Inside White Jade City, at the City Lord’s Mansion.
Su Zhiyuan paced back and forth in his study, his brow furrowed with intense anxiety.
Several days had passed. Wang Wei, his confidant sent to the Dead Man’s Forest along with an elite squad, had vanished without a trace, like a clay ox entering the sea.
Furthermore, the steward and guards sent yesterday to process the final batch of refugees—the human cattle—had also failed to return on time, providing not a single word of response.
“What on earth is happening…”
Su Zhiyuan muttered to himself, a growing sense of unease gnawing at him as he felt things spiraling out of control.
He massaged his temples irritably. The only news currently offering him any solace was that Jian Huaishuang had successfully returned to the White Jade Sword Sect.
Fortunately, the most important vessel was safe and sound; it was the silver lining in a series of misfortunes.
At that moment, the communication jade slip in his robes flickered with a faint light. Su Zhiyuan’s nerves tightened as he immediately activated it.
The cold, distinctive voice of Sect Master Guo Shouren echoed from the slip—concise yet heavy with authority.
“Su Zhiyuan, tomorrow is the Immortal Celebration. All sword sect disciples will descend the mountain. This is the day of the Immortal’s holy descent; there must not be a single error. If there is a mishap, I will hold you solely responsible!”
Su Zhiyuan gripped the jade slip, his palms slick with cold sweat. He hurried to bow toward the empty air. “This official understands! I will do my utmost to ensure everything is flawless!”
Su Zhiyuan was so worried he did not sleep a wink that night.
The next day, before the sky had even brightened, the city gates swung open. The main thoroughfares were already packed with rows upon rows of kneeling citizens.
They wore their most respectable clothes. Many still wore various hats or turbans on their heads, their faces a mixture of piety, awe, and anticipation.
Before long, the clear, resonant hum of swords echoed from the horizon.
Nearly a hundred figures dressed in identical white sword robes flew through the air. Huge swords were strapped to their backs, and they wore massive conical hats. They moved in a tidy formation, their collective aura blending into a single, unified pressure.
Leading them was Jian Huaishuang.
He still carried that giant sword, which was nearly as tall as he was. A wide conical hat obscured his face, but judging by his stable posture while gliding through the air, his complexion seemed slightly better than it had been a few days ago.
Behind him were several older cultivators whose auras were noticeably deeper and more profound. Only after them followed the ordinary sword sect disciples.
Countless citizens erupted into fanatical cheers. They kowtowed one after another, shouting “Immortal Master!” and “Blessings of the White Jade Immortal!” until the sound waves shook the heavens.
In a private room on the second floor of a tavern beside the main road, a window was cracked open. Chen Zhou and the Plague Rat sat by the ledge.
Chen Zhou’s sharp gaze swept over the formation of sword sect disciples in the sky, his brow twitching slightly.
He realized that it wasn’t just the few individuals he had seen before—every single sword sect disciple, without exception, possessed an unnaturally deathly pallor, as if they had not seen sunlight in ages.
“The yin energy on them is extremely heavy. Just like that paper-mache evil spirit at the bottom of the river, they are all steeped in a thick, ghostly aura.”
Chen Zhou paused, his tone carrying a trace of cold mockery. “The living are half-human and half-ghost, while the spirits are half-ghost and half-evil. This so-called White Jade Sword Sect is nothing more than a ghost’s nest.”
The Plague Rat sized up the conical hats with great interest and chimed in, “Hey, do you think their heads under those hats are just like that kid Jian Huaishuang? Are they all showing off a bowl of brain matter?”
Chen Zhou didn’t answer immediately. His gaze fell to the ground, where City Lord Su Zhiyuan was leading a group of officials. They hurried forward to meet the procession, bowing with extreme humility to the sword sect elders in the lead, their faces plastered with fawning smiles.
The Plague Rat rubbed his paws excitedly. “Since everyone’s here, why don’t we just wipe them all out in one go? Lord Rat hasn’t stretched his bones in a long time!”
