Now Wei Yan showed the true power of the second name on Fenglin City's Dao Merit Roll. Leading the charge into the depths of Little Grove Town, he hurled himself into the wandering souls, and every ghost he struck broke at a single blow. Wrapped in a coat of cold light from Gold-element prime vitality, his steps never stalled and his blade split the air with shriek after shriek. The others followed at his back, holding the ghosts on either flank at bay.
Jiang Wang and Zhao Rucheng walked one on each side, sheltering Ling He and Du Yehu between them. Ling He bore it well, but Du Yehu's great face flushed crimson; still, this was no time for pride, and he trudged on head down.
Time slipped away unknowable in the fog. The souls so far were within a ninth-grade transcendent's reach, but these eighth- and ninth-grade cultivators held little Dao essence within their Heaven-Access Palaces and could not endure long battles.
It was then that Wei Yan stopped, at the heart of Little Grove Town, where Jiang Wang remembered a busy market — halted not for want of will, but because a wall of fog barred his way, holding his blade-edge fast. Unlike the pervading mist, this fog-wall had a solid, fierce toughness; a blade as keen as Wei Yan's could have hewn through bronze and iron, yet it refused to yield, drinking every attack like stones into the sea.
Wei Yan grew urgent, sensing behind this wall a thing that might shadow his whole life. Yet here, at his blade's edge, he could neither advance nor retreat!
"Does anyone have a way through? Try whatever comes to mind! The matter cannot wait. Blame is mine."
A disciple walked to the wall and began, wordlessly, to unbuckle his belt.
"Hey, what are you doing?" Someone grabbed his arm.
"Don't stop me!" he declared. "This place is crawling with ghosts and thick with yin breath. A virgin boy's urine drives off evil and pins ghosts down. I haven't lost my pure yang!"
His name was Huang Azhan, an Inner Court disciple — Du Yehu's drinking companion, good-natured but not the brightest. Wei Yan frowned and watched him finish. The fog-wall did not twitch. Only the fierce reek reminded them of what had taken place.
"That's off. Maybe not enough?" He called out: "Anyone else still a virgin? Come on, join me! Zhao Rucheng needn't bother, you're too heavy with yin. Du Yehu, with that mug of yours you're marked for life as a virgin — plenty of yang!"
One sentence mocked two men at once. Were it not for the urgency, Du Yehu would have smashed that dog-head. Zhao Rucheng bared his teeth. "Azhan, think again. Maybe what's needed is a virgin's blood?" Huang Azhan stroked his chin, turning the notion over in earnest.
Wang Changxiang, weakened since the Breath-Whirlwind Tornado, spoke up: "When the tornado blew the fog away, I observed the wandering souls have formed a simple Nine Palace Array. Only now, blocked at this Central Palace, am I sure."
"How do we break it?"
"The one who set it put little care in, and so many ghosts are hard to command to the last finger." He gave a wry smile. "Clear the array-eyes of the other eight palaces, and this Central Palace falls of its own accord."
Wei Yan said at once: "Wang Changxiang stays to watch the situation, with four more on his orders. I'll take the Kan Palace; the rest split into seven groups, each breaking one palace. Then we gather before this Central Palace."
Heaven's numbers divide by great order: yang issues forth, yin withdraws within, so Grand Unity enters the nine palaces from the Kan Palace. It lies due north; its element is Water — not easy for Wei Yan, but not worth worrying over at his strength.
"One more word," Wang Changxiang went on. "Every ghost we've cleared was common, but at each array-eye there is sure to be a revenant or a demon ghost. Gauge yourselves."
Zhao Lang answered first: "I'll take the Kun Palace."
Li Jianqiu was even more direct, heading west. "The Zhen Palace is mine. Divide the rest among yourselves." When the strong take up their own burdens, that is the backbone of a cultivator.
Jiang Wang traded a glance with Ling He and the others: "Our four brothers will take the Xun Palace."
It was no boast. The Xun Palace's element is Wood, and Metal fells Wood — precisely the time for it; the other Wood-grade palace, the Zhen, was already Li Jianqiu's. And every contribution was recorded, so with some hoarding Dao Merit for Meridian-Opening Pills, a palace won would shove them a stride forward.
