The north wind howled desolately, winter’s chill brought death, and Liang City was as silent as death.

Perhaps “as” should be removed.

At this moment, Liang City was littered with corpses, blood flowing like rivers, the stench rising to the heavens. The entire city resembled a massive grave, where even the sound of breathing seemed too harsh.

A crow flew in from the distance, perching on the eaves, its hoarse cry tearing through the silent night. Then came a second, a third, a fourth… They arrived in flocks, darkening the sky, landing throughout the city streets and alleyways, stepping on the bodies that filled every avenue and lane.

No one knew which crow had just landed when a pair of light apricot-colored cloth shoes stepped onto the main street of Liang City, instantly becoming stained with splotches of blood.

The owner of the cloth shoes was a young woman in a moon-white dress, appearing to be seventeen or eighteen years old. Against this bleak crimson backdrop, she resembled a white lotus blooming in a pool of blood.

She held a jade pendant in her hand, her index finger hooked through the cord, spinning it continuously as the pendant emitted a faint blue light.

“Seems like they massacred the city…” the young woman’s tone was remarkably calm.

Ordinary young women, upon seeing such a bloody and terrifying scene, would likely faint from fear. Unfortunately, He Simu was no ordinary young woman.

She was an evil ghost.

When people die with lingering obsessions and unfulfilled wishes, they transform into wandering souls unable to be reborn. These wandering souls, after devouring each other for a hundred years, become evil ghosts.

Evil ghosts feed on humans.

He Simu, unfortunately, was just such an evil ghost in search of food.

The night was pitch black, one couldn’t see their fingers stretched out before them, and corpses throughout the city lay one atop another. He Simu’s movements weren’t hindered in the slightest; she moved nimbly between the bodies, always managing to step precisely in the most suitable gaps. Unluckily, after just six steps, her foot was grabbed by someone.

“Save… save…”

He Simu looked down to see a man whose stomach had been slashed open, his flesh and skin torn apart, clutching her foot. His features were obscured by blood, his gaze already unfocused, but he tremblingly pointed to one side.

“Save… my son… save… Chen Ying…”

He Simu glanced in the direction he was pointing. There was a seven or eight-year-old child trapped beneath several corpses, only his pale little face visible. He seemed to be still breathing faintly, but his eyes were tightly closed, likely having fainted.

She turned her gaze back to the disheveled, dying man and said, “Your son is in much better condition than you. You’re the one who’s about to die.”

“Save…” The man seemed unable to hear He Simu’s words, stubbornly continuing his plea.

He Simu then squatted down, resting her hands on her knees, looking directly at the dying man: “If I eat you, then save your son, would you agree? You must consider carefully—those consumed by evil ghosts will lose a soul flame, suffering countless misfortunes after rebirth, requiring who knows how many reincarnations to recover.”

The man seemed to ponder confusedly for a moment before understanding her meaning. His cloudy eyes widened in terror, and his hand began to tremble.

“You refuse?” He Simu tilted her head.

The man trembled for a while, tears welling in his eyes, and he softly said, “…I… agree…”

He Simu narrowed her eyes, smiling somewhat pitifully: “Good.”

Then she decisively grabbed the man’s hair, forcing his head back, and bit into his neck. Her sharp canines pierced deeply into his blood vessels, causing fresh blood to gush forth, spattering He Simu’s face. The jade pendant in her hand flared brightly before dimming.

The man’s hand, which had been clutching her right foot, fell into the pool of blood. A bright light rose from the man’s body, slowly ascending into the night sky.

Humans originally possess three soul flames, located at both shoulders and the crown of the head. At the moment of passing, they unite as one, rising like a bright lamp into the sky, a meteor traveling in reverse—this is death as seen only by evil ghosts.

For a high-level evil ghost-like He Simu, what she consumed was the soul flame from the crown of a person’s head.

Missing one soul flame, the man’s ascending soul light was much dimmer than others. For the sake of one lifetime’s father-son bond, he would suffer for several lifetimes—wasn’t that a losing bargain? Yet mortals peculiarly love making such unprofitable exchanges.

He Simu decisively released her hand, and the man’s heavy body crashed to the ground with a thud. Accompanying this heavy, muffled sound, dawn began to break, and the impenetrable darkness started to dilute. As if sunrise was approaching, the crows became increasingly agitated.

She dusted off her hands and stepped over the bodies scattered across the ground, following the trail of blood left by the man’s crawl, heading toward where his son lay.

