These malevolent ghosts numbered in the tens of thousands — a dark, endless mass of them, pressing forward in a crush. Those in the front ranks were fighting one another to claw the window lattices open with their rotting, incomplete limbs, desperate to force their way into the hall.

Qing Xuzi stepped back two paces, his expression unchanged. He said in a low, steady voice: “A’Yao, use the Soul-Devouring Bell against the ghosts — quickly.”

Qin Yao was already channeling her internal energy. At these words, she released the Soul-Devouring Bell without hesitation. Three fire dragons surged out of the bell one by one in magnificent spirals, gliding and coiling through the air, and soon set the several ghosts that had already thrust half their bodies through the windows wailing in flames.

The Luo Cha, at the sight of the Soul-Devouring Bell, halted its advance momentarily and slowed its assault on the hall. Its pair of eerie green pupils watched from midair just outside the doorway, circling back and forth, hesitant to enter.

Qing Xuzi turned to Lin Xiao and Chang Rong: “A’Yao cannot hold on much longer. The Luo Cha will force its way in shortly. Young Lord — come, help me set the formation against it.”

Lin Xiao nodded and moved to Qing Xuzi’s side. “Daoist, what formation are we setting?”

Chang Rong had never witnessed such a scene of a hundred ghosts walking by night and was nearly scared out of his wits. Only years of rigorous training kept him from losing composure entirely. Seeing Lin Xiao go to Qing Xuzi’s side, he blinked, then hastily followed after Lin Xiao.

Qing Xuzi reached into his robes and produced a dull, grey pentagonal mirror. He handed it to Chang Rong to hold against his chest, then hesitated for a moment before asking Lin Xiao and Chang Rong as though confirming something: “You two — are you both still chaste?”

Qin Yao was fully absorbed in dealing with the ghosts outside the hall, yet Qing Xuzi’s voice carried to her ears at just the right volume. Her hand jolted — the dragon’s body lurched sideways twice — and very quickly she realized that her master intended to set the Three-Yang Formation. It was a simple formation, but it required all those anchoring it to be either chaste men or chaste women.

Lin Xiao’s expression stiffened almost imperceptibly. “Mm,” he said flatly — as much of an admission as he would give.

He was fair-skinned and composed in face, but the tips of his ears, behind them, were tinged with a faint flush of red.

Chang Rong’s face went scarlet as well. He scratched his head, embarrassed, and stuttered: “I… I am too.”

Qing Xuzi had been prepared to fall back on the Suppression-of-Misfortune Formation if the Three-Yang Formation proved impossible. Hearing their answer, he glanced up and down at Lin Xiao with mild surprise, then looked away and resumed his stern expression: “Very well. You two will act according to my instructions.”

Without further talk, he swept his horsetail whisk through the air, murmured an incantation beneath his breath, and flicked it toward the Boundless Mirror in Chang Rong’s hands. The mirror’s surface, previously smooth as still water, began to ripple — as though a pebble had been dropped into a calm lake, sending out ring after ring of wavelets. Gradually, a thread of light broke through the ripples, like moonlight parting clouds, blooming into a soft halo that washed over every corner of the hall.

“When the time comes, you will hold this mirror aloft and sit at the Qian position. Close your eyes, and no matter what you hear, do not open them and do not leave your place. The Luo Cha is skilled at disturbing one’s mind. All manner of terrifying visions may appear before you — but you need only remember that these are all illusions conjured by the Luo Cha, and pay them no heed. Do not lose your footing. If you move from your position, or if you drop the Boundless Mirror, this formation will break — and binding the Luo Cha again will not be easy.”

Qing Xuzi gave Chang Rong the solemn instructions as he swiftly arranged talismans into a cushion-sized space on the hall floor and told Chang Rong to sit there.

“Illusions?” Chang Rong was rather unsettled. He confirmed with Qing Xuzi again and again: “You mean — everything I see will be illusions the Luo Cha conjures?”

Qing Xuzi felt he had spoken plainly enough. Impatient with further explanation, he said coldly: “Close your eyes and don’t move. Only these two things are required.”

Chang Rong dared not say another word and solemnly settled himself in place, cradling the Boundless Mirror with care.

“Young Lord.” Qing Xuzi turned to Lin Xiao. “You will stand at the Gen position and use the Chixiao Sword against the Luo Cha. But as I said just now — the Luo Cha is adept at bewitching the mind. Do not let its illusions disturb you.”

Lin Xiao nodded. His gaze had drifted to Qin Yao, and was filled with quiet worry. “A’Yao may not be able to hold on much longer.”

Indeed, Qin Yao was nearly at her limit.

The Soul-Devouring Bell consumed tremendous mental energy. She had been driving it for so long now that her internal energy was almost entirely depleted; she was holding on through sheer stubborn force alone. Yet still the ghosts kept pouring through the windows in wave after wave, battering the hall doors until they shuddered on the verge of collapse.

