Based on his voice and physique, he was determined to be a "young man."
He was dressed in neat and orderly warrior gear, his physique tall and slender. Like new, fresh bamboo, he had an aura of the innocence of youth.
Robes as black as ink, hair as black as ink, tied high. From his waist hung a saber, long and slim. He raised his head slowly, and upon his face there was a snow-white mask painted with a crescent-eyed smile.
Ball after ball of black mist took shape amidst all the hissing and wailing, which were all sucked cleanly into the array within the white-clothed man's qiankun sleeve. It was like he took an entire river into a small jade bottle. As for the young man, he remained steady and still within the chaotic black whirlwind.
"Who were you calling?" the white-clothed man asked.
The black-clad young man was still down on one knee. The pose was one of servile submission but also of swearing an oath. "I was calling you, Your Royal Highness."
"I'm not Your Royal Highness," the white-clothed man said coldly.
"You are," the black-clad young man replied. "I would never forget your voice or your form."
The white-clothed man's voice was now laced with anger. "I told you, I'm not him."
The white-clothed man was naturally Xie Lian, who had donned the funeral garb and put on the cry-smiling mask. No one could recognize him with his face hidden behind the mask, and he didn't want to be recognized.
And yet, on this battlefield, a wandering black-clad warrior had identified him straightaway.
Suddenly, the white silk band wrapped inside Xie Lian's expansive sleeve lunged like a viper at the black-clad young man. Although it looked like soft white cloth at first glance, it was savage when it attacked and its evil qi burst forth. But just as the black-clad young man was about to be wrapped and bound, he reached out and firmly caught the white silk band.
One end of the white silk band was wrapped around Xie Lian's wrist, and the other was caught around the wrist of this black-clad young man.
The silk band was gradually pulling itself taut. It was trying to break away, but the black-clad young man had a tight hold on it, like he was squeezing a venomous snake at its fatal point. Chilling qi flowed endlessly from his hand.
There was no doubt that this was a soul of the dead. And it was an extremely powerful one!
Xie Lian could tell that the strength passing through the white band was not to be underestimated. "What is your name?"
He remained silent for a moment, then the black-clad young man replied, "I do not have a name."
Xie Lian didn't push further. "No name would make you 'Wuming.'"6 "You may call me whatever you desire," Wuming said.
"Are you a soul of this battlefield's dead?"
"I am."
Only then did Xie Lian slacken his attack. The white silk band instantly leapt back to Xie Lian, swaying at Wuming to show off its might from afar, like it was lashing a venomous tongue.
If he was a soul who had died in battle, no wonder he had heeded Xie Lian's call. This black-clad warrior must have also been filled with resentment toward the people of Yong'an. In other words, he could be used because their objective was the same.
Thus, Xie Lian said, "Then follow me." He extended his hand to Wuming. "I will give you what you want."
Wuming's face was also hidden behind a mask, so his expression couldn't be seen. They were indeed the same.
After a moment of silence, he grasped Xie Lian's extended hand with conviction, bowed his head deeply, and pressed his cold forehead to the back of Xie Lian's fingers.
A long moment later, he vowed sincerely, "I swear to die following Your Highness."
Xie Lian, however, pulled back his hand and tucked his arms into his sleeves. He turned around and said coolly, "You're already dead. Come."
Wuming rose to his feet, and when Xie Lian looked back, he discovered that the young man was much bigger than he had expected. He was probably only around sixteen or seventeen years old but was enormously tall already. He was even a bit taller than Xie Lian. That was unimportant, though, and Xie Lian only took a glance before turning back around and continuing onward.
Xie Lian took the lead, and the nameless black-clad warrior followed right behind as expected.
"Your Highness, where do you want to go?"
Xie Lian gazed into the distance. "The Palace of Yong'an."
***
The Palace of Yong'an sat in a large city to the west. It was once a flourishing city in its own right, but it had been overshadowed by the imperial city of Xianle in the east. Now that Xianle had fallen, the new king had moved the capital here. It wouldn't be long before it overtook the old imperial city, basking in its newfound glory.
Xie Lian arrived at the new imperial city deep in the night. Beneath the moonlight, he was like a white cat soundlessly flying across the ridges of the densely packed rooftops, and Wuming was like a black spirit fox following closely behind. Soon, the two shadows landed before a large gate.
Xie Lian sensed something amiss. There was faintly ominous air surrounding the gate, and he paused. He was about to reach out to check it when Wuming stepped in front of him.
