The Underground Mausoleum teemed with the bustling forms of people, palace maids, emperors, empresses; they had not yet entered the cycle of reincarnation, and so they watched the passing tourists with expressions mingled with anger and helplessness.
No matter who it might be, no one would feel at ease having their final resting place disturbed in such a manner.
The deceased should be revered, something Xuan Country took seriously, yet in practice, they often neglected it.
Qin Hao could see those spirits, and they could sense that he and his companions were different. Each one looked tense, especially Lin Luyao; any ghost daring to approach her was repelled by a ray of Buddha Light, emitting screams of agony.
As for Qin Hao and Wu Ying, it was the same for them. No ghost could come near; their bodies radiated with such vitality, like blazing suns, that any spirit that drew close was scorched.
