Chapter 171 – The Illusory Formation

Even so, Wang Banxia still felt doubtful. There hadn’t been any reports of unrest to the south—so why would the army be marching this way?

“Quickly, quickly! Have the rear units catch up—Mount Qixia is just ahead!”

“Slaughter all the black dogs and drain their blood for storage, in case that demon cultivator Lu Liangsheng launches a sneak attack!”

“Pick up the pace and take good care of Master Wang!”

Lu Liangsheng?!

Wang Banxia’s smile froze. Voices kept rising one after another from within the crowd—each word sharp and clear in his ears. His whole body suddenly shuddered. The soldier supporting him at his side leaned close and whispered:

“Master, do you need to relieve yourself?”

“No… no, I don’t… don’t want to.”

He waved his hands repeatedly, hesitating for a moment. Then, using his half-baked skills in divination and qi observation, he began to calculate and gaze about. The wind blowing between the two mountain slopes seemed to roar beside his ears, and faintly he could hear the intertwining and turbulent flow of spiritual energy.

His face changed at once. Grabbing the wrist of the soldier next to him, he said urgently:

“Go—quickly tell your general not to advance any farther! The spiritual currents in the mountains are clashing—there’s definitely something strange ahead!”

The soldier dared not neglect the warning. He pulled free and sprinted toward the front of the column.

The sunlight was warm and gentle, falling upon the small courtyard of a mountain village. Lu Liangsheng opened his eyes, stepped out the door, and exchanged a glance with the Daoist washing his face by the water jar.

“They’re here,” he said softly.

Lu Xiaoxian came out carrying breakfast, blinking in confusion—her elder brother and the Daoist were nowhere to be seen in the courtyard.

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At that very moment, at the head of the column, Kong Fan had already ordered the road sealed off. The cavalry beside him galloped forward, preparing to drive off or capture any merchants or villagers heading toward Lu Family Village. 

But just as the warhorses charged a few steps, they suddenly reared back with loud, sharp neighs, hooves skidding to a stop. No matter how the riders whipped or shouted, the beasts refused to take another step forward.

“Hyah! Move, damn you!” “Cursed beasts! Delay the army’s business, and I’ll butcher you for meat!”

Seeing dozens of riders flailing their whips and cursing in place, Kong Fan frowned and urged his own horse forward from the rear.

“What in the world is going on?!”

The moment his horse stepped forward, the steed suddenly grew restless, tossing its head in panic and rearing up on its forelegs. Kong Fan struggled to calm it down when, all of a sudden, from both sides of the mountain forest, countless startled birds burst into flight—a great black cloud that wheeled over the foothills but dared not descend.

Whoosh—

In the next instant, the trees along the roadside swayed violently as a fierce wind swept through. Pebbles rolled across the ground; dust and grit billowed into the air. The marching column was thrown into disarray—soldiers covered their mouths and noses, and the flag bearers crouched on the ground, clutching their standards tightly.

Boom!

Boom!

Boom!

A succession of drumbeats resounded. Wiping the dust from his face, Kong Fan squinted ahead—and his pupils contracted sharply. Before him, countless black banners were surging in the wind, surrounding a massive central flag bearing the character “White(Bai).”

Rows upon rows of soldiers advanced in formation, their synchronized steps kicking up clouds of dust.

At the forefront, amidst a hundred war chariots, beneath the ornate canopy, a general drew his sword high and shouted hoarsely:

“Prepare—!”

Behind him, dense ranks of halberds lowered in unison with a thunderous crash, and a murderous aura surged forth, blanketing the heavens and earth.

The sight of such concentrated qi and battle spirit made Kong Fan’s eyes narrow in disbelief.

“Where did this army come from?!”

But the opposing forces gave him no time to form ranks. The figure atop the war chariot brought his sword down in midair with a roar—

“Attack!”

Kong Fan turned back and bellowed: “Defend!!”

The next instant, the sky darkened. A black cloud of arrows blotted out the sun, whistling downward like a swarm of locusts. Tens of thousands of shafts rained upon the coiling Chen Dynasty army formation—the ground rang with the sharp pāpāpā of impact, mingled with agonized screams as soldiers clutched at pierced limbs and collapsed one after another.

Wang Banxia was caught in the midst of the panicked ranks, shoved about so hard he nearly fell, reaching out blindly with both hands.

“What—what’s happening?!”

No one answered. Every soldier was either rushing to defend or fleeing in confusion, unable to find their place in the chaos. From afar, the thunder of the onrushing, unknown army rolled in like a crashing tide, shaking the very earth.

Then—the two forces collided with a deafening boom.

Not long after, a huge pit had been dug in the open ground. Kong Fan, half-conscious, was dragged there, bound hand and foot. Around him, many of his captured subordinates were kneeling, their faces pale with terror, staring at the unfamiliar soldiers standing at the rim of the pit.

Then, shovels of earth began to rain down upon them.

At the same time—

On the northern foothills, a separate army that had been marching over the ridges suddenly halted. Over ten thousand men stood at the cliff’s edge, gazing toward the distant mountains. One by one, their faces twisted in horror, and their weapons slipped from trembling hands, clattering to the ground.

