The girl in red entered first. In an instant, the accumulated grief and resentment of a hundred years from the fallen nation transformed into a murky underworld energy, surging towards her.

Ye Jiuya looked at Xie Lang: "Guard the city gate."

The Daoist priest nodded, handing Qingyuan to Wen Hui to hold, a snow-white duster in his hand, truly exhibiting an immortal demeanor.

Chen Weichen looked at Ye Jiuya.

Ye Jiuya asked him: "Can you use a sword?"

Since this person already knew a bit about his background, Chen Weichen didn't conceal it: "A little."

A flash of clear silver light, and a long sword was tossed out by Ye Jiuya, caught by him.

He weighed it, switching it to his left hand.

Xie Lang raised an eyebrow.

Ye Jiuya's gaze focused for a moment, but he only said: "You stay here."

Then he turned and left.

Chen Weichen examined the sword. The sword light was clear, the ice crystals transparent. The sword was named "Breaking Bamboo".

"Snow at night breaking bamboo, it's a good sword." He praised.

"Zhe Zhu - this was the sword Swordmaster Ye used in his youth. I don't know why he later changed to that other one." Xie Lang said while setting up a spell to prevent resentful souls from escaping the city: "Young Master Chen, I'm curious, who exactly are you? Why do you even switch to your left hand when holding a sword, hiding furtively, afraid of being recognized."

Chen Weichen wiped the sword, smiling: "I'm just an ordinary person now. If you saw me use the sword, could you recognize who I am?"

Xie Lang said rather smugly: "Of course. The two major sword-using sects, the Northern Sword Hall is simple and straightforward, the Southern Sword Platform is varied and ornate. Plus the various sword-wielding lords - Lord Wanjun is steady, Lord Liubo is nimble, Lord Feishuang is swift, Lord Qianglong's heavy sword shakes Mount Kunlun, Lord Lanshan is upright and solemn... As long as you display sword techniques, I can discern clues and know which sect you belong to."

He seemed to recall something, and added: "Only Emperor Yan alone, I don't know. At that time I wasn't yet the Marquis Langran. The immortal way only knows he once drew back the Heavenly River with one sword, but few have seen him make a move - but with your appearance, you're naturally not the Emperor."

"Indeed," Chen Weichen's fingertips slid across the sword edge, his voice extremely low and soft, "I naturally can't compare to him."

"No, no, wait," Xie Lang's muttering voice suddenly grew louder: "I saw the sword Swordmaster Ye carries is named 'Jiuya', Jiuya, the Jiuya Sword..."

Chen Weichen smiled indifferently, but handed "Zhe Zhu" to Wen Hui: "I'm going. That little Daoist priest Xie's martial arts are mediocre, you take this to defend yourself."

Then he opened his fan and walked towards the inner city without looking back.

Xie Lang suddenly seemed to realize something, almost jumping up from the ground: "That's it, the Jiuya Sword! It was Emperor Yan's sword back then - it's just been too long, no one remembers anymore! Why would it be with Swordmaster Ye..."

"Young Master, where are you going-" Wen Hui didn't care what Xie Lang was surprised about, calling out to Chen Weichen who was about to disappear inside the city gate.

Just when he thought his family's young master who always did suicidal things was about to be devoured alive by fierce ghosts and evil spirits, he saw that figure in brocade robes and splendid attire leisurely walking into the demonic chaos, actually completely unscathed.

The surrounding resentful souls didn't attack en masse like when Ye Jiuya and Lu Hongyan entered, as if they didn't see him, still drifting aimlessly in the streets and alleys. Even when Chen Weichen passed by them, they were completely unaware, as if what passed through their bodies wasn't a living person, but a floating, ephemeral speck of dust, or an equally drifting ghost.

Past the wide thoroughfare, turning a corner, Chen Weichen disappeared in a different direction from where Ye Jiuya went - that figure inexplicably had a bit of a desolate, lonely air.

Wen Hui watched helplessly as his young master vanished among the myriad ghosts, into the piles of ghostly fires, like stepping from the living world into the underworld.

The tall buildings on both sides of the street raised their flying eaves. If it were a prosperous, peaceful time with bustling crowds, it would surely be a grand, imposing sight. But now, the last bit of dying sunlight on the horizon sank completely, like crimson blood dripping into black soil, soundlessly. The streets were left with only dark, looming shadows and ghostly fires, sinister and eerie.

The further into the city center, the thicker the resentment. After passing two long streets, reaching the residential areas where the city's common folk once lived, the ghosts were no longer the drifting murky energy from before.

Overgrown weeds and withered willows, once a place of song and dance.

There were human figures moving about. With deep obsessions, they had condensed into physical forms. Aside from their dazed, ignorant eyes, tattered clothes, and sluggish steps, they were no different from real people.