The Luo Cha, too, was gradually shifting from hesitant circling to frequent testing of the barrier. Born of the world’s accumulated resentment, it was by nature the most yin and cold of all things under heaven. While the Soul-Devouring Bell could scorch its flesh, genuinely damaging its core was not easy — it demanded that the bell’s wielder continuously channel their internal energy in a sustained contest of attrition. Evidently, Qin Yao’s current cultivation was not yet sufficient to contend with a great malevolent force like the Luo Cha.

The Luo Cha slowly dipped its great, pitch-black body downward and swept toward the three fire dragons — already far less brilliant than before — hovering before it. It hesitated a moment, then extended a massive claw toward one of the dragons. There was a hissing sound, and the air was instantly filled with a nauseating smell of scorched flesh.

The Luo Cha recoiled, swiftly drawing back its claw and lowering its head to inspect the damage — the claw had merely had some of its flesh burned away; it had not been reduced to charcoal and ash like the other ghosts. It immediately understood that while these fire dragons could incinerate ordinary ghostly creatures, they posed no serious threat to it. With a cold, low hiss, enduring the pain of its scorched flesh, it pushed through the fire dragons and came rushing straight into the hall.

Lin Xiao’s Chixiao Sword rang out as though facing a great enemy. He stood firm in his position, gripping the sword to meet it; beside him, Qing Xuzi braced the straw rope wide open across his chest, chanting an incantation under his breath. The rope, stretched taut, blazed back to life with a dazzling light that lit up Qing Xuzi’s austere face.

The Luo Cha entered the hall without immediately launching into slaughter. It first swept its pair of green pupils around the room. Its gaze fell on the mummified ghost remains, where it paused; then its eyes moved and it caught sight of the pile of blackened, burned features. The icy malice in its green pupils intensified. Suddenly it lurched upward, its coiled tail stiffening behind it like a blade, and lashed savagely toward Qing Xuzi.

Qing Xuzi called out sharply: “Guard Chang — raise the mirror!”

Chang Rong hurriedly held the Boundless Mirror high.

From the moment that strange, half-beast cry had sounded at the doorway, he had felt a cold wind sweep across the ground; the yin and chill of the air around him had surged dramatically, nearly piercing through his clothing. Though he was young and strong, he could not stop himself from shivering.

But he kept Qing Xuzi’s instructions firmly in mind and dared not move in the slightest — he simply kept his eyes tightly shut and gripped the Boundless Mirror fast.

The mirror’s light enveloped the Luo Cha from head to foot, and its advance immediately slowed, as though some enormous invisible force had interposed itself before it, blocking its path. The Luo Cha reacted with lightning speed — it swiftly retracted its coiled tail, and both arms swelled several inches, each reaching out to seize Qing Xuzi and Lin Xiao by the throat.

Lin Xiao raised his sword and intercepted the Luo Cha’s pitch-black arm as it stretched to within inches of his face. A deep sword-wound was branded instantly into the arm; the Luo Cha let out a shriek but neither retreated nor dodged — instead it turned its hand and gripped the blade itself, enduring the burning agony to pit its raw strength against Lin Xiao.

Qing Xuzi’s straw rope had wound itself around the Luo Cha’s four-toed foot, binding the toes together. He swiftly produced a talisman from his robes and affixed it — the arm shrank back several inches and returned to the Luo Cha’s side.

The Luo Cha paused. Its green pupils studied the three people before it. Presently, it emitted a low sound that was half a laugh, half a growl. The green light in its pupils suddenly shifted subtly, and those jade eyes transformed into a pool of jade-colored water, quietly pushing rings of ripples outward toward Lin Xiao and the others.

Lin Xiao had been giving his all against the Luo Cha — when suddenly his vision blurred, and the dark, gloomy temple transformed into the rear garden of Prince Lan’s estate.

He held his sword and looked around in bewilderment, uncertain how to find his way back to the temple. Then, from somewhere near his ear, came several light feminine laughs — sweet and honeyed, almost indistinguishable from Qin Yao’s voice. His heart stirred; he forgot entirely what he had been doing and followed the sound forward without thinking.

The weather seemed like spring. In the garden, peonies bloomed in full splendor at several spots, and the air was thick with a heady, intoxicating fragrance — layer upon layer of it, almost tangible. Qin Yao’s laughter seemed far more playful than usual, carrying some kind of unspoken invitation, appearing and disappearing, drawing him ever onward.

He passed through the garden, arriving at his personal study, the Contemplation Pavilion. The courtyard held not a single servant.

Before a cluster of camellia bushes stood a swing. Wisteria vines twined around the ropes on both sides, dotted with small flowers — someone had taken great care in its arrangement. The swing was empty at present, and when a spring breeze passed through, the wisteria vines made a soft rustling sound.

Behind him came the voice of Lady Wen. He turned to look and saw her standing before him with a warm, gentle smile — gentle and composed as ever — telling him: “The Young Mistress ate lunch not long ago, then felt sleepy. She’s taking a rest in the room now.”

