This assassin was equally ruthless. He neither dodged nor retreated, having resolved to exchange injury for injury with Qi Xuansu.

Qi Xuansu’s blade qi split the assassin’s bamboo hat in two, revealing his true appearance. He seemed to be of mixed Central Plains and Southern Continent native descent. A thin line of blood appeared on his face, stretching from the crown of his head all the way down to his throat.

At the same time, the assassin thrust his spear into Qi Xuansu’s chest. However, it failed to penetrate and produced a sharp metallic screech.

The heart of an ordinary Heavenly Being could never have withstood such a spear thrust, but Qi Xuansu had always been an exception because he literally possessed a heart of stone.

The assassin’s aim was remarkably precise, striking directly at Qi Xuansu’s Longevity Stone Heart. This was also why Qi Xuansu had made no attempt to evade the attack.

The skin of the assassin’s face had nearly been split in half by Qi Xuansu’s blade, and blood continuously poured from the thin wound. He tried to withdraw his spear and retreat, but Qi Xuansu seized the spearhead with one hand, preventing him from pulling it free.

The two entered a stalemate. Qi Xuansu invoked his Celestial Phenomena Spiritual Statue with Himiko at its center. At this moment, Himiko had undergone subtle changes, acquiring a distinct air of Buddhist Zen.

During the era of Shinto-Buddhist syncretism in Fenglin, Himiko claimed to be an incarnation of Vairocana. As a result, her Spiritual Statue contained some of the profound mysteries of the Vairocana’s own Spiritual Statue. In the past, Qi Xuansu’s Shaman lineage had been too low to utilize them. Now, however, his Shaman lineage had advanced into the Fruition Realm, and he also carried the Buddha’s sarira with him. Naturally, things were different.

The last time Qi Xuansu manifested Vairocana within his divine domain, he believed it was due to the Buddha’s sarira. But the main reason lay in Himiko’s Spiritual Statue.

A halo rose behind Qi Xuansu’s head. Waves of Sanskrit chants and Zen hymns transformed into golden Buddhist radiance. Then, within the boundless Buddha light, a vast and majestic crimson sun slowly emerged, as though all light in existence originated from it. This was known as the Infinite Light.

Qi Xuansu did not need to make any particular move. A Buddha’s palm descended from the heavens, which contained only light.

The brilliance was so intense that it condensed into True Solar Flames. The palm did not descend especially quickly, but it was accompanied by a sea of fire that set the heavens ablaze, shaking the soul with its overwhelming spectacle.

Such power was already infinitely close to that of a Pseudo-Immortal.

The assassin did not dare withstand it head-on. He could only abandon his spear and rapidly retreat.

His figure moved like lightning, and in the blink of an eye, he had escaped the area covered by the Buddha’s palm.

At that very moment, the sun’s radiance abruptly contracted, and Qi Xuansu had already vanished without a trace.

The assassin discovered that the surrounding environment had changed completely. There was no trace of sunlight. Gloomy clouds filled the sky, and a grayish-white mist permeated every direction. The mist blended seamlessly with the dim heavens overhead, as though sky and earth had become one, leaving everything above and below shrouded in endless haze and darkness.

A majestic black city loomed indistinctly within the murky gloom.

An overwhelming fear arose in the young assassin’s heart. He instinctively tried to get away from the black city and began fleeing frantically. Yet he soon discovered that no matter how fast he ran, the distance between himself and the black city behind him continued to shrink. The black city seemed capable of moving, relentlessly pursuing him. Or perhaps it was he who was moving backward, about to be swallowed into the belly of that gigantic beast-like black city.

The first time he looked back, the black city was still only a vague shadow in the far distance, like the silhouette of a city painted with thick black ink.

The second time he looked back, the black city was much closer, clearly visible and even more imposing.

It was a perfectly square traditional Eastern city, complete with city gates, gate towers, and a moat. Its walls stood more than 30 meters high and stretched over 600 meters in length. Everything was entirely black in color, exuding a magnificent and intimidating grandeur like the legendary Ghost City of Fengdu. The moat was roughly 15 meters wide, yet what flowed within was not water but countless white, aggrieved spirits. Distorted human faces surfaced upon the river’s surface one after another, inspiring dread in all who beheld them.

The assassin’s fear multiplied exponentially. Though he knew he should not look back, after running some distance farther, he could not resist taking a third glance behind him.

In that instant, he saw a towering city gate standing wide open, only a single step away from him. The dark passage within the gate extended into unfathomable depths, like the gaping maw of a monstrous beast.

The next moment, the open gate, swallowed the young assassin whole.

Just before everything disappeared, he vaguely saw two words carved above the gate that read, “Ghost Pass.”

This city was no different from an ordinary city, with residential streets, arched bridges, ceremonial gateways, trees lining the roads, and lanterns hanging from buildings facing the streets. Yet all of these structures resembled an ink-wash painting, devoid of any color, reduced to nothing but black and white, as though one had suddenly crossed from the world of the living into the netherworld.

The streets were crowded with pedestrians standing shoulder to shoulder, flowing endlessly like a river. There were people from all walks of life—men and women, young and old, scholars, farmers, artisans, merchants, and so on.

It was as though he had been transported directly from the rainforests of the Southern Continent to an ancient Eastern netherworld city.

