The sky was grey and red. The surroundings were gloomy, and it was raining miserably, as if crying for Fu Rong. In an eerie-sounding graveyard, a woman in a long black dress, carrying a blood-red rose bouquet—her master's favorite—walked to a lone tombstone and knelt down with ease. It was her master's tombstone. She was lonely.
She looked at the photo of the woman on the tombstone, with her hair tied high, cold and aloof eyes, and a one-sided smile. Only she knew how this woman, though she looked like hardened glass, had a soft heart. Otherwise, how would she have saved her in her worst condition, given her life to take revenge, and taught her the skills that no one else would teach their disciples? She was the woman who gave her a chance to build her life.
Fu Rong blinked her eyes, trying to stop the overflowing tears. "Master," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Let me tell you the good news. I took care of the 'Dark Blood' Sect... I wiped out every single one of them with my own hands. I'm sorry I didn't keep my promise to you."
She coughed heavily, her body trembling, and blood spilled from her mouth. Wiping her hands and lips with a paper towel, she spoke again, her voice barely a whisper. "Master, this apprentice will come to you soon. Rest in peace."
She wiped her tears, standing amidst the thick cadaverous mist surrounding her. Her hands were stained with blood—the blood of more than a hundred members of the sect that had killed her master. Why wouldn't she have killed them all? This was the woman who had saved her when she was clinging to life like a street rat. "I know," Fu Rong murmured, "if you were alive, you would have scolded shit out of me. You told me to live in peace without resentment and stop taking revenge for you. But forgive this disciple of yours for not obeying your last wish."
Slowly, Fu Rong stood and walked out of the graveyard. Her body was wracked with pain. No one could escape divine punishment for using dark arts. But she had no choice. She had to use hidden techniques to exact her revenge. Annihilating every member of the Devilry Cultivators Sect was no easy task, but she had done it. And she was willing to suffer the pain and the consequences. Yet, she had no regrets.
On the desolate road, a truck sped toward her. She stood in the middle of the street, not bothering to move. She knew her death was near—her black cadaverous qi would kill her within a day. So why wait? Why not accept death on her own terms?
Boom!
The truck crashed into her, dragging her lifeless body across the road for several meters. Though she had accepted death, it didn't mean she was ready to release her resentment. She was unwilling to rest in peace, unwilling to relinquish the hatred she had harbored for so many years.
She knew who had destroyed her life, but even with all her power, she couldn't touch them. The hatred ran deep, but what could she do, except die with the bitterness and agony that gnawed at her mind?
Everything went black after the crash.
1000 years of resentment. Who would have thought that instead of going straight to hell or reincarnating, Fu Rong would be left in this world as a ghost? Luckily, her cultivation and sane mind remained. Otherwise, she would have turned into a vengeful, evil spirit that hurt innocent people. The books her master made her learn and the guidance she received while her master was alive helped her cultivate as a ghost. She didn't want to harm innocent people.
She roamed the world, gathering knowledge and information, checking on her enemies until they died. Finally, she decided to cultivate as per her master's wish. During the time she checked on her enemies, she uncovered a lot of information about how they planned to steal her luck, how they destroyed her family bit by bit, and how they intended to make her a human cauldron to fulfill their dreams. She had escaped their clutches then, but that didn't stop her hatred—it turned into even deeper resentment.
Years passed in agony. As a lonely ghost, she suffered.
Dark clouds began to form in the bright sky, turning it ominous. Thunder rumbled, and the surroundings grew hideous and dark. Even a grown man wouldn't be able to stand still in this situation. Under the sky full of dark clouds and thunder, in a desolate temple, Fu Rong sat in a lotus position. As a ghost for 1000 years, she was covered in black mist. If a Daoist priest had seen her, they would have known how powerful her cultivation was and would have avoided her.
The first thunderbolt struck her, weakening her. The surrounding dark qi entered her body, increasing her cultivation and enhancing her. The second thunderbolt fell on her, and she was barely conscious. The third thunderbolt struck, and she leveled up in her cultivation, but suddenly, her inner qi became disrupted. Instead of forming a physical body, with her half-formed, half-transparent, weakened body, she violently coughed and vomited blood before falling unconscious.