Gong Qi had been seized by the throat by Fuqi, feeling as though he had made a trip through the gates of death. The speed had been so sudden, the killing aura so overwhelming — it was not much different from one of those corpse fiends. The ghostly energy was dark and frozen, cutting to the marrow, cold enough to pierce bone.

Lang Jiuchuan yanked him free from the death-grip that Fuqi had formed from his ghost-and-killing aura, and said: “General, the history that later generations know all comes from what was recorded in the historical texts. One cannot be blamed for what one does not know.”

The reason history becomes known to people at all is through the various chronicles and written records — as for the truth or falsity of those records, any verification would require consulting a vast array of documents. If those documents cannot be found, then however the story was written is how later generations will believe it.

This was precisely what Lang Jiuchuan had spoken of before — whether one’s name would be celebrated through the ages or reviled for ten thousand years, how posterity would pass judgment, all depended on the historical record.

Fuqi’s killing aura immediately receded.

Gong Qi had to use two talismans on himself before he managed to dispel the pervasive yin energy from his body. But that face, already worn thin from the demon poison that had yet to fully heal, grew even paler and more greenish-white.

He ground his teeth and said to Lang Jiuchuan: “It’s not as if I’ve done anything to you either. I’ve been swallowing those life-preserving pills of yours one by one. I’m not expecting you to repay the debt — but repaying kindness with enmity is going a bit too far, isn’t it? You said you wanted to travel through Great Dan together, but it sounds to me like you’re just fed up with me being alive…”

His voice died away of its own accord under the frigid gaze Fuqi swept over him. He looked at the ghost with wariness etched across his face.

This one is an absolute killing fiend!

Lang Jiuchuan watched him bristle and, in a few words, explained Fuqi’s origins and his past. When she finished, she said: “If it were you — holding a city to the last, even dying with it, just to buy the common people a little more time, to take down one more enemy soldier — such a noble sacrifice, only to become the scapegoat in the end, slandered as a bringer of ruin to the nation, your family destroyed — would you not feel hatred?”

Gong Qi’s expression shifted. “That sovereign of the Liang Kingdom truly did not behave as a decent person should. No wonder the kingdom was wiped out.”

To distort the truth, invert right and wrong, and even commit it all to historical record in order to slander a loyal and valiant soul — such conduct was genuinely beyond forgiveness. The fall of that dynasty was well deserved.

“No dynasty endures forever. There always comes a time when its mandate runs out, just like…” Lang Jiuchuan gave him a long, meaningful look.

Gong Qi: “!”

I know, you’re alluding to something. You needn’t be quite so obvious about it.

Lang Jiuchuan said: “General Fuqi is furious over the desecration of his good name. Show a little tolerance.”

Gong Qi said plaintively: “Even so, we didn’t know. Those born later never witnessed it with their own eyes — how are they to know how that battle truly unfolded? Not to mention that it was the business of the previous Liang Kingdom, two hundred years ago. Those of that era are long dead. Even the sovereign of the Liang Kingdom has probably been reborn by now. Who can prove he was wronged? Later generations learn of the past through historical records.”

Two hundred years — not two years. Even if they wanted to prove he had been wronged, it would be enormously difficult, because so much cannot withstand scrutiny after so long.

Neither Lang Jiuchuan nor Fuqi could refute this truth. And it was precisely because they understood it that the injustice felt all the more suffocating — even if they wanted to seek revenge against the Liang Kingdom’s sovereign, that person had long since died and been reborn.

Fuqi said: “Restoring my good name is no longer possible. Let us first resolve what is most urgent. As for the rest… that is simply fate.”

His voice carried a certain heaviness and dejection.

Gong Qi listened, then looked toward Lang Jiuchuan. Was there something more to this? Something connected to Eight Trigrams City?

His mind was full of questions. He stared at the three characters Eight Trigrams City and suddenly remembered — Lang Jiuchuan had never actually explained what urgent matter General Fuqi had. This wretched girl was truly useless, keeping him in the dark on purpose!

Gong Qi turned his head, giving Lang Jiuchuan a sideways look, the corner of his mouth curling in a cool smile.

