Chapter 2047: Ghost City of the Underworld

Chapter 2047: Gui Yu Zhi Cheng

“Gui Yu Zhi Cheng, it’s Gui Yu Zhi Cheng.”

After a moment of silence, hundreds and thousands of people cried out in excitement, their faces beaming with joy. They had fought through thorns and brambles, enduring countless hardships, and now they had finally found it—how could they not be thrilled?

In an instant, whether they were practitioners of the esoteric arts or martial arts masters, they all sprang into action. Some dashed forward on foot, others leaped with their qinggong, all surging toward that direction. They feared being left behind, only for someone else to claim the meteorite from beyond the stars first.

Not everyone joined the rush, though. For instance, the wounded and disabled could barely stand, their spirits willing but their bodies failing. They lay there, pounding the ground in frustration. They had come all this way through immense toil, only to reach Gui Yu Zhi Cheng and still be unable to proceed.

Still, some showed remarkable determination, hobbling along with crutches as if to say: I can still make a comeback.

Meanwhile, Yang Ge Lao and his companions remained in their safe spot among the sticky rice rings.

“Gui Yu Zhi Cheng from the legends—it’s real after all,” Shangguan Jiu murmured.

“Shall we go take a look?” Yang Xuan suggested tentatively.

“Better not,” Yang Ge Lao replied with a smile, keeping his head down as he polished his sword. “Our young friend told us not to go, and he must have his reasons. The outside world is already so terrifying—what’s inside Gui Yu Zhi Cheng must be even worse. If the three of us went, we’d just be a burden. If we encountered some dreadful entity, our young friend might not be able to protect us all.”

“That makes sense,” Yang Xuan and Shangguan Jiu said after thinking it over, and they sat back down.

Since Ye Chen said not to go, they wouldn’t. In this eerie Gui Shan, Ye Chen was far more experienced and had resolved multiple crises for them, each time proving reliable. Listening to him ensured their safety; if they insisted on seeking trouble, they could just turn left toward the Huang Quan Road.

The three didn’t just sit idle. They kept waving their hands, tossing healing medicines to the injured martial arts practitioners and esoteric masters.

“Thank you,” the wounded people said, casting grateful glances their way.

“Saving a life is more virtuous than building a seven-tier pagoda,” the three replied in unison.

Things grew quiet after that. Most people gazed toward the direction of Gui Yu Zhi Cheng, but after a long while, there was still no sign of activity.

“Old Yang, that’s quite a sword you’ve got,” Shangguan Jiu said idly, stroking his chin as he eyed Yang Ge Lao’s Xuan Lei Jian. With his expertise, he could tell that this pitch-black sword was no ordinary weapon—it was truly a divine artifact.

“It’s a gift from our young friend—cuts through iron like mud,” Yang Ge Lao said cheerfully, gripping a cloth and polishing it even harder. He aimed to make the Xuan Lei Jian shine like new. At his age, he was counting on it for the rest of his days.

“That kid has so many treasures,” Yang Xuan remarked with a sigh, secretly admiring Yang Ge Lao’s sword and thinking he might ask Ye Chen for one someday.

Meanwhile, on another front, Ye Chen had already reached the deepest part and stopped in front of an ancient city.

The city gates were pitch-black and sealed shut. The walls were stained with fresh blood from some unknown era, still not dried, and covered in scars from blades, spears, swords, and halberds. Right above the gates, four large characters were etched boldly: Gui Yu Zhi Cheng.

Ye Chen looked up at the hazy sky above, clearly seeing strands of Yuan Jing Ling Li drifting into Gui Yu Zhi Cheng. This confirmed his earlier suspicion—it was indeed Gui Yu Zhi Cheng that was at work, siphoning the spiritual power from the old tomb’s Yuan Jing.

Standing before Gui Yu Zhi Cheng, he could distinctly sense the aura of Tian Mo.

“You sure know how to pick a hiding spot,” Ye Chen snorted coldly, suddenly raising his hand and unleashing a Da Li Jin Gang Palm to force the gates open.

Instantly, demonic energy surged out in waves, violent and bloodthirsty, with the Tian Mo aura roaring like a massive hurricane. It sent rocks tumbling down the mountains, flinging the martial arts masters and esoteric practitioners who hadn’t yet arrived flying through the air.

Though the Tian Mo hurricane was fierce, it couldn’t budge Ye Chen. He stood firm like a monument, his clothes flapping wildly and his long hair whipping in the wind.

Braving the hurricane, he stepped into Gui Yu Zhi Cheng.

