What makes a place of extreme malice? It is a place where the terrain is at its most yin, where yin energy is at its heaviest, and where the malice energy formed is at its most vicious. Should the terrain further encounter a malice-refining altar, it becomes a place of great malice.

Kong Xu Zi led his group over a mountain. By the light of the moon, he looked upon the ravine-canyon before him — a truly abyssal chasm — and stood slack-jawed, eyes wide. Even for someone who had witnessed grand spectacles, he could not remain calm at that moment. The hands hidden within his sleeves curled slightly inward.

Perhaps due to the yin malice energy, the mountain had almost no lush vegetation. Whether it was the mountain’s shape or some past shifting from a trembling of the earth, it had taken on the form of a prostrate corpse. In the gaps between the broken rocks, ghost-fires of blue and green flickered and drifted. And the scene within the ravine canyon?

“A mountain of corpses, a sea of blood” — this phrase had its origins in something, and the deep trench ravine before them was filled with layer upon layer of overlapping white bones, dense and innumerable. Was this not a mountain of corpses?

And to form such a monumental mountain of corpses — how many bodies would it contain? Ten thousand? Several tens of thousands?

Looking closely, one could still see some relatively fresh corpses discarded within in contorted positions, their flesh pierced through by the upright-facing white bones beneath. The blood that had dripped onto the bones had dried; rotting flesh had festered and liquefied, corpse fluid mixed in among it all, murky as putrid slurry, the stench unbearable.

When the wind blew, it seemed like resentful souls were moaning, murmuring in ghostly tongues to the newcomers. Listening more carefully, it sounded again like the weeping of aggrieved ghosts — enough to make one’s blood run cold and one’s soul find no peace.

Carried on the wind was also an indescribable stench of rot. The poison of the corpses infiltrated through every opening, and combined with the extreme yin malice energy, it made one nauseated and dizzy, teetering on the verge of collapse.

Retch.

“I — I want to go home.” Someone could not withstand the assault, and retreated in terror, stumbling and falling to the ground, rolling and crawling their way downhill, leaving behind a lingering odor that was equally unpleasant.

No one went to stop them.

Lang Jiuchuan stood before this abyssal chasm. She pressed two fingers across her eyes, cutting through the churning black mist of yin malice energy in the canyon, her gaze sweeping past the bleached white bones and landing at the center of the ravine.

There appeared to be an ancient, unadorned altar there — built from countless skulls, eerie and terrifying. It was like a ring of ghost-soldiers and demon-generals keeping watch over the lesser spirits below. Above the altar stood a figure wreathed in dense black mist.

The figure seemed to sense something, and abruptly turned to look in her direction.

Lang Jiuchuan immediately caught sight of those two crimson eyes, red as blood, piercing through the black mist like two red lanterns emanating a faint ghostly fire — staring fixedly at her.

Her breath caught.

This was the jiangshi, Cong Gui.

“It’s that jiangshi.” Gong Si had appeared at her side at some point, and recognized the dark figure standing above the altar immediately. His eyes widened to their limits.

In their very first encounter with it, they had lost four people. If it hadn’t been focused on consuming vital essence, and if they hadn’t also deployed their treasured artifacts, they probably wouldn’t have survived to retreat to the marsh.

Yet now the other party had clearly discovered them — so why wasn’t it moving to cut them down as it had before?

Lang Jiuchuan gripped the small wooden figurine in her hand and said nothing aloud, only communicating to Jiangche in her mind: “Go down and see what they’re doing.”

Given the extreme malice ground before them, they could not possibly rush down recklessly to fight the jiangshi. After all, everyone present had a fairly clear sense of whether or not they were a match for it. Charging down on sheer bravado alone would only be throwing their lives away — probably not even enough to be a decent meal for the enemy.

This wasn’t to say she feared death. Dying for a worthy cause was of no consequence — but needless sacrifice was entirely unnecessary.

They had to wait for fellow Daoists with true ability to arrive. And before that happened, they couldn’t afford to do nothing. They needed a plan.

Jiangche was afraid of nothing — but it did feel a wariness toward that counterfeit’s Renwang Banner. That artifact could expose its form.

Lang Jiuchuan said: “Be careful. If you’re discovered, fight. If you can’t win, run.”

Preserve yourself so you can fight another day.

Jiangche crept away stealthily.

