Chapter 95: Entering the Camp
The footsteps of the white-robed figure had just vanished at the staircase when Xiao Ling'er couldn't resist stealing a glance at Chen Chang'an.
Despite the dim sunlight outside, this Sister Lin's profile remained as lustrous as jade, her long lashes casting faint shadows beneath her eyes. Even the way she held her teacup radiated an indescribable elegance.
Xiao Ling'er unconsciously bit her lip.
Throughout this journey, she had secretly compared herself countless times—in appearance, Sister Lin's features were picturesque; in temperament, she was composed and unhurried; even when facing the Ghost Suppression Army's commander earlier, her calm composure far surpassed her own.
Mainly, the one she sought... belonged to the emotionally obtuse type.
She was absolutely certain that, to this day, that fellow remained completely unaware of her feelings!
So... if he truly was in the Ten Thousand Ghosts Cavern...
If he were to meet Sister Lin...
This thought pierced her heart like a thorn.
Xiao Ling'er clenched her sleeves, suddenly feeling the jade pendant symbolizing her family status at her waist had lost its brilliance.
"I never expected Ling'er to have such a background."
Chen Chang'an suddenly spoke, a playful glint in his eyes as he lightly tapped the tabletop with his fingertip: "Even the mighty Ghost Suppression Army's commander could only roll out the welcome mat."
"Ah?" Xiao Ling'er froze, then instantly brightened like a cat whose fur had been stroked.
Suppressing her upturned lips, she waved her hand with feigned composure: "Not at all, it's merely that my grandfather enjoys some slight reputation outside."
But her slightly raised chin, the lilt in her voice, even her hair bouncing lively—she resembled a kitten that had stolen a fish, unable to hide its smugness.
Chen Chang'an suppressed a smile and sipped his tea.
This girl's thoughts were truly easy to guess; her expressive eyes had already written "Praise me" in bold letters.
...
Meanwhile, on the outskirts of the Ten Thousand Ghosts Cavern.
Grim winds carrying sand and gravel battered the Black Iron Camp Gate, producing teeth-grating friction. Jiang Zhe looked up—
The military camp stretching for dozens of miles resembled a giant beast crouching at the forbidden land's edge. On arrow towers built from obsidian, the Ghost Suppression Army's flag snapped in the blood-red sunset, its surface embroidered with gold thread depicting a ferocious ghost devouring the sun.
"The Patriarch instructed that someone will wait for you at the North Gate of Ghost Suppression City on the first and fifteenth day of each lunar month." As the Third Elder stuffed the storage bag into his hand, his withered fingers trembled slightly: "You... take care of yourself."
Jiang Zhe accepted it expressionlessly.
The storage bag felt heavy, likely filled with spirit stones and pills—these elders who usually disdained him now showed rare sincerity.
The camp gates suddenly swung open, and a thick aura of killing intent rushed forth.
On the training ground, hundreds of prisoner cultivators with the character "Ghost" branded on their faces were drilling.
Their bare upper bodies were covered in dark red curse patterns; every swing of their blades summoned blood-colored blade light.
Farther away, a dozen bronze puppets three zhang tall stood silently, black mist continuously seeping from their joints.
"Newcomer?"
A soldier had been waiting at the entrance, the plaque at his waist engraved with "Bing Character Seven-Nine."
He greedily stared at Jiang Zhe's storage bag, but upon seeing the Jiang family elders behind him, his pupils shrank as he resentfully averted his gaze.
He then led Jiang Zhe straight toward the central commander's tent.
Behind them, the faint sound of suppressed sobs drifted over.
He knew it was the Third Elder's voice.
He was the elder who had treated him best in the clan, apart from his father.
But Jiang Zhe did not look back—he merely gazed into the distance.
Beyond the camp, amidst a bloody haze, the entrance to the Ten Thousand Ghosts Cavern exhaled overwhelming yin energy, like a great maw awaiting prey.
Since all of you wish for me to die here...
Then I'll just live to become your nightmare.
Along the way, piercing screams echoed from a nearby barracks—new recruits receiving the "Ghost Brand Tattoo."
"No need to look. You'll be going through this soon enough."
The guiding soldier sneered. This scion of a noble house had fair skin and a frail build, already stirring faint contempt in the soldier's mind.
Jiang Zhe offered no reply, merely keeping his head down as he walked.
The soldier, rebuffed, paid it no mind and soon brought Jiang Zhe before the central commander's tent.
"You are the Jiang family's direct descendant?"
A gray-robed figure wearing a bronze mask stood with hands behind his back, his voice devoid of emotion.
Unlike the Third Commander in the city, this man wore different colored robes, and his mask bore no inscriptions.
"I am Jiang Zhe," Jiang Zhe replied without deference or arrogance.
"Oh?" The gray-robed man seemed slightly surprised by Jiang Zhe's demeanor but quickly recovered. "Take him to get the ghost brand first."
"Yes, sir!"
The soldier led Jiang Zhe through the noisy camp once more, finally stopping before a low stone hut.
Flickering firelight inside revealed bloodstains splattered across the walls. The air reeked of pungent herbs and faint blood.
"We're here." The soldier grinned, revealing yellow teeth. "Enjoy yourself, newbie."
Jiang Zhe entered expressionlessly.
An iron chair stood in the center, its back and arms scarred with dark red scratches—evidence of past struggles. A bare-chested tattoo artist wiped a bone needle that glowed with an eerie green light.
"Remove your robe. Sit down," the artist said without looking up.
Jiang Zhe hesitated not, unfastening his outer robe to reveal a lean yet muscular torso.
He sat on the iron chair, hands resting casually on the arms as if merely here for tea.
The artist glanced at him, a flicker of surprise in his eyes before returning to indifference.
He dipped the bone needle in ink, muttered an incantation, and the needle suddenly glowed like a red-hot branding iron.
"Endure it. The ghost brand is no ordinary tattoo. It protects you from the Ten Thousand Ghosts Cavern's ghostly mists."
Before the words faded, the needle pierced Jiang Zhe's shoulder blade.
Agony engulfed him instantly—as if countless venomous insects devoured his flesh, or searing fire scorched his bones.
Jiang Zhe's muscles instinctively tensed, his knuckles whitening from pressure, yet he remained silent, not even furrowing his brow.
The soldiers, initially gathered to watch the spectacle, gradually fell quiet.
"This kid..." someone muttered.
"A tough one," another nodded.
The needle continued tracing intricate patterns across Jiang Zhe's back. Each stroke brought bone-deep torment, but Jiang Zhe stayed silent, only cold sweat sliding silently from his temples.
The tattooing lasted a full hour.
When the final needle fell, the artist exhaled deeply, wiping sweat from his brow. Respect now colored his gaze as he looked at Jiang Zhe. "It's done."
Jiang Zhe slowly rose. The ghost brand on his back emitted a faint black glow, subtly writhing like a living thing. He donned his robe, movements still steady, as if the excruciating pain had never occurred.
Silence filled the room.
The guiding soldier stepped forward and clapped his shoulder. "Brother, you got guts."
Jiang Zhe gave him a cool look but did not respond, striding outside instead.
The soldiers outside automatically parted, their earlier contempt replaced by unmistakable admiration.
Here, only toughness and strength commanded respect.
And Jiang Zhe was clearly not the delicate flower they had assumed.
Moreover, Jiang Zhe remained unaware that from the moment he entered the camp, the jade pendant at his waist—which had followed him since the upper realms—had begun emitting a faint green glow.
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