With a clean, fast slash, she severed his right hand.
He dropped to his knees. Veins bulged across his forehead as his left hand clutched the bleeding stump. His jaw locked against the scream, but it tore free anyway.
The villagers recoiled, faces draining of color. Children clutched at their parents' clothes, though the adults wore the same raw terror in their expressions.
Wuji swept his gaze over them and walked to the severed hand. He crouched, pried the spirit stone from its grasp, and rose.
It made little difference whether he returned it or not. Compensation was a hollow comfort, a pretense of mercy. Sparing them, when their lifespans shimmered with such tempting light, was the greatest mercy he could offer. And a foolish one at that.
He turned to the woman trembling at the center of the huddled group. They clung to one another, seeking safety in numbers, an illusion he could shatter with a thought.
He could see the sweat beading on her forehead as though she had run for miles. Meeting his emotionless dark gaze, she extended her hand in a slow, shaking motion, offering the other spirit stone back.
Wuji motioned for her to toss it. She did, and he caught it, adding it to the other four before slipping them into his sleeve.
His gaze swept over them once more—the trembling women, the wide-eyed children, the men whose faces held a stubborn, almost defiant glare, as if ready to fight a battle they knew they could not win.
In his vision, the lifespan numbers above their heads flickered with a tempting bronze light, edged in faint crimson, waiting, it seemed, for his decision.
"Killing them all wouldn't trouble me much," he thought, stroking his dirt-matted beard. But slaughtering an entire village with obvious ties to the Heaven's Fall Sect would be foolish.
This was the Heaven's Fall Region, that much was clear to him. And from Mei Xu's memories, he knew it was a territory vast enough to rival a continent from his old world.
Its size wasn't the only problem. As the supreme power here, the sect could hunt him like a dog. Hiding from them forever, even with the Heaven Burial Coffin, was impossible and he couldn't live sealed inside the Interment Spaceindefinitely.
Besides, nothing was forcing him to slaughter this village. And from what he'd overheard, bandits roamed this area. They were a far better target for him.
At the end of the day, blood was blood, lifespan was lifespan, and more importantly, his still-struggling conscience could justify bandits over farmers.
As the thought settled, Wuji felt the part of himself that still resisted Mei Xu's eroded worldview stir, the part that refused to let her memories become replacements rather than tools.
Yes, her experience was invaluable. Her schemes, her instincts for survival, those indeed mattered.
But so did his own. At his core, he was Wuji, not a vessel for devoured memories. To exist solely through another's perspective, without forging his own or testing the world firsthand, would be the height of foolishness.
With that clarity, he turned to the husk. At his will, it bolted into the village, seized a horse and cart, and guided them back to the gate.
A faint sigh passed through the villagers. Grips loosened, shoulders sagged.
The village chief, his stump now tightly bandaged, watched in wary silence. The middle-aged man beside him stared as his best horse was taken, jaw clenched, but he forced himself to endure it. A horse could be raised again. A life, once lost, was gone forever.
The woman who had returned the spirit stone stiffened as the husk moved toward the headless corpse. Her eyes widened when it lifted the body with jerking stiffness, the severed head floating behind it in a grotesque parody of wholeness.
The villagers watched in confused silence.
Though she and her brother had quarreled, she could not bear to see his body taken. He deserved burial—rest—not abandonment to beasts or wandering evil spirits. But fear rooted her in place, her throat tight as stone. With every moment, his corpse grew smaller in the distance.
Minutes later, Wuji reached the freshly dug grave. With the husk's help, he lifted the coffin from the earth and placed it outside. He walked to the back of the cart, parted the curtain, and heaved the coffin inside.
Opening the lid, he willed the Interment Space to open. The black, viscous liquid appeared, and the husk tossed the corpse and severed head inside.
He could have stored the husk within the space sincd its allotted time was nearly spent, but the villagers' mention of bandits lingered in his mind. Retrieving it again would take time, so he let it remain seated beside the coffin.
As his thoughts turned to the bandits, his eyes glinted with dangerous greed. Their lifespans… now that was a worthy harvest.
He walked to the front of the cart, climbed up, and retrieved a whip from inside. Turning to the horse, he noted its powerful muscles beneath its hide, it was far finer and stronger than any he had seen in his eighty-two years of life.