Through the gaps of the forest, their view opened toward the outer mountains—

There, within the rolling sea of clouds, an enormous body slid through the mist. Its length was vast beyond measure; countless azure scales shimmered under the sunlight, glinting with blue-black light.

“W-what… what kind of demonic creature is that?!”

Chen Bizhi swallowed hard. In his line of sight, amid the sea of clouds, the solitary mountain peak trembled as chunks of shattered rock fell away. A colossal serpentine body coiled and writhed upward, and upon that massive neck rested an enormous, unimaginable human head. Around it clustered several smaller heads, each flicking forked tongues like snakes, their mouths opening and closing as though whispering to one another in eerie murmurs.

The ten-thousand-strong army began to tremble and inch backward. Within moments, they turned tail and ran—abandoning their weapons entirely, fleeing madly from the mountain range. In the distance, they collided head-on with another force, itself fleeing in panic—the five thousand men led by Ren Zhong to the west.

“You—why are you back?!”

“My side—my side ran into a gigantic bird wreathed in flames! It perched on the mountain ridge, and just standing near it was enough to roast a man alive… General Chen, what about you?”

“Same here! On that mountain—there was a huge serpent with several heads, all of them human-faced! The scales on its body were as large as a house—how would I dare go any closer?!”

“Both our forces met disaster; perhaps General Kong’s side fared better.”

“Yes, yes—after all, he had that so-called ‘expert’ guiding him. He should’ve advanced smoothly.”

After conferring for a moment, the two men gathered their troops and retraced their steps—only to find, upon reaching where General Kong had gone, that banners and weapons lay scattered across the ground. Masterless warhorses flicked their tails and licked at the faces of their fallen masters.

Across the wide plain between the two mountain ridges, countless men had been buried up to their necks in earth, their faces twisted as they wailed and screamed.

Seeing the two returning generals equally disheveled, Kong Fan’s face darkened to an ashen blue. A horse’s tongue was lapping at his cheek. After a long silence, he forced out a hoarse sound—

“Withdraw the troops! We’re going back—!”

The sunlight slanted, filtering through the trees, dappling the shoulders of two men standing atop a nearby hill. Lu Liangsheng looked down at the scene below, while beside him, the Daoist clutched his stomach, crouching down with laughter.

“Hahaha… This Daoist truly thought you’d slaughter them all. I didn’t expect you to use such a method instead!”

“To stain Mount Qixia with rivers of blood would harm its Feng Shui.”

Lu Liangsheng’s green robe fluttered in the breeze. He cast one last glance down at the retreating army, then sighed and swept his sleeve, turning away. Such generals and soldiers—compared to those of the Northern Zhou, or rather, those under Yang Jian of Chang’an—were utterly without strength or discipline.

“When one dynasty rises, another must decline. Their courage has already shattered—they won’t be coming again for now. Let’s go back.”

“So next… we just wait for the fifteenth of the eighth month?”

The Daoist followed behind the scholar, brushing aside branches as he spoke with lively gestures.

“That day, when you stand atop the city tower of the imperial capital—it’ll be beyond words! What’s your plan? How about including this Daoist? When the crowd gathers, just let me show my face too!”

His chatter echoed as their figures grew faint among the trees. In the blink of an eye, they had reached mid-mountain. Looking into the distance, smoke from cooking fires rose gently from the village at the western foot of the mountain. Lu Liangsheng reached down and lightly patted the Veiled Moon Sword at his waist.

“Next, refine the sword, and then—”

He didn’t finish the last word. Back in the fenced courtyard, they set up the easel. The Toad Daoist brought a bowl over, standing on tiptoe beside the scholar to peek—then quickly averted his eyes. Lu Xiaoxian tried to look but was pushed aside.

“Don’t look—be careful you don’t have nightmares tonight.”

On the scroll, ink and brush rendered a scene thick with yin aura: mountains of blades and iron trees that made the heart tighten. Lu Liangsheng felt nothing of fear; instead he seemed immersed in the painting. His wide sleeves fluttered as the brush tip raced, sketching one ghastly fiend after another—pale-faced, fang-jawed spectres. The painted sky was dim; wandering souls drifted, some with long tongues, some sawing open skulls, some eyeless, some eviscerated—vivid to the point of life.

Even the Daoist, who excelled at catching ghosts, shivered at the ghostly qi issuing from the work.

The painting was unfinished, but in the lower corner, a title had already been written:

— “The Netherworld’s Soul-Calling Burial”

A wind stirred; the old tree in the yard swayed. Before long the western clouds flushed red. Far off, upon the ravaged plain, someone groggily came to.

“Wah—”

A crow blinked its blood-red eyes atop a branch. Under a great rock, Wang Banxia groped about, stumbling his way onto the road.

Where is everyone?

Hey—where is everyone?

He shouted several times; his voice echoed across the waste. “You damned lot dragged this old man out—couldn’t you bring me back too?!!”