Chapter 32: Joyfully Reducing Her to Ashes. A Prophet of Doom.

Chapter 32: Joyfully Reducing Her to Ashes. A Prophet of Doom.

*Thud.*

The first pancake fell to the ground, rolled twice, and was coated in mud.

The commoners queuing to receive the alms-cakes were all dumbstruck, staring blankly at the vivid scenes playing out in the sky.

"The young couple from Outer Fish Lane who made steamed buns... so the fire wasn't an accident..."

"Venerable Yunshang... she drained Pingniang dry!"

The images were so clear, every witness was transported there, spines chilling.

The victim Pingniang's face shriveled inch by inch before their eyes, turning into gnarled tree roots. Venerable Yunshang's face, however, grew increasingly radiant and beautiful, her complexion lush and dewy, as if dripping with color.

"Heavens above! Venerable Yunshang is a demon in human skin!"

"Damn her! She doesn't even spare infants!"

"N-no, that can't be right. I've seen Venerable Yunshang before. She's clearly beautiful and kind-hearted. She even saved a little beggar by the roadside."

"Um, I also feel a bit... maybe this Pingniang brought it on herself? Going out in the middle of the night, not even bowing when she saw Venerable Yunshang..."

"Hey, buddy, are you seriously finding fault with the dead now?!"

As the two sides argued, the scene in the sky shifted to another.

The little beggar whom Venerable Yunshang had "kindly taken in" was killed before everyone's eyes.

Venerable Yunshang used that little beggar's life to smooth out a nearly imperceptible, tiny laugh line at the corner of her eye.

Under the vast sky, a long silence fell.

"Tsk!" someone forcefully spoke up for Venerable Yunshang. "Say what you will, in the end, those who died were all young and pretty. It doesn't affect you or me. We should have some conscience, right? Can't be eating the Venerable's alms-cakes with one hand and cursing her with the other, can we?"

Someone beside him retorted, "How typical, ignoring what doesn't concern you! Do you have no mother, no wife, no sisters, no daughters?"

The man said, "Heh, as a matter of fact, I don't. I only have a son. He's very smart and studies hard. He went to the capital for the imperial exams a few months ago! He'll have a bright future!"

Before his words faded, the scene in the sky changed again.

A scholar carrying a book basket, preparing to travel to the capital for the exams, rested at a wayside pavilion outside the city. He wiped his sweat with his sleeve, unwilling to waste a single moment. While resting, he took out a scroll to read.

Far away by the stream, Venerable Yunshang killed a young woman washing yarn.

The scholar, engrossed in his book, never once looked up.

But his location allowed him to witness Venerable Yunshang's evil deed, so the innocent scholar was also silenced.

The poor scholar had no idea what was happening.

A breeze passed through the pavilion, tainted with the scent of blood.

Books worn ragged from turning, their margins densely filled with notes, essays written through the night by lamplight—all these, along with the scholar's bones, sank forever into the mud.

"My son! My son! She killed my son!"

A heart-wrenching wail erupted from the crowd. The man who had just been speaking so flippantly now felt as if his heart had been gouged out.

"Damn her to the eighteenth generation of her ancestors!"

No one around mocked him.

By now, no one believed they could remain untouched—everyone was the same, all living in a hellish world. Disaster would eventually befall everyone, if not today, then tomorrow.

"So vicious... utterly vicious..."

"Committing so many heinous crimes, yet still putting on a hypocritical act of charity to gain a good reputation! The sheer gall..."

The speaker abruptly stopped himself—calling Venerable Yunshang shameless was simply stating a fact—a hellish fact.

"Heavens! Open your eyes! Look at this 'great philanthropist'!"

"She killed my daughter! She killed my daughter! Heavens above! I even have a longevity tablet for her at home, and she killed my precious girl! I—I—*spits blood*!" A mouthful of blood sprayed out.

"An utter atrocity! An utter atrocity! Who will stand up for us poor, suffering commoners?!"

"Now that the truth is out, shouldn't she face retribution?!"

"Even knowing the truth, what can we do? Wake up. No one will stand up for us, and she won't face retribution. If you dare make trouble, she'll just kill you all," a calm, indifferent voice said. "We mortals are just mud beneath the cultivators' feet. If you don't want to die, all of you, disperse. Go home."

A moment of silence, a wave of indignation.

"...He's not wrong. That's just how the world is, survival of the fittest. For the weak to even live is a gift from the strong. We should be grateful. How can we harbor resentment?"

"Ah! Heaven has no eyes! Heaven... has no eyes!"

After a wave of sorrowful, helpless sighs, the crowd queuing for alms-cakes slowly dispersed with heavy steps, each returning home.

Leaving behind a ground littered with crushed alms-cakes.

Outside the secret realm.

