Chapter 49

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Chapter 49: Title

The curse master had always operated within Siam and Southeast Asia, never anticipating such formidable resistance during his Zhongxia excursion. Bitter regret filled him – had he foreseen this outcome, he would never have ventured into Zhongxia’s territory.

Zhongxia stood as one of Earth’s rare superpowers. Even before the Awakening of Spiritual Energy, few terrorists dared disturb this land. Now with the Spiritual Network cataloging extraordinary individuals, the nation’s defenses appeared more daunting than ever.

Though foreign-born, the curse master had accessed translated profiles through the Spiritual Network’s multilingual interface. The crimson-clad specter bursting through the walls matched the network’s records: Ghost in Red, an entity of formidable power rivaling his own.

His legion of minor spirits might stall momentarily, but true victory demanded his ultimate weapon. Producing an grotesque vial, the curse master slashed his palm without hesitation. Blood cascaded into the vessel as a piercing Ghostly Scream erupted.

A wraith drenched in malignant energy materialized, hungrily lapping the sanguine offering. The Ghost in Red’s brow furrowed – this peak Innate Realm entity teetered on the brink of Tier One ascension, requiring only a few more soul fragments.

The Fierce Ghost’s shriek magnetized surrounding spirits into its coalescing form. With fluid grace, the Ghost in Red swept her sleeves, retreating meters to observe the metamorphosis.

"Crush her! I’ll forge you into my ultimate vessel!" The curse master’s guttural Mandarin rasped through the chamber, his glee outweighing the sacrificed lesser spirits as he beheld his Tier One creation.

The ascending entity lunged, its hunger surpassing previous feedings. Though matching strength, the Ghost in Red’s Innate Realm capabilities strained against the Tier One onslaught.

Factory doors exploded inward as tracking signals bore fruit. Li Canghai’s blade arced with Blue Light brilliance, intercepting clawed strikes against the Ghost in Red. Across the chamber, Qiao Feiyu’s predatory gaze locked onto the cowering curse master.

"I’ll handle this vermin," Qiao Feiyu growled, knuckles cracking with restrained fury. Yang Xingyu hovered awkwardly, momentarily displaced from the action.

The Ghost in Red disengaged smoothly as Li Canghai’s sword energy flared – orthodox cultivation techniques proving supremely effective against dark entities.

"Are you unharmed, red-clad senior?" Yang Xingyu inquired.

"Minor damage," the specter replied, inspecting her tattered sleeve. Against combined forces of Tier One and Peak Innate Realm combatants, the curse master’s escape seemed impossible.

Qiao Feiyu restrained his killing blow – answers about his uncle’s assailant took priority. Meanwhile, Li Canghai’s blade flash of sword light pierced the Fierce Ghost’s core, its form disintegrating into soul fragments. "Total dispersal," he confirmed, sheathing his weapon.

"Senior Ghost in Red," Li Canghai requested, "please locate Shen Yuan’s soul."

Nodding silently, the crimson specter produced an ornate bell. Its crystalline chime resonated through the bloodstained chamber.

Shen Yuan’s soul materialized abruptly, drifting toward a pottery jar adorned with cryptic blood-drawn patterns and swathed in red cloth.

The Ghost in Red commanded Yang Xingyu to shatter the vessel.

Yang Xingyu naturally complied—not only out of respect for his red-clad senior, but also because she’d once mentored him.

The jar exploded upon impact, releasing three wisps of primal spirit-light that orbited the group before merging with Shen Yuan’s soul.

After sealing the soul within her bell, the Ghost in Red declared, "Restoring this to his body will revive him."

"Senior, please attend to Shen Yuan first," Li Canghai requested, sword in hand as he bowed. "We have unfinished business here."

As the crimson specter departed, Qiao Feiyu’s boot connected viciously with the curse master’s ribs. Death was forbidden, but brutal retribution wasn’t.

Yang Xingyu tactfully averted his gaze while Daoist Priest Li remained engrossed in polishing his blade, seemingly detached from the violence.

"Talk!" Qiao Feiyu ground his heel into the curse master’s skull. "Who hired you to kill Qiao Mingguang?"

"Confess and spare yourself agony," Yang Xingyu interjected, eyeing Qiao Feiyu’s trembling leg nervously. "The Special Bureau wants you breathing, but they didn’t specify intact."

The pinned curse master spat through broken teeth: "You swear… I live?"

"Only because they ordered it," Yang Xingyu sneered, then leaned closer. "But broken bones make poor companions."