Chen Zhou shook his head, shifting his gaze toward the towering altar in the city center. “No rush. The main attraction hasn’t appeared yet.”
The process for Immortal Celebration Day was tedious and long.
After the sword sect disciples landed, they first patrolled the city to bestow blessings. Wherever they passed, the commoners knelt and bowed as the disciples sprinkled 'immortal dew' that was said to ward off evil and disasters.
Afterward, a solemn sacrificial ceremony was held before the high altar erected in the central square. They offered the three sacrifices and five grains while bells and drums chimed and incense smoke swirled.
A sword sect elder recited chants of praise for the White Jade Immortal’s deeds, glorifying his benevolence in protecting White Jade City.
Throughout the entire process, all the sword sect disciples acted like exquisite marionettes. Their movements were perfectly synchronized, their faces expressionless. The citizens, however, were so immersed in the atmosphere of fanatical faith that they noticed nothing—or perhaps, they had long since grown accustomed to it.
Finally, the sun reached its zenith. At high noon, the ceremony entered its most critical phase.
The central square was a sea of people, every gaze focused on the front of the altar.
Jian Huaishuang stood alone before the masses. Behind him, the sword sect disciples were lined up in a solemn phalanx. City Lord Su Zhiyuan, the Sect Master, and the elders sat high on the balcony of the City Lord’s Mansion across from the square, overlooking the scene below.
Jian Huaishuang took a deep breath and began to recite the final invocation. His voice, carried by spiritual power, spread throughout the square with a strange, rhythmic cadence.
At that moment, the Plague Rat’s nose twitched, and he whispered, “Mist is rising.”
Chen Zhou gave a quiet hum of affirmation, his eyes narrowing.
Indeed, out of nowhere, wisps of white mist began to permeate the square. It moved silently, originating from the same source as the thick fog on the river.
He didn't move, continuing to watch silently.
As Jian Huaishuang’s invocation reached its end, his voice suddenly rose, carrying a nearly crazed level of piety as he bellowed:
“Kneel—to welcome—the Immortal—!”
Crash—!
Like a receding tide, every citizen in the square, along with the sword sect disciples in the phalanx, knelt down in unison. And in that same moment, they all performed the hat-removing ceremony, discarding their hats and turbans!
The Plague Rat’s guess had been correct.
As those nearly one hundred sword sect disciples revealed their heads, every single one of them was identical to Jian Huaishuang—missing half of their skulls.
Greyish-white brain tissue, pulsating slightly, was exposed directly to the air. Among the kneeling citizens, a significant portion of them also had similar defects on their heads, varying in size and age.
Yet, no one showed any sign of alarm. They acted as if they saw nothing unusual.
Jian Huaishuang tilted his head back toward the sky and continued to chant.
“In the heavens lies the White Jade Capital—”
As those words left his lips, a slimy, fleshy tube—acting like a living creature—suddenly lunged out of his exposed brain tissue, shooting toward the heavens at an incredible speed!
At almost the exact same moment, the brilliant noon sun suddenly grew dim and gloomy. In its place, an unsettling jade-colored radiance dawned in the sky.
“With its twelve towers and five cities—”
The fleshy tube connected to Jian Huaishuang’s brain expanded and deformed in the air, twisting and coiling until it swelled into a massive, pulsating flesh ball covered in a network of veins.
“The Immortal strokes my crown—”
From the bottom of the giant flesh ball, countless more crimson, slimy tubes suddenly dangled down. Like a torrential rain, they pierced precisely into the heads of every kneeling person below.
Soft sounds of punctures were accompanied by irrepressible groans—a mixture of agonizing pain and absolute ecstasy.
Yet, no one resisted. No one was terrified. Instead, they all tilted their heads back, their faces filled with intoxicated, blissful expressions. They used every ounce of their strength to let out a deafening, fanatical cheer:
“My hair is bound, and I receive longevity—!!!”
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