Chen Zhou emerged from the Zhaoye Ghost Emperor Mansion and walked back along the dark-gold corridor.
The five ghost emperor mansions were situated in five directions; Zhaoye was on the far right, while Xuandu was located toward the middle-left.
The walls on both sides of the corridor were covered in reliefs depicting scenes of ten thousand ghosts paying homage and the cycle of reincarnation.
As Chen Zhou reached the front of the mansion and prepared to push the doors open, they suddenly swung inward of their own accord.
A massive hall appeared before him, even larger than the Zhaoye Ghost Emperor Mansion. Its four walls were composed of living ancient trees; their trunks served as the walls, while their interlacing canopies formed the ceiling, blotting out the sky.
The ground was covered in moss that felt soft and springy underfoot.
In the very center of the hall stood a high platform, though it was currently empty.
However, a man stood below the platform.
The man had his back to Chen Zhou. He wore a long green robe embroidered with intricate tree patterns, and his black hair cascaded down to his waist, loosely tied with a green vine.
Behind him stood seven malevolent ghosts of varying forms.
One ghost stood two zhang tall, clad in tattered armor and holding a notched ghost-head blade, leaning against another ghost wrapped in chains.
A hunched, withered ghost led a second ghost that was as obese as a pig, and the two were chatting and laughing with a third ghost who was as tall and thin as a bamboo pole with disproportionately long limbs.
Of the remaining two, one crouched on the ground on all fours like a wild beast, drool dripping from its mouth.
Only the last one looked truly human. She was a woman in a red dress with a striking face, holding a silk fan that half-covered her features, revealing only a pair of smiling eyes.
When Chen Zhou drew near, the man turned around.
He had a very young face, appearing no older than twenty. He possessed sharp brows and bright eyes with handsome features, but his gaze was cold, like a frozen pond in the depths of winter.
He looked Chen Zhou up and down, his gaze lingering for a moment on the Eternal Calamity Karma-Fire robe.
“So, it is you.”
His voice was flat, devoid of emotion.
Chen Zhou didn't understand the implication, and Xuandu didn't explain. He simply raised his right hand, and a roll of green bamboo slips slid from his sleeve.
The slips unfurled, the characters upon them glowing with a faint green light.
“The Xuandu Ghost Mansion of the Northern Great Emperor. This mansion's trial: Talent.”
“Talent is that which is favored by heaven and earth. Some are born with knowledge, some realize it through learning, and some attain it through hardship.”
“The level of one's talent determines how far they can walk upon the divine path.”
“Those who enter these doors must pass three stages.”
“The first stage tests cultivation. One of the Seven Evils under my command will suppress their power to match yours. Defeat them to pass.”
“The second stage tests soul age. One of the Seven Evils under my command will suppress their soul age to match yours. Defeat them to pass.”
“The third stage...”
Xuandu paused and closed the bamboo slips.
“To be determined.”
Chen Zhou asked, “What does 'to be determined' mean?”
Xuandu glanced at him, his tone still flat. “It means you pass the first two stages first, and then I will tell you what the third stage is.”
Chen Zhou thought for a moment and asked again, “Is there no threshold before the challenge?”
Xuandu frowned slightly. “You certainly didn't hold back in trying to cozy up to Zhaoye.”
“A soul age not exceeding ten thousand years and a cultivation no lower than the seventh-stage—these are the thresholds for entering the Xuandu Ghost Emperor Mansion.”
“Since you were able to enter, it means you meet the criteria.”
He turned to look at the seven malevolent ghosts behind him before turning back to Chen Zhou.
“Do not underestimate my malevolent ghosts.”
“In life, they were all brilliant individuals. Each was a genius capable of suppressing an entire era.”
“After their deaths, they were taken under my command and have cultivated in the Xuandu Ghost Mansion for tens of thousands of years. Their strength has long since far surpassed what it was in life.”
“Even if suppressed to match your cultivation and soul age, their combat experience, comprehension of techniques, and state of mind are far beyond what a newly born god like you can compare to.”
After listening, Chen Zhou nodded.
“I understand.”
“However, I still have quite a bit of confidence in myself.”
Xuandu's frown deepened.
He re-evaluated Chen Zhou once more.
Seventh-stage five contracts—that was his true cultivation. He had temporarily broken through to the initial phase of the eighth-stage Siming using some kind of divine secret technique. Judging by the fluctuations in his aura, it was likely an authority related to Faith Conferment.
His merit was indeed thick—seven zhang of merit and eight chi of faith. That old fellow Zhaoye hadn't lied to him.
But that was all.
To be so ostentatious with such low cultivation seemed somewhat arrogant.
Was it because the old gods of the outside world had all fallen, and with no tigers in the mountains, the monkeys had become kings? Was that how this junior had developed such an all-consuming ego?
A flash of disappointment flickered in the depths of Xuandu's eyes.
He had originally been somewhat interested in this junior because of Zhaoye's words.
To be able to accumulate such deep merit and faith at such a young age was indeed rare. Even in ancient times, he would have been considered outstanding.
But now, it seemed he was merely 'alright'.
