Chapter Seventy-Two: The Place of Standing Corpses

Chen Bushi was inwardly pleased and was just about to rouse the men’s spirits further when hurried footsteps sounded outside the great tent. Someone outside reported in a low voice, “Commandant, fog has risen outside. I fear something is not right.”

“Not right...” Chen Bushi frowned faintly, then smiled. “Could it be those demon bandits have grown tired of living and have come seeking death on their own? Come, let us go and see.”

“Yes!”

After all, none of them had ever witnessed such a scene. After a brief stir, the local patrol officers in the tent followed the county commandant out to look.

Outside the main camp, sure enough, fog had risen at some unknown time, thick and heavy, and faint sounds of sorrowful weeping seemed to drift through it.

People who lived in this world were no strangers to such things, and every face changed color.

There was no underworld here, no cycle of rebirth. The most vile and wicked of the dead were suppressed in the City God’s ghost prison.

Ordinary spirits, however, lay in quiet rest beneath the earth, sustained by the incense and offerings of their descendants and protected by the blessings of merit.

Yet there were always many spirits who, because their line had died out or for various other reasons, received none of these things. Unable to sleep beneath the earth, they could only wander the world of the living.

When winter came and the year drew to its end, the yang force weakened, and they would often surge out in great numbers to harm the living and feed upon flesh and blood.

This was precisely why the authorities had to prepare against marauders and drive out ghosts every winter.

And not merely every few decades or every dozen years. As these spirits gathered in ever greater numbers, they could easily give rise to ghost calamities, attacking villages and shrines, even cities, and causing disasters like a night march of a hundred ghosts.

Thus, beyond the routine yearly exorcisms, the authorities also had to carry out a large-scale purge every five to ten years, taking the initiative to reduce the number of wild ghosts and prevent them from becoming a calamity.

This great mobilization of troops by Xiami Commandery was aimed not only at the cultivators in Mount Wuji, but also at cleansing away wild ghosts.

So the people of this world, especially the country folk, found nothing strange at all in such a riot of wandering spirits.

But now they were at the place where an army had gathered. Soldiers were the ground where corpses fell.

War was by nature a field of violence and peril, a place of slaughter, and its baleful aura was strongest of all.

What was more, in the years of youth and vigor, a man’s blood and vital force were at their peak, and ghosts feared them.

An army camp was a place where thousands of strong young men gathered together, their blood and vitality bound into one like a blazing fire. In ordinary circumstances, not to mention common ghosts, even deities would keep their distance.

And yet, at this moment, so many wild ghosts had gathered outside the camp, apparently encircling it. However one looked at it, the sight was deeply abnormal.

Not only Wang Zhenling noticed it. Chen Bushi noticed it too, and so did many others with a bit of experience and sense.

“Could it be that among these wild ghosts there is a ghost general, or even a ghost king, and that is why they dare to surround the army?” someone guessed.

Among wild ghosts, if a powerful ghost general or ghost king arises to command them, they may dare to attack villages, shrines, and even cities.

Could it be that a powerful spirit had appeared here among the wild ghosts and become a ghost general or ghost king?

If that were true, then things would be serious indeed.

Even the weakest ghost general was at least at the level of a fierce ghost, and probably only Chen Bushi himself, wielding the county commandant’s seal, could contend with it.

In truth, they had now been temporarily organized into an army, and all were addressed by military rank. But because these were only temporary appointments, each title was prefixed with the word “acting.”

This did not mean false as opposed to real, but rather borrowed, provisional, temporary—in short, merely for the present.

As the county commandant commanding the county militia, Chen Bushi was an acting commandant.

And Wang Zhenling and the others, who led the township militias, held the rank of acting military captain.

Below them were acting squad leaders, team leaders, platoon leaders, and so on.

But once the mission ended and the army was disbanded, these posts would naturally vanish.

Thus, what they carried were only their original seals as county commandant and patrol officer, not the seals corresponding to military office.

One had to know that military ranks stood far above civil ones. Not to mention anything else, a true military captain was an official above the rank of six hundred measures.

As for Wang Zhenling’s acting military captaincy, that was merely a temporary assignment.

Whether in salary or in fortune, the difference was as vast as heaven and earth.

The only power he could draw upon was the fortune of the few hundred men under his command.

If Wang Zhenling had the seal and tally of a proper company captain at hand, suppressing a ghost general would have posed no problem.

Unfortunately, all of them held only temporary military posts, and had no such formidable power.

“No need to speculate. Go and have a look... Chen San, you go.”

The guard who had just demonstrated the various realms of the breath-refiners answered at once and, with a flicker of movement, shot outward, plunging directly into the mass of ghosts shrouded in thick fog.

Chen San—so that was his name. It seemed this man truly was a hereditary servant of the Chen clan of the Middle River.

As Wang Zhenling thought this, he judged that Chen San was likely a master cultivated by the clan itself.

While he was still pondering, Chen San had already rushed into the mist, and several dark shapes rose to meet him, surrounding him.

Yet Chen San did not dodge. He charged straight through, scattering them at once, and it took those shapes some time to recover.

Others might not have seen it clearly, but Wang Zhenling could tell that Chen San had released his true qi as a protective force, spreading it over his entire body as he flew forward.

After smashing apart those wild ghosts, nothing more than wraiths in strength, he was swallowed by the thick fog and could no longer be seen.

Before long, however, the fog outside began to churn and heave in chaotic unrest. From time to time, fierce shrieks rang out.

Clearly, Chen San had already engaged the stronger ghostly beings within.

Many people grew worried. Chen San had gone so deep into the encirclement—could he be in danger?

Yet Chen Bushi remained confident. Only after more than a quarter hour had passed, when the fog’s tumult grew ever more violent and no one had yet emerged, did his expression begin to change slightly.

At that moment, Mister Feng stepped forward and said, “Commandant, I will lead men to provide support.”

Chen Bushi hesitated briefly, but Wang Zhenling was already smiling. “I shall go instead. Mister Feng, you are too precious a man to take such a risk.”

With that, before anyone could answer, he had already charged out of the camp.

The instant he touched the fog, he felt a chill as though it were trying to seep through every pore and opening in his body, making the hair on his skin stand on end.

But whatever else might be said, Wang Zhenling was a true cultivator who had already reached the stage of qi consolidation and was now in the process of building his divine chamber.

At once he too circulated his true qi, projecting it outward to wrap himself from head to toe, and rushed into the fog.

Dark shadows flickered before him, baring claws and teeth as countless resentful ghosts swarmed around him.

Wang Zhenling copied Chen San and did not dodge, but charged straight through, colliding with those wraiths.

He felt only as though he had struck a block of ice-cold air; with a series of soft pops, he shattered them into pieces.