The black-clad man extended an open palm and said quietly, "Break!"
A line of firelight leaked from around the edges of the door as if something had been burnt away. Only after that did Wuming reach out and push the gate open.
"Your Highness."
Xie Lian crossed the threshold and looked at the ground. Just as he expected, there were some burnt shreds scattered there. Xie Lian picked a bit of it up to inspect, and he smelled the scent of herbs and talisman paper.
He stole a glance at Wuming.
This ghost was indeed formidable.
These were the burnt remnants of charms, which obviously indicated there was someone on the other side of the door who had woven a defense spell—a strong one. If ordinary little minions tried to intrude or break the array, their innards would have burnt to ashes. Yet it only took this black-clad warrior an instant to destroy it completely.
Perhaps because it was newly erected, the Palace of Yong'an wasn't extraordinarily magnificent—it was even a little shabby. It couldn't be compared to the Palace of Xianle. But that wasn't the strange part—the truly strange thing about this building was the massive number of evil-warding traps and defense arrays set up throughout the palace. Still, every time Xie Lian noticed something blocking the way ahead, Wuming would immediately step forward and break through the obstacle to clear the path for him. In the end, his journey was entirely unimpeded.
An hour later, two tall, slender shadows kept watch from the roof ridge of the Palace of Yong'an's large great hall.
They both wore masks. The white-clothed man's expansive sleeves fluttered, and the white silk band wrapped around his arm danced madly in the wind. The black-clad man was sleek and agile and wore a long saber at his waist. He kept guard at the white-clothed man's side, gazing in the same direction he did. This scene under the moonlight was somehow at once dangerous, uncanny, and beautifully harmonious.
The newly crowned King of Yong'an was inside this great hall. Xie Lian snorted.
"He set up so many obstacles in his palace to ward off evil. It seems he's quite scared that something will come knocking, huh."
"Your Highness, I will open the path," Wuming said.
However, Xie Lian stopped him. "No need. I'll do it myself."
Then he leapt down like a white blossom blown off the tip of a branch by a breeze and landed soundlessly before the palace hall.
Just as he was about to push open the gates, he heard a baby's wailing from within.
Lang Ying didn't have any consorts, and his son had died a long time ago. Where had this baby come from?
Xie Lian didn't care, though. Never mind a baby, he wouldn't be afraid if an army of millions was hidden inside. He raised his leg and kicked open the palace door!
Strangely, there was only one person within the great hall. There was not a single other soul present, and certainly no baby. When the lone person saw who had arrived, he raised his head.
"You've come? I've been searching for you."
The one within the palace was Lang Ying.
Although he was now an esteemed king, he wasn't dressed in lavish robes, and he sat woodenly upon the throne. Xie Lian was puzzled for a moment at his reaction, but then he realized that he was wearing a mask and funeral garb. Lang Ying had taken him for White No-Face.
There were arrays set up within the palace hall as well, and when Xie Lian crossed the threshold, he could sense something blocking him from approaching further. However, it only took putting a little more force into his steps for him to easily walk forward into the hall. The sound of something shattering rang out.
Night and the chill of winter came pouring in from outside the palace hall, filling Xie Lian's sleeves with wild winds. "Why were you searching for me?" he asked gloomily.
When he heard Xie Lian's voice, Lang Ying's expression changed slightly. "It's you?"
Xie Lian approached slowly, his snow-white boots advancing across the icy stone floors step by step. "It is I."
Lang Ying, a brutish commoner, had led an army and destroyed Xianle. With the kingly aura surrounding his body, ordinary evil couldn't come close to him. However, Xie Lian had brought with him millions of souls of the battlefield's dead!
He refused to believe that Lang Ying would be able to defend himself against so many ghosts that bore him such powerful resentment. The vengeful spirits were agitated and impatient, ready to break free and seize the fresh, new flesh of their enemy as a host. It was impossible for anyone not to have heard their roiling, but Lang Ying didn't look particularly alarmed.
"You've come to kill me?"
Xie Lian didn't answer. In the blink of an eye, he appeared right in front of Lang Ying and grabbed him by the hair, yanking him down and pressing him to the ground.
Success!
Under the cry-smiling mask, Xie Lian's lips unconsciously curled upward.
He knew it! He knew it! He could now defeat Lang Ying!