He might have some talent, but his temperament was too poor.
On the divine path, one either advances or falls behind. If one does not cultivate their temperament, no amount of talent will matter.
Xuandu had seen too many such geniuses.
They became famous at a young age and were invincible among their peers, leading them to believe they were unparalleled in the world and look down on everything.
Then, when they encountered a truly powerful opponent or a genuine desperate situation, their temperament couldn't hold up. Their dao heart would collapse, and they would never recover.
Such a person was not worthy of inheriting the legacy of the Northern Great Emperor.
Xuandu withdrew his gaze, his tone turning a few degrees colder.
“Since you are confident, let us begin.”
He gave a look to the malevolent ghosts behind him. The armored ghost understood, leaving the ghost with chains and stepping forward while dragging his ghost-head blade.
With every step he took, a patch of the mossy ground beneath him shattered, and the aura on his body receded by a degree.
The surrounding scenery changed rapidly. Corpses littered the ground, and scorched earth stretched to the horizon.
Tattered military banners were stuck diagonally into piles of corpses, their fabric so soaked in blood that their original colors were unrecognizable.
By the time he reached Chen Zhou, his cultivation had been suppressed to the seventh-stage five contracts, matching Chen Zhou's true strength.
Chen Zhou's brow twitched slightly. It was indeed the seventh-stage five contracts, the Symbiosis stage.
In other words, the rules of the Xuandu Ghost Emperor Mansion calculated his innate strength, excluding the portion boosted by Faith Conferment.
Wouldn't that make things even easier?
The malevolent ghost stood at the foot of a mountain of corpses, the tip of his ghost-head blade resting against the ground. Behind him were layers upon layers of nameless remains, and before him was a dirt path stained black with blood.
He stood two zhang tall, while Chen Zhou was only the height of an average man. Standing face to face, it looked like an adult looking down on a child.
But the armored ghost's eyes were calm.
“I am General Zhao Lie. In life, I was the General Zhenbei of the Great Yan Dynasty. After death, I entered the Xuandu Ghost Mansion and have cultivated until now—a total of one hundred and thirty-seven thousand years.”
His voice was deep and thick, like muffled thunder rolling from his chest.
“I see the golden light of merit upon you, as well as the power of faith. You must be quite a figure in the outside world.”
“However, on this trial ground, I will not hold back.”
“Be careful.”
“Young friend, please.”
Chen Zhou looked at him. Since the other party had introduced himself, Chen Zhou gave his name as well, then waved his hand.
“No need for formalities. Let's just fight.”
Zhao Lie nodded and raised the ghost-head blade high.
Ghostly green netherflame ignited on the blade, spreading along the steel until it covered the entire surface in an instant.
Then, he swung downward.
The strike was simple—a straight vertical cleave. The air pressure on both sides of the blade billowed outward, and the netherflame drew a ghostly green arc in the air as it fell toward the top of Chen Zhou's head.
Chen Zhou stood in place, unmoving.
The blade stopped three feet above his head.
A layer of dark red fire surged from the Eternal Calamity Karma-Fire robe on Chen Zhou's body, transforming into a thin screen of light that blocked the blade.
The ghost-head blade struck the screen with a dull thud, and the netherflame was instantly extinguished.
【Eternal Calamity Karma-Fire: With deep black as the base and eternal night as the weave, dark red calamity patterns flow endlessly as karma-fire surges like a tide.】
【Karma-Fire Protection: Grants immunity to all attacks from those at a lower rank than oneself.】
This artifact on Chen Zhou's body hadn't been effective for a long time since Lantao City.
It couldn't be helped; the enemies he encountered were almost always at a higher level than him, or at the very least at the same level. He almost never ran into anyone lower than himself who would trigger the immunity of Karma-Fire Protection.
Over time, this artifact had basically been reduced to a pure cosmetic skin.
It was certainly cool-looking.
But its actual utility was very limited.
He hadn't expected that after all this time, this artifact would unexpectedly find a use again.
Although Zhao Lie had suppressed himself to the same stage, Chen Zhou still had the Faith Conferment. With the boost, the opponent's cultivation was lower than his, resulting in direct immunity.
Zhao Lie was stunned for a moment. He ignited the netherflame again and swung another blow.
The two-zhang-tall giant ghost swung a blade thicker than Chen Zhou's entire body, the wind from the strike causing the air to vibrate.
And yet, the blade stopped three feet above Chen Zhou's head, unable to descend any further.
Zhao Lie's expression turned solemn. Refusing to believe it, he swung blow after blow, each strike delivered with his full strength, enough to split mountains and shatter boulders.
But every attack was blocked by that thin barrier of karma-fire.
Chen Zhou simply stood there watching him, his expression calm.
He was even starting to feel a bit bored.
“General, it's my turn.”
Chen Zhou raised his right hand, and a wisp of black fire ignited at his fingertip.
The Hatred Fire, which ignored defenses, leaped from Chen Zhou's palm and transformed into a fire snake that lunged at Zhao Lie.
Zhao Lie held his blade horizontally to block. When the fire snake struck the blade, it didn't extinguish; instead, it clung to the steel and began slithering up toward Zhao Lie's arm.