The ink-wash painting gate dissipated not because of Ghost Lingjun's attack, but because the secret realm had broken.

The five spells left by Jun Bu Du had sustained this cave abode for thousands of years.

Now, Fu Yu had taken four of the light auras, and the final one had been forcefully sent skyward by Ghost Lingjun. This cave abode had finally reached its end of days.

A gust of wind blew past. The two golden dragons scattered with a *whoosh*, turning into grains of golden sand.

*Rustle, rustle.*

The golden sand was carried by the wind, brushing past Ghost Lingjun's mask, meandering as it drifted toward the entire Fish-Dragon City, as if bringing good news to the people.

The golden sand slapped against his face. Ghost Lingjun narrowed his slender eyes, blocking out the distraction as he peered into the secret realm.

Through a vast expanse of dazzling gold and the ink-wash painting that was now dissolving and spreading, he could vaguely see a blurred, writhing shadow.

This sight was not unfamiliar to Ghost Lingjun.

Whenever his wife needed to absorb vitality to maintain her beauty, she assumed this posture.

Right now... was she absorbing those two maidservants?

But then why did he hear, in his ears, those two maidservants crying and shouting loudly, begging their mistress not to die?

They were crying with such robust energy, so grating to the ear.

Are they crying their own dirge?

Ghost Lingjun lifted his foot and drifted lightly further in, unconsciously adopting the ethereal gait of the stage.

Behind him, the Yellow-robed Cultivators, their eyes blinded by the golden sand, rubbed their eyes and shook their heads, their hearts sinking into their stomachs.

The Madam... she couldn't really be in trouble, could she?

How could that be? Against those mere Foundation Establishment Cultivators? Impossible, absolutely impossible!

The Yellow-robed Cultivators, hearts filled with dread, gritted their teeth, summoned their courage, and followed him in.

The secret realm had completely transformed.

Green mountains, trees, pavilions, and dwellings had all vanished. There was no sky, no earth, no light, no shadow—only an endless expanse of void.

Every direction, above and below, every corner had been stripped of color.

In this stark white, parchment-like space, the color of blood stood out with shocking contrast.

Ghost Lingjun walked unsteadily forward.

His depth perception had failed him; he struggled to reach the place where the blood pooled.

He lowered his head, the mask's expression twisting into a smile that reached his ears.

"Why are you crying? Where is my wife?"

The two maidservants trembled violently, not daring to look up at him, desperately bowing their heads to the ground, their teeth chattering uncontrollably.

"I asked you, where is Madam?"

He raised his arms, turning in an excruciatingly slow circle.

The Yellow-robed Cultivators behind him likewise dared not meet his gaze, bowing their heads deeply and holding their breath. Paralyzed by fear, only one sound remained in each person's mind—the deafening thud of their own heartbeat.

Finally, Ghost Lingjun's gaze landed on the female corpse.

She was clad in a magnificent garment of feathers, her hair studded with pearls and jade.

He naturally recognized at a glance that these were all things he had gifted to his wife.

The figure of the corpse was also painfully familiar to him.

"Her face?" he asked calmly. "Where is her face?"

The two maidservants prostrate on the ground trembled like sieves.

Madam's death was already a sky-falling catastrophe, let alone such a gruesome and horrifying death.

The one on the left, trembling, unconsciously scrabbled backward on her knees: "R-replying to Lord... this servant d-does not know... ch-ch-chattering... when this servant awoke... it... it... it was already like this... it's not this servant's fault..."

The one on the right bowed her head repeatedly to the ground: "This servant fell into an illusion array and tried everything but couldn't break free. This servant believes it must have been those Foundation Establishment Cultivators who harmed Madam! They saw Madam trapped, saw their chance and ambushed her!"

The one on the left, as if snapping out of a daze, nodded frantically: "Yes, that must be it! The token... yes, the token is gone, and the clearance reward was also stolen by them! Lord must have them die by a thousand cuts to avenge Madam!"

Ghost Lingjun gave a slight nod. "So it is."

The two maidservants desperately nodded, shifting the blame.

He tilted his head, signaling to those behind him: "Take them back. Before they die, wring every last word from their mouths."

"Yes!"

Too much time had been wasted; it was too late to chase the flying boat now.

Inside and outside the residence where Venerable Yunshang often stayed, mourning banners hung everywhere.

Someone spotted her husband in the vicinity—that rarely seen husband who always wore a white ghost mask.

He was dressed in mourning white, with a wide white cloth band also tied around his mask.

After the news spread, people in the city began setting off firecrackers one after another.

Ghost Lingjun frowned, and his subordinate cultivators immediately descended upon the city, going door to door to confront the residents.

However, they found that the firecrackers being set off were made of white paper, not the festive red paper ones used during holidays.