His heavenly official status had once restricted Xie Lian and made him powerless before this man with a king's fortune. But now, Xie Lian was stripped of such bondage, had thrown away his godly state—and he could finally defeat Lang Ying. Xie Lian's heart was pounding, and he was just about to move on to the next step when his face dropped abruptly.
"What's that sound?"
Waaaaah, waaaaaaah! He heard a tiny baby's cry again—but there was clearly no baby within the great hall.
He listened again. This wasn't right—the crying was coming from Lang Ying, who was currently subdued under his hand! Or more accurately, it was coming from somewhere on Lang Ying's body. Xie Lian ripped off Lang Ying's robe, and his eyes widened. He jumped to his feet.
"What is this?!"
Lang Ying slowly rolled over and sat up. "Don't be scared."
His words weren't directed at Xie Lian but to the thing attached to his body.
There were two distinct faces growing on Lang Ying's chest like protruding tumors. Each one was about the same size as a normal human's face. The larger face was elegant and beautiful, and easily identifiable as a woman. The smaller face was slightly scrunched up like a baby's. The halting cries had been coming from the "baby's" mouth.
Human Face Disease!
Xie Lian was dumbfounded. "How did you get infected with Human Face Disease?!"
"This isn't Human Face Disease," Lang Ying said.
"How is it not? What is it, then?" Xie Lian exclaimed.
"This is my wife and my son," Lang Ying explained. "They're not a disease."
His voice was soft as he raised his hands to gently caress the two faces on his body, truly looking like a husband and father soothing his wife and child. However, the two faces couldn't even open their eyes; they could only open their mouths to cry and sob. They had the shape of humans, but they were not human at all.
A moment later, Lang Ying looked up. "Where's White No-Face? He said my wife would return if I did this, but it's been so long now. How come she still can't talk? What's going on? Tell him to come find me, quick!"
Hearing this, Xie Lian understood. "You let White No-Face plant the vengeful spirits of your wife and son on your body?"
So that was it. All the spells and arrays in the palace weren't to impede intruders from outside but to prevent the escape of the things hiding within! Lang Ying, who had already become king, was using his own flesh and blood to secretly raise these two vengeful spirits!
Xie Lian had come to seek vengeance, yet who could've guessed that he wouldn't need to do anything? Lang Ying had already infected himself with Human Face Disease. These two faces must've been on his body for a long time now; they had grown tiny, deformed arms and legs that drooped heavily off him in a disturbing display. Moreover, they had already sucked their host dry—Lang Ying's ribs were abnormally visible, his gut was shrunken in, and his skin was wax yellow. He looked wan and sallow, like he didn't have much longer to live. He was no longer the same brave, fierce warrior he'd been on the battlefield.
It seemed he hadn't been living well despite winning the war and becoming a king. But Xie Lian didn't feel gratified at all, and he seized Lang Ying.
"What kind of joke is this?!" he exclaimed angrily.
He didn't even get the chance to take his enemy's life—his enemy was about to die on his own! What the hell! What should he do now?
Something tumbled off Lang Ying as Xie Lian grabbed him. It shimmered and glinted red as it bounced and bounced and rolled away.
Lang Ying clutched Xie Lian's hands; even such a simple gesture seemed quite difficult for him.
"Pearl… That pearl," he panted.
Xie Lian looked over. Rolling on the floor was the red coral pearl he had once given Lang Ying.
"I've always wanted to say this to you: thank you for the pearl," Lang Ying said.
Hearing this surprised Xie Lian; he never expected Lang Ying to say that so suddenly. Something within his heart was about to be unburied, but he forced it down.
"You…!"
"Things would've been better if you'd given it to me sooner, though," Lang Ying said softly. "Too bad…" Before he finished, the body in Xie Lian's grip slackened. Lang Ying died just like that, his eyes still wide open.
Xie Lian hadn't had the chance to react before Wuming said, "Your Highness, he's dead."
"…Dead?" Xie Lian wondered.
He looked down, and Lang Ying's eyes were already going dull. He really had died.
"How is he just…dead?" Xie Lian mumbled.
He hadn't done anything to Lang Ying yet. How could he be dead?
And now that he thought about it, Lang Ying had died fairly fulfilled and happy. His revenge against Xianle was complete, and with his family so close at hand, he was prepared to immediately reunite with them in the underworld. He had suffered enough torment in the world of the living, so death was likely a form of release, an end to it.