"Just… middleman… Yan Liang…" the man wheezed, face swollen grotesquely. "Proof… back boxes…"

Yang Xingyu gripped Qiao Feiyu’s shoulder. "Old Qiao, the ropes. This vermin’s curse magic needs containing."

As they moved to restrain the prisoner, Li Canghai’s blade abruptly barred their path. The daoist beckoned to a hovering boy ghost before addressing the curse master: "Recognize him?"

"You!" The captive convulsed with rage. "Severed my control!"

"Feiyu." Li Canghai extended a hand toward the red thread encircling his companion’s wrist. "Can this be undone?"

The curse master’s eyes gleamed. "Release me and—"

Qiao Feiyu’s kick silenced him with a sickening crunch, leaving the man choking on blood and shattered negotiations.

Yang Xingyu winced in sympathy as he watched, certain the kick had cracked at least two of the curse master’s ribs.

“No rush. We’ll take him back first,” Qiao Feiyu declared, his voice sharp with disdain for threats. The curse master’s poor timing had sealed his fate.

Given the severity of the injuries, they detoured to a hospital before returning to the Capital City. Two days later, they embarked on the road trip back with their captive in tow.

Four days after their departure, the Special Bureau’s familiar facade greeted them.

“Fine work,” Jiang Fei greeted at the entrance, his smile polished. “I’ll handle the prisoner. You’ve earned your rest.”

Yang Xingyu’s team readily agreed. After a weighted pause, even Qiao Feiyu nodded—this fell to the Bureau’s shadow division, a department conceptualized during the organization’s earliest days.

The lobby remained unchanged: marble floors gleaming, the same elegant receptionist fielding calls.

“Hu Mei’s still at Daxing’anling,” Yang Xingyu remarked in the elevator, amusement coloring his tone. “We beat her back, surprisingly.”

“Retiring to your quarters?”

“Rest calls,” Li Canghai murmured with a tired nod.

“Division 5,” Qiao Feiyu stated tersely.

The Bureau’s monolithic structure housed offices, the Accommodation Area, training facilities, and the sprawling general office complex where Yang Xingyu’s workspace nestled.

“Xu Li!” Yang Xingyu embraced his colleague upon entering the office. “Ten days and you haven’t aged a day!”

“Brother Yang!” Xu Li broke into a grin before glancing behind him. “Where’s Hu Mei?” Her usual shadow was conspicuously absent.

“Tied up elsewhere.”

“Chaos here while I was gone?” Yang Xingyu asked, filling his favorite mug at the water cooler.

“We’re untouched. Divisions 2 through 4 and 6?” Xu Li snapped his mythology tome shut. “Drowning in work.”

Yang Xingyu sank into his chair. “Four divisions overwhelmed? What’s burning?”

“Young Master Leng’s ancient practitioners.” Xu Li leaned forward, eyes alight. “Thirty-odd newcomers last week—white-bearded elders mostly. Then he fetched another batch yesterday.”

“Why haven’t I spotted a single robe or topknot?” Yang Xingyu frowned. The traditional garb should’ve been impossible to miss.

“Stashed in other wings. Division 2’s cross-referencing their scrolls with civilian mythos—hunting hidden clues about the Awakening.”

“Division 3’s neck-deep in analysis,” Xu Li continued. “Those millennia-old texts might predict the Spiritual Energy surge’s next phase.”

“Let me guess—” Yang Xingyu interjected “—Division 4’s doing parallel verification?”

The corner of Xu Li’s mouth twitched. “Naturally. Their dream team—ivy-league mythologists and tenured professors—wouldn’t miss this.”

“What about Division 6?”

“Young Master Leng and his group brought not only ancient texts but also numerous cultivation techniques and illustrated manuals of spiritual herbs. They say Division 6 has added over sixteen hundred new research topics in just a week,” Xu Li explained, his eyebrows twitching visibly as if startled by the sheer volume.

“When the ancient practitioners first arrived, they all underwent examinations at Division 6—supposedly to assess their cultivation tiers and compare their techniques and capabilities…”

Xu Li’s words stirred Yang Xingyu’s curiosity.

“So meeting these ancient practitioners now requires visiting those departments?”

“Essentially, yes.”

*

Zhongxia’s infrastructure advancement outpaced other nations by leaps, with experimental fields already cultivated across plains and rumors of early breakthroughs circulating.

