Chapter Seventy-Five: Return

"That's the twenty-first one."

"I can't go on. I have to return right away."

This was the twenty-first ghost soul Yuan Wuji had devoured. Among them, the most numerous were the headless ghosts and gluttonous spirits, and Yuan Wuji had consumed many of each. Now, his mind was beginning to slip into chaos.

He dared not devour any more. He had to return to his own body, or else his spirit would become unstable, and he might never find his way back to the mortal world.

Having consumed so many ghost souls, Yuan Wuji was shrouded in a thick miasma of ghostly energy. Because of this, his passage among the spirits was unimpeded.

But once he burst back into the mortal realm, that ghostly aura would become a dangerous thing.

"Where is this?"

It was clearly not the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit. Yuan Wuji had no idea where he was, but judging by the scene, it looked like a small village.

"That place has the most people—and there's ghostly energy as well. I'll have a look," Yuan Wuji thought, flying off due east.

A large crowd appeared before him.

"Master Daoist, quickly kill this ghostly mother and daughter, lest they bring harm to others!"

"Yes, Master! Hurry, don't let them escape!"

A few aged men and women in the crowd chattered incessantly at a Daoist priest.

"An old Daoist with a few years of cultivation, and a female ghost."

Other than the somewhat accomplished Daoist, what truly drew Yuan Wuji's attention was the small bottle in the woman's hands.

Having devoured so many ghost souls in the underworld, Yuan Wuji's sensitivity to ghostly energy was now exceptional.

"Master Daoist, I beg you, spare my daughter! I implore you!" The woman clutching the bottle knelt in the center of the crowd, kowtowing repeatedly toward the Daoist.

"Your daughter was such a sweet child while alive—who could have guessed she'd harm people after death? Daoist, quickly deal with her!"

"Rest assured. For payment received, disaster relieved. Pull that woman aside—I’ll deal with the ghost within the bottle," the Daoist commanded, pointing to the vessel in the woman's hands.

"Everyone, drag Widow Li away and let the Daoist handle that menace."

Several burly men stepped from the crowd and, with little effort, hauled Widow Li away, leaving only the bottle in the center.

As the villagers shouted, the Daoist drew a peachwood sword from his back, seeming truly intent on destroying whatever haunted the bottle.

"Abomination, meet your end." The peachwood sword, aged and charged with the Daoist's power, appeared quite formidable.

The little bottle shattered under the blade, and a young, innocent-looking girl spirit flew out. Without the bottle's protection, the child was left bewildered and defenseless, cowering on the ground, her pitiful appearance tugging at the heart.

The sight touched a chord in Yuan Wuji. He needed someone to show him the way—why not use this Daoist for answers?

With a crash, the Daoist's confident strike seemed to hit stone, and his trusty peachwood sword cracked.

"Master, what's happening?" a few elders in the crowd asked anxiously, seeing the Daoist's sword rebound.

"This fiend has some tricks. But rest assured, I have other methods," the Daoist replied, though his voice betrayed some uncertainty. Still, he put on a show of confidence. Only by proving his power before the villagers could he secure future business.

He sheathed his sword and drew a golden mirror from his robes.

"A low-grade postnatal spiritual treasure?"

For a mere itinerant Daoist to possess such a treasure was rare indeed. No wonder he dared "take jobs" like this.

The child ghost, still cowering, was so weak in spirit that even the earlier peachwood sword would have destroyed her—if not for Yuan Wuji, who had shielded her. Now, he had no choice but to reveal himself.

A vast wave of ghostly energy descended upon the crowd. Every mortal present shuddered involuntarily, except for the little ghost girl, who seemed almost comforted.

"Not good! Another ghostly being!" cried the Daoist in alarm.

Having consumed so many souls in the underworld, Yuan Wuji's aura now rivaled that of a ghost king. The Daoist, though experienced, had never seen such dense, fearsome energy.

"You'd best clear out of my sight," Yuan Wuji declared, black mist swirling around him like a fog conjured from thin air. The oppressive presence struck terror into every heart present.

"M—Master Daoist, what… what is that?" Not just the elders, but even the brash young men trembled in fear.

"We may have stumbled upon something far beyond us," the Daoist muttered, clutching his mirror tightly, the only thing giving him a shred of comfort.

In his experience, the stranger the being, the less likely one was to survive the encounter. Now, all hope rested on his precious mirror.

"Fiend, taste my power!"

The Daoist gathered all his spiritual strength and unleashed it through the mirror at the black mist above.

Yet the attack, seemingly mighty, melted into the dark fog like a lamb before a tiger.

To the Daoist's horror, his full-force strike became mere nourishment for the ghostly miasma.

He had set out merely to exorcise a female ghost, but now he'd provoked something far beyond his reckoning. Whether he could even save his own life was in question, let alone deal with the ghost girl on the ground.

"If you don't leave now, none of you will."

"Do you mean… we may go?" a middle-aged man asked, voice trembling.

They didn't know what the black mist was, but common folk were no fools. They knew when to provoke and when to placate. The mist seemed willing to spare them, and they weren't about to waste the chance.

"Go, before I change my mind."

Yuan Wuji's tone grew impatient. The crowd scattered in a frenzy, fleeing for their lives.

The Daoist, hearing this, also tried to leave. But before he could move, a chill of murderous intent froze him in place, making escape impossible.

Soon, only two people and one ghost remained in the clearing.

"Great Immortal, I beg you, spare my daughter," the woman pleaded, kneeling at Yuan Wuji's feet, imploring him again and again.

Yuan Wuji glanced at the little girl ghost. So young—what had brought her to such a fate? Surely there was a story behind it.

"How will you care for your daughter, then?" Yuan Wuji found himself asking, unsure why he was concerned for these strangers.

"My poor child… all I can do is take things one step at a time. I truly don't know what else to do," the woman replied, wiping tears from her face, reaching out as if to embrace her daughter—but her arms passed through empty air.

"Thank you, Great Immortal, for saving me," the little girl said, kowtowing three times to Yuan Wuji, eager to leave with her mother.

The shattered bottle had been a family heirloom, imbued with spiritual energy. It had sheltered the girl's soul, allowing her to endure until now. With it broken, it would not be long before she faded from existence, bereft of nourishment from the living world.