Chapter Fifty-Three: Fists and Feet

The deafening sound of the downpour made Su Yuanbai furrow his brows, the soaked robes clinging uncomfortably to his body. Yet, he had no means of sheltering himself from the rain, and moreover, where had everyone gone?

He glanced sideways, finding nothing but the relentless curtain of rain—there was not even a shadow of another person beside him. Only in the distance, at the iron gates of the prison, could he clearly see the two heads peering out.

“Can he not see us?” Lin Lan, floating slightly above the ground, gazed in surprise at Su Yuanbai, whose face remained calm yet whose eyes darted frequently around.

Though Lin Lan hadn’t witnessed the ghastly scene of the Demon King’s body being torn apart, after the ghostly sandstorm had dissipated, he’d seen the stunned, vacant gaze of the Rakshasa warden fixed upon Su Yuanbai, and understood what had transpired.

Yet this man, who could destroy a dread ghost king with a casual gesture, was unable to perceive the presence of souls?

“It appears so,” Xi Chunxue answered, watching the already drenched Su Yuanbai. She could not be bothered to expend her spiritual energy to cast a ward against the rain for him. Still, she was surprised—did this man truly not know any spell to keep himself dry?

“Then how was he able to see us in the Underworld?” Qu Hancheng asked curiously. His incorporeal form drifted up and down, rain passing straight through him to the ground below—an obvious sign he had yet to master control over his spirit.

“The Underworld and the living world are not the same. There, we are all souls alike. Did you ever see your soul floating, feet never touching ground, as if about to be swept away with the wind?” Xi Chunxue shook her head.

“Hurry and find our bodies. I won’t stand for those two fools in the prison destroying them!” Duan Lingqi coiled in midair, raising his head to greedily inhale the spiritual energy swirling above the prison as the rain fell—a perfect day for his cultivation, he thought.

He could hardly contain himself any longer. Pivoting, his dragon’s head plunged straight down toward the earth.

Thud.

“Though the prison’s formation has been destroyed, these stone bricks, forged under the supervision of the Bureau of the Uncanny and fired by the Ministry of Works, are absolutely solid. No shortcuts taken,” Lin Lan said with a light laugh, watching as Duan Lingqi, dazed from the impact, saw stars before his eyes.

“They look like ordinary bricks, but their purpose is to sever souls from the living.”

“A prison built with bricks that cut off spirits from the world?” Xi Chunxue asked, puzzled.

“The twelve provinces are haunted by all manner of ghosts and demons. The underworld’s wardens can’t always capture every spirit. So His Majesty devised a new plan—if the underworld’s officials cannot fulfill their duties, then let his own ministers do it for him. All the land under heaven belongs to the sovereign.”

Thus the Inner Prison of the Imperial Supervisory, newly constructed by the Artificers’ Division of the Bureau of the Uncanny, stood out among all others,” Lin Lan added, casting a half-smile at the looming black edifice to the right.

Bi Zhen Prison was not only a jail suspended on an island over the sea of the twelve provinces, but also a laboratory for every bold experiment imagined by His Majesty. The demon prisons established throughout the provinces were all modeled after its outer wards. In particular, the Binding Chains for Demons and Spirits were first tested on prisoners here after being forged by the Artificers’ Division, before being widely adopted.

If all went as expected, soon many such inner prisons would be erected across the twelve provinces, known as Ghost Prisons.

“This emperor of Ancient Qin seems to be quite the schemer,” Xi Chunxue remarked coolly. Whether it was praise or mockery, her tone gave nothing away.

Su Yuanbai looked down, his dark gaze falling upon the water pooled up to his knees. He thought he’d just heard a dull thud.

“I’ll go ahead. You follow,” Su Yuanbai said quietly, glancing upward. He could not see them, but he would help them find their bodies first.

“Has he forgotten we’re mere spirits now? Without the burden of flesh, keeping up with him is all too easy,” Lin Lan chuckled, shaking his head.

“Not necessarily,” Xi Chunxue replied with a sudden smile.

Soon, Lin Lan understood why she smiled. A stream of water abruptly surged across the flooded ground, and before the ripples settled, Su Yuanbai was already at the prison’s jet-black door.

Nanming, peering out, had not noticed another figure behind him, but Youzhong had already nudged him lightly with his elbow.

Bang.

A fist like a sledgehammer struck Su Yuanbai’s upraised palm.

Splash.

Nanming, finding his fist trapped, swept a foot through the puddles, sending water spraying to disrupt Su Yuanbai’s vision.

Bang.

Another punch aimed at Su Yuanbai’s chest was intercepted by his hand as well.

Seeing things go awry, Youzhong realized that although Nanming’s two punches and kick had come in an instant, this stranger behind them reacted to everything.

“Nanming’s martial arts aren’t enough. Don’t forget—we have magic!” Youzhong, holding a book in one hand, formed a complex gesture with the other. Suddenly, a whirlpool spun beneath Su Yuanbai’s feet, generating a powerful suction to unbalance him.

A futile attempt to throw Su Yuanbai off.

Nanming, stubborn but not foolish, did not hinder the spell. The moment he saw the water vortex, he kicked fiercely at Su Yuanbai’s groin.

His two fists had been caught, but so had the handsome man’s hands. Now, with his feet trapped by the vortex, even if he blocked the kick, he would surely be dragged under.

What good was a handsome face now? I’ll cripple you yet, Nanming thought, a ruthless glint in his eyes as his kick gained even greater force, like a tiger descending the mountain, jaws agape.

Crack.

A sharp, crisp sound—perhaps three cracks joined as one.

Had Nanming’s martial skills improved?

Youzhong, puzzled, withdrew his spell and glanced over, only to be so aghast he staggered several steps back into the rain.

Nanming’s arms had been broken and twisted backward, flesh torn at the elbows exposing pale bone entwined with muscle. His powerful leg was twisted full circle, toes pointing to the ground—utterly ruined.

A howl of agony burst from Nanming as the pain at last flooded his mind, forcing him to collapse to the ground, writhing and screaming.

“Was that a spell?” Su Yuanbai looked down at the puddle, now calming beneath his feet, bewildered. The magic he vaguely remembered was nothing like this—mere parlour tricks at best, not enough to harm him. At most, it was a massage.