Chapter Fifty-Three: The Mirror of the Sun God

At that very moment, as the rooster crowed, the sound of chickens echoed everywhere, rising and falling in succession, as though the entire sky was about to brighten. Even those deities of the local shrines sitting in their respective carriages, along with the ghostly official, though somewhat insulated from the impact by their vehicles, could not help but feel their hearts race and souls tremble at the sound of the crowing.

Yet, the shrine deities were powerful in their own right, and the ghostly official carried the City God’s command talisman at his side. They quickly regained composure. “It’s barely the third watch of the night—how can there be crowing already? Something is amiss…”

“I’ll go out and see what’s happening!” One of the private shrine deities, eager to ingratiate himself with the City God and earn some merit, leapt from his carriage to investigate.

But just then, a fireball suddenly shot out from the darkness, striking that very shrine deity.

He was not without ability; a white radiance shimmered around him as the divine power he had accumulated formed a barrier in an attempt to block the attack. But struck by the fireball, the barrier shattered instantly, and flames engulfed him, transforming him into a screaming human torch in a matter of seconds.

The other shrine deities and the ghostly official, still panicked and bewildered, had no time to grasp what was happening, when suddenly the world blazed with light. It was as if a sun had risen between heaven and earth; streams of golden fire, like dragons, surged forth and crashed onto the carriages carrying the shrine deities and the official.

These carriages possessed certain protective enchantments, similar to those used by the public shrine deities, like the one Wang Zhenling once rode. If they belonged to the official shrines, the carriages were granted by the authorities. But private shrine deities had to craft their own, and the difference in protection was not merely slight—it was vast.

Thus, when the fire struck the public shrine carriages and the ghostly official’s vehicle, runes flashed along their sides, fending off the fireballs. But the three private shrine deities were not so fortunate. Their self-made carriages offered no such defense; fireballs smashed into them, shattering both carriage and occupant to dust.

Even the public shrine deities’ carriages, though unscathed, could not protect their ghostly horses pulling them. The flames set the horses alight, causing them to scream and rear, nearly tossing the ghostly official from his seat.

Boom after boom, waves of fire swept in, throwing the City God’s ghostly troops into chaos as they scrambled to evade the flames.

If these had been ordinary flames, the ghosts might not have been so terrified. But this was the True Sunfire, the bane of all ghostly beings. Once touched, the flames clung like napalm, impossible to extinguish, and in moments reduced their victims to ash.

In truth, Wang Zhenling had been forewarned by Lord Hu’s letter that the City God would not give up easily, so he was already alert to any movements. It must not be forgotten that while the City God was powerful, Wang Zhenling had strong patrons as well. His slaying of the Blackwater Shrine Deity was orchestrated by Chen Bushi, who had set people to watch over the county seat of Danling.

The moment the City God made his move, Wang Zhenling received word and set up an ambush. When the City God struck, how could Chen Bushi not respond? He had naturally dispatched experts to support Wang Zhenling and, to deliver a harsh blow to the Shrine Lord, sent Mr. Feng with a treasure: the Solar Divine Mirror.

Now, it was the light of the Solar Divine Mirror that was scorching the City God’s ghostly troops, leaving them reeling and in utter disarray.

Just as it seemed the ghosts were finished, suddenly, among them, a portion of the ghostly soldiers were enveloped in surging gloom—black mist, clawing and writhing—snuffing out the flames consuming them.

“What is this…” Wang Zhenling’s gaze grew grave as he watched roughly twenty or thirty ghostly soldiers touched by the flames. It was as if their false shells had burned away, revealing their true selves—each exuding a terrifying aura. Dense black mists roiled around them, tendrils stretching menacingly toward Wang Zhenling.

“Convict ghosts—all of these are convict ghosts. Remarkable! The City God dares to release convict ghosts for his own use…” Mr. Feng appeared at Wang Zhenling’s side, his expression now deadly serious. Behind him, Chen San arrived with more than a dozen experts and over a hundred ghostly soldiers.

But at the sight of the convict ghosts, even these ghostly soldiers showed traces of fear.

Convict ghosts were those cast into the underworld’s prisons, the most heinous of specters, tormented endlessly in the netherworld, their resentment towering to the heavens. Naturally, they were far more powerful than ordinary ghostly soldiers—at least on the level of malevolent spirits, with vengeful ghosts not uncommon, and even ghost generals or kings sometimes appearing among them.

In short, convict ghosts from the infernal prisons were the most fiendish of all, breaking free from the deepest hells.

Seeing them now, Wang Zhenling vaguely sensed that things were taking a dire turn—this was not as expected. What was meant to be a wolf-hunting trap now seemed to have snared a tiger instead. The pitfall no longer seemed sufficient.

Though these convict ghosts were still on the level of fierce spirits, their gloom and resentment were overwhelming—more than double that of ordinary ghost soldiers. Were they not so formidable, every time their baleful aura erupted and the prison rioted, the divine path would not suffer such grievous blows.

Sensing the situation was unfavorable, Mr. Feng merely sneered, “We knew the City God would resort to such a foolish move, releasing convict ghosts. Now that we have his misdeeds in hand, let’s see if he escapes unscathed. Act!”

Chen San remained calm; for this ambush, Chen Bushi had prepared many treasures. He called, “Bring it up!”

At once, a group of guards, trembling with nerves, brought forth a half-meter-tall bronze cauldron, then quickly withdrew.

Mr. Feng, paying them no mind, stepped around the incense burner, tracing a pattern with his feet, and with a swift motion, drew a paper talisman from his robes. With a flick, he set it aflame and cast it into the cauldron.

Instantly, the cauldron’s oil-like fuel ignited, and a ghostly, blood-tinged, ashen-white fire flared up—strangely bright yet giving off not a trace of heat.