An old man over sixty stood at a street corner by some broken walls, one hand suspended in the air, the other constantly turning.

It seemed this was still the wonton stand he had set up here in the prosperous times, with a warm yellow lantern at night, customers sitting at tables behind him, talking while waiting for a steaming bowl of noodle soup.

From a house facing the street came the hoarse singing of a songstress.

She sang, "Watching him build the vermilion tower, watching him feast with guests, watching the tower collapse."

The young master in the middle of the road held a gold-painted fan, his jade pendants tinkling, the night breeze lifting his robes and wide sleeves.

A woman in gray-white clothes walked past him, her steps heavy, carrying a lantern glowing with a faint ghostly light.

"Young Master," those turbid eyes suddenly turned to Chen Weichen, muttering: "Li Lang, have you seen Li Lang? He hasn't returned home in a long time."

Chen Weichen replied to her: "Which Li Lang?"

"My family's Li Lang, he's tall..." The wandering soul closed her eyes, her voice confused: "Wearing black clothes, or was it red clothes..."

"So it's Madam Li." Chen Weichen said.

The wandering soul opened her eyes joyfully: "It's me, you recognize me? I thought no one recognized me anymore."

"Madam Li, I want to ask, where did the biggest fire in the Shangyang Imperial City start from?"

"Fire, fire..." The wandering soul retreated a few steps, her voice hoarsely trembling in fear: "Fire, big fire, the sky is about to burn, so hot, Li Lang, Li Lang-"

"Madam, don't be afraid." The young master's slender fingers stroked her hair, his voice gentle.

The wandering soul paused in a daze.

Chen Weichen took out a hand-sized mirror and handed it to her: "Li Lang is here."

The wandering soul took the bronze mirror, staring blankly, murmuring: "Li Lang, my Li Lang..."

A tear slid down her gray-white cheek, taking away the confusion in her eyes, revealing a trace of clarity.

"Young Master," she looked at Chen Weichen, her tone mournful, "since you know Li Lang is no longer here, and I am a resentful ghost, why let me briefly reunite with this illusion?"

"I searched for a hundred years, finally seeing Li Lang once, but it was just an illusion. When you take back the mirror, Li Lang and I part in life and death once more - isn't that even more bitter and painful?"

"Madam, the most painful thing is lovesickness. If you can reunite with him once more and let go of your obsession, no matter how bitter or painful, there is nothing to fear." The young master's eyelashes drooped slightly, his voice gentle and soft.

The wandering soul sobbed, "The most painful thing is lovesickness, that's right, that's right - I thank you, young master."

She bowed gracefully to Chen Weichen, "Young master, the fire comes from the south."

With that, her figure gradually faded and became transparent. Her obsession resolved, her physical form dissipated, turning into a wisp of light smoke and passing on, returning to the lofty blue sky, no longer having joy, anger, sorrow, happiness, greed, ignorance, or delusion.

The Flower Mirror fell to the ground with a clang, rolling a few times, making dull thuds that knocked on people's hearts.

Chen Weichen took a few steps forward, picking up the bronze mirror, and headed south.

Pavilions and terraces, filled with ghostly air.

Passing through an alley, he suddenly heard knocking sounds.

The sound was empty and bright, carrying a boundless tranquility, completely at odds with the entire ghost city.

It was the sound of compassion.

Chen Weichen followed the sound and saw a high platform with a monk in white robes sitting on it, striking a wooden fish. Except for his right hand holding the Buddhist mallet and striking, the rest of the monk's body was completely still, like a clay or stone sculpture.

Seeming to hear his footsteps, the monk opened his eyes and slowly stood up. "Benefactor."

He appeared to be middle-aged, with kind eyes and brows.

Chen Weichen casually waved his fan, his tone like that of a dissolute son from the mortal world, "Monk, how many years have you been here?"

"One hundred and thirty-five years," the monk's voice was clear and empty. "Even exhausting all my power, I am unable to liberate the resentful souls here. So I sit in meditation, the souls unable to leave, and I also do not leave."

"The person who can help you is about to arrive. Will you assist or not?"

"Of course I will assist." The monk stepped down from the high tower, shaking off dust, his appearance solemn and dignified. "May I ask, benefactor, for what purpose have you come?"

Chen Weichen continued walking south as he answered the monk, "I've come to get the Jinxiu Ashes."

"Benefactor, you already carry karmic ties from past lives, immense karmic obstacles. If you take the Jinxiu Ashes, you will be beyond salvation for ten thousand cycles."

"There happens to be someone who wants to fight me for being beyond salvation," the corners of Chen Weichen's eyes held a hint of a smile. "I can only hurry ahead of him to take the Jinxiu Ashes first and bear the karma in his stead."