Not to speak of Meng Qi's meeting with Granny Meng, let us instead turn to the aftermath of the Yellow Springs Auction. With its conclusion, the surrounding situation underwent a fundamental shift. Waves of ghost messengers and ferrymen surged in from all directions, gathering outside Blazing Flame City. The city had become encircled—so tightly that not even a fly could hope to slip in or out. A gloomy cloud now hung over the city, as if a storm could break at any moment.
Under cover of night, a seemingly inconspicuous paper figurine drifted silently on the wind. It squeezed through a narrow gap under the city gate and entered Blazing Flame City. Once inside, it slinked through the shadows with utmost caution. At the slightest disturbance, it froze completely—landing atop eaves, crouching on the ground—always settling in spots where it would go unnoticed.
Some cultivators who happened to see the paper doll dismissed it immediately.Dirty, grayish, palm-sized—it looked like trash. None would give it a second glance.
But if one examined it carefully, they would notice the glint of spiritual light in its ink-dotted eyes—a sign of intelligence. It was clearly not a lifeless thing.
"According to what I gathered at the Yellow Springs Inn, the City Lord of Blazing Flame City—the Red-robed Ghost King—has incurred the wrath of many. A flood of ghost envoys has surrounded the city. He's finished for sure this time. I've used my possession technique to inhabit this paper body. First, I'll map out the city's layout, then locate the Red-robed Ghost King's treasure vault. Once the battle breaks out, I'll slip in and collect the loot amid the chaos. It'll be a massive payday."
"I didn't gain much from the Pharaoh's tomb. If I can snatch something good here, it'll make up for that loss—maybe even earn me a windfall."
Naturally, the paper man was the vessel of the Paper Craftsman.
A ghost king's treasure—how could anyone ignore such a temptation?
"Tsk tsk, there sure are a lot of underworld entities in this city—way more than at the Yellow Springs Inn," the Paper Artisan thought to himself, growing more excited. "The more grand this city is, the higher the chance of it holding rare treasures."
So the paper man drifted aimlessly through the city.
But in truth, its path steadily led it toward the City Lord's Manor. To remain undetected, it moved slowly—but the Paper Artisan had patience in abundance.
Without alerting a soul, he made his way inside the manor.
The guards paid no mind to the paper man. Most didn't even see it; those who did didn't think twice.
"Huge place. But it's boiling hot. Could there be a fire vein under this estate? And yet... this heat has the chill of the underworld. Whatever. Find the vault first."
Wiping nonexistent sweat from his paper brow, the Paper Craftsman set off to explore.
Unfamiliar with the terrain, it proved difficult to locate the vault. Before long, he found himself outside a secluded meditation chamber.
"What a scorching aura. There's not just underworld fire here... there's pure yang fire too! What's that doing in the land of the dead?" The Paper Craftsman was stunned, his curiosity piqued.
After confirming the coast was clear, he slipped through a crack in the door. His paper eyes scanned the room—and nearly jumped out of their sockets.
Inside, countless souls stood frozen—clearly imprisoned spirits. At the center, a figure in red robes sat cross-legged. Around him, black and white flames swirled, emanating from his chest. Within the glow, a black-and-white furnace spun slowly. The two flames clashed within it, birthing a tiny black-and-white fire seed. That seed radiated an aura of perfect yin and perfect yang—ever shifting and intertwining.
"You worthless insects should feel honored—becoming nourishment for my strength. My Yin-Yang Truefire is about to break through. Once I forge Yin-Yang Divine Fire, I'll be unstoppable in the underworld. Let the ghost army come—I'll destroy them all. They think I'm trapped here? Fools. If I wanted to leave, I could walk out at any time. But why would I, when I have so many living souls to devour?"
The Red-robed Ghost King laughed coldly.
Of course he knew what was happening outside. He remained not out of fear, but confidence. He couldn't afford to leave—not now.
The Yin-Yang Divine Fire required living souls as fuel. Without them, his cultivation would halt and might even rebound on him, the internal fire going berserk.
Now that he was mere steps away from completion, he would take the risk.
"Come to me."
He opened his mouth and unleashed a powerful devouring force, instantly sucking the dozens of souls into his belly. They entered the furnace within, becoming fuel for the fire. The flames surged higher, the black-and-white fire seed grew brighter and stronger. The Ghost King's face twisted into a look of utter ecstasy—intoxicated by the power.
During all this, he never noticed the paper man slipping back out under the door.
In a dark corner, the Paper Artisan patted his paper chest in relief.
"Savage. Absolutely savage! Those were living souls! Just devoured like snacks. That technique... merging yin and yang like that... terrifying. If he finishes this cultivation, the siege outside is doomed."
He knew he'd stumbled upon something grave.
"I can't let him keep devouring souls. Once he completes that technique, the consequences will be catastrophic. Especially for me—fire counters my kind. And these souls—they're clearly stolen from the living world. His art needs a balance of yang souls and ghost souls. If we can rescue the living ones, maybe we can interrupt the process."
Thoughts raced through his mind.
He had to act. Even if he couldn't save them, he had to at least gather intel and get it out to the ghost army.
And so, he stayed hidden outside the meditation chamber, silently waiting.
"The living souls are used up. Go to the dungeon. Bring more."
The Red-robed Ghost King's voice echoed.
"Yes, my king!"
A squad of ghost soldiers appeared, swiftly marching out.
As they passed a shadowy nook, the paper man silently latched onto the last soldier, undetected in the dim light.
Their destination was clear: the dungeon.
Eventually, they arrived.
A token was presented. The guards opened the gates, allowing the squad inside, then locked them behind—leaving no chance for escape.
"Damn... so this is the dungeon. Built underground. And they've captured so many souls... How many people has this bastard killed? How many did he drag from the land of the living?"
The Paper Craftsman stared at the cells, stunned. Each held tightly packed living souls.
Seeing the ghost soldiers, the captives erupted—screaming curses, swearing vengeance, voicing pure hatred. If words could kill, the soldiers would've died a thousand deaths. But of course, their iron hearts were unmoved.
Without mercy, they seized a group from one cell, dragging them toward the exit.
Afterward, the dungeon fell silent again. Eyes full of despair.
Here, death was certain. Sooner or later, all would perish.
Some whispered:
"If only someone would save us..."
"Stop dreaming. This is the underworld. We're dead. I saw my own body torn apart. Even if we escape, we can't return. Best we can hope for is reincarnation."
Such was their hopeless hope.
"There is hope. There is."
A voice echoed suddenly.
It startled everyone.There were no ghost guards around—only imprisoned souls. The voice belonged to neither.
Everyone shuddered. Eyes wide, they searched.
But… they saw nothing.