With a faint smile, he said, "I'm Wuji. Good to know you… Hmm, you need a name. Mori. I'll call you Mori."
With a gentle whip, Mori turned toward the city. Wuji's gaze swept over the plains; sand, shrubs, carpets of grass, taking in the sight as dawn broke across his wrinkled, contemplative face.
The supplies I have are enough for now, but the coffins are few. The bandits had better come in a large group. The thought of raiding other villages crept in, but he pushed it down immediately. Robbing even one village had been a risk.
He needed to leave the heart of Heaven's Fall territory, go somewhere he was unknown, somewhere the sect's power was weak, like the loose cultivators' gathering. There, he could buy a body-forging art and move unseen.
With his decision made, Wuji gave the horse another light flick of the whip and let it move on its own. Just as he was about to urge it again, his stomach rumbled.
He turned back to the coffin. Climbing into the cart, he opened the lid and willed the Interment Space to respond. Black, viscous liquid surfaced, and from it rose a steaming tray of chicken, followed by a waterskin.
He took the skin first. Peeking out from the cart, he poured water over his grimy hands, letting it splash onto the earth. Only after cleaning himself did he return and eat.
Every scent was heavenly. Every bite tasted divine. The sound of his chewing filled the cramped space, mingling with the rich aroma, and his eyes stung faintly as he remembered surviving on insects only days before.
As he ate, dozens of horsemen arrived at the dampened patch of earth where his wash-water had darkened the soil.
"Hm. Someone passed through," one of them said, pointing.
He produced a telescope and scanned the darkening plains until his gaze settled on a lone cart in the distance. A grin tugged at his mouth. "There you are."
"Just one cart?" another scoffed. "Too little for a proper haul these days. Looks like we'll have to move again."
"One cart is still a cart," the leader said, slipping the telescope back into his sleeve. "We take it before it reaches the city. Last raid here—then we leave." They spurred their horses forward.
Minutes later, as they closed the distance, a familiar shape eased the tension from the leader's shoulders. Recognition dawned. The cart from the village we robbed three days ago.
Relief flickered, then turned to irritation. There wouldn't be much left on these villagers. Still, the horse alone was worth it. His own mount was nearly spent.
"And who knows," he muttered. "Might be something unexpected."
Wuji stopped chewing when the thunder of hooves reached him. He parted the curtain and looked out. Two dozen riders circled closer, their faces blurred by dusk, but their lifespan numbers blazed clearly in his vision.
At first bronze, they shifted to crimson-edged, then burned a deep, violent crimson.
When they spotted an old man peering from the cart, their whoops grew louder. Laughter and threats tangled in the air as they forced the horse to halt.
Inside the cart, Wuji smiled. Twenty-four. His body trembled with anticipation. Without a word, he willed the husk into motion and allotted it one minute of active time.
There was no point in talking with the dead.
As their attention fixed on the cart, the air went unnaturally still. The horses screamed, rearing and wrenching against their reins, hooves skidding as if the earth itself repelled them. The leader frowned, unease flickering, then the curtain parted.
A woman of stark, chilling beauty stepped into view.
A raw urge surged through him, immediate and shameless. He swallowed thickly, his gaze locking onto her emotionless face. Around him, his men fell into the same stupor. The sword in her hand barely registered. They saw only a woman; alone, defiant, familiar prey.
Lust smothered what little caution remained.
"I've never seen such a beau—"
She lunged. Steel flashed. His head left his shoulders, tumbling before his body followed, collapsing into the ground with a dull thud.
For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Their leader—a Rank Three martial artist—was dead.
The husk did not pause. It blurred forward. Another man jerked as his head split cleanly from his neck, blood fountaining as the body crumpled.
Screams erupted. Hands fumbled for hilts, steel scraped free, too late.
The husk moved like a guillotine loosed among wheat. Thirty seconds later, it was over. Bodies lay strewn across the ground, blood soaking into the darkening earth as twilight swallowed the scene.
Wuji parted the cart's curtain after sensing the battle had ended and surveyed the carnage.
At his silent command, the husk began its work. One by one, corpses vanished into the Interment Space. Horses followed, then weapons, packs, loose coins, until twenty-four bodies, twenty-four mounts, and all their spoils hung suspended in the gray fog, untouched, perfectly still.
