Due to the battle between White Bone Venerable and Zhuang Court, the entire Maple Forest City Domain had sunken into the crevice between the Netherworld and the mortal realm.
It had become an ugly, indelible scar upon the Zhuang Court, wedged between Wangjiang City and Three Mountain City.
Outside the city domain stood a Spirit Monument, crafted from precious stone and inscribed with formation patterns, having already become a dharma artifact itself.
The inscription was said to have been personally composed by the Zhuang Emperor—a decree of self-condemnation, naming the White Bone Dao as a national enemy. This monument was erected to deliver the souls of the dead and comfort the living.
Yet only those who could truly see the Netherworld understood that this Spirit Monument was utterly meaningless, save for deceiving the common folk.
For it merely scratched at the itch from outside Maple Forest City Domain, incapable of delivering anyone.
The present Maple Forest City Domain belonged neither to the Netherworld nor to the mortal realm.
This meant that the souls lingering here could never transcend, never enter the cycle of reincarnation.
For all eternity, they would suffer.
Unless Zhuang Gaoxian himself entered the crevice between the two realms, his pitiful subjects would have not even a sliver of hope for deliverance. Yet the Maple Forest City Domain, already corroded by Netherworld energy, was practically half of White Bone Venerable's home ground. How could the ruler of an entire nation dare take such a risk?
Within Maple Forest City Domain, the silence was maddening.
Ling He remembered that there had been sounds here at first.
Cries, shouts, wails, screams of pain, curses, sobbing...
Those sounds had been distressing, painful to hear, but at least they had been sounds.
Later, as the Netherworld energy gradually spread, those sounds vanished one by one.
They had been gone for a long time now.
He had watched helplessly as the little girl with羊角辫 died in his arms.
Her breath and warmth left her small body, bit by bit.
No matter how hard he searched through the ruins for food and medicine, he could not stop her from leaving.
In that moment, Ling He suddenly realized. By pulling her from beneath the fallen beam, he may have only subjected her to more suffering.
"Big brother, big brother! Why didn't you save me?"
"We worked hard, paid taxes to the state, supported your cultivation. You're an extraordinary cultivator! Why didn't you protect us?"
"I'm in so much pain, so much pain..."
Ling He shook his head, trying to cast those images and voices from his mind.
They were merely painful hallucinations.
But it was precisely these painful visions and voices that reminded him he was still alive.
More and more moments of lucidity made Ling He realize that his清醒 time was running short. In a place like this, no one could avoid the corrosion of Netherworld energy.
But every time he regained clarity, he went back to his task.
He was doing a very simple thing—burying every corpse he could find, digging graves for each one, filling them with earth, chanting scriptures to deliver their souls.
People believed that only in burial could there be peace. The earth was a merciful mother, embracing all her lost children.
The first person he buried was that little girl with the羊角辫.
He had never even learned her name.
A small grave mound outside the Bright Virtue Hall was her new home.
Ling He chanted the *Supreme Scripture of Deliverance from Suffering* for her, delivering her soul.
The *Supreme Scripture of Deliverance from Suffering* itself contained no specific magical techniques, but it was indeed the classic scripture of deliverance that all Daoist priests would recite.
There was a legend behind this scripture:
It was said that in ancient times, there was a hunter who, while chasing a tiger deep into the mountains, encountered a Daoist priest beneath a pine tree.
The priest told him that his sins were heavy and his earthly life was ending, and asked what he intended to do.
The hunter begged for an extension of life, and the priest made him swear to cast away his bow and arrows and never take life again. In this way, after his death, the priest would ensure his deliverance.
The hunter agreed and departed.
That winter, the hunter suddenly fell ill and died, but one finger on his left hand still held warmth.
His family did not bury him immediately.
Three days later, the hunter truly revived.
According to him, when he had just died, two messengers in yellow robes led the way with documents, taking him to the underworld.
An official holding a black register said to him: "Your sins are grave. You deserve to enter hell!"