Their choices followed the Nine Palace order — two and four the shoulders, six and eight the feet, three left, seven right, nine the crown, one the sole. None questioned it; the twenty remaining disciples, five to a group, took up the last four palaces. Wang Changxiang's Breath-Whirlwind Tornado, by restoring the company's bearings, was the premise of breaking the ghost array.
The Xun Palace lies to the southeast. Jiang Wang advanced through the fog, and when he made out a tavern ahead his heart settled: the one tavern in Little Grove Town stood to the southeast. They had not lost their way.
"Be careful," Ling He said. "I feel something very dangerous ahead."
That should be the revenant Brother Wang spoke of — the Xun Palace's array-eye. Jiang Wang nodded at Rucheng: "How many stances of the Killing Form can you command?"
"All, and cleanly."
"I strike first, you follow. Hold back nothing — explode your strongest attack at the first moment. Eldest and Second Brother, watch the perimeter and keep other souls from rushing in. If need be, pouring out life force is worth the price."
Before one's foundation, unless one mastered transcendent means like the Purple Qi from the East Sword Art, the only way to wound a ghost was to pour out one's life force. But vital Qi is the very root of a man and blasting it out strains the body severely. To Jiang Wang's orders, however, Ling He and Du Yehu gave not a heartbeat of hesitation — the trust forged in countless battles.
At that instant a shrill shriek burst out at their ears and a sword-light flared before Jiang Wang!
Clang!
The Killing Form's first stance — a scarlet claw caught upon his longsword, and the revenant of the Xun Palace stood revealed. The souls met along the way had differed little from the living; this revenant was already a creature of another kind, with a livid face and tusks, sinews bulging, crimson claws dripping blood.
Jiang Wang had known a revenant's senses within the fog must outrun theirs, so he had waited braced, sword poised. Yet he had still underestimated it — among the thousands of souls they had seen, only eight demon ghosts sat the nine palaces; what had bred this revenant was no small thing.
Though he parried the first assault, another claw-tip tore a strip of flesh from his left arm. The wound was thankfully not large.
The very moment his counter drove home, Zhao Rucheng's sword moved too. The first stance is above all speed — only so can it strike like thunder and guard like lightning. Before the revenant could savor the torn flesh, Zhao Rucheng's blade was sunk into its belly, leaving him hanging there like a monkey clinging to a giant.
It howled and lunged its head down. Not good! Zhao Rucheng kicked off the swinging claw, flipped backward, abandoned his sword. The revenant would have chased, but Jiang Wang's figure flashed past its eyes like a thunderclap.
The Killing Form's second stance: its whole point lies in precision. Jiang Wang was already far off, yet his sword-light crossed exactly over the revenant's eye. A web of dark-green fluid burst like an overripe fruit, and it screamed in utter agony, glaring with its one remaining eye, hatred seething. Instead of covering the wound, it came striding at him!
Ling He, beyond the battle ring, hurled his sword: "Catch!"
Zhao Rucheng sprang, caught the blade mid-air, and burst at the revenant's back. The thrust went through its nape, the point out beneath its chin. It roared and swung back, slower than before. Zhao Rucheng braced his feet against its back to pull the sword free; yet the blade was clamped in muscle, and he paused one beat.
That beat was enough. The enormous claw swept him a good four or five rods into the fog — whether he lived, none could say, and within that fog countless souls were still drifting!
Jiang Wang stared across the way; Ling He still tangled with ghosts. Only Du Yehu, guarding the ring, was closest — and he had long been unable to hold himself back. He had come to slay evil and scour the heavens, not to be shielded while scraping Dao Merit, nor to be a burden! With a roar like thunder, he emptied his life force in one full blast; his vital Qi, solid as substance, surged up from his crown like a beacon of smoke!
The Vital Qi Beacon!
Only a martial artist whose life force had grown to a monstrous height could ignite it. Even Jiang Wang could not. Wrapped in life force solid as matter, a coat of blood seeming to drape his frame, Du Yehu crossed the distance at several times his usual speed and in a few strides was at Zhao Rucheng's side!