfort. He felt no heat, nor did he smell the acrid, burnt odor of fire and smoke.
Everything seemed to be separated by a transparent membrane—real, yet devoid of actual physical touch.
He stepped down from the altar and reached out to touch the nearest burning pillar. His fingertips passed through the flames and the surface of the wooden pillar as if reaching into a phantom image.
“There is something wrong with this space.” Chen Zhou withdrew his hand, his gaze darkening.
Jian Huaishuang also tried to test the area. Paper snow drifted down from the sky, soon blanketing the entire palace.
“My perception is being heavily suppressed,” Jian Huaishuang said, frowning.
“When I extend my sword domain, it can only cover a range of about ten zhang. Anything further becomes blurry.”
Chen Zhou felt it too.
His Ghost Domain was compressed to an extremely small range within this illusory space.
“It's the influence of the formation,” Chen Zhou said calmly. “The rules of this space are maintained by a sub-array of the Myriad Ghost Array. It filters out external perception.”
Plague Rat looked up at the palace dome. “Then what do we do? This place looks huge. How are we supposed to find the formation eye?”
“Then we'll use the old-fashioned way and search it room by room.”
Chen Zhou unfolded his Ghost Domain. Instantly, the ground was blanketed in defiled earth. Countless bone hands struggled to claw their way out, and within a few breaths, he had summoned over a thousand Ghost Servants.
“Spread out and search,” Chen Zhou ordered.
The Ghost Servants immediately dispersed, marching off in all directions in a grand, sweeping wave.
Chen Zhou closed his eyes, sharing the vision of the Ghost Servants.
One Ghost Servant pushed open a slightly ajar vermilion door; another walked to the end of a corridor; yet another climbed to the highest point of the palace to look down from above.
There was nothing.
The vast majority of the buildings were empty, decorated only on the outside while their interiors remained a blurry void.
This feeling was just like being in a dream.
Chen Zhou was no stranger to this.
He had wandered through the dream interlayer with Little Pig too many times before. Most of those residual dreams parasitizing the cracks of reality were like this.
The master of a dream often only cared about the tiny patch of world within their line of sight.
Distant mountains were merely a backdrop of blue-gray ink. A face nearby would have nothing more than two black dots for eyes and a single curved line for a mouth, dissolving into blurry patches of color upon closer inspection.
In some dreams, an entire bustling capital city might not even have a single complete alleyway. The backs of all the houses were entirely unpainted blanks, like backdrop flats on a stage, only holding meaning when an actor stood in front of them.
This space seemed to be the same. It was not as large as one might imagine—just three main halls, two side halls, a corridor, and this altar. There was nothing else.
Chen Zhou opened his eyes, his gaze falling back onto the charred corpse.
The most eye-catching thing here was this mummified corpse. What if it was the formation eye of this place?
Chen Zhou walked forward again, observing it from different angles for a long while without finding anything special. Then, he reached out, gripped the corpse's right arm, and gave a gentle squeeze.
Crack.
The corpse's right arm shattered at his touch, crumbling into a shower of black powder that drifted down like burnt paper ash.
Since he couldn't be certain, it was safer to destroy it first.
But immediately after, the entire altar shook violently.
Buzz—
A dull vibration rose from the base of the altar. The ground trembled, and the burning palace around them shook along with it. Several charred beams crashed down from above, kicking up a cloud of ash as they hit the floor.
But the ash did not settle. Instead, it swirled in midair, gathering together and rapidly expanding and deforming to condense into blurry figures.
The figures were crimson all over, their skin completely peeled off to expose the dark red muscle fibers beneath.
They had no faces; where their features should have been was only a blurry outline of bloody flesh. Their sunken eye sockets were hollow, their mouths gaped open, and their limbs were twisted in bizarre contortions.
They crawled out from the ashes, shuffling step by step toward the center of the altar.
There were incredibly many of them, nearly filling the entire open space in front of the palace, completely surrounding Chen Zhou and his group.
“Don't panic,” Chen Zhou said, his voice steady.
He immediately recalled the skeleton Ghost Servants he had sent out.
Thousands of skeletons converged from all directions, forming a ring with interlocking bone arms around the perimeter of the ghosts.
Plague Rat also reacted swiftly, slamming both hands onto the ground. A gray-green toxic mist seeped from his fingertips, rapidly blanketing the ground beneath their feet.
However, the ghosts were completely unaffected by the plague. They also seemed to possess no consciousness, merely groaning as they crawled slowly toward them.
Chen Zhou's brow furrowed even deeper.
He couldn't sense the actual strength of these ghosts at all.
When his Ghost Domain reached out and touched those figures, it returned only a complete blank.