The jiangshi had indeed spotted them. The reason it hadn’t rushed up to wipe out these morsels was because there was something more pressing — for instance, right now.

It had blocked Cong Jingnian’s hand just as he was about to raise the blade to Princess Zhao’an’s abdomen. Its pair of crimson eyes glared at him with a ferocity that made it look as though it wanted to devour him whole.

Cong Jingnian felt a sudden chill, and suppressed his terror to say coldly: “She’s almost done for. If you don’t act now, the fetus will suffocate inside her. Don’t you want to be reincarnated?”

He was frightened inside too, but he had no choice. The Old Ancestor had gone entirely silent with no news whatsoever — he may as well be dead. If that was the case, then the great plan of a century would have to continue in his hands, as both descendant and disciple. Only then would these hundred years of scheming and positioning not be in vain.

Cong Jingnian glanced at the corpse mountain, felt the extreme yin malice energy, and shuddered involuntarily — but when he thought of what would be achieved once things were accomplished, greed and excitement surfaced in his eyes.

If the Cong Family were to produce one such being between life and death — a master of this domain — it was not impossible.

The Cong Family had served as the Tantai Family’s household servants for long enough. The time had come to turn the tables and become the masters.

The jiangshi was shrouded from head to toe in yin malice black mist. Its soul had awakened, but it was after all no living person — its thinking was slow and did not turn quickly. It only knew that it was not yet time.

It had a feeling that if its yin essence were to depart now, it would actually put them at a great disadvantage.

But as for why exactly, it could not articulate it. This left it agitated and anxious, the malice energy all over its body growing denser and denser, surging directly toward Cong Jingnian and the barely-breathing Princess Zhao’an who lay on the ground.

Princess Zhao’an was in a state of unconsciousness, her brows tightly knit. When struck by the vicious malice energy, she trembled all over, completely drained of color, and appeared to grow ever weaker.

The jiangshi instinctively drew close, its head hovering above her. Its mouth opened, and a steady stream of refined blood essence poured out from within, entering through her nostrils.

Princess Zhao’an’s pulse actually began to stabilize — but when Cong Jingnian touched her hand, it was colder than ice. His gaze inevitably fell upon her abdomen.

Jiangche, like a ghost, suppressed all trace of its aura and covertly observed everything happening on the altar platform, transmitting the scene to Lang Jiuchuan.

Lang Jiuchuan stared at Princess Zhao’an on the altar below and formed a plan. She shared it with Gong Qi and Kong Xu Zi and the others.

“This jiangshi is not easy to deal with. When things erupt into chaos, it will certainly fight back. While we deal with it and that young Daoist, young lady — are you confident you can retrieve Princess Zhao’an?”

Lang Jiuchuan’s original intent was to draw the jiangshi away herself, leaving the others to handle Cong Jingnian, so he would have no opportunity to force the birth of the princess’s child.

But Kong Xu Zi shook his head, and instead offered to take on the most difficult opponent himself.

If they were going to handle the hardest ones, Lang Jiuchuan was naturally glad to oblige. She took out the wooden figurine and said: “This contains the jiangshi Cong Gui’s true birth date. Trapping its soul is like trapping its body — it will slow its movements. It would be best to drive its original soul out of the jiangshi body as quickly as possible and ensure it is bound and destroyed, leaving it unable to reincarnate. Furthermore — it has been refining itself in this extreme malice corpse-nourishing ground for a hundred years. Its power has reached full maturity. Everyone, take care.”

“The Young Master is here.” Gong Shiliu suddenly looked toward the direction behind them, filled with delighted surprise.

Lang Jiuchuan looked over. She saw seven or eight people emerging from a shadowed path. The leader bore some resemblance to Gong Qi, but carried an air of transcendence — and she knew this must be the Gong Clan’s Young Master, Gong Tinglan.

She had just risen to her feet to offer a greeting when she suddenly turned around — and saw the dense black mist of yin malice energy in the ravine canyon transform into hideously snarling malice ghosts that, without warning, gaped their enormous maws toward the group, intent on sucking out their marrow and devouring their souls.

“Everyone, be careful!” Lang Jiuchuan cried out in alarm.

(The author’s note: It’s truly because my writing ability is lacking — I couldn’t get this all out in one breath, and it came out not quite to my satisfaction. I’m so stuck. I’ll definitely save up more drafts in the future so I have a chance to revise freely!)