He was terrified, and suddenly remembered the Daoist priest, praying silently in his heart.
At that moment, auspicious clouds rose from the northwest horizon, and the priest descended from the heavens in a cloud carriage, hovering before the hall.
The officials in the underworld bowed to him. The priest said: "I have a disciple here. I have come to deliver him." With that, he took a scroll of scripture and gave it to the hunter, commanding him to recite it.
After the hunter finished reciting, the priest vanished.
Then a messenger in yellow robes led the hunter to his doorstep, where he heard his family weeping. The hunter revived.
All of this had seemed like a dream.
But the hunter sat there recalling the scripture and actually transcribed it word for word from memory.
Afterward, he observed fasting and recited the scripture daily, and years later left home to cultivate, never to be heard from again.
But this scroll of scripture was also copied and circulated, becoming a classic of the Daoist sect.
Its name was the *Supreme Scripture of Deliverance from Suffering*.
In the present world, schools of thought were numerous and varied. When cultivators chose a school, most considered the power of its techniques, the depth of its heritage, and the size of its sect.
But many forgot the original spirit and ideals of these schools and sects.
For example, the Confucian school taught without discrimination, enlightening the people.
For example, the Legalist school established rules, measuring heaven and earth.
For example, the Daoist priests—the Daoist sect was not merely the oldest cultivation sect. Its earliest birth was the beginning of countless humans bravely fighting and summarizing the path of cultivation.
Things like praying for blessings, averting calamities, and delivering the dead were originally among the duties of Daoist priests.
Yet in the present age, how many cultivators looked down upon the common folk from their lofty heights?
In a world where power归于自身, the strong grew ever stronger, and the weak suffered ever more.
The earth裂 had ruined the entire Maple Forest City Domain beyond recognition, but after everything settled, the land seemed to silently accept its state of ruin.
Ling He searched through the ruins one by one, finding people's corpses, and buried them one by one.
First were all the children in the Bright Virtue Hall, along with their teacher.
Then came Xuanwu Street, Qingmu Avenue, Feima Alley...
Step by step, he moved forward, leaving grave after grave behind him.
No one pitied this land. No one saved the people here. No one delivered their souls.
Then Ling He would do this thing.
This was a注定 monumental task, one he might never complete in his lifetime.
Not to mention that his "lifetime" was already destined to be short.
Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps in the very next moment, he would be completely corroded by Netherworld energy. Like everyone else in this city domain, dying in obscurity.
But before dying, he still had to do this.
...
Jiang Wang, far away in Qi State, did not know that in the now-dead Maple Forest City, there was still one person struggling onward.
Just as Du Yehu, growing ever more silent and bloodthirsty in Jiujiang Commandery, did not know that Xiao Wu, whom he had always criticized for laziness, was now making such efforts.
At least at this moment, each of them was moving forward alone.
None could see the road ahead, none could see hope.
And none of them had stopped walking.
They did not know that in distant places, others were echoing their resolve from afar.
They all thought that echo resided only in their hearts.
This was an incomparably difficult road.
For everyone, it was so.
...
Jiang Wang had not relaxed for a single moment. Divine power within the inner temple was remarkable potential, but potential before realization was merely potential.
At this moment, he was already seated in a horse carriage, heading toward Chiyang Commandery.
Within the carriage,幻花生灭 and thorny crowns formed and dissolved.
He was seizing the time to反复 practice the three new Daoist techniques he had acquired.
The benefits of laying the foundation with the Zhou Tian Xing Dou Formation Diagram were now fully evident—he hardly needed to worry about the consumption of Dao Yuan.
Of course, this journey to Chiyang Commandery was also to enhance his strength.
For him, as long as a Daoist technique was流传于世, no matter how powerful, there would be a way to counter it.
At least until now, the three great sword techniques forged from summarizing experiences and integrating sword arts were his strongest means, unique to him alone.
And before that, he needed a truly fine sword.