Hearing these words, he felt suffused with a warm, contented satisfaction — something like the feeling from years ago when his mother was still alive, when he would come back from kicking a ball, sweaty and boisterous, all the way down the path to Pear-White Residence calling for her, and she would smile and wipe his sweat away and have someone bring him cold sour plum soup.

Now, the one who waited for him was Qin Yao — and mingled into that familiar anticipation and contentment, a thread of tender longing stirred. His steps felt drawn forward by an invisible force; he climbed the stairs, passed along the verandah, and pushed open the side room door.

Qin Yao’s laughter reached him once more — soft and liquid, now and then interspersed with low murmurs that made his heart itch. He strode into the inner room and stepped around the embroidered screen — and saw crimson gauze bed curtains hanging before the bed. Through the semi-translucent silk, two shadowy figures were visible on the bed, entangled with one another.

Every thread of tender longing in him turned instantly to horror. He stood frozen for a moment, then lurched forward and threw the curtains aside.

What he saw: Qin Yao, with not a stitch of clothing on her, her pair of snow-white lotus arms wrapped around a man’s neck, her eyes shining with a watery brightness, her flower-petal lips slightly parted, letting out soft, pleased sounds.

The man had been without restraint in his movements; sensing the disturbance behind him, he abruptly turned to look at Lin Xiao.

Lin Xiao recognized the man’s face. His entire body turned to ice. His chest heaved violently, as though a blazing fire had ignited within him — anger so overwhelming he felt he might shatter. Then a voice whispered at his ear: “Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!”

The hand that gripped his sword tightened and loosened, loosened and tightened. His jaw was clenched, his face a grim ashen iron. The man on the bed watched him coldly; Qin Yao, too, showed not a trace of shame, still holding onto that man’s neck. Four eyes fixed on him, like the cuts of a thousand blades — inflicting the most humiliating wounds the world could offer.

He bit down, and in a swift motion raised his sword — not toward the bed, but wheeling sharply to thrust it behind him!

In a daze, he heard something tear like ripping silk. He opened his eyes — and instead of his Contemplation Pavilion, there before him was the same dim, cold, little temple it had always been.

His sword was straining hard into the Luo Cha’s arm as it bore down on him, the blade cutting over half an inch into the arm where it was braced. Beside him, Qing Xuzi spared him a glance despite the thick of battle and said with effort: “You have some steadiness to you after all — that you could sense what was before you was an illusion. Otherwise, that thrust of yours would have gone straight into me.”

Lin Xiao let out a quiet breath of profound exhaustion. The Luo Cha was indeed deeply versed in the human heart — using the most secret desires buried within a person to fabricate a longed-for dream and set the heart adrift, then, just as the person lay lost and unable to pull free, conjuring the most vile and degrading scene possible to hurl them from the clouds. Even someone with the most rock-steady resolve could find their spirit shattered by such a sudden upheaval, and then be used by the Luo Cha.

“What did you see just now?” Qing Xuzi noticed that sweat still beaded at Lin Xiao’s temple and that his complexion was poor; curiosity stirred in him.

“Nothing but some ghostly trickery.” Lin Xiao looked toward Qin Yao, who was still fighting hard against the ghosts at the windows. A slight sense of relief passed through him, and he declined to speak of the illusion.

Qing Xuzi tightened the straw rope in his hand and exerted his power: “As long as our formation holds, the Luo Cha cannot do us serious harm for now. Once Yuan Jue arrives with his people, we’ll have a way to subdue it.”

Before his words had ended, Chang Rong behind them suddenly let out a wail: “Mother—!”

His face was stricken with grief, tears streaming down his cheeks. He lurched to his feet and sprinted forward as though chasing something; his movements were so abrupt that the Boundless Mirror slipped from his hands with a loud crash, its light extinguishing instantly.

Qing Xuzi and Lin Xiao exchanged a swift glance, a cold chill rising up their spines. The Luo Cha let out a triumphant shriek, its formerly restrained form regaining its previous agility in an instant. Like lightning, it closed the distance between itself and the two of them.

In the blink of an eye, everything unraveled. Before them, a great claw swept in like wind; without the Boundless Mirror’s restraining force, the straw rope in Qing Xuzi’s hand held no power over the Luo Cha any longer. Its massive claws came hurtling in — and were about to tear Qing Xuzi clean in two.

Lin Xiao raised his sword to block in time, but could only intercept one of the Luo Cha’s arms; the other, bearing down on Qing Xuzi, was beyond his reach.

Qing Xuzi had resigned himself to the worst when from outside the hall came the sound of a wooden fish drum, and a voice intoning a Buddhist proclamation from a distance: “All evil spirits, be gone.”

The voice was steady and composed, like a gentle breeze — neither surging nor still — carrying through every obstruction into the hall.

The tension in Qing Xuzi’s face eased. He broke into a tirade: “That bald old donkey has finally come.”