Chapter 28: Solitary Departure

Ghostly flames flickered eerily.

Rows of purple-clad spirits, their feet hovering above the ground and appearing no different from ordinary people, patrolled the cells. At the entrance to the corridor, a blue-faced ox-headed warden wielded a steel trident, while a white-faced horse-headed guard held a long knife, keeping watch. Though their hands were human, their feet ended in hooves.

Not far from these guardians, a round table hosted a grotesque yaksha, his head humped and hairless, clutching an iron fork, his face twisted and terrifying. Opposite him sat a rakshasa with a sheep’s head, dark body, crimson hair, and emerald eyes. The rakshasa brandished a sharp blade, before him a heap of bloody flesh from some unknown creature, which he devoured mouthful by mouthful.

“It was bad enough to be imprisoned in the world above—how is it that even here in the Underworld, I must sit in a cell?” Duan Lingqi kicked at the cell bars. Though they seemed made of white paper, his foot throbbed with pain and not a single bar so much as quivered.

“I thought when you spoke to me on Ghost Street, you’d already devised a plan and purposely lured the ox-headed and horse-headed guards, along with the judge of this ghost city,” Su Yuanbai said calmly, seated at one side of the cell. A rare hint of a smile touched his lips.

“How were we supposed to know that talking on the street would summon them?!” Xi Chunxue sat cross-legged, inspecting the Soul-Binding Chain on her wrist. Thankfully, the underworld wardens hadn’t seen fit to add another shackle.

“Most of the wandering souls in Ghost City are drawn in by the banners atop the city walls. They lack consciousness, do not speak, and merely repeat the most vivid memories from their lives, doomed to reenact the horrors of their deaths. Thus, souls like ours, capable of speech and self-awareness, are exceedingly rare. If I’m not mistaken, we were marked from the moment we entered Northern Ghost City,” Su Yuanbai explained, his tone steady.

“We’re not getting out, are we?” Qu Hanchen sat in the darkest corner of the cell, furthest from the others, exhaling in resignation.

“White paper traps souls. Unless one possesses the power to traverse the nether or wields supernatural abilities, only then might they break these white paper prison bars,” Su Yuanbai glanced at Qu Hanchen as he spoke.

“Neither of you have mastered such powers, have you?” Qu Hanchen turned quickly to Xi Chunxue and Duan Lingqi.

“No. My cultivation isn’t yet sufficient for my spirit to leave my body or to refine my soul,” Xi Chunxue replied, shaking her head.

“Hmph. I haven’t accomplished my transformation yet—how could I possibly have trained in any nether arts?” Duan Lingqi snorted.

“That’s true, according to conventional wisdom,” Su Yuanbai interjected calmly.

“What about unconventional wisdom?” Qu Hanchen asked, uneasy.

“Any ordinary person with a physical body could tear these paper bars apart with ease,” Su Yuanbai stood and walked to the door, gazing at the white paper lattice. He began ripping the vertical strips one by one, then turned to face Qu Hanchen, whose jaw hung slack.

Not only Qu Hanchen, but even the patrolling purple-clad warden stared in shock, eyes bulging, as Su Yuanbai brazenly dismantled the cell door before their very eyes.

“I’ll wait for you outside the south gate of Northern Ghost City,” Su Yuanbai declared, then strode through the corridor entrance, passing under the watchful gaze of the purple-clad wardens, and walked out.

“A ghost is escaping!” Only after Su Yuanbai had gone some distance did the blue-faced ox-head realize what had happened, snatching up his steel trident and shouting in alarm.

His cry summoned a swarm of ox-headed guards, each with a distinct form and demeanor.

“Make your ox-headed tribe stand down—this isn’t a ghost, it’s a living man reeking of flesh and blood! Yaksha, which part do you want?” The sheep-headed, green-eyed rakshasa lifted his blade, rising from the table, blood still dripping from his lips, excitement burning in his voice.

“Hurry! If the judge arrives, we’ll miss this splendid chance for a proper feast!” The humped, terrifying yaksha wasted no further words, brandishing his iron fork at Su Yuanbai. Each swing sent waves of crimson ghostly energy swirling about its prongs, fierce and menacing, and the speed was astonishing.

In the blink of an eye, the iron fork, wreathed in that savage red aura, was poised before Su Yuanbai. A single thrust would pierce him through.

“Eight Divisions, Sea-Patrolling Yaksha—who would have guessed that, aside from the heavens and earth, the Underworld hosts ghostly yakshas as well,” Su Yuanbai murmured, his pitch-black eyes calm as he gazed at the deadly iron fork, not rushing to dodge, but instead tilting his head to the sky in quiet reflection.

A fragment of memory returned.

Since the plain of the other shore flowers withered, vague recollections had surfaced in Su Yuanbai’s mind. He had learned certain techniques rooted in the nether energy of those spectral blooms. When he saw the blood-red hell called the Screaming Earth, his soul ached, as if, millennia ago, he had endured its heart-rending torments: the agony of blades and burning stones.

Yet, he still could not recall who he was.

Even now, as he journeyed onward, each step, each event teased forth more memories—like he had walked this path before, long ago.

It seemed he was merely retracing old footsteps.

But who am I?

Su Yuanbai sighed softly, looking down as the iron fork, wrapped in crimson ghostly energy, was about to pierce his chest. In that instant, his pupils shifted, transforming into a snow-white blossom shaped like the other shore flower.

The moment the fork touched his chest, it dissolved into petals of pure white. The savage crimson energy flowed into Su Yuanbai’s body, deepening the snowy hue of his eyes.

But the sheep-headed rakshasa, blade in hand, silently closed in behind, raising his weapon to stab at Su Yuanbai’s undefended neck.

“Rakshasa, I seem to recall promising someone not to harm her spirits, since she lent me a fan, didn’t she?” Su Yuanbai’s figure suddenly vanished, leaving only a phantom in his place. He leaned lightly against the broad back of an ox-headed guard, observing the farcical scene with a furrowed brow.

The blade meant for Su Yuanbai’s neck now plunged into the yaksha’s terrifying face, eliciting a string of curses and cries.

“Don’t run if you have the guts!” The rakshasa ignored the yaksha’s protests, yanking the blade free, nearly causing the unfortunate yaksha to faint from pain.

“Ox-headed and horse-faced guardians, a million ghosts in the Underworld, yet nothing comes to mind,” Su Yuanbai paid no heed to the rakshasa’s taunts. He caught the steel trident thrust at him by the blue-faced ox-head, his snow-white eyes sweeping the room.

His presence vanished in an instant.

Leaving behind the ox-headed and horse-faced guards, and the rakshasa and yaksha, staring wide-eyed at one another, their gaze finally settling on the cell corridor, where three souls remained, companions to that mysterious man.