Zhao Lie hurriedly shook the blade, trying to fling the fire off.
But the Hatred Fire was like it had grown roots, clinging stubbornly to the blade and refusing to be shaken off, even beginning to spread continuously.
It spread from the blade to the hilt, from the hilt to Zhao Lie's gauntlet, from the gauntlet to his arm, and from his arm to his entire body.
In the blink of an eye, Zhao Lie was entirely enveloped in Hatred Fire, turning into a burning man.
The Hatred Fire scorched his ghostly body and his divine soul.
As the intense pain hit him, Zhao Lie gritted his teeth, not making a sound.
However, the muscles in his face were twitching, veins bulged on his forehead, and the hand gripping the hilt was trembling slightly.
Beyond the Hatred Fire, there was also the Withering Venom.
The toxin seeped into Zhao Lie's ghostly body along with the burn of the Hatred Fire, stacking layer upon layer. Zhao Lie's movements began to slow, the flow of death qi within him started to stagnate, and the recovery speed of his wounds dropped drastically.
After several breaths, even his limbs began to stiffen, and his vision grew blurred.
Zhao Lie knew he couldn't hold on much longer.
He took a deep breath and burned all the death qi within his body.
Light flared once more on the ghost-head blade as the death qi condensed into a blade-aura, extending from the blade and doubling its length.
Zhao Lie gripped the blade with both hands, stepped forward, and lunged.
The tip of the blade pointed directly at Chen Zhou's heart.
This was his strongest strike, discarding all flourishes and variations, seeking only to kill the enemy in one blow.
The blade tip pierced through the fire screen, the poisonous mist, and the layers of Hatred Fire, thrusting straight toward Chen Zhou.
Then, three inches from Chen Zhou's heart, it stopped once more.
Chen Zhou's right hand was clamped onto the tip of the blade.
Hatred Fire surged from his palm, enveloping the entire tip, while the Withering Venom spread along the blade, turning the entire weapon a grayish-white in an instant.
Then, Chen Zhou triggered the Venom Burst.
All the toxins stacked on Zhao Lie's body were detonated simultaneously at this moment.
Boom—!
With a dull explosion, Zhao Lie was sent flying, his ghostly body exploding in mid-air and turning into countless fragments.
The fragments drifted down to the ground like falling leaves before slowly gathering and re-forming into Zhao Lie's shape.
However, the re-formed Zhao Lie was much fainter, almost transparent, and his aura had withered to the extreme.
Zhao Lie felt incredibly stifled. In life, he had been the General Zhenbei, leading a hundred thousand iron cavalry. With his horse and his ghost-head blade, he had fought his way through mountains of corpses and seas of blood for three hundred years without a single defeat.
After death, he was subdued by the Xuandu Ghost Emperor and had cultivated in this ghost mansion for one hundred and thirty-seven thousand years. Among the Seven Evils, he could rank in the top three in terms of raw power. Even with his cultivation suppressed, he should have been a crushing force at the same level.
And yet, throughout this entire battle, he hadn't even managed to touch his opponent once.
In all his years, this was the first time he understood what it meant to have strength but no way to use it.
It wasn't that he couldn't win; it was that the fight was fundamentally impossible.
All his attacks were ineffective, while he had to tank every one of his opponent's attacks.
He couldn't tank them, he couldn't dodge them, and most frustratingly, he could tell that Chen Zhou hadn't even exerted his full strength from beginning to end.
The man had just stood there, casually throwing a few clumps of fire and stacking a few layers of poison, then easily blew him to bits.
Zhao Lie climbed up from the ground and knelt on one knee, his teeth clenched and his heart in turmoil.
“I... admit defeat.”
Chen Zhou withdrew the Hatred Fire and nodded.
“Good fight.”
Zhao Lie gave a bitter smile, dragging his ghost-head blade as he slowly faded away.
The mountain of corpses beneath his feet also began to lose its color, like ink being washed away by water, blurring from the center outward.
The battlefield collapsed section by section, the shattered sand and stone turning into points of green light in mid-air, scattering like fireflies.
The surroundings transformed into four vermilion pillars carved with gold flowers. Large red lanterns hung from the beams, their flickering candlelight casting a warm red glow over the entire hall.
In the center of the hall stood a round red sandalwood table. Upon it were a wine flask and cups, along with several plates of exquisite side dishes. The scent of wine and cosmetics mingled together, becoming thick and heavy.
Beaded curtains hung from the second-floor corridor, where figures could be seen moving faintly behind them. The sounds of string and woodwind instruments drifted out—a duet of pipa and guzheng. The melody was soft and gentle, like a light spring rain on a quiet afternoon.
A hand slid along the staircase railing.
The fingernails were dyed with balsam, and the fingertips were as white as jade.
The owner of the hand stepped out from the corner of the stairs. She wore a bright red dress with a train trailing behind her. With every step, the golden peonies embroidered on the fabric swayed as if they were real flowers dancing in the wind.
The woman's eyes rippled as she scanned the hall, finally landing on Chen Zhou.
“Oh my, that was faster than I imagined.”
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