“Why serve this in jade bowls?” Yang Xingyu eyed his meal skeptically, the pearlescent grains before him shimmering like polished moonstones, each emanating wisps of Spiritual Energy.

“Spiritual rice—harvested three days ago. They’re preparing for mass cultivation,” Xu Li mumbled between hurried bites. “The yield’s lower than regular rice but substantial enough. Ideal for practitioners.”

He shoveled another mouthful, urging, “Eat quickly before the energy dissipates.”

“Right.”

Yang Xingyu hesitated before tasting the rice. The grains melted smoothly, their faint Spiritual Energy dissolving into his meridians upon contact. By the bowl’s end, he detected a faint wisp of energy pooling in his dantian—imperceptible unless consciously sought.

“They’ve also bred spiritual poultry, supposedly exquisite in flavor.”

“…Has it truly been mere months? The pace of change is dizzying.” Yang Xingyu massaged his temples, exhaling slowly.

Scientific Research Division 6.

“Why summon me back?” Leng Xingwen frowned, interrupted mid-departure.

An old man in a lab coat extended a prismatic crystal, its tapered ends glinting. “Is this what you call a spiritual stone?”

Leng Xingwen rotated the specimen, murmuring, “This bears some resemblance to the ones preserved in our family records, though spiritual stones vanished over a millennium ago.”

“Discovery site?”

“Adjacent to a gold deposit,” the researcher disclosed. “Freshly delivered—its unusual morphology prompted our analysis.”

“Are spiritual stones typically gold-adjacent?”

“No.” Leng Xingwen’s head shook fractionally. “Historical texts state spiritual stone veins form exclusively near potent Spiritual Veins. This goldmine proximity must be coincidental.”

“Any methods to locate Spiritual Mines?” The professor leaned forward. Initial tests suggested these crystals could revolutionize energy systems—pristine fuel for Spiritual Energy Technology.

“…As a practitioner, I advise against aggressive mining.” Leng Xingwen’s pause weighed heavy.

“Reason?”

“Veins replenish when nurtured by Spiritual Veins, but extraction outstripping regrowth…” His voice trailed off, the unspoken consequence hanging like blade.

The old professor pondered his words briefly before responding, "We’ll keep that in mind."

"Spiritual Veins emerge along dragon veins – what we call the earth’s arteries and you consider mountain ranges. To locate Spiritual Mines, simply trace the dragon veins’ distribution."

Leng Xingwen knew this secret wouldn’t remain hidden long, even if he hadn’t revealed it. The revelation was merely a matter of time.

In the cafeteria, two figures sat sharing a meal.

"Bai Ye! Over here!" Yang Xingyu waved enthusiastically at the silver-haired youth entering the hall.

"Brother Yang! You’ve returned?" Bai Ye approached with mild surprise.

"…I sent multiple messages. Where have you been these past days?" Yang Xingyu’s question carried genuine curiosity.

"Dealing with Bai Family affairs," came the weary reply.

"The clan from that secret realm?"

"Yes."

"What do they want?"

"Ancestral recognition. They claim we’re their long-lost branch lineage." Bai Ye sighed, recalling his recent family visit.

His grandfather hadn’t objected – sheltering under great trees remains advantageous across eras. Aligning with ancient practitioners like the Bai Family clearly offered benefits.

Two weeks later…

"I’m baaack~" Hu Mei announced theatrically, bursting through the doorway with hands defiantly planted on her hips.

"Half a month’s absence finally ends," Yang Xingyu remarked with an amused smile.

"Two weeks in the Greater Khingan wilds nearly turned me feral!" The fox spirit huffed, scampering toward crimson robes. "Red-clad senior! How I’ve missed you!"

"Indeed, too long apart," the Ghost in Red chuckled, ruffling the younger fox’s hair affectionately.

"My return nearly gave me heart failure!" Hu Mei touched her nose ruefully. "Ancient-garbed youths swarmed me at the elevator – thought I’d stumbled into some exorcism ambush!"

A beat passed before she added, "Don’t Practitioners relish demon-slaying?"

"What of Daoist Priest Li?"

"Returned to their mountain sect."

"How inconsiderate!" The fox pouted.

Yang Xingyu stroked his chin thoughtfully. "New graduates emerge today. Care to observe? Idle hours beg for entertainment."

The month-long training approached its conclusion. Unbelievably, thirty days had flowed by since the Awakening of Spiritual Energy began.

Looking back, the surreal atmosphere still clung like morning mist, leaving everyone questioning reality.

