Chapter Fifty-six: The Bright Moon Shines, Radiant in Its Splendor

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A tide of corpses surged forth, the stench of death thickening the air, black mists rising to obscure the stars and cloak the moonlight. The miasma of corpses gathered into shapes that seemed to clash with the heavens themselves; calamity was born in this tide of the dead.

Upon the Immortal-Approaching Stone, the father and daughter stood unmoved, neither intending to leave nor to intervene. They simply watched from a distance, their feet planted on the now-spiritless stone.

On the city wall, Tian Xingjian fanned himself as he squinted into the distance. “The corpse-aura already shrouds the bright moon. The deed is done. A siege of ten thousand corpses is only a matter of time.”

At the foot of a desolate hill, flashes of gold and ink flickered amidst the corpse tide—Old Daoist Zhang Daozhen was still struggling within its grasp.

Atop the hill, Li Que stood, his back revealing the image of a half-rabbit, half-human figure. His face was an icy mask as he reached the summit.

The hillside was overgrown with wild grass. Under the glow of the glazed lantern, Zhong Ming and Zhang Nianchen retreated step by step.

Before their eyes, skeletons emerged from the earth, scrambling on all fours as they sprinted away into the distance. The sight left both men utterly stunned.

Zhong Ming’s face was ashen. Clutching the Peerless Blade, he shielded the young Daoist behind him. Zhang Nianchen had collapsed to the ground, too frightened to stand, muttering, “Impossible… Master failed…”

Earlier, a Spirit-Purifying Talisman had been shining not far from them, but now it lay dim and trampled into the mud.

Zhong Ming yanked Zhang Nianchen to his feet and barked, “Little Daoist! Have some backbone, will you? Your master’s about to be overwhelmed by the corpse tide. If we don’t help, he might die right here!”

Awoken from his daze, Zhang Nianchen scrambled up, fumbled for a pill from his robe, and stammered, “Right! Right! You’re absolutely right, Layman Zhong!”

As the panic faded, Zhang Nianchen regained his wits. Studying the corpse tide, he said, “Layman Zhong, this Glazed Divine Lantern protects us from the dead. Let’s use its light to find my master at the foot of the hill!”

The divine lantern’s light held wondrous power—no evil could approach them. Even when corpses crawled up beside them, they ignored the pair, rushing straight down the slope.

Zhong Ming glanced up at the lantern, sighing, “Hurry, or the old Daoist won’t make it!”

Zhong Ming had seen the power of the corpse tide before—on that night, Liu Chengyin commanded a thousand corpses, and in the time it took for a single incense stick to burn, the Wu Manor was slaughtered to the last.

Tonight, with over ten thousand corpses, the frail old Daoist, no matter his skill, could hardly withstand such a force.

As the two prepared to descend, a burst of blue light suddenly flared from below, shooting up the hillside to appear before Zhong Ming.

Zhang Nianchen’s face lit up. “Master?”

“No, a harbinger of death.”

Upon seeing the blue light, Zhong Ming’s expression darkened. The sensation was all too familiar—this was Li Que, the celestial official from White Jade Capital.

Riding a chill wind, Li Que stood upon a lotus of ice, the rabbit-headed human form manifest behind him. He hovered before the lantern, his violet eyes fixed coldly on Zhong Ming, gaze as frigid as a thousand-year ice cave.

A flicker of surprise crossed Li Que’s eyes. “Zhong Ming? It’s you?”

“Greetings, Celestial Official.”

Dread tightening his heart, Zhong Ming forced himself to bow, hoping for a reprieve.

But the surprise was fleeting; Li Que’s expression soon grew coldly amused. “So, Zhong Ming, you truly don’t value your life, daring to meddle in White Jade Capital’s grand design!”

Sweat beaded on Zhong Ming’s brow as he feigned ignorance. “Sir, I know nothing of what you speak. I only came because I sensed strange happenings on this hill—thought there might be some treasure to investigate.”

Zhong Ming had witnessed this young official’s power first-hand. With his uncle absent, he had no confidence in facing Li Que’s wrath.

All he could do was stall for time, playing the fool in hopes of slipping by.

But Li Que was no simpleton. Such a clumsy lie could not deceive him. His smile was icy. “Your little tricks were tolerable before, but today you dare set formations to thwart my plans!”

With a sharp glint in his eyes, Li Que thundered, “Zhong Ming, tonight, you die here!”

So it seemed—Zhong Ming’s schemes were for nothing. Li Que intended to kill him.

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Desperate, Zhong Ming shouted, “Li Que! If you harm me, my uncle will never forgive you when he returns!”

Li Que only sneered, “Not only is Yang Yanlang absent tonight, even if he were here, he could do nothing to me! A pity you’re clever, but don’t know your place. Enough talk, ignorant mortal—time to depart this world!”

With that, violet light blazed in Li Que’s eyes, and the monstrous apparition behind him hurled a fist at Zhong Ming.

Zhong Ming’s eyes widened. Steeling himself, he knew escape was impossible. He roused the two streams of true energy in his dantian, drawing upon the wood spirit energy, preparing to face Li Que’s attack head-on.

The apparition’s punch howled with icy wind, frost instantly forming on the grass and trees nearby.

Dragging his blade, Zhong Ming unleashed all his true energy into the Peerless Blade. The sword’s dragon-quail ring shrieked piercingly, a red phantom flashing along the edge. A force as thick as a grown man’s thigh snaked beneath the earth toward Li Que’s punch.