Truthfully, with He Simu’s power, she could have simply devoured the man without him being able to resist. However, ghosts who had reached her level always maintained certain principles. He Simu held great respect for her food and always upheld the principle of fair exchange and keeping her word.

When she stood before the pile of bodies, she reached out to lift the corpse lying on top of the child. Unexpectedly, the corpse was wounded at the neck, and when she lifted it by the head, the skull separated from the torso. The bloody, mangled trunk crashed back down onto the child.

The child’s already pale face grew even whiter from the impact.

He Simu was rather helpless, holding the filthy head, frowning as she stared at the terror-stricken wide-open eyes of the head’s owner.

“The army of Great Liang has arrived!” A cry came from the distant city gate, an elderly voice that seemed to use every ounce of strength to shout these words, trembling and nearly breaking.

From afar came the clamor of voices and hoofbeats. The overwhelming aura of living people dispersed the death energy like a storm. Around her, joyful sobbing could be heard as survivors emerged sporadically from their hiding places. The grieving crowd gathered on the main street.

At the end of the street, the city gates slowly opened. Dawn broke, and the morning light appeared. Countless hooves and military boots entered the blood-soaked streets, a grand procession with no end in sight.

He Simu turned to look and immediately spotted the man at the front of the formation.

He appeared quite young, still just a youth, riding a tall white horse, wearing silver armor, facing the gradually brightening morning light. This man had a tall, strong build, with high cheekbones and a straight nose, and exceptionally bright, clear, slightly upturned almond eyes.

He was an extremely handsome and noble-looking young man.

He came forth in the dawn’s light like a blade cleaving through darkness.

This was He Simu’s first glimpse of Duan Xu. Dawn was breaking, all things awakening—it should have been a fine moment, yet there was no beautiful scenery—after all, she stood amidst corpses scattered everywhere and wailing, grieving commoners, still holding a dead person’s head in her hand.

The youth’s gaze swept over the tragic scene in the city. His brows furrowed slightly as he looked up and gazed far down the long street.

Blood-soaked He Simu was indistinguishable from the other survivors and didn’t attract the youth’s attention. She tossed aside the head in her hand and curiously looked toward the young man.

—More precisely, He Simu was examining the slender black sword with silver engravings on both sides and the hilt at his waist.

Evil ghosts have excellent vision, and she can see every detail of the sword at a glance. He Simu thought this sword looked quite familiar; where had she seen it before?

She searched through her long memories for quite a while before suddenly realizing: wasn’t this the Po Wang Spirit Sword forged by her uncle over three hundred years ago when he was still alive?

Po Wang was a spirit sword second only to the Bu Zhou Sword, embodying benevolence, highly coveted by the immortal sects. This young man appeared to be just an ordinary young general with no signs of cultivating immortality or the Dao, yet he possessed the Po Wang Sword?

“General! You’ve finally come to save us!” A wailing man rushed out from He Simu’s right, bumping into her and causing her to spin and stagger. Watching that man run to the roadside and kneel in worship, He Simu glanced around at the grieving and surprised commoners, realizing that standing there seemed somewhat inappropriate.

Should she at least cry out once?

After brief consideration, she bit her tongue hard, causing tears to immediately well up in the body she was possessing.

With tears in her eyes, she revealed a smile as if seeing a savior. She lifted her skirt, pushed aside the kneeling man blocking her path, and ran directly to the youth’s horse, calling out: “General, the Hu Qi people slaughtered the city before retreating. Countless people have died or been injured. Have you come to save us?”

The youth reined in his horse, and the soldiers behind him halted. He looked around at the commoners, his face showing a composure incongruous with his age. He said clearly: “I am Duan Xu, commander of Great Liang’s White-Treading Army. The enemy has retreated north of the river. Today, Liang City returns to Great Liang.”

After a brief pause, he said: “As long as I am here, the Hu Qi people will not set foot in Liang City again.”

The survivors erupted in tears of mixed grief and joy. He Simu joined in the shouting, pretending to be overwhelmed with sorrow, and reached out to pull at the youth’s sleeve.

The youth’s guards instantly moved to draw their swords. He Simu trembled and reddened her eyes. The youth waved his hand to indicate they needn’t intervene. Then he took out a handkerchief from his robes, leaned down, and handed it to He Simu: “Wipe away the blood.”

His fingers were long and white, making the blue veins quite visible. They were once noble hands, but now bore multiple bruises and showed signs of weathering.