There were no energy fluctuations, no residual death qi, nothing.
Another illusion?
“Nü Tu Fu,” Chen Zhou called out.
Before his voice even faded, a silver-white figure shot out from the shadow behind him.
Nü Tu Fu's skeletal body flipped in midair, its wings unfurling as a faint silver light shimmered on the tips of its wings.
Then, it let out a sharp screech.
Soundwaves instantly exploded, rippling outward in a concentric ring.
Under the impact of the soundwaves, ripples washed over the surfaces of the ghosts before they shattered entirely, turning back into a flurry of black ash that filled the air.
The ash drifted for a moment, and the open space around the altar suddenly fell dead silent.
Chen Zhou watched the scattered ash slowly dissolve into the air, then gradually withdrew his gaze.
“As expected, it was also an illusion.”
Plague Rat scrambled up from the ground, brushing the dust off his hands. “What the hell is going on? Is this damn place entirely fake?”
Chen Zhou shook his head.
“Jiu'er's luck didn't work this time,” he muttered to himself in a low voice. “This fragment is not where the formation eye is located.”
He wasn't particularly disappointed. Luck was a fickle thing; it was impossible to hit the jackpot on the first try every time.
Besides, there were countless fragments within the Myriad Ghost Array, so picking an empty illusory space was only to be expected.
Chen Zhou turned around and recalled all his Ghost Servants, leaving only one behind to guard the area as a marker. He then said to the others, “Let's go. We'll try another one.”
Taotie had no objections—he was only responsible for following the Young Palace Master's orders. Naturally, Jian Huaishuang and Plague Rat had no objections either and quickly followed.
But when Chen Zhou looked at Shen Liang, he found him standing at the edge of the altar. His gaze was fixed on the spot where the flayed ghosts had dissolved, his eyes vacant as if he had lost himself in thought.
“Shen Liang,” Chen Zhou called out.
Shen Liang snapped out of it. Meeting Chen Zhou's gaze, he quickly composed his expression. “Young Palace Master.”
“What are you dazed about?”
Shen Liang hesitated. With the lesson of his previous attempt to hide things being seen through by Wu Gou, he didn't dare keep secrets from Chen Zhou anymore.
“It's actually nothing much.”
“This subordinate was just thinking about those flayed ghosts.”
“Their way of dying is too peculiar.”
Shen Liang carefully chose his words. “The Young Palace Master might not know, but ghosts with low cultivation or those who have just died will retain the state of their death.”
“Even though they are just illusions, that appearance was likely modeled after a real manner of death.”
Nearby, Taotie's chewing slowed down as he turned his head to look at Shen Liang.
Shen Liang paused, then added, “This subordinate doesn't know if I'm overthinking it.”
“But this kind of death is actually not very common.”
“Just as this subordinate prefers to drag people into the water to drown them.”
“I know a ghost who happens to love flaying people alive, torturing them to death, and then turning them into ghost slaves to drive at her command.”
Chen Zhou stopped in his tracks.
“Who?”
Shen Liang's expression became a bit complicated. He licked his chapped lips and whispered, “It's that ruthless, crazy woman, Hong Xiu.”
Chen Zhou recalled his brief interaction with Hong Xiu and asked, “Is Hong Xiu also from Southern Tang?”
Shen Liang nodded. “Yes.”
“When she was alive, Hong Xiu was a famous Courtesan Queen of the Southern Tang Music Registry, though this subordinate isn't quite sure how exactly she died.”
He quickly added, “And it's not just Hong Xiu. The Seven Evils rarely ask about each other's past lives.”
Taotie chimed in with a muffled voice. “Indeed. As for Skinny's past, I only found out about it during the Master's trial a few days ago.”
“For the past hundred thousand years, none of us were willing to bring up the events of our past lives.”
Shen Liang lowered his eyelids, silently agreeing with Taotie's words.
Chen Zhou glanced at Shen Liang's expression and didn't press further.
He understood that for these evil ghosts haunted by a hundred thousand years of obsession, their past experiences were like wounds repeatedly torn open. It was only natural they didn't want to talk about them.
“You did well. The clue you provided is very important,” Chen Zhou encouraged them, preventing the two evil ghosts from letting their thoughts wander further.
“However, this empty illusory fragment doesn't offer any more clues for now. Once Wu Gou transcends Hong Xiu, we can let her come and identify it herself.”
“Let's search elsewhere for the formation eye of the Myriad Ghost Array first,” Chen Zhou said.
Shen Liang hurriedly replied, “Yes.”
He followed the group forward. As he passed by the scattered pile of black ash, his steps faltered slightly before he quickly returned to normal, keeping pace with Taotie ahead.
