Chapter 394: A Small World of Its Own

Outside, it was already daylight, but the mountains remained shrouded in darkness.

Within the dimness, the leisurely sound of a

qin

echoed through the air.

The melody was intermittent, as if the

qin

player followed only their whims—playing faster when the mood struck, pausing longer when lost in thought. There was no discernible tune, as if everything was dictated solely by their heart's desire.

The Daoist finished eating his small fish, rinsed his mouth, then stood and looked off into the distance.

A square, flat boulder stood nearby, resembling a

qin

table. A woman dressed in white sat behind it, her figure strikingly prominent in the dim mountain landscape. She kept her head bowed as she plucked at the

qin

strings. Behind her stood a quiet and obedient maidservant, who, rather than showing any interest in her mistress's ethereal music, kept her gaze fixed on the Daoist.

“I have matters to attend to. Please feel free to stay as you wish,” the Daoist said.

“Don’t mind us, Daoist Master,” the woman replied, her voice calm as she continued playing. She didn’t even lift her head to glance at him.

With a flick of his sleeve, the Daoist extinguished the campfire. Without another word, he turned and walked into the depths of the dark forest.

The

qin

music remained intermittent, leisurely yet ethereal.

Only the maid turned her head, her clear, bright eyes reflecting the Daoist's figure as he walked farther and farther away, growing smaller and fainter in the distance.

“Mistress, aren’t you going to say something?”

“Time will eventually reveal what words cannot express,” the woman replied.

“What is the Daoist Master going to do?”

“Build something.”

“Build what?”

“A Ghost City of the mortal world.”

“Oh...”

At this, the maid seemed unusually obedient and quiet.

“...” The woman paused her playing for a moment, lifting her head with a puzzled look.

“Who are you again?”

“Qi Qi[1].”

“Oh, little Qi...”

The woman lowered her head again, and the

qin

music resumed.

“

Boom

!”

“

Crack, crack, crack

...”

In the distance, a muffled explosion sounded. A massive stone pillar burst skyward, towering like a giant bamboo shoot piercing the heavens.

Immediately after, the sound of countless layers of stone splitting echoed through the air. Stone slabs began to detach themselves from the earth, rising one after another and suspending mid-air. They formed a staircase, step by step, leading to the summit of the stone pillar.

The Daoist moved neither hurriedly nor slowly, ascending step by step.

The stone pillar towered several dozen zhang high, but the top was much smaller—a flat platform.

The Daoist walked to the summit, then sat cross-legged.

Closing his eyes, he fell into deep thought, sitting still for an indeterminate amount of time.

When his thoughts finally became clear, he opened his eyes and raised his hand.

“

Swish

...”

Countless streams of radiant light interwove in his palm.

Without any visible effort from him, the streams of light shot outward, each seeming to know precisely where it was meant to go. They danced and glided through the air like meteors or fireflies, finally sinking into specific points on the mountain's stone walls. There, they rippled outward in colorful waves before vanishing completely.

The streams of light continued to emanate from his hand, weaving a dreamlike tapestry. They danced ceaselessly, glowing in vibrant hues, illuminating the dim interior of the mountain. Their brilliance reflected in the maid's widened eyes, filling them with awe.

Song You was reconstructing the mortal world’s Ghost City.

However, he wasn’t rebuilding the city’s houses or official residences. Instead, he was constructing the very framework of the Ghost City itself.

And he was using this same Mount Ye as its foundation.

The State Preceptor was absolutely correct. At present, many of the ghosts in the mortal world's Ghost City had perished. This would undoubtedly delay the condensation of the underworld in the nether realm, for an extended period. Moreover, the formation of the nether realm was inherently a slow process. Even if human efforts were employed to accelerate it, it would likely still take at least another decade.

In the meantime, the evolution of the Heavenly Dao would lead to more and more people dying and becoming ghosts. Their numbers would soon far exceed those that had originally inhabited the Ghost City of Mount Ye.

During these intervening years, the wandering souls would need a place to take refuge.

The State Preceptor had originally constructed the Ghost City of Mount Ye.

The system of the Ghost City was well-designed, and the concept was sound. However, due to the limitations of the State Preceptor’s abilities, the temporary Ghost City ended up being fairly simple.