Upon inquiry, the people of Yulong City answered in unison: "These are mourning firecrackers! Are they not allowed?"

"Mourning firecrackers?"

"Yes, mourning firecrackers!"

Going door to door, every single person said the same.

Since it was a folk custom, the Yellow-robed Cultivators could not very well make a scene and simply reported the situation truthfully to Ghost Lingjun.

Ghost Lingjun sat by the coffin, keeping vigil. After a long while, he waved his hand wearily.

Overwhelmed by grief, he truly had no energy left to dwell on such unimportant matters.

The city's inhabitants waited anxiously through the night.

The next day, seeing no movement from that side, they brought out all their stored firecrackers, whitewashed them, and set them off with joyous abandon, the din shaking the skies.

Amidst the atmosphere like a New Year's celebration, Ghost Lingjun obtained the information he sought.

—The Qingyun Sect cultivators, led by Xie Fuyu, granddaughter of Xie Yun.

It hadn't been so long that Ghost Lingjun forgot Xie Yun.

That was a meddlesome Nascent Soul Cultivator, looking for death when he was perfectly alive, but he was a tough one—beaten like that, he still gritted his teeth without uttering a sound.

Ghost Lingjun hadn't given that trivial matter a second thought.

Little did he know... it would cost him his wife...

Ghost Lingjun slowly turned his ghostly face, fixing his dark gaze on his subordinates: "You're saying his granddaughter has come seeking revenge against this lord and his wife? Quite capable, isn't she."

A cold sweat broke out on his subordinate's back: "At Lord's command, this subordinate will surely capture this woman for you!"

Ghost Lingjun gave a sinister smile: "By herself? Impossible. There must be someone behind her directing this."

The subordinate hurriedly replied: "This subordinate will definitely investigate thoroughly!"

Ghost Lingjun slowly rose to his feet, clenching his trembling fingers, his crimson eyes flashing darkly: "First, have them hand over Xie Fuyu. I'll have her flesh and sleep on her skin. I'll have her die by a thousand cuts before my wife's spirit, grind her bones to dust!"

A chill ran down his subordinate's spine: "Yes."

On the flying vessel.

Fu Yu got the feeling someone was talking about her behind her back.

She narrowed her eyes, suddenly turned her head, and struck!

The Foxtail Grass Spirit was caught red-handed.

It pretended to look at her innocently with its head tilted, unaware that its hands under the table were nervously fidgeting, making a rustling, grassy sound.

"What is it, Master?"

Fu Yu: "What were you muttering about me?"

It blinked its grass eyelashes vigorously: "Nothing..."

"I heard it!" Li Xueke thrust his big face in, "It said you treat it way too well."

The Foxtail Grass Spirit's head sank to its chest of its own accord, hanging low as it gave a slight nod.

Fu Yu chuckled.

"Piling it on, are we?" she said lazily, "This is nothing special. When we go kill Ghost Lingjun, I'll let you finish him off."

The Foxtail Grass Spirit jerked its head up in shock: "Kill Ghost Lingjun!"

The others on the flying vessel, who had been distracted, were also shocked: "Kill Ghost Lingjun?!"

"Otherwise?" Fu Yu asked, puzzled, "It's either him or me. Why wouldn't we kill him? Don't you want to?"

Everyone fell speechless.

This, this, this—is that even the question?

Ghost Lingjun is a Dongxuan cultivator!

Why is a group of Foundation Establishment cultivators so casually discussing killing a Dongxuan?

The Foxtail Grass Spirit reacted quickly, swiftly talking itself into it and nodding seriously: "Master said, there's no difference between Nascent Soul and Dongxuan."

Everyone: "..."

Everyone felt dizzy, as if they had drunk some bad hooch.

Better not continue this terrifying topic.

Hua Lang asked, his mind reeling: "Boss, could you first align our stories—what do we say when we return to the sect?"

Fu Yu gave a faint smile: "Go home and cry."

Everyone: "Huh?!"

Fu Yu beckoned: "Come closer."

Everyone obediently leaned in, stretching out the tips of their ears.

The flying vessel slowly descended toward Qingyun Sect.

The Foxtail Grass Spirit hesitated for a while, then reached out and carefully tugged at Fu Yu's sleeve, hesitating to speak.

Fu Yu: "Speak."

It whispered: "Master, why don't you cast a divination? I think that ill-fated bond should have been broken by now."

At this, Fu Yu couldn't help laughing.

"Almost forgot," she drawled, "Lu Xingchen was supposed to be the leader of this trip."

The Foxtail Grass Spirit was speechless: "..."

Its master was quite the grudge-holder when it came to some very unimportant matters.

Hua Lang sneered: "He's not worthy!"