The husk returned to sit beside the coffin just as its allotted time expired. Wuji took the reins and guided the horse forward once more. Ahead, faint lights shimmered on the horizon. Moonlight washed over the plains as he rode on, unhurried, the night deepening around him.
At the same moment, in a realm of endless darkness, a bridge of black stone stretched through a void without stars.
Pale streams of souls drifted silently along it, drawn toward a colossal gate at the far end. The gate loomed unmoving, ancient beyond measure.
Identical bridges spanned the same oppressive, cold expanse, separated by gulfs of starless nothing.
The colossal gates were etched with two immense glyphs—one black, one white—so vast that the souls and the three guards standing before them appeared as insignificant as grains of sand.
Two of the guards flanked the gate, their dark and light skin contrasting the glyphs behind them. They were minotaur-like in form, hulking and watchful. The third guard was humanoid, with pointed ears and four piercing eyes set in his face, clad in dark robes embroidered with four silver lines.
In his pale hands, he held an illusory book, a shimmering projection of the Book of Life and Death.
He examined each soul, verified its record with a glance, and directed them silently through the gate. The minotaurs watched impassively, hands resting on sickles adorned with heavy chains, as if waiting for any soul, especially those of unruly cultivators to step out of line.
This routine continued until the robed man suddenly stiffened. His four eyes widened as he stared at the projection, then back at the line of souls where a gap now lingered.
Twenty-five souls were missing, unaccounted for by the register. He turned abruptly to the book, his fingers tracing an entry.
{Name: Lu Mo
Death Time: Year 78995 / 02 / 09
Cause of Death: Poison in battle. Unknown}
The word Unknown shimmered faintly in the record, an anomaly glaring beside the absence of the soul itself.
Terror gripped him. Sweat beaded on his brow. Something had happened, something that broke the natural order.
Without hesitation, he drew a paper bird from his robe, infused it with a wisp of his energy, and sent it flying through the gate's opening.
For an immeasurable span, it soared through the endless darkness until it reached a distant palace, coming to rest in the hand of a broad-shouldered man whose black robes were embroidered with three sharp golden lines down the back.
As he absorbed the information, his eyes widened in shock, but he quickly mastered himself. Immediately and privately, he summoned two entities whose forms were woven from pure darkness.
With a wave of his hand, streaks of light pierced their featureless foreheads. Even without faces, their postures conveyed a profound pause of disbelief.
Someone, or something has overridden the Book of Life and Death.
The impossibility of it shattered their fundamental understanding of one of the underworld's most powerful artifacts, rooting them in place.
"Go to the lower heavens and investigate," he said, his voice low but carrying absolute authority. "Identify which microcosm was breached first. Do not engage. Whoever is capable of this is beyond your power and concern. Return with information only."
The two figures hesitated. Sensing their reluctance, the broad-shouldered man added, "Speak."
"What if we send our avatars instead?" one proposed, its voice a hollow whisper. "Losing an avatar is preferable to losing us… for the stability of the underworld."
The man considered this, well aware their fear was less about the underworld's welfare and more about facing the unknown firsthand. Still, the suggestion held merit.
"Hmm. You have a point," he acknowledged, his tone unchanged. "Proceed with avatars. But move swiftly. If the Heavenly Court catches wind of this, they may act as well… assuming they care enough to intervene."
With that, the two figures faded into the gloomy air, leaving the man alone with his thoughts. He walked to his seat and sat, his contemplative gaze sweeping over the empty hall.
At the same time, in a palace of gold and white suspended atop radiant clouds, a man in ethereal white robes with flowing silken hair played chess in a pavilion within his garden. Immortal fairies drifted nearby, carrying trays of wine and delicacies.
For a moment, his hand—poised to move a piece—faltered. His eyes lifted, a faint frown touching his brow before vanishing just as quickly.
"Interesting," he murmured to himself. A few of the fairies nearby paused, their beautiful faces curious, but quickly resumed their duties lest they provoke his displeasure.
The man placed the piece on the board, his expression returning to one of serene detachment as he continued his game. In private, however, he sent a silent message to one of his most trusted followers.
Back in the mortal world, Wuji remained unaware of the ripples his actions had caused. He guided Mori through the darkness of the night, his eyes never leaving the distant dots of light growing steadily larger with each passing minute.