He Simu, tears in her eyes, took the handkerchief while taking the opportunity to touch his hand. The moment she lowered her head, her eyes reflected a hint of amusement.

Indeed, it was wise to possess a beautiful, delicate young woman—one tearful plea and hearts softened; not only was she not pushed away, but even given a handkerchief.

However, when she just felt this youth’s pulse, she confirmed he was an ordinary person without the slightest spiritual cultivation. Strange, how would the Po Wang Sword obediently serve such a person? Was he truly the sword’s master?

Lost in thought, He Simu suddenly felt the scene before her began to waver. She realized that the body she was possessing was about to faint. She hurriedly pointed at the child in the pile of corpses nearby and shouted: “Please save that child!”

Then she watched her body sway and collapse softly before the young general’s horse.

…The disadvantage of possessing a delicate young woman was that the body was too fragile; a single night without sleep and it couldn’t withstand the strain, ready to faint.

He Simu left that body, floating in mid-air with folded arms, sighing.

People naturally couldn’t see He Simu floating in the air. The young general looked down at the pitiful young woman who had collapsed before his horse and said to a lieutenant beside him: “Take her away and look after her.”

After a pause, he calmly said: “Pass down the order: today we’ll organize military affairs in the city. Beyond what’s needed for city defense, all remaining personnel will rescue surviving citizens in the city. Anyone caught stealing or looting will be dealt with according to military law!”

The lieutenant acknowledged the order, and He Simu watched as that body was supported by several soldiers and taken away. He Simu leisurely followed those soldiers, walking while taking out a bright pearl from her bosom, calling: “Feng Yi.”

The pearl was about the size of a pigeon’s egg, crystal clear and glowing softly, with faint, intricate runes carved on it. Soon, a man’s voice came from within the pearl. He seemed to have just awakened, still lazily yawning.

“What a rare guest, Old Ancestor! The day’s barely begun, what brings you to me?”

He Simu ignored his complaints and said directly: “Help me investigate someone, a person from the imperial court.”

“Since when are you interested in the court? Who is it?”

“The one carrying the Po Wang Sword.”

The man on the other end of the pearl fell silent for a moment, then asked with surprise: “The Po Wang Sword has reappeared in the world? What’s the sword master’s name?”

“His name is…” He Simu narrowed her eyes, looking back at the gradually retreating young general.

That was indeed a good question.

What was his name again?

The moment she saw him, all she saw were three bright characters in her mind—”Po Wang Sword”—as for his name… she hadn’t paid attention.

Perhaps from being dead too long; as one continues being dead, many things become too troublesome to remember.

The man on the other end of the pearl seemed to guess that He Simu hadn’t noted the person’s name and burst into laughter. He appeared to be washing up, as splashing water sounds came through the pearl.

“Never mind what his name is, what do you plan to do after investigating him? Steal the Po Wang Sword?”

“What would I want with the Po Wang Sword? I don’t cultivate immortality.”

The young man’s white-robed figure gleamed brilliantly in the sunlight. He Simu pondered for a moment and said: “Perhaps I’ve been too bored lately. It’s rare to have time off in decades; I’m just looking for something interesting to do. If the Imperial Tutor isn’t busy lately, perhaps you could play along with me.”

“Oh, Old Ancestor, you flatter me. Once you find out his name, I’ll investigate him for you without fail.”

The pearl brightened briefly, then dimmed again.

Feng Yi on the other end of the pearl was the twenty-second great-grandson of her uncle who had passed away three hundred years ago, the Star of Calamity Yinghuoxing, skilled in curse techniques. Now, concealing his identity, he had risen to the position of Imperial Tutor in the court.

Counting carefully, although she could be considered Feng Yi’s ancestor, it was an extremely distant relationship with eighteen twists and turns. That their relationship remained so good until now was largely thanks to her constant pestering of Feng Yi since he was small.

He Simu tucked the pearl back into her bosom and looked up at the sky. The sun had fully risen, the sunlight bright and clear, making even the pools of blood on the ground reflect dazzling light.

She walked among all the weeping, grieving, angry people who were coming and going, searching for relatives, collecting bodies. With hands behind her back, her steps were unhurried and carefree, like an uninvited guest in the mortal world.

The world suffered a calamity, yet heaven smiled; the sky was clear for thousands of miles.

The joys and sorrows of all things do not connect. The wild grass, parched for many days and now irrigated with fresh blood, probably also felt today was a good day.