Chapter Three: The Ghost Soldiers

The rain had already turned me into a drowned rat. If only the divine power I had just drawn were weather-clearing.

Shen Chang'an was hurrying through the rain, his clothes soaked through. What had begun as a light drizzle had in an instant become a torrential downpour, leaving him in a thoroughly disheveled state.

After running for a while in the rain, he was completely drenched.

“Well, forget running…”

Shen Chang'an found a fairly tall tree, leaned against its trunk, and sat down, thinking he might draw himself two Purity Talismans later.

The tree was heavy with leaves and sheltered him from much of the rain. Having traveled all day, Shen Chang'an could not help feeling tired. He wanted to rest, but the occasional drops of water made it hard for him to fall asleep.

“Daoist sir…”

A voice sounded, startling Shen Chang'an.

In the next instant, a wandering soul appeared. It glanced at Shen Chang'an, pointed ahead, and said, “Daoist sir, there is a place up ahead where you can keep out of the rain. You might as well go there and take shelter.”

Shen Chang'an stared in surprise. It was the first time he had ever seen a wandering soul give him directions, though he did not know what the other party was after.

“Just shelter from the rain?” Shen Chang'an asked.

The man looked slightly embarrassed and said softly, “If Daoist sir were willing to deliver me from my suffering, that would be even better.”

Shen Chang'an was puzzled. “How is it that after becoming ghosts, none of you have spirit wardens come to guide you on?”

“For those who die a wrongful death, if a spirit warden happens to pass by, that is one thing. If not, then all one can do is wait in misery.”

Shen Chang'an sighed, then walked toward the place the man had indicated, while once more reciting the Sutra of Supreme Cavern and Mysterious Numinous Treasure, Spoken by the Heavenly Worthy of Deliverance from Suffering and Removal of Sin, sending the man on to the underworld for rebirth.

Afterward, following his guidance, Shen Chang'an came upon a small rain shelter.

In the deep mountains, a shelter like this was naturally not built for the convenience of travelers, but for the stone statue beneath it.

Shen Chang'an glanced at it and could not tell whether it was meant to be a Buddha or an immortal. After the long weathering of time, it had become so ruined that its original appearance was impossible to make out.

He smiled faintly, with no sense of restraint, and was about to move the statue out so he could take its place.

“Whether you are an immortal or a Buddha, I beg your mercy and let this poor Daoist shelter from the rain. Your stone body fears neither storm nor downpour, but I, alas, am already a soaked chicken.”

With that, Shen Chang'an moved his mind, activated his divine ability of Moving Things, and carried the statue out. He then took possession of the nest and slipped into the tiny rain shelter.

The moment he went inside, Shen Chang'an felt as though he had been cut off from the outside world. The patter of rain beyond gradually faded from his ears, and a wave of drowsiness rose in his heart. He hugged his bundle of belongings and drifted into a light sleep.

...

Plip, plip, tap, tap, tap...

A burst of footsteps came from outside, awakening Shen Chang'an, who was still half lost in dream.

In a daze, Shen Chang'an lifted his head and saw a small group of people rushing toward him, only to be blocked by the stone statue he had dragged out.

“Hm? Who goes there, daring to block the road alone?” someone called out.

Shen Chang'an stared blankly, then waved a hand and said, “Block the road my ass. This Daoist is just sleeping here. If you want to pass, go ahead.”

The few of them looked at one another. Sleeping in the woods? And in weather that had been pouring like that just now? How had he survived?

Seeing their strange expressions, Shen Chang'an could not help saying, “Who in their right mind blocks a road by moving a stone statue? What were you thinking?”

The others were stunned. That made sense, really. Who would randomly move a statue into the middle of the road to rob people?

“You really aren’t robbing us?” someone asked in disbelief.

Shen Chang'an could no longer hold back. “If you really want to be robbed, each of you can give me five taels of silver, and I’ll satisfy your wish.”

The group had never heard such a thing before and stood frozen on the spot, unable to speak for a long while.

Shen Chang'an was too lazy to tease them further. He merely waved a hand and said, “If you’re going, then go quickly. This Daoist still needs to rest a while…”

The words had barely left his mouth when more than a dozen arrows suddenly cut through the air and shot straight toward the group.

Before the people outside could even react, their bodies had already been pierced by the arrows.

Shen Chang'an sniffed with the jade talisman and immediately detected a rank, fishy stench.

“How could such monsters be raised in this tiny, broken mountain?”

Puzzlement rose in Shen Chang'an’s heart. This little mountain did not even have a name; by all appearances, it should not have been anything remarkable.

Yet now there had been a wandering soul giving directions, and men being hunted down. One scene after another played out, and Shen Chang'an’s drowsiness vanished completely.

“Enemy attack. Take cover immediately.”

Though they had lost companions, the others still clung together stubbornly. It was as if they shared some kind of formation link, and in an instant their battle strength surged to an unimaginable level, blocking the attacks coming from the depths of shadow.

The writhing things in the darkness soon revealed themselves. They were... several zombies!

And not merely zombies, but zombies armed with bows, swords, and blades!

Shen Chang'an’s breath caught. He had already guessed what had come.

These things were zombies, yes—but not only zombies. They ought to be called underworld soldiers.

When ordinary people hear “underworld soldiers,” they usually imagine troops made of ghostly souls. But in truth, any sinister ghostly creature that can be controlled and formed into ranks may be called underworld soldiers.

Compared with ordinary ghosts and evil spirits, the most terrifying thing about underworld soldiers is that they act as a group, with clear purpose and strict conduct.

That, too, is the most dreadful and most feared aspect of an underworld army. A troop that knows no fear, feels no emotion, is swayed by nothing, and exists only to fulfill the commander’s objective—the fighting power such a force can unleash can only be described as horrifying.

At once, Shen Chang'an no longer cared about the rain outside. He quickly took cover behind a large tree and carefully sensed the changing positions of the underworld soldiers.

Underworld soldiers do not judge their targets with their eyes. The yang energy of the living blazes before them like torches; hiding is meaningless. Only by sheltering behind this tree, where arrows could not pierce, was there any real safety.

The few people had formed a battle array, each holding a small round shield. Working together, they were actually able to withstand the underworld soldiers’ arrow fire.

Shen Chang'an cautiously leaned out, intending to take a look at what exactly was controlling these underworld soldiers.