*

Perched in her World Tree summit office, Ye Linlang stretched lazily, the underworld’s chill still clinging to her robes.

"A month already?" She flipped through holographic memos, yawning. "My vacation evaporated faster than morning dew."

Though events had unfolded – none rivaling initial upheavals – this incubation period now reached its natural conclusion.

“It’s time for Xiao Tianji to post on Weibo again. I wonder if those enthusiasts analyzing his every word are prepared.” Ye Linlang chuckled mischievously, tapping her phone screen before tucking it away a minute later. She had pressing matters elsewhere.

The moment her device settled, Weibo exploded in frenzy.

Xiao Tianji’s latest cryptic update materialized:

—Imperial nectar. Mountain and Sea Realm.

In Zhenyue Palace, Li Canghai paused his scripture recitation to examine his phone. “Imperial nectar? Mountain and Sea Realm?” he mused aloud. Over the past fortnight, every ancient practitioner emerging from secret realms had acquired phones, and all now covertly followed this reclusive big shot whose seniority dwarfed theirs.

“Sister Youyang,” Lu He inquired while scrolling Weibo, watching her companion tune a guqin, “Imperial nectar supposedly blossoms under moonbeams. Could its resurgence be foretold? And what’s this Mountain and Sea Realm? I know the Classic of Mountains and Seas, but…”

“Given this senior’s style,” Youyang plucked a resonant chord to commune with her instrument’s spirit, “the message likely holds deeper meaning.” The guqin—obtained through her master’s negotiations with the Special Bureau—hummed in agreement beneath her fingers.

Meanwhile, in the realm of the dead…

“So this is Zhan Yuan’s grand ‘modernization’?” Yan Luo scoffed at Fengdu’s ongoing renovations. Beside him, the judge smiled reminiscently: “After witnessing the underworld’s transformations during our conference, shouldn’t we adapt? The Emperor approved this trial. We can always restore things later.”

“What of those toddlers clinging to him?”

“A Xuan adores their company,” the judge shrugged.

At Fengdu’s teahouse, a child tugged Zhan Yuan’s sleeve: “Daddy! Table Seven needs water!” The twenty-something sighed, handing over a kettle. “Mind the shop, Little San. I’m fetching Xiao Er for dinner.” This spectral youth now balanced teahouse management with interning as the underworld’s renovation planner.

By Wangchuan River, souls queued for Meng Po Soup before crossing the Bridge of Helplessness. A soot-smudged child abandoned his fire-stoking duties to barrel toward Zhan Yuan. “Many thanks, Miss Meng Po,” the young man beamed, shedding his usual deadpan expression before the elegant soup-brewer—certain appearances must be maintained.

Although in others’ eyes, he was a widowed single father burdened with three dependents.

"Little San, time to come home for supper."

Meng Xuan smiled warmly as she summoned a delicately carved snack box into her palm, extending it toward Zhan Yuan. "Your Little San assisted me today. These pastries should go home with you."

"You flatter me – we’re the ones who should be thanking you for minding this troublemaker." Zhan Yuan shook his head, acutely aware that Meng Po’s confections held mystical properties craved by countless spirits.

"They’re medicinal treats for the children," Meng Xuan insisted, pressing the box into Little San’s grasp. "Bring some to your elder sister next visit, yes?"

"Mhm!"

"Then we’ll gratefully accept Miss Meng Po’s kindness." With a resigned sigh, Zhan Yuan bowed slightly before guiding the child away, the ghostly breeze stirring his modern jeans – an anachronism in this timeless realm.

After centuries in the underworld, the 21st-century man found himself adopting archaic mannerisms. His first encounter with Meng Po still lingered vividly – expecting a wizened crone by Wangchuan River, he’d found instead a maiden blooming with sixteen summers’ beauty.

Aging held no dominion here. Souls manifested in their prime or during their most cherished memories. When viewed through this lens, the childlike visage of the River Guardian made perfect sense.

Fengdu’s ever-changing spires rose around them, architectures of condensed ghostly energy reshaped daily under Yan Luo’s decree. Reconstruction progressed rapidly with judge-approved blueprints.

"Were it not for my oath to Master…" Zhan Yuan murmured, eyeing the toddler shuffling beside him. Three soul-children had emerged from the eight spirit eggs entrusted to him. Five remained dormant, their incubation periods uncertain.

"Uncle Zhan’s home!" A miniature gentleman in tailored waistcoat came skipping from the tea-house – Dai Ming Yi, seventh scion in his master’s peculiar lineage.