But Xie Lian was left with nothing to avenge himself upon! His chest was filled with grievance and indignation, and in the end, they coalesced into a single emotion: hate. How despicable! How absolutely despicable!
Lang Ying had stopped moving, but the two faces on his chest seemed to know that their host was dead and suddenly started to cry.
Waaaaaaah, waaaaaaah. The noise was piercing, worse than the sound of nails scratching on gold and silver plates. Xie Lian was already going mad from fury. He pulled out the black sword, ready to strike and shut them up, when Wuming swiftly drew his saber. Sching! The saber's light flashed past him, and Lang Ying's corpse was instantly chopped to pieces. Tens of pieces, hundreds of pieces… Flesh and blood splattered everywhere.
Xie Lian hadn't even moved before he was overtaken. "Who told you to do that?" he questioned coldly.
"There was no need to dirty Your Highness's hands," Wuming replied.
Just then, urgent footsteps sounded outside the door. "Uncle!" a young boy's voice called.
Who? Xie Lian turned around and saw that the doors of the palace hall were wide open. A boy, ten-or-so years old, was standing there and gazing at the scene in front of him. His face had been full of smiles at first, but they turned to shock when he entered and saw the gore covering the floor.
Xie Lian was unmoved. "Who are you?"
"I…" the boy started, then his gaze fell upon the chunks of dead body all around the room. "Uncle…!"
More people began calling to him from outside. "Your Royal Highness, don't run off! The king said you can't run around in the palace!
Please don't make things difficult for me in the middle of the night…" "Royal Highness"?
Lang Ying's son was dead, and this boy had called him "uncle." So he must be the one Lang Ying had named Crown Prince of Yong'an!
The reality of the situation seemed to have dawned on the young crown prince, and he cried out in terror. "Ghosts! There are ghosts!
Somebody—" He hadn't screamed more than a few words before Wuming struck him in the neck. The Crown Prince of Yong'an lost consciousness and fell into the blood pooling on the floor. However, his screams had already reached those outside, and a commotion began to rise.
"What? Did you hear that?"
"Guards! Guards!"
Xie Lian's eyes flicked, and Wuming inclined his head, indicating he would take care of it. He flashed away. In an instant, all the noise outside was choked off. Exiting the great hall, Xie Lian saw many guards strewn about on the ground. Wuming stood at the center of the fallen crowd, his thin, delicate saber dripping with blood. He had finished them all with a single strike.
More noise came from far in the distance, and a new batch of guards arrived amidst shouts of "Protect the king!" and "Protect His Highness!"
Xie Lian coldly turned around and ignored them completely. Sure enough, less than a second later those voices vanished completely, cut down like a harvest faced with a scythe. Soon after, Wuming silently caught up to him.
Xie Lian inclined his head. "Burn the palace."
Wuming bowed his head. "Yes, sir."
Roaring flames blazed to the sky. Two tall, slender figures stood before the raging fire. Their shadows on the ground writhed and contorted ceaselessly, pulling and twisting, changing shape.
The attendants within the Palace of Yong'an were jolted awake by the havoc, and the air was choked by the cries and curses of those putting out the fires and those making their escape. It was very much the same scene as when the Palace of Xianle had been set ablaze.
"Your Highness, what do you want to do next?" the black-clad warrior asked.
"To Lang-Er Bay," the white-clothed man said in a chilly voice.
***
Before the Kingdom of Xianle fell, Xie Lian had visited Lang-Er Bay countless times. Every time he went, it was to create rain to save the people;
his body and heart were always exhausted, his steps leaden. This time, he was visiting for a completely different reason, and his body was light.
Having survived the drought and gained the support of the new king, Lang-Er Bay had been revived, lively and bustling. Streets and alleys were busy and joyful, the people cheerful and happy—it was a complete reversal from the misery of years ago. Only one place was still as miserable as before, and that was the Temple of the Crown Prince of Xianle.
No one would come to a broken-down Temple of the Crown Prince, so Xie Lian chose it as his place to rest. Right now, he was meditating within the hall.
The vengeful spirits should've quickly found a host in Lang Ying, the target of Xie Lian's revenge. Yet because he was already dead, they still struggled in agony, wailing and screeching relentlessly at Xie Lian.
Frowning, Xie Lian waved them away with his eyes closed. "Just wait, don't be impatient. I will allow all of you to find release!"
Just then, a voice called out, "Your Highness."
Xie Lian opened his eyes. He saw Wuming before him, one knee on the ground.