Chapter 107 Aftermath
When the last wisp of golden flame dissipated in midair, the Ten Thousand Ghost Cavern fell into an eerie silence.
On the scorched battlefield, the remnants of the ghost army resembled a forest of dead wood struck by thunderfire.
Those once ferocious and terrifying ghost soldiers were now nothing but twisted, carbonized husks, their hollow eye sockets still frozen with the fear of death.
A gust of yin wind blew through, and several charred corpses cracked apart, collapsing into drifting black ash.
The rock walls were covered with glass-like crystals—strange products formed when the yin energy of ghosts vaporized and condensed under high heat. Occasionally, some half-dead survivors twitched in the ashes, a three-inch green soul flame leaking through the cracks of scorched bone, only to extinguish moments later like a candle in the wind.
Most horrifying were the ghost commanders who had received the flames' "special attention."
They had died still maintaining their defensive formation, a dozen charred corpses arranged in a circle, the dark yin banners once clutched in their claws already melted into slag.
The leading ghost marshal half-knelt on the ground, its spine bent at an impossible arc, its gaping jaws seemingly locked in a silent scream.
Within its hollow chest, where its nether core should have pulsed, nothing remained but a handful of bone ash flickering with ghostly fire.
The entire battlefield exuded a bizarre stench—burnt sulfur mingled with rotting pine resin.
The drifting ashes occasionally gathered into human shapes, only to quickly collapse again. It was the final struggle of high-ranked ghosts, their true spirits slowly dissolving under the laws of heaven and earth.
Then, Chen Chang'an merely brushed his sleeve, stirring a gentle breeze.
The drifting ashes shuddered all at once, then scattered into the void as if granted release.
The glassy crystals on the cliffs burst in succession, releasing the last few imprisoned souls.
The battlefield began to "fade" at a speed visible to the naked eye, as if an invisible hand were softly wiping away this bloody canvas.
Until the last grain of black ash vanished into the wind…
Only then did Chen Chang'an descend slowly back onto the city wall. What greeted him was the strange silence of the entire black market.
Upon the rubble-strewn wall, every cultivator held their bowed salute, even their breathing subdued.
Saint Realm cannot be disrespected—this was an iron law etched into the bones of cultivators across the Xuanying Continent. Yet in those lowered eyes now surged a near-fanatic reverence.
Chen Chang'an walked straight toward Xiao Ling'er.
The girl was gripping Old Mo's sleeve in a daze. When she saw him approach, she instinctively took half a step back.
Her round little face was pale, her apricot eyes full of bewilderment. The gentle elder sister who once chatted with her on the flying boat and let her hide behind her now revealed herself as a peerless power who could erase a tide of ghosts with a flick of the finger and heavily wound a Ghost Saint with one palm.
Her mind was filled with her own foolishness—shouting in the inn that Old Mo should take special care of her in the ghost cavern, clinging tightly to her side in fear within the cavern, even secretly stuffing an extra protective talisman into the hand of this so-called "frail mortal" just moments ago…
Heavens, especially when she had even asked her to help find, find, find…
But the next moment—
Warm fingertips suddenly pinched her chubby cheek, then tugged.
"What is it?"
Chen Chang'an's eyes curved in a smile, no different from how he usually looked when spending time with her. "So soon you no longer recognize me?"
"Lin… mmm… sister!"
Twisting the hem of her clothes, she answered in a voice as faint as a mosquito's, not daring to move in the slightest.
Old Mo beside her sighed repeatedly. His young lady was truly fortunate to gain the favor of a Saint.
Yet among the twelve Saints, none bore the surname Lin. There were three female Saints in total, but in all his years he had never been fortunate enough to meet one. He wondered which of them this could be in disguise.
Though curiosity stirred, he lowered his gaze and calmed his mind, not daring to ask a thing.
Compared to Xiao Ling'er's sudden shyness, another stood far more composed.
In the Upper Realm, Saints were top-tier powers, yet far easier to encounter than in the Lower Realm. Moreover, he himself had once cultivated to the peak of the Human Immortal Realm, only a step away from Saint Realm.
With such knowledge, it was obvious to him that the figure before them was no ordinary Saint.
Normally, though a low-level cultivator might not discern the precise realm of a higher one, at the very least they could sense the presence of true essence, confirming the other was indeed a cultivator.
The sole exception was the Immaculate True Body.
The Immaculate True Body represented the supreme embodiment of the Saint Realm at its peak, the ultimate state where a cultivator's Dao was cultivated to perfection, returning to simplicity.
Those who reached this realm contained their true essence completely, not the slightest leak. Every movement carried no trace of spiritual force, appearing indistinguishable from an ordinary mortal. Yet precisely this perfect restraint revealed the Great Dao's utmost simplicity—what does not leak has no gap, what has no gap cannot be broken.
Ordinary cultivators, even upon reaching the Saint Realm, could not help but release aura, their pressure overflowing like a blazing sun that none dared look upon. But the Immaculate True Body was different. It shed all outward sharpness, locking the vast ocean of Saint Realm true essence within, leaving not a hint exposed.
At this moment, Jiang Che, dragging his yet-unhealed body, walked step by step toward Chen Chang'an.
The Candle Yin flame in his right eye had been fully extinguished, leaving only clear black. It seemed he had succeeded in suppressing the Candle Yin Curse within. Yet seeing his tattered clothing and bloodstains, the cost was clearly great.
Still, his back remained straight, like a pine tree that would not bow in the wind and snow.
"Senior."
Jiang Che clasped his fists and bowed deeply, his forehead nearly touching the charred earth.
"The grace of saving my life—Jiang Che will never forget."
His voice was quiet, yet every word carried clearly across the silent city wall.
"If not for Senior's intervention, not only I, but this entire city of cultivators would have perished in the ghost tide."
As he slowly straightened, a light flickered in the youth's eyes. It was not the blue of Candle Yin's flame, but something even more blazing.
"As promised—" he took a deep breath, "no matter what Senior asks of me, Jiang Che will never go back on his word."
Chen Chang'an stood with hands clasped behind his back, his plain robe lifting gently in the warm breeze of lingering embers. He did not reply at once, merely gazing at this youth, wounded yet bright-eyed.
"Even if I demand your life?"
"Give it."
Jiang Che answered without hesitation, even with a trace of relief. His right hand pressed against his chest, the motion so smooth it was as though he were not speaking of life and death, but fulfilling the most ordinary of promises.
Chen Chang'an suddenly smiled.
He reached out and pressed the young man's wrist, feeling the steady rush of hot blood beneath the pulse.
"What would I want with your life?"
Then, under the youth's calm yet slightly nervous gaze, he opened the system panel.
…
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