Below South Bamboo Peak, the mountain path was narrow.
Nine turns and eighteen bends, everywhere shrouded in bloody mist.
The ghosts clung to blood and bones, rampant and unruly, flying and colliding wildly; even if the disciples of South Bamboo Peak moved with the ghost cultivators, many wild beasts in the mountains couldn't escape.
Under the trees, an old wolf rolled in pain; on the branches, a squirrel's eyes glowed red; in the cave, a rabbit bared its fangs...
As the bloody mist passed, unless resisted with Profound Qi, one would be invaded by ghosts.
In the summer, the mountains were already filled with moisture, and now, with this unprecedented tidal wave of evil, it was dark and red everywhere. Between the red and black, it seemed as if it was no longer in the mundane world, but on the endless path of the Netherworld.
On the winding path of the Netherworld, three figures were walking.
