Chapter 83: The Wailing Graveyard

Back at the inn, Yan Gui lounged by the window, peering through the narrow gap at the world outside. He absentmindedly bit into the fruit in his hand, his demeanor listless and bored. When he saw Yifan return, he merely turned his head to glance at him.

Night soon fell. The innkeeper’s boy brought their meal, and they dined in the room. As midnight deepened, the moon hung bright and sparse among the stars, the night air silent and still.

Suddenly, Yan Gui stirred, his ears twitching, eyes gleaming faintly with silver light. He opened the window and gazed into the distance, glancing back at Yifan to see if he had awakened. Hesitating for a moment, he quietly slipped through the window and leapt outside.

Yifan opened his eyes; he had been awake since Yan Gui first moved, but he’d made no sound. He walked to the window, considered for a moment, then jumped out as well. After all, this was not a desolate place—if they encountered some cultivator, it could spell trouble.

He followed the trail, leaving the town behind and hastening toward the outskirts. Soon, he reached a barren patch of land. With a glance, he spotted Yan Gui hiding among the wild grass, tail raised, watching something intently.

Ghostly energy filled the air; it was certain that spirits were lurking nearby.

Yifan was not surprised. In the dead of night, if Yan Gui had not discovered some ghostly presence, he would not have ventured out. So Yifan remained hidden, observing from the shadows.

Under the moonlight, countless mounds dotted the ground, bleached bones scattered everywhere. The wind stirred faint phosphorescent glimmers—a mass grave.

A mournful wail echoed through the night, carrying far into the darkness. Any living soul would be terrified, but it neither frightened Yifan nor Yan Gui. Yan Gui’s body shifted, clearly growing restless and impatient.

Yifan looked toward the source of the cry and saw a figure kneeling not far away, head bowed and weeping, curses laced with bitter resentment.

At that moment, Yan Gui suddenly sprang out, somersaulting through the air. He let out a strange cry, a sound that seemed to reach into the soul—even Yifan felt his spirit stir, let alone the shadowy figure.

Yan Gui charged forward, claws outstretched, about to seize the apparition. But it suddenly faded, dissipating into the wind, and the wailing ceased.

Yan Gui paused, staring at his claws in disbelief. He could not accept that the ghost had escaped him, and was instantly furious—this was an affront to his innate skill. He twisted around, sniffing the air, inching closer to a certain spot.

Suddenly, Yan Gui whirled around, opened his mouth, and spat out a streak of silver light. It burst like flame a few meters ahead, forcing a shadow to reveal itself in panic, rolling across the ground before vanishing again.

Yifan, standing not far away, narrowed his eyes. He formed a seal with his fingers and brushed his eyelids, causing a faint golden light to flicker—he had activated the recently learned “Spirit Sight.” Under the moonlight, he saw the shadow had shrunk several times in size and was crawling slowly away, precisely in the opposite direction from Yan Gui.

Yan Gui failed to notice, still searching in confusion.

Yifan shook his head, leapt forward, and in a few swift steps reached the shadow. He stomped hard, eliciting a miserable scream as the spirit became visible, trapped under his foot. It tried to dissolve into the wind, even struggled, but found itself powerless. It realized it had encountered a master.

Yan Gui stared at Yifan in surprise, not expecting him to appear so suddenly. Seeing the revealed spirit, he rushed forward, grabbed its neck, and tried to stuff it into his mouth.

“You’ll all die, all of you! The Ghost King will never spare you!” The spirit’s face was pale as death in the moonlight, its gaze venomous.

“Oh? Tell me, how will the Ghost King not spare us?” Yifan pressed Yan Gui’s hand, stopping him.

To Yifan, this was just a minor ghost—not worth his effort. He had followed only out of boredom and concern that Yan Gui might get into trouble. But if it turned out to be a powerful vengeful spirit, he would capture it for refining.

The little ghost cackled madly, pointing toward a spot and cursing, “Old Li Ghost, Old Li Ghost! In life, you were destitute and starved to death at home, dumped in this mass grave without even a proper tomb. As a ghost, you tried to be kind, but ended up scattered and damned, never to be reborn!”

Yifan caught a faint thread of the story, though it wasn’t entirely clear. He had Yan Gui release the spirit.

The little ghost did not flee, but glared venomously at Yifan. “You wretched priest, isn’t it laughable?”

He rambled in broken phrases, cursing and explaining the whole tale.

Old Li Ghost was the greedy spirit—once a humble resident of Fortune Town, impoverished his whole life, childless, and eventually starved to death at home. He was tossed into the mass grave, and by some fate became a wandering ghost, lingering in the town, yearning for the warmth of the living.

His good days were brief. Chaos swept through, and a so-called Ghost King appeared, sending little ghosts to capture the living. One such ghost was the speaker, who had been Old Li’s friend in life and remained so in death.

Old Li could not bear to see the townsfolk seized, so he stole from the wealthy to bribe the little ghosts, ensuring only wrongdoers were taken. Thus, Fortune Town enjoyed a few years of peace.

But a passing priest discovered the truth. He meant to ask a certain matron to intercede, reasoning that if the facts were explained, all would be well. But the matron took the money and did nothing. She was caught and her soul scattered.

Men have virtue and vice, as do ghosts.

Yifan sighed inwardly. If the people of Fortune Town ever learned the truth, what would they think?

“In a few days, the Ghost King will send little ghosts again to seize people. Without Old Li’s bribes, they’ll snatch anyone at random,” the little ghost sneered.

“Tell me, where is the Ghost King now?” Yifan cared only for this. If the Ghost King was slain, the lesser ghosts would vanish.

“You think I’ll tell you?”

Yifan smiled, shook his head, and turned away. “If you won’t, there are other little ghosts who know. I’ll simply catch one and ask.”

Yan Gui, seeing Yifan depart, immediately grabbed the little ghost and stuffed it into his mouth. With a wretched scream, the spirit was silenced.

...

The next morning, Yifan heard knocking at the door. When he opened it, the innkeeper’s boy stood outside with a steward-like figure.

The innkeeper’s boy bowed respectfully to the steward. “Steward Zhou, this is Master Yifan.”

Steward Zhou nodded, sizing up Yifan before speaking. “I hear a new priest has arrived in Fortune Town. My master has asked me to invite you to a banquet.”

A banquet invitation?

Yifan paused, uncertain what Steward Zhou’s master was up to. “May I ask why your master wishes me to attend?”

Steward Zhou did not answer. “You’ll know once you’re there.”

“In that case, please lead the way.”

Yifan considered a moment and decided to accept. As for danger, he was not concerned—he had no quarrel with Zhou’s master, and a local magnate posed no threat to him.