The Underworld Emperor's Primordial Spirit towered above the hall, immortal light blazing from every pore. Zhou Qiyun stood his ground, black-and-white eyebrows lifting slightly.
"Transcend tribulation?" the Emperor said. The words rolled through the hall like distant thunder. "I haven't heard that phrase in... a thousand years? Three thousand? There was a time when the proud and reckless still dared speak it. I watched them fall, one by one, until the world fell silent. Only I remain—a broken immortal, clinging to existence."
He met Zhou Qiyun's gaze. "Those who spoke of ascension died. Every single one. Give it up, Zhou. Live as a Nuo immortal. You already possess the power of a celestial being in the mortal realm. When you die, come to my underworld. We need men like you."
Zhou Qiyun shook his head. "Have you watched sparrows, Your Majesty? They nest beneath eaves, never rising higher than the trees, pecking seeds among the grass, living and dying without ever changing. From the moment they're born, their entire life is visible."
"That is how ordinary people live," the Emperor said.
"I refuse to be ordinary." Zhou Qiyun's voice was ice. "Even as a Nuo immortal, I refuse to see my death coming. I will soar. I will spread grand designs and fly ninety thousand li on a single wing."
His face remained cold, but fire danced in his pupils—a blaze from deep within his heart, burning its way to the surface.
"You are a Nuo immortal," the Emperor said. "The Nuo arts were created to bypass heavenly tribulation. You have no tribulation to transcend. How can you transcend what does not exist?"
"I have found a method." Zhou Qiyun paused. "But I hesitate."
"What causes this hesitation?"
"This world conceals ancient powers. When I meditate upon heaven and earth, I sense primordial presences. I hear whispers from hidden corners of the realm, or perhaps from beyond the cosmos itself." Zhou Qiyun's voice dropped. "The underworld's invasion has opened my eyes. The Underworld Court orchestrated this—your ambitions run deep. As a Nuo immortal of the living world, I fear your agents will strike during my tribulation."
His eyes gleamed with divine light. "I will not allow a knife in my back. Before I ascend, I must eliminate every threat."
The Emperor's expression shifted—something almost like amusement. "You misunderstand, Zhou master. The underworld's invasion has nothing to do with the Court. We dead find it as troublesome as you living do. We exist without death, without decay, without taxes or suffering. Why would we want the living world? You run about, disturbing our peace. We find you more irritating than you find us."
Zhou Qiyun stared, momentarily speechless.
"We are merely dead men, worshipped as gods by the living. What benefit is there in conquering your realm? Rest assured—no ghost or Nuo immortal from the underworld will interfere with your tribulation. Your true enemies walk among the living."
Zhou Qiyun was stunned. He had expected bloodshed, a desperate battle for survival. Instead, the Emperor spoke like a weary Buddha, utterly disinterested in conflict.
Yet he did not fully believe. If the Underworld Court was truly so passive, why expand divine authority into the mortal realm?
"We are not rulers of the underworld," the Emperor sighed. "Merely squatters in a corner. Much of this realm remains unknown to us. Those people you brought with you—they've already wandered into uncharted territory. If you hurry, you might find their bodies intact."
Zhou Qiyun rose. "Thank you for your candor, Your Majesty. Should I succeed, you will be repaid."
"I dare not expect it."
Zhou Qiyun departed the Hall of Judgment. Behind him, the Emperor's voice called out: "The road ahead is broken, Zhou master. Why struggle? Lie down with us. Is that not better? Forced ambition leads only to death."
Zhou Qiyun turned, smiled, and waved before walking away.
"Good words cannot save those determined to die," the Emperor murmured. "I have spoken my piece. The choice is yours."
From the darkness behind him, another voice emerged: "His danger does not come from us. We feed on scraps. Others will devour him whole."
The Emperor bowed slightly. "Yes. But we cannot survive on scraps forever. We too must drink blood. We too must eat meat."
Laughter echoed—strange, shrill, then swelling into mad cackling. Wings beat. A flock of crows burst from the darkness behind the Emperor, winging into the underworld's sky.