Ruffling the boy’s hair, Zhan Yuan suppressed a groan. Between spectral infants and reincarnated disciples, his existence straddled supernatural daycare and postmortem orphanage.

His true ambition hummed beneath these duties – ascending to full underworld deity status through exemplary service. Promotion meant authorized visits to the human realm, perhaps even reunions with…

Meanwhile in the Western realm of the dead:

"LUCIFER!" Hades’ roar shook Tartarus as he hauled his brother up by diamond-studded lapels. "Father God’s edict against mortal-world interference – forgotten during our summit with Eastern judges?"

While deities debated cross-pantheon policies, the rebel angel had ignited chaos topside. That Eastern proverb about unruly children removing roof tiles rang painfully accurate.

"Brother dearest, I swear!" The fallen angel’s wings fluttered in panic. "Mortals summoned me first! Their binding circles forced my true form’s manifestation!"

When Hades remained implacable, the Prince of Lies switched tactics. "Second Brother! Third! Save your favorite sibling!" His wails echoed across Lethe’s banks.

"Abandon your theatrics." Hades hurled the troublemaker toward Styx’s currents. "Our brothers tour Niflheim. You’ll contemplate consequences beneath the river’s memories until the Blood Moon wanes."

As infernal seals settled on Lucifer’s wings, Egypt’s eastern sands witnessed cosmic upheaval. From Khufu’s pyramid erupted a column of light, soon choked by spreading black mist that devoured daylight.

Beneath the unnatural darkness, Osiris’ baritone shook the Nile Valley: "The Duat’s ruler returns to claim his throne."

The commanding voice spoke in a language incomprehensible to modern ears, yet its meaning resonated clearly in the minds of all who heard it.

Egypt’s landscape still bears countless temples and legends of mythological tales, where the name Osiris remains deeply rooted in collective memory – as familiar to locals as the Eastern concept of Yama presiding over the afterlife.

Osiris, the Lord of the Dead governing the underworld, stood among the nine paramount deities of Ancient Egypt.

In mortal life he reigned as an enlightened king; in death he became sovereign of the underworld, arbiter of mortality, and guardian of resurrection, rainfall, and vegetation – revered equally as god of fertility.

Bestower of civilization and master of afterlife judgment, he held power to grant eternal rest.

Firstborn of the Earth God, he fathered Horus who would inherit the solar throne.

While other nations might celebrate divine manifestations, Egypt’s president watched with dread as inky clouds engulfed his country, their swirling masses revealing a spectral throne bearing the underworld deity.

Ancient Egypt and modern Egypt stood worlds apart – not a single pure-blooded descendant of pharaohs walked this land that had endured millennia of foreign conquest and genetic blending. The eight million Copts represented the closest living link to antiquity.

"Why does no one welcome their lord?"

The god’s thunderous inquiry vibrated in every citizen’s skull despite his distant presence.

Sweat beaded on the president’s brow. "What course remains?"

"Perhaps dialogue, Excellency," an advisor urged. "Our nation cannot survive divine wrath."

Digital networks exploded with footage of the phenomenon, though none dared disrespect the manifested deity.

Across the Atlantic, American President Chua-T observed developments with keen interest. "Egypt’s gods return?" he mused, contemplating implications for their own considerations regarding the Feathered Serpent deity.

Meanwhile, Egypt’s leader stepped forward under advisors’ pressure. "Most Honored Lord of Afterlife," he proclaimed, bowing deeply, "I lead modern Egypt’s government."

"Outsiders." Osiris’s verdict echoed across skies. The president’s deference wasn’t cowardice, but survival instinct.

"Your ancestors destroyed our faithful when gods warred beyond the source world."

Terror gripped the leader – how could moderns answer for ancient sins?

"Yet as Death’s sovereign," the deity continued, "I now govern all mortal transitions on this continent. Rejoice that the God of Death grants clemency."

Relief flooded the nation. This merciful Death God had spared them from the underworld ruler’s palpable disdain.

"Egypt’s old pantheon perished in the deities’ twilight. Only two remain: the Western continent’s supreme God of Death, and Osiris governing a quarter-realm."

In America, Chua-T choked on his drink. "They’re pardoned?!" His incredulity shattered by urgent calls – Obias County now swarmed with undead creatures following Satanic manifestations.

Zhongxia’s Deputy Director Xi Ning monitored events grimly. "Chaos spreads," he noted before answering another call – scientists vanished in Shennongjia’s primeval depths.