Zhao Qing chimed in: "Under Boss's leadership, we advanced with unstoppable momentum, cleared the secret realm, eliminated the villains, brought great satisfaction, upheld justice! Turned decay into magic, achieved the impossible—all these accomplishments, who else but you deserves them!"

The others shot him dirty looks: "..."

At least leave some flattery for others to dish out! He's already said it all—what's left for others to praise?

Fu Yu waved her hand, satisfied, and sat down by the window.

She took out the copper coin tied with a red string and casually tossed it.

"Thud, thud, clink."

Even after tossing it several times, it still showed an auspicious sign.

The Foxtail Grass Spirit froze, the grass stems in its palms creaking as it squeezed them, and whined: "Master, why hasn't it broken yet? Clearly..."

It closed its mouth, unable to help raising a fist to knock against its own head.

Master had taken it to see Grandpa in person, helped it sense that wisp of Grandpa's spiritual energy, and even let it deliver the final blow itself.

Compared to all this, that person Lu Xingchen and his trivial matters should have long been dumped in a filthy ditch eight thousand miles away.

"Master, I don't believe there's still lingering feelings... Master, I..."

It felt both dejected and wronged.

What does Lu Xingchen amount to? Now that the truth is out, his remorse is worthless.

What "chasing his wife to the Yellow Springs"—isn't that just sickening?

More importantly...

It had noticed a pattern: whenever this ill-fated bond broke a segment, Master would have good dreams at night, with sparkling smiles spreading from her eyes.

Its gratitude for Master was beyond words.

It was clumsy and incapable, unable to help Master with anything major.

It wanted her to be happy, but even such a small thing...

Fu Yu reached out and patted its head: "No rush. Karma in this world follows its own course. When the time comes, it will come."

The Foxtail Grass Spirit nodded slowly, one beat at a time: "Master, you sound like a Buddha."

Fu Yu: "..."

No, she wasn't like one. She could never be. She had hair.

The flying skiff landed outside the mountain gate.

The group exchanged glances and nodded silently.

Sleeves swishing, they passed through the mountain gate and each headed straight for their respective elders.

At Profound Wood Peak.

Hua Lang rushed into Perfected Person Suwen's Medicine Hall, threw himself at his grand-aunt's legs, and wailed, "Grand-aunt! Your little grand-nephew is unfilial! I almost couldn't return to see you!"

Perfected Person Suwen was beside herself with worry. She quickly reached out to pat his head, comforting him, "Little Lang, don't worry, don't worry. Tell your dear grand-aunt everything. Oh, our little Lang has really been wronged!"

A similar scene was playing out at Thunderclap Peak, Compassionate Water Peak, and the Main Peak.

Xu Shuangqing: "Daddy, you almost lost your one and only precious daughter! Wuwuwu!"

Zhao Qing: "Disciple isn't afraid of death, disciple is only afraid of never seeing his brilliant, majestic, and peerlessly handsome master again!"

Le Zhou: "Second Uncle, Second Uncle! Before my mother died, she entrusted me to you. I've always thought of you as my own uncle!"

Second Uncle: "...I *am* your own uncle!"

Meanwhile, those four were each crying at home.

Fu Yu crossed a series of hanging wooden bridges, heading straight for the main hall to find the Sect Master.

Sect Master Jiang Yizhou sat solemnly in the main seat, speaking with the Peak Masters and elders gathered around him. To be precise, the Peak Masters and elders were listening to the Sect Master speak, nodding and agreeing from time to time—yes, yes, indeed, indeed.

Seeing Fu Yu arrive, the Sect Master raised a wide sleeve, signaling everyone to quiet down first—though in truth, the hall was so quiet you could hear a pin drop whenever the Sect Master himself wasn't speaking.

Fu Yu cupped her hands in salute and got straight to the point: "Sect Master, we're done for!"

Sect Master: "???"

Everyone: "???"

Fu Yu said, "That Venerable Yunshang, you know, Ghost Lingjun's wife? She committed countless evils, was punished by Heaven, and the whole world saw her crimes."

Everyone exchanged glances: "Can that really be true?"

Fu Yu: "We escaped quickly. The news is probably right behind us."

The Sect Master keenly caught the key point: "...escaped?"

"Exactly!" Fu Yu said indignantly. "Venerable Yunshang clearly died from heavenly punishment, but for some reason, they're trying to pin the blame squarely on us!"

Everyone was speechless for a moment: "Are they actually saying you killed a Nascent Soul cultivator?"

Fu Yu: "That's exactly it."

The Sect Master's face turned grim: "To harm our Sect Ancestor and falsely accuse our disciples—what exactly is Ghost Lingjun trying to achieve!"

Fu Yu: "I think he wants to wipe out our entire sect."

Everyone: "..."

Shut your crow's mouth, quickly!