The dragon’s might surged through the ground!

A tempest of sand rose in its wake!

This was the most powerful, most imposing strike Zhong Ming had ever delivered—a last stand in the face of death, every ounce of potential unleashed.

With the dragon-quail’s cry, the blade’s energy erupted, shredding grass and earth, leaves whirling, dust flying. The red blade aura struck the apparition’s fist dead-on.

The force was savage, tearing the fist apart, splitting it cleanly in two.

The blade energy kept surging, wave after wave. Li Que’s brows furrowed. “Well done, Zhong Ming. No wonder you’re Xu Qian’s son. In such a short time, you’ve mastered mortal swordplay to this level?”

Wounds opened across the rabbit-headed apparition, but Li Que was unperturbed. The blue aura about him only deepened, and the apparition healed within moments.

Clearly, for all its ferocity, Zhong Ming’s attack had not truly harmed Li Que.

Under the lantern’s light, Zhong Ming gasped for breath. He’d smiled when the apparition crumbled, but now his grin froze on his lips.

With a ringing clang, he sheathed the Peerless Blade.

Without another word, he grabbed the petrified Zhang Nianchen and bolted for the far side of the hill.

He’d struck with all his might, but his foe was unscathed—only a fool would stay!

“Trying to run? Foolish dream!”

Li Que gave chase, gliding upon his ice lotus far faster than mere feet.

Catching up, he flicked his sleeve. The apparition’s fist came crashing down.

Boom!

But instead of reducing the two to pulp, the lantern’s divine light flared, shielding them from the blow.

Li Que’s frown deepened. Zhong Ming was proving irritatingly hard to kill.

Patience lost, Li Que lashed out again and again. The apparition hammered down over a dozen times, but the lantern’s light flashed, warding off every blow—until, at last, its glow faded and it shot back into Zhang Nianchen’s rattan chest.

Zhang Nianchen, dragged along by Zhong Ming, coughed up blood and collapsed, unconscious—a consequence, it seemed, of the deep bond between caster and lantern. The shock to the lantern had struck him as well.

Jolted by Zhang Nianchen’s fall, Zhong Ming nearly stumbled himself.

Seeing Zhang Nianchen sprawled on the ground, Zhong Ming clicked his tongue, shook off the boy’s hand, and made to flee alone.

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But then he paused—these two Daoists had risked their lives for him and for Muddy Village. Would it be right to abandon them now?

In that split second, Zhong Ming made his decision.

Before climbing the hill, he’d heard Li Guangling, the nine-year-old son of Carpenter Li, declare, “In life, be a hero among men; in death, a champion among ghosts. A true man stands tall!” Zhong Ming cherished his own life, but he was no coward.

At that moment, he spun around, drawing the Yanluo Peerless Blade with a metallic ring. “Damn your White Jade Capital, damn your celestial officials! I’ll die fighting you tonight!”

His true energy spent, Zhong Ming could only raise his blade high, stepping forward to shield the unconscious Zhang Nianchen.

He didn’t notice that, as he prepared to make his stand, the rosewood folding knife he always carried began to tremble.

It vibrated, the engraved patterns glowing faintly. Cracks appeared along the seam between grip and sheath, spiderwebbing outward.

Li Que caught up, sneering, “Overestimating yourself!”

With a wave of his sleeve, the rabbit-headed apparition raised its frost-clad fist and brought it down.

Zhong Ming’s eyes were resolute as he lifted his blade to block.

The rosewood knife in his robe trembled wildly, the cracks widening, the blade slipping out by a finger’s length, ready to strike.

Just as the fist was about to smash him, a shout erupted from the wild grass nearby: “Run, Zhong Ming! Madman will save you!”

A wild-haired, crazed outcast burst from the weeds, flinging himself at the giant figure, shielding Zhong Ming with his own body.

The icy fist struck the madman, and in an instant his body crystallized. The force hurled him several yards, his corpse shattering on the ground like a broken ice sculpture.

Li Que frowned in puzzlement. Who was this idiot, sacrificing himself for Zhong Ming?

Zhong Ming was stunned. Everything had happened in a flash, leaving his mind blank.

The cold wind from the punch had stung his cheek, a chill running down his spine—the sensation of having one foot in the grave.

It was just as he’d felt before dying in his previous life.

But Zhong Ming would not die!

Whether by fate, fortune, or the will of the heavens, Zhong Ming’s life was hard as iron. He simply would not die.

The rosewood folding knife stilled, its blade sliding back into the sheath. If not for the cracks, it would have seemed nothing had happened at all.

The shattered remains of the madman’s body slowly rose, drifting away into the night behind the hill.

Li Que’s focus shifted from Zhong Ming. He lifted his head, violet eyes peering into the dark.

In the distant haze, a gentle white radiance began to rise, drawing nearer.

Somehow, the corpse-mist that had filled the sky was now pierced by moonlight, brighter than ever, dazzling as dawn.

Moonlight and gentle luminescence mingled, and from afar came the song of a woman:

“The bright moon shines vast, its light pure and resplendent. With you I bathe in its glow, upright in heart and form. The bright moon shines vast, unmoved by wind and cloud. With you I gaze upon it, our gaze full and true...”

Hearing this voice, the blade slipped from Zhong Ming’s grasp. He let out a twisted cry: “Mother?”