What met his eyes were rows of standing soldiers, clad in cold armor and wearing dark helmets. Their eyes were closed, each gripping a battle spear, their bodies covered in dust. They formed neat formations, thousands strong, like a black carpet spread across the ground.

Ye Chen frowned slightly, recognizing these soldiers for what they were—evil spirits that had been infused with blood, turned into puppets. They must have been created by Tian Mo to protect him.

Glancing past the soldiers, Ye Chen looked deeper ahead. At the end of the formations stood a stone platform, and on it was a pitch-black coffin. That was where Tian Mo lay, and the siphoned Yuan Jing Ling Li was converging there.

As a gust of yin feng blew by, the dust on the soldiers scattered, and in that moment, these blood-infused evil spirits all opened their eyes. Their gazes were vacant, their expressions wooden—like true puppets, devoid of any human emotion.

Without any command, these evil spirit soldiers assumed attack positions, gripping their battle spears and charging at Ye Chen as if in a full-scale war.

“Could they stop me?” Ye Chen said calmly, drawing his Tao Mu Jian and coating it with his own blood to infuse it with sword qi. With one sweep, he obliterated the evil spirits at the front.

Amid the slaughter, he advanced step by step toward the stone platform, never veering from his path. Any evil spirits that rushed at him were cut down by his sword. Even thousands of them couldn’t halt his progress.

Outside the city, the martial arts masters and esoteric practitioners had arrived.

But awkwardly, they hadn’t even caught their breath or gotten a good look at the gates before being blown away by the Tian Mo hurricane again, scattered like autumn leaves in the wind.

Not everyone was as powerful as Ye Chen. For these lesser figures, even reaching the gates was futile—they couldn’t enter. Even if Shangguan Jiu and Yang Xuan showed up, they’d face the same issue. To step into Gui Yu Zhi Cheng, you’d need centuries of cultivation; anything less was out of the question.

“What the hell is this wind?” the martial arts masters and esoteric practitioners grumbled. They had made it this far, only to be tossed around by a gale, with some still soaring through the sky.

“I don’t believe it,” one veteran martial artist snorted, surging with inner energy as his robes billowed. Like a stubborn fool, he charged ahead with all his might.

The next second, he was sent flying back by the hurricane, vanishing into the distance under everyone’s watchful eyes.

Despite that, a few refused to give up, but another gust swept them away, and they all believed it then.

The wind was too strong to defy.

“Listen—is that a battle in the city?” Many gathered together, perking up their ears. The sounds of metal clashing echoed nonstop from Gui Yu Zhi Cheng, and the commotion was intense.

“Are there living people in Gui Yu Zhi Cheng?” Everyone exchanged puzzled glances.

While they scratched their heads, Ye Chen was rampaging inside the city, his sword cutting down swaths of enemies. Gods would be slain if they blocked him, Buddhas destroyed if they stood in his way. He forged ahead with the Wan Jian Chao Zong technique, leaving nothing but ashes in his wake.

In no more than a moment, nearly ten thousand evil spirit soldiers were reduced to dust.

Ye Chen was enveloped in murderous aura, gripping his blood-stained Zhu Xian Jian as he climbed the stone platform steps one by one. With each step, the stone coffin trembled, as if in anger or fear—a fear that came from the soul.

Because from Ye Chen, it sensed an aura of imperial killing intent, belonging to the Tian Mo Emperor. In other words, this mortal had once slaughtered emperors of the Tian Mo domain.

Boom!

With a thunderous explosion, the stone coffin shattered, and Tian Mo leaped out. Clad in black armor with blood-red hair flying, his crimson eyes were threaded with blood vessels, making them gleam with malice.

Ye Chen remained composed, his eyes as still as an ancient well. At a glance, he saw through Tian Mo’s secrets. He wasn’t a pure Tian Mo but a drop of ancient Tian Mo blood carrying a fragment of a soul. Through the eons, it had reformed into human shape.

Unfortunately, in this realm of the myriad heavens, he was inherently suppressed, lacking any source to fuel his demonic power. What’s more, on this mundane ancient star, he had devolved into a half-human, half-cultivator state—one foot in the mortal world, one in cultivation.

In this regard, he was even inferior to Yin Yue Huang Fei. That’s why he didn’t dare raid the old tomb for the Yuan Jing or challenge Yin Yue Huang Fei directly—his chances of winning were less than forty percent.

“You’re still just a mortal,” Tian Mo sneered.

“I’ve slain emperors before—mortal or not, I’ll destroy you all the same,” Ye Chen replied coolly.

“Die!” Tian Mo roared, shattering the stone platform with a step and slapping a dark palm toward Ye Chen. The demonic wind it unleashed was icy and bone-chilling.