Faced with his skepticism and cold smirk, Lang Jiuchuan showed not a trace of guilt. She asked: “After the previous dynasty’s Source City was taken by the Kang tribes and burned to the ground, then rebuilt and renamed Eight Trigrams City — do you know why?”

Gong Qi crossed his arms, his expression remote and cold. “No idea.”

You keep your secrets, I’ll keep mine.

Don’t expect to get anything out of me.

Lang Jiuchuan’s expression darkened. She looked toward Fuqi — and since they were at the very site of his past, she simply performed the ritual right there, using his spirit soul as the anchor and the ground as the formation, drawing Gong Qi into Fuqi’s soul-realm to experience what Fuqi and the three thousand Fu Family soldiers had suffered.

Let him witness it firsthand and save her the effort of explaining.

While Gong Qi was being dragged through the depths of suffering within Fuqi’s soul-realm, Lang Jiuchuan turned her attention to the characters on Eight Trigrams City. They were written in seal script — the brushstrokes forceful and vigorous, every line like iron brushwork and silver hooks. As for the pigment used…

Was it cinnabar mixed with liquid gold?

She studied the three characters glowing with a halo of golden light under the sun. Only cinnabar mixed with gold liquid could produce such an effect.

And what was more — they showed no weathering from wind, sand, or frost. The three characters looked as though someone regularly touched up their color, appearing remarkably fresh, forming a stark contrast with the battered, worn city walls around them.

The stretch of land where Lang Jiuchuan stood was nearly flat terrain in every direction. Due to the geography and climate, the area was quite barren — barely a tree to be seen, and yellow sand and grit swept through on the wind, scraping at the skin of one’s face.

She took out the map of Eight Trigrams City and unfolded it, comparing directions. Starting from the city gate, she slowly turned to face west — and there, some ten zhang away, stood a stone pillar monument.

The pillar was two zhang tall, carved from granite, and cylindrical in shape. Its surface bore some engravings, and at its top sat a small pagoda. From the pagoda’s tip hung a wind bell, and with each gust of wind it rang out clang clang clang, like the striking of a ritual bell.

A strange expression crossed Lang Jiuchuan’s face. This kind of stone pillar monument resembled something erected to mark a resting place for departed souls and serve as a site for offering. But was that truly all it was?

Just at that moment, someone passed by carrying a basket, took out incense, and began paying their respects before the pillar monument. She narrowed her eyes.

Lang Jiuchuan had just moved to walk over and take a closer look when, without warning, a howl erupted at her side, giving her a fright.

She turned — and saw that Gong Qi had emerged from Fuqi’s soul-realm. He was on his knees on the ground, both fists beating the earth, howling, his eyes red, violent ferocity spilling out from his body.

This was bad. She had forgotten that he had demon poison in him. Having witnessed those scenes, it would inevitably have stirred the savagery lurking within him.

Lang Jiuchuan hurried to his side, pressing one hand against his spiritual platform and reaching with the other to take out the Dizhong bell, shaking it gently. Its soothing, gentle power enveloped him, calming the turbulent surge of qi and blood that had been rushing upward toward his head, and gradually his emotions steadied.

Gong Qi raised his head. His eyes looked as though they harbored a coiling crimson-gold centipede, which was now slowly retreating.

Lang Jiuchuan saw it clearly. Her brow furrowed tight. The demon poison had taken deep root. If there came a day when he could no longer keep it in check, it would reverse-control him and drive him to harm others — and at that point, not only would he destroy himself, he would wound the innocent as well.

This demon poison was a disaster. It had to be removed.

Gong Qi had already returned to calm, yet tears rolled down his face. He looked toward Fuqi, grief written openly across his features. His throat worked. “How could this be…”

He had thought this was simply an old ghost who, out of grievance and obsession, had not yet passed on to the afterlife. He could not have imagined there was also that entire group of loyal souls, still struggling here for two hundred years.

Fuqi showed neither sorrow nor joy.

Lang Jiuchuan said: “This is the matter General Fuqi entrusted to me — to guide the departed souls onward to the afterlife. In order to guide them, I must first untangle their predicament. Only then can I escort those soldiers, who have been trapped for two hundred years, onward to the underworld and into the peace of rebirth.”