"The things in the Abyss grow restless," the voice said. "Yongzhou is only the beginning. Soon all of Shenzhou, all of Yuanshou, will be consumed. When the living world clashes with the Abyss, our opportunity will come."
The Emperor watched the crows vanish. "When that opportunity arrives... will I finally cease to be a puppet?"
* * *
Outside the Underworld Court, Zhou Qiyun looked up. Crows wheeled across the sky, lending the underworld an air of desolation and killing intent.
"The Emperor speaks half-truths," Zhou Qiyun muttered. "If the Court truly lay down, why compete for Su Yan?"
Su Yan's greatest value lay in deciphering cultivation arts—restoring the lost system. If the Emperor truly understood that system, he would have no need to hunt the boy.
"The key to ascension lies with Su Yan." Zhou Qiyun strode toward where the bell had fallen. "I need him to reconstruct the cultivation path, to fuse it with Nuo arts. Only then can I survive the tribulation."
* * *
Deep in the underworld's willow groves, a massive bell lay on its side, inching forward, crushing willows beneath its bulk. Behind it slithered a serpent with dragon-like horns, occasionally lifting its head to search the mist.
The fog thickened until Su Yan, Veyon, and Elder Xiao were swallowed completely. Yuan Qi could only follow the bell, unable to see his companions. Panic gripped him.
"A-Yan!"
Echoes answered from every direction. Then giggling—ghost-children's laughter. Yuan Qi shuddered and pressed closer to the bell.
"A-Yan!" Su Yan's muffled voice came from somewhere ahead.
Yuan Qi relaxed slightly. Then he looked up and gasped. "A-Yan, look! The sun!"
"It's the middle of the night. What sun?" Su Yan's voice was doubtful.
He bounced up, head breaking the fog, and stared. A sun hung in the underworld's sky.
But this was no ordinary sun. It was stuffed with burned paper money—funerary currency, the kind used to honor ancestors. The air reeked of incense and charred paper.
Crows wheeled beneath it, their wingbeats stirring the ashes. Something massive stirred within those ashes.
Veyon popped up beside Su Yan, eyes wide. "An actual sun? What kind of world is this?"
"Young master, remain calm." Elder Xiao's voice drifted through the fog. "Recall the madam's teaching: face collapse without expression."
The old man leaped clear of the fog, saw the sun, and swore. "What in the burning hells kind of sun is that?!"
"Elder Xiao, calm yourself. No expression." Veyon's voice was serene.
Then she lost her composure entirely. The ashes parted. A skeletal monstrosity stirred within the sun—huge, feathered, three-legged, a bird's skull with golden plumage. Dead for ages, yet radiating terrifying ferocity.
It spread wings of bone and feather, dragging three massive chains behind it, and launched itself after the crows—pulling the underworld's sun with it.
The group stared in silence.
"Does nobody manage this place?" Yuan Qi shouted into the empty sky. "The sun's being dragged away by a bird! Nobody cares?! Fine! Hmph!"
The mist began to thin. The ghost-children in the willows yawned, climbing onto branches, hanging upside down like pale fruit, and fell asleep. Dozens of them dangled from every tree.
A white figure drifted through the groves—a tall being in flowing white robes, hair white, mouth gaping to reveal a long crimson tongue. It carried a white-wrapped staff.
The creature stopped before each sleeping ghost-child, licking their faces with that tongue. Where it licked, the children withered, their vitality draining away.
"Reapers," Su Yan breathed.
He'd worn a Mask of the Reaper once. Yuan Qi had told him the masks were crafted from actual Reapers—wear one, become one.
"They're harvesting qi," Veyon whispered.
Su Yan understood. The Reaper fed on the ghost-children's yang energy. The children caught trespassers, sucked them dry, and while they slept, the Reapers fed on them in turn.
More Reapers drifted down from above—white robes, red tongues, spirit-staffs. They moved through the willows, harvesting.
Su Yan turned to leave. Then a voice froze him:
"Senior brother, there are people over there!"
"Silence! Don't speak!"
Su Yan's heart thundered. He opened his Heavenly Eye.
These Reapers—they were human.