Chapter Nine: The Passage of the Ghostly Army

The envoys on the boat were dressed identically, even their statures matched perfectly. If they all stood together, Lu Qian wouldn’t have been able to tell which one was sent to receive him.

Lu Qian noticed that those whose faces brimmed with confidence mostly wore peachwood talismans marked “B,” with a few bearing the “A” mark. Judging by their expressions, these mysterious sights seemed utterly unremarkable to them.

“Go forward and you will reach the mountain gate!”

With a splash, everyone was flung onto the shore. The boats flipped back into the water, dissolving into shadows that vanished from sight. At a glance, these shadows resembled schools of black fish swimming in the current.

“Greetings, fellow cultivators!”

“Greetings, Daoist friend. I am Lu Li.”

“My name is…”

“Ah, a fellow townsman! What a happy coincidence. From now on, we’re all brothers and sisters in the Netherworld Temple!”

There were quite a few people present, around fifty or sixty. Some began to strike up conversations, lively as a marketplace.

Lu Qian quietly observed the crowd and found that those with “A” and “B” tokens were mostly silent. Even if they replied to someone, it was with a few perfunctory words, clearly unwilling to speak at length.

Recalling the words of the envoy, Lu Qian grew wary and quietly moved to the back of the group.

Suddenly, in the darkness, eerie green flames flickered to life.

Everyone looked up and saw the mountains ablaze with these ghostly green lights.

The flames grew larger, swelling to the size of lanterns.

On closer inspection, they realized these were not flames, but pairs of eyes.

Their owners stood nearly fifteen feet tall, cloaked entirely in black, with wide-brimmed hats and veils concealing their faces, save for those lantern-sized eyes glowing beneath.

They wore similar garb to the envoys, but with one difference: on their hats was a white patch bearing the black character for “Death.”

These beings loomed above them, towering like mountains, gazing down as if observing a clutch of chicks.

“So these must be the patrol spirits the envoys mentioned…”

The arrival of the patrol spirits brought a thick, chilling fog. Despite their towering size, their movements were utterly soundless.

A great black hand extended, fingers long and curved like scythes. With a motion as if snatching a chick, it seized a young Daoist.

With a bloodcurdling scream, the youth was torn apart, his bloody entrails devoured in one mouthful.

Crunch, crunch…

The sound of teeth shattering bone was chilling enough to make one's own teeth ache.

Shrieks followed in succession; about a dozen of the young Daoists were swallowed alive.

Lu Qian quickly bowed his head, not daring to look directly.

Waves of cold washed over him as the patrol spirits’ gazes swept the survivors.

A terror beyond words gripped them, as if plunged into an icy abyss.

The world fell silent, the air growing ever colder. Lu Qian could just make out the sound of teeth chattering among those nearby.

He circulated his vital energy, only then feeling a trace of warmth.

A rustling sound began to fill the air.

Lu Qian glanced at the ground and saw the spirits form into lines, drifting towards the group.

They moved between walking and floating, utterly silent.

The cold crept ever closer, but the peachwood talisman at his waist glowed with a pale warmth.

The spirits seemed insubstantial—each time they passed through someone, they left nothing but a chill.

Lu Qian’s body was penetrated several times, but thanks to the talisman, he felt only a fleeting coldness.

“Aah!” a young woman suddenly shrieked.

Perhaps she was too nervous and startled by a spirit drawing near.

Realizing her outburst, she immediately covered her mouth, tears brimming in her beautiful eyes.

But it was too late—a cold, baleful gaze had fixed upon her.

Crunch, crunch…

That scalp-numbing chewing sound rang out once more.

After a long while, the last of the patrol spirits faded from sight.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

Lu Qian looked around. The crowd had thinned by nearly half; just over thirty people remained.

“Greetings, friends,” a young man announced with a bow. “I am Li Lin, bearer of an 'A' token. The hindrances are gone—now, we are the true companions.”

He looked to be around fifteen or sixteen, finely dressed and possessed of an air of confidence.

“I am Xie Te. Daoist Brother, what just happened?” asked another man, who, like Lu Qian, bore a “C” token. He sidled up to Li Lin, his tone ingratiating.

“It was merely a selection. Some are lucky enough to gain immortal fate, but lack the virtue to match their fortune, and so cannot enjoy the blessing,” Li Lin replied, surrounded by the others, clearly assuming a leadership role.

Some had, by chance, obtained a token despite lacking true aptitude. If such people entered the Netherworld Temple, they would only waste resources.

Thus, this trial was meant to weed out those lacking in character.

“Brother Li, did you know of this beforehand?” asked a gentle “B” ranked young woman.

Li Lin gazed at her, a flash of admiration in his eyes, and replied confidently, “To tell the truth, my uncle is a patrol officer of the Netherworld Temple.”

At this, a chorus of flattery arose, forming a little clique around Li Lin. Other small groups gathered by status or region, while a few proud “A” token youths kept to themselves.

Among them, one breathtakingly beautiful, cold-as-ice young woman drew the most attention. She was one of the six with “A” tokens, solitary and unapproachable. Even the sociable Li Lin dared not disturb her.

There was also a young man clutching a treasured sword, nose in the air, who regarded the others with utter disdain.

Lu Qian, surveying the groups, realized that standing alone made him conspicuous. Glancing around, he noticed a small cluster.

Most of them held “C” or “D” tokens; only one had a “B”.

This was a spirited young man with brows as sharp as swords.

Lu Qian had overheard their disdainful remarks earlier—they were unwilling to fawn on others, and, being from outlying regions, had no local cliques to join.

“I am Lu Qian. Greetings, fellow cultivators,” Lu Qian said, stepping forward and clasping his hands.

“Yu Ci,” the “B” token young man replied curtly.

“Wang Ming. Greetings, friend!” said a cheerful, bearded man, the oldest of the group, bearing a “D” token.

“Han Li…” murmured a round-faced, timid girl.

“Tang Bing! Nice to meet you,” said the last girl, her looks plain but her manner forthright.

The remaining two young men were reserved, only nodding in acknowledgment.

“Brother, where are you from?” Wang Ming asked with a hearty laugh.

“Wu County.”

“What a coincidence, so am I!” Wang Ming exclaimed. “How did you get here, brother?”

“By chance, I acquired the jade token,” Lu Qian replied, keeping things vague. He couldn't very well say he’d won it by killing someone.

The group chatted as they walked, soon warming to each other. In such an eerie, unsettling place, a few words of conversation eased their fears considerably.

Meanwhile, Li Lin basked in the attention, rapidly becoming the group’s informal leader, and clearly enjoying the praise.

“Tch, what’s there to be proud about? He’s just a petty officer’s relative. Anyone hearing him might think he was one of the Eight Chief Officers,” Wang Ming muttered, unable to stomach Li Lin’s airs.

“Brother Wang, what are the Eight Chief Officers?” Lu Qian asked curiously.

The others pricked up their ears.

“Oh, you don’t know yet? Well, let me tell you some things to watch out for, so you won’t offend the wrong people when you enter the temple,” Wang Ming replied enthusiastically, launching into an explanation.