It was essentially a natural hollow mountain that had been expanded and renovated. The various mountain caves and underground fault spaces were connected, and formations were used to isolate the yin energy and ghostly aura, though the results were mediocre.

To defend the Ghost City, the State Preceptor deployed ghost officials, ghost soldiers, the Longwei Army, and personnel from his own Juxian Mansion. This was to ensure that mortals wouldn’t accidentally wander in, ghosts wouldn’t escape, and external monsters and ghosts wouldn’t covet the city.

As for higher-level threats, he relied on a combination of deterrence from the monstrous marsh dragon, his position as State Preceptor of Great Yan, and the emperor’s support. These allowed him to maintain good relations with the Heavenly Palace, especially the faction of the Great Emperor Chijin, achieving mutual cooperation and benefit.

The Ghost City of Mount Ye was not small. Compared to living humans, ghosts required far less space. Before its collapse, the Ghost City had just reached full capacity, with several surrounding small mountains still empty and plenty of underground space reserved for the growing numbers of ghosts in the future.

However, the State Preceptor foresaw that even this would not be enough. Thus, he resorted to strict measures, harshly punishing guilty ghosts. This both reduced the number of ghosts and concealed some of his personal ambitions.

He was indeed an extraordinary individual.

But now, with Song You taking over, many of these methods were no longer viable.

The formations etched onto Mount Ye had long since been destroyed when the mountain collapsed. Moreover, the formations’ effects had been limited even when they were intact. The ghost officials and ghost soldiers might still be present, but the scholar ghost’s brief arrival and swift departure demonstrated that relying solely on these guards could not prevent external forces from prying into the Ghost City.

Additionally, Song You lacked the Longwei Army to stop mortals from wandering in, nor did he have the Juxian Mansion’s network of extraordinary individuals and folk experts.

There was one great demon at his disposal, but she didn’t possess the marsh dragon’s intimidating deterrence.

And his relationship with the Heavenly Palace? Worse—far worse. Collaboration or mutual benefit with them was out of the question.

Fortunately, Song You had his own methods.

It was worth coming down the mountain. Truly worth it.

Had he not descended the mountain, how could he have witnessed the woodcarver’s divine craftsmanship? How could he have learned about the astonishing art that turned illusion into reality, bringing wooden carvings to life?

Had he not descended the mountain, how could he have discovered the painting that became its own world—one where, apart from borrowing the external elements of the Five Elements of heaven and earth, even the yin-yang cycle and the four seasons operated differently?

Even the fox possessed techniques that resonated with the heavens.

Back in Hezhou’s He Plains, Song You had once set up a Yin-Yang Four Seasons Formation to isolate the Snowy Plains Demon King’s springhead, creating a realm independent from the outside world. Within that formation, yin and yang remained static, and the four seasons were unchanging. It was as if he had painted a small world for the Demon King, severing its connection with the outside.

The inspiration for that formation had come from Kong Daizhao, as well as from Sir Dou's profound craftsmanship.

Now, two years had passed in the blink of an eye. So many mountains and rivers had been traversed, so many insights gained from cultivation, and there had been no small measure of progress.

Song You wanted to try once more.

He intended to isolate the interior of Mount Ye from the outside world, creating a self-contained realm. Ghostly qi would no longer be allowed to leak out, and humans, gods, demons, and monsters would be barred from entering.

At the same time, the ghosts of the Ghost City would not be able to leave easily. This would ensure that, even after his departure, the ghosts of the Ghost City would no longer be subject to external covetousness or harm.

It would also strengthen his bargaining power when negotiating with the Heavenly Palace.

However, this would be far more complex and challenging than simply sealing the Snowy Plains Demon King’s springhead, where yin and yang remained static and the four seasons were frozen in place.

It might take a very long time.

But Song You was in no hurry.

This was an experiment, a construction, a practice in cultivation, and a test of his ability to arrange such a formation.

“

Swish

...”

Threads of seasonal spiritual energy continued to flow from his hand. Strands of various colors spread out, near and far, sinking into the mountain and vanishing without a trace, leaving only endless spiritual resonance and profound mysteries behind.

The exquisite

qin

melody accompanied the process, harmonizing with the spiritual light.

