Chapter 492
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Chapter 492: The City of Death
Qingyang City, the ancient capital of Bi Fang Country, has become a city of death.
When Bi Fang fell, hundreds of thousands of ministers and citizens perished overnight. A blue flame consumed everything within a thirty-mile radius, leaving only ashes in its wake.
This sudden catastrophe was the death knell for Bi Fang Country. The pillars of its governance, culture, and power—all gone. Capitals have always been the heart of nations, their centers of politics, economy, and influence. Destroy the heart, and the body cannot survive.
The nobles of Bi Fang, intertwined with the country’s lifeblood, were almost entirely eradicated. Only a few managed to escape. Without its core, the nation crumbled swiftly.
History has seen similar tragedies. Take the Jiuyin Family, whose fall resembled this collapse. Yet for ordinary people of the Ten Thousand Demon Kingdom, it hardly mattered which banner ruled over them. For noble clans, however, allegiance was a binding force, and shifting loyalties was not an option.
Even if Bi Fang were to rise again, it could only reclaim fragments of its former glory. Without resources, without manpower, even a fragile semblance of balance would be a monumental challenge.
But Qingyang City—despite its desolation—remains vital.
Its ruins might be rebuilt. Its streets might teem with life once more. Changsha stands as proof of resilience, having been reduced to ashes in a great fire yet reborn through sheer determination.
However, Bi Fang’s challenge lies not in rebuilding structures but in confronting its past—specifically, the lingering spirits of its hundreds of thousands of dead.
The blue ghost fire still burns over Qingyang City. Tens of thousands of lost souls haunt the ruins each night, their forms twisted and torn. Without a way to guide these souls to peace, the flames will persist, and Bi Fang’s foundation cannot be restored.
Historically, demon towns like Fengdu have faced similar phenomena. But while Fengdu had methods for guiding souls into reincarnation, Bi Fang has no such recourse. Its ghosts remain trapped, guarding their empty city.
To rebuild Qingyang City, to reclaim its significance as a strategic stronghold and a symbol of the nation’s revival, the lost souls must first be laid to rest.
Nalan Qingshu, understanding both the emotional and political stakes, carried this burden with her. Yet Bai Wei, pragmatic as ever, had reservations about meddling with such forces.
The journey toward Qingyang City was eerily smooth. Bandits and criminals were absent, replaced by an oppressive, mournful silence.
Within the carriage, Nalan Qingshu sat quietly, her fingers trembling slightly as she clutched a box she always carried.
“Feeling nervous?” Chao Lu asked gently.
She didn’t answer immediately, her gaze distant.
Finally, she spoke, her voice soft yet heavy. “Do you ever think about what it would be like to go home and find nothing left?”
Chao Lu hesitated, unsure how to respond.
“If it were me,” she continued, “I wouldn’t want to see it at all. Better to leave the past buried.”
Nalan Qingshu smiled faintly. “But isn’t that just another kind of fear?”
Chao Lu didn’t reply.
Nalan Qingshu stood and gestured toward the west. “There,” she said, her voice trembling. “That’s where I lost everything—my home, my family, my friends. There isn’t even a grave to mark their passing.”
Chao Lu murmured, “Talking about it might help.”
Nalan Qingshu gave a bitter laugh. “You think so? Maybe. But there are things words can’t fix.”
She paused, then added softly, “When I escaped, I barely remembered what happened. It all felt unreal. That’s why I need to see it with my own eyes.”
When the group arrived at the outskirts of Qingyang City, they were greeted by silence.
Murong Nu, always practical, poured wine to mark their campsite, issuing a warning. “Ten miles is the limit. Go any closer, and you’ll disturb the spirits. The ghost fire will consume you.”
The air felt heavy, oppressive, as though the land itself mourned.
As night fell, they gathered around a small fire, sharing roasted yams. Yet even the warmth of the flames couldn’t dispel the chill that had settled over them.
Bai Wei sat apart, his thoughts elsewhere. His gaze lingered on Nalan Qingshu, who stared into the darkness with a haunted expression.
Finally, she stood, brushing dust from her robes.
“I’m going,” she said simply.
The others exchanged uneasy glances.
“Are you sure?” Chao Lu asked hesitantly.
Nalan Qingshu nodded. “This is something I have to do.”
Without another word, she stepped into the shadows, heading toward the city of death.