The group left the palace space, passing through the gap in the gray membrane to return to the void where countless fragments floated.
Layer upon layer of space still loomed overhead. Chen Zhou silently glanced at the auspicious cloud above him.
“I hope Jiu'er blesses us. Let's choose the one next to it this time.”
With that, Chen Zhou chose another pitch-black fragment and took the lead, stepping inside.
The others followed close behind.
The moment they stepped into the fragment, the surrounding air instantly became damp and chilly.
Fine drizzle fell from the gray sky, landing on their bodies and bringing a very real chill.
Chen Zhou raised his hand to catch a drop of rain, feeling the slight coolness dissolve in his palm.
“It has temperature,” he said.
Jian Huaishuang felt it too. The paper on the surface of his paper armor was dampened by the rain, its edges curling slightly.
He reached out to brush the water droplets from his shoulder, murmuring, “Unlike the illusion in the palace earlier, the physical sensations here are very real.”
The rain grew heavier, forming shallow puddles on the bluestone pavement that reflected the dim light of the lanterns hanging beneath the eaves on either side.
Figures began to appear on the street.
These figures had bloated bodies and abnormally pale skin, their limbs swollen to a size larger than normal as if they had been soaked in water for a very long time.
Their movements were stiff and slow. Some hung their heads, while others stared upward, the rain beating down on their faces and running down their swollen eyelids and cheeks.
They walked aimlessly along the street, their sluggish steps splashing heavily in the puddles.
Standing in the middle of the group, Shen Liang looked up at the bloated figures, and his entire body suddenly froze.
He recognized them.
These were all people he had drowned—or rather, the people he had dragged into the water and suffocated during his years as a water ghost after his death.
He still remembered their expressions in the water: panic, despair, struggling desperately yet futilely, looking exactly like he did before his own death.
Shen Liang's breathing grew rapid.
He saw a woman. She wore a soaked coarse cloth shirt, her messy hair plastered to her face. Her eyes were rolled back, her lips a dark purple, and her hands and feet were still twitching uncontrollably.
He recognized her.
Her surname was Sun, and the neighbors all called her Aunt Sun. She lived at the end of the alley behind the rice shop and had a three-year-old son at home.
During the days when Shen Liang opened the granaries to distribute food, he would see her every night.
She was always the last to arrive because she had to wait until her child was fast asleep before she could sneak out. When she came, her shoulders were always smudged with soot from the kitchen stove.
Shen Liang still remembered the first time she had slipped in through the back door of the granary.
She stood at the doorway, not daring to step inside, her fingers twisting the hem of her clothes. She had mumbled for a long time before finally asking a question.
“Mr. Bamboo Stick... is it really free? My family truly has no money left. The child has been starving for two days, and his throat is already hoarse from crying...”
At that time, Shen Liang had said nothing, simply carrying two bags of rice to her feet. He then fished a few copper coins out of his pocket and stuffed them into her hand, telling her to buy some salt, as drinking plain congee would have no flavor.
Aunt Sun had crouched at the granary door, sobbing uncontrollably while kowtowing to him, and he only managed to stop her after much coaxing.
But the next time he saw her, it was in the water.
A surge of violent emotion welled up from the depths of his heart. Shen Liang's hands and feet began to swell, and a turbid, watery fluid started to seep from under his ten fingernails.
During the period after his death when he became a water ghost, his memories were shattered and chaotic, with most scenes being a blur.
He only remembered floating in a stretch of muddy water, his entire body freezing cold, with only a single thought in his mind.
Drag everyone down into the water.
Those passing by the water's edge, those drawing water from the river, those crying and calling out their loved ones' names on the shore—he hadn't spared a single one of them.
Why should they get to live when he was already dead?
He didn't remember which day he had dragged Aunt Sun down.
He only vaguely recalled that once, as he curled up among the water weeds at the bottom of the river, he heard a woman weeping bitterly on the shore.
“Mr. Bamboo Stick, where are you? Please come out... I haven't repaid you for your rice yet...”
At that time, his mind was completely muddled. He only felt that the voice was so noisy it made his head ache, so he shot up from the riverbed, grabbed the woman's ankle in a tight grip, and dragged her into the river.
The woman thrashed frantically in the water, still screaming something, but he couldn't hear clearly.
Water rushed into her mouth, choking back her words.
He held her waist in a death grip, pinning her down toward the riverbed, feeling the strength of her struggle in his arms grow smaller and weaker bit by bit, until she finally stopped moving altogether.
At that time, he had felt nothing but a sense of sheer gratification.
He felt as though he had finally taken his revenge on everyone.
Rate on N.U.