Time slowly passed, and day turned to night.

The Daoist remained seated cross-legged on the high platform. Inside the mountain, the glowing streams of light painted a breathtakingly beautiful scene.

Gradually, the ghosts and spirits began returning.

That day’s earth-shaking battle still lingered vividly in their memories. They had watched from afar as the monstrous beast that severed a river and turned a barren mountain into a great marsh unleashed its might. The marsh dragons roared, writhing between the marsh and the black mist. The white rhinoceroses, as massive as a mountain, and the towering giant had clashed.

Then, at last, a golden-armored great god descended from the heavens to face the colossal geomantic titan. The battle caused mountains to crumble, the ground to quake, the sky to darken, and the sun and moon to alternate several times. It reminded them of the ancient myths, with their sparse but awe-inspiring descriptions.

They had once thought those myths were nothing but the imaginations of the ancients...

The golden-armored great god’s words had rung clearly in their ears, as had the Daoist’s response, which echoed through the heavens and earth. All of it had left an indelible impression on them.

From afar, they had watched the great god fall, its divine soul extinguished.

The floodwaters receded, and the heavens and sun returned to their places.

The countless ghosts and wandering souls observed, yet their view was both clear and unclear. They could only vaguely guess that the side protecting them had emerged victorious—victorious over the monstrous beast, victorious over the divine beings. However, fear still gripped their hearts, and they dared not approach.

That was, until they heard the Daoist’s decree.

When the many ghosts, trembling with fear and unease, made their way back toward Mount Ye, they found that the land had completely transformed. Only Mount Ye, which had supposedly collapsed, still appeared as it once was.

When the ghosts returned to Mount Ye, they were greeted by an extraordinary sight.

The ghost fires were gone, as were the buildings. The mountain was empty and dim. The only figure present was the Daoist, sitting motionless atop the high platform.

Countless radiant streams of light wove around him, illuminating his face and figure. It was as if neither the monstrous beast nor the celestial titan of the lower realms had so much as touched him. He radiated divine brilliance, light and shadow mingling, making him appear like a deity that belonged solely to them.

The melody of the

qin

was serene and ethereal, like celestial music, soothing the fear and trepidation in their hearts.

“Immortal Master...“

It was unclear who knelt first, but soon cries echoed everywhere as the ghosts all prostrated themselves.

This time, Song You could not avoid their reverence, so he opened his eyes.

“Do not kneel. Please rise.”

“Thank you, Immortal Master... We...“

The ghosts rasped as they cried out, their voices hoarse and choked with sobs.

They were likely spirits who had once escaped from the fiery inferno of the underworld.

Only those who have lived through dark times can truly understand how formidable the darkness is, how precious the light is, and how extraordinary it is for someone to bring light to the world amidst that darkness.

From above came the Daoist's voice, echoing within the mountain, “Have any ghosts taken the opportunity to leave?”

“Immortal Master... where could we possibly go?”

“We have nowhere to go...”

“None of us left...”

“...”

A cacophony of voices rose from below.

“There is no need to fear anymore; everything is over now. However, the city within the mountain has been destroyed, and I must trouble you all to rebuild it once more,” the Daoist’s calm and gentle voice continued to resound through the mountain.

He continued, “When all the wandering ghosts and lost spirits have returned, you can resume as before. Your duties remain unchanged, the system will not be altered. Simply go back to living and working as you once did.”

“We humbly follow your decree.”

“I have my own matters to attend to. Do not concern yourselves with me.”

“Yes, Immortal Master...”

The ghosts and spirits quickly entered the ghost city, obediently waiting for the officials of the city to return. At the same time, they sneaked glances at the distant woman, who neither looked at them nor acknowledged anything but her qin. She continued to lower her head and play, utterly absorbed.

The melody was endlessly exquisite, each note resonating deep within their souls, calming them and making them quietly listen in awe.

After becoming ghosts, they were no longer like humans. They could no longer consume grains or taste the flavors of the mortal world. Without their physical bodies, they had lost so many things and could no longer enjoy countless pleasures.

None of them could remember the last time they had experienced such a beautiful moment.

Perhaps they never had.

1. Qi 七 in Chinese means seven. ☜