Before the assassin could adapt to his surroundings, the atmosphere suddenly changed. The peddlers and common folk on the streets instantly took on different appearances. Their faces became pale like corpses. Though they continued about their business, they seemed like puppets controlled by invisible strings, utterly devoid of vitality.

The assassin could not help but cry out in alarm.

Initially, the surrounding crowd had not paid any attention to the assassin. But the moment he cried out, they simultaneously turned to look at him, as though they had only just realized that there was a living person among them.

All of the previous commotion vanished in an instant. Only a deathly silence remained.

The next moment, these “people” surged toward the assassin like a pack of madmen.

The assassin no longer had his spear in hand. To his horror, he discovered that his cultivation had been completely suppressed by the divine domain. He could not even exert half of his full strength. As his fear intensified, his cultivation continued to drain away.

This divine domain was a replica of the Ghost Kingdom. It belonged solely to him. Other forms of divine domains were tied to the other Spiritual Statues.

Back in the Yu Kingdom, Qi Xuansu had relied on the Scripture of Zuriel to advance his Shaman lineage into the Fruition Realm, enabling him to manifest this divine domain and contend against True Lord Siming.

Now that Qi Xuansu had officially entered the Fruition Realm, he no longer needed external aid to conjure this divine domain.

Those of the Godly Immortal lineage received tremendous amplification within their own divine domains, to the point where they could toy with others as though manipulating them in the palm of their hand.

Qi Xuansu appeared above the Blood Lake at the center of the city.

A dense white mist covered the lake’s surface, obscuring everything from view.

At the center of the Blood Lake stood an island. However, it was not formed from soil and stone but from countless piled corpses.

At the center of the island stood a gigantic willow tree, born amidst the Ghost Kingdom and rooted atop mountains of corpses and a sea of blood. It resembled a pillar that reached the heavens. Its enormous canopy nearly covered the entire lake, while the hanging willow branches were as thick as the waist of a grown man.

In those years, in order to seal the rifts in the netherworld, the Daoist Order had Elder Yao refine a special seed within Lingshan Paradise, which was then planted in the Ghost Kingdom as the Emperor Willow. It flourished by feeding upon the yin energy, blood, and corpses. Over the course of two centuries, it had grown to a height of 600 meters.

At this moment, Qi Xuansu stood atop the Emperor Willow. A Pingtian Crown sat on his head, as if he were the sovereign ruler of this city.

With a sweep of his sleeve, countless ghost constables appeared throughout the city. They wore square hats, official robes, and black boots, while carrying batons and iron chains. Yin energy billowed from them in chilling waves.

This was one of the earliest spells Qi Xuansu had learned. As his cultivation steadily increased, he had long since abandoned its use. However, after obtaining this divine domain, these spells that were inherently tied to the Ghost Kingdom experienced a resurgence and found new life once more.

By now, the multitude of “people” within the city had already swarmed the young assassin and seized him from all sides.

The young assassin tried to escape, only to discover in horror that all of his cultivation seemed to have vanished. He could not break free at all. After several futile struggles, he was pinned to the ground, and the next thing he saw was pairs of black official boots.

Soon after, a chain slipped around the young assassin’s neck.

In an instant, the young assassin became utterly dispirited, as though his soul had left him.

The squad of ghost constables dressed in official attire then dragged the listless assassin toward the execution grounds.

By this time, the execution grounds were surrounded by countless people eager to watch the spectacle.

Standing atop the execution platform was an executioner who looked more like a butcher. He wore a red headscarf and was bare-chested, exposing a thick patch of black chest hair. In both hands, he held a ghosthead executioner’s blade, its edge gleaming with an eerie blue light.

As the ghost constables escorted the assassin to the execution grounds, the crowd immediately erupted into cheers.

They were all waiting for the executioner’s blade to fall.

Only after the ghost constables removed the chains did the young assassin regain his senses. He felt an icy chill rising from the back of his neck.

The young assassin knew he had fallen into a trap and tried to resist, only to discover that he possessed no more strength than an ordinary young man. Even lifting his head was difficult, let alone resisting.

The ghost constables bound the young assassin tightly, tying his hands behind his back and forcing him to kneel on the ground. The executioner first took a mouthful of liquor and sprayed it onto the ghosthead knife, which made it glow with an unsettling blue sheen. Then he reached out and removed the wooden placard hanging from the assassin’s back, inscribed with his name and the word, “decapitation.” With a swift motion, the blade fell.

A severed head tumbled across the ground.

A chorus of cheers erupted from the crowd.

There was not the slightest trace of warmth here. It was frighteningly cold, yet the atmosphere was astonishingly lively.

The executioner picked up the severed head and tossed it into the crowd, which fought fiercely over it before tearing it apart and devouring it.

The young assassin’s vision went black, yet he did not truly die. It felt as though one of his souls had been severed.

Before he could react, a ghost constable forced his head down once more. The executioner stepped forward again, and with another swift strike, blood sprayed everywhere.

Another severed head rolled to the ground, accompanied by yet another wave of applause and cheering rose from below.

The executioner repeated the process, once again throwing the severed head into the crowd.

With each throw, the atmosphere grew ever more frenzied.

The young assassin let out a scream. Blood flowed from all orifices of his face, while darkness repeatedly clouded his vision. The strength throughout his body rapidly drained away, and he could only await slaughter.

Qi Xuansu merely stood high atop the Emperor Willow, like the sovereign ruler of this realm.