Chapter 84: The Vengeful Spirit Bewitches Minds to Kill, and the Daoist Robe and Black Gown Present the Demonic Blade

At this moment, Han Moyi was utterly disillusioned with the people of Sanqi Town. Even with such a raging fire, not a single soul had come out to take a look, just as yesterday when bandits slaughtered innocents at the Han residence—they remained aloof, indifferent, as if it were none of their concern.

“I speak of those innocent souls, pitifully wronged, whose bodies were burned—so pitiable, so tragic. Not even a whole corpse remains; perhaps they’ll never be reborn,” the man in Daoist robes and black tunic sighed, his brows furrowed as he spoke.

No sooner had the Daoist man finished speaking than Han Moyi felt a chill grip him; gusts of eerie wind swirled around him. He was not far from a sea of flames—this was unnatural.

Sure enough, as Han Moyi looked toward the inferno consuming the Han residence, he saw that the fire, once a deep crimson, had turned a ghastly green, sinister and terrifying. The moment he gazed upon it, a chorus of chilling voices echoed in his ears.

“Han Moyi, Han Moyi, return my life, return my life!” The voices were spectral, not from a single person, but a cacophony—more like a legion of vengeful ghosts shrieking for retribution at his side.

“Who is it? Who’s speaking? Who are you?” Han Moyi clutched his ears, but the dreadful voices seemed to leap straight from within his mind, impossible to block.

“Return my life, return my life, Han Moyi, Han Moyi!” The countless voices of wronged souls reverberated ceaselessly in his ears. Han Moyi, anguished, crouched to the ground, his brows knitted tightly, his face streaming with tears as he muttered, “No, no, it wasn’t me—it was the bandits, the bandits killed you!”

“It was you, Han Moyi, all because of you! If you hadn’t married, how could the bandits have come? Give back our lives!” This time, the voices of the wronged souls drew ever closer.

Han Moyi suddenly opened his eyes wide, and at last he understood the origin of that ghastly green glow in the sea of fire—it was the vengeful ghosts of the Han residence, struggling amidst the flames. Their eyes radiated a fierce green light, casting the fire itself into an eerie hue.

Those ghosts seemed to sense that Han Moyi could see them, and each one, claws bared, charged toward him. Just then, two small, slender specters stood between Han Moyi and the vengeful spirits.

Han Moyi looked up at those two ghostly figures, and tears he could no longer control poured from his eyes as he cried out, “Father! Mother! Don’t!”

Those who stood before the horde of vengeful spirits were none other than Han Kongnian and Mu Yuan, now themselves reduced to ghosts. Their slight forms seemed frail before the raging spirits, yet their stance was unwavering.

Without hesitation, the horde surged forward. Han Moyi hadn’t time to warn Han Kongnian and Mu Yuan to step aside before the vengeful spirits crashed into them, and in an instant, Han Kongnian and Mu Yuan’s souls were battered into faint shadows.

Soon, Han Kongnian and Mu Yuan’s souls began to dissipate. They turned back for a final glance at Han Moyi; Mu Yuan gave a bitter smile, Han Kongnian’s lips moved, uttering two words. Then the horde of vengeful spirits scattered their souls completely, and their faint shadows dissolved into countless points of green light, falling beside Han Moyi—vanishing utterly.

Han Moyi threw back his head and howled, “Father, Mother!” At first, two streams of tears flowed from his eyes, but soon they were replaced by bloody, muddy tears. In the end, Han Moyi finally understood the two words Han Kongnian had mouthed before his soul dispersed.

“Live.”

With Han Kongnian and Mu Yuan gone, nothing restrained the horde of vengeful spirits, who rushed forward without mercy.

“Enough!” A crimson figure blocked Han Moyi’s path—in truth, a red-clad ghost, for it was Fang Wanru in her bridal robe and phoenix coronet.

“The demon bride?” For the first time, a trace of surprise appeared on the Daoist man’s calm face, but it quickly faded back to serenity.

The vengeful spirits eyed Fang Wanru warily, speaking with venom, “Don’t you hate him? Don’t forget, when the demon blade immortal nearly disgraced you, he watched from the rafters!”

A momentary pain flickered across Fang Wanru’s face, but soon her expression was cold as ice. “I said, enough. You are not allowed to harm him.”

Seeing Fang Wanru’s anger, the vengeful spirits began to drift toward the houses of Sanqi Town, and soon, horrific screams echoed from within.

Han Moyi said nothing, Fang Wanru made no move to stop them, and the Daoist man looked on calmly as Sanqi Town descended into hell.

“Wanru, I—” Han Moyi gazed at Fang Wanru, now separated from him by the chasm between the living and the dead, pain etched deep upon his face. He had barely spoken when Fang Wanru interrupted him.

“Enough. Let us end things here.” Having spoken, Fang Wanru turned to the Daoist man. “I know you are a man of great power. I wish to sever the bonds of this life. Will you send me to rebirth?”

The Daoist man regarded the demon bride before him and nodded calmly.

“Dust to dust, earth to earth; the road to the Netherworld opens!” The Daoist man cast a jade talisman from his hand, the very charm that opened the path to the underworld.

A portal appeared, tall enough for two people, revealing a world shrouded in gray mist.

“Go,” said the Daoist man, his voice calm as he glanced at Fang Wanru.

Without hesitation, Fang Wanru stepped inside. As the portal to the underworld was about to close, Han Moyi shouted after her, “I’m sorry!”

Fang Wanru’s body paused for a moment, but she did not stop or look back as she walked through.

Han Moyi collapsed to the ground as though dead, his ears filled with the fiendish laughter of the vengeful ghosts and the screams of the people of Sanqi Town. Han Moyi felt no pity for them.

At midnight, Sanqi Town had become a realm of hell; not a single living soul remained, only countless ghosts drifting about, who ultimately gathered near Han Moyi.

“That dead woman from the Fang family is gone; Han Moyi, your time has come.” A vengeful ghost spoke, and countless others cackled wickedly, closing in with nothing left to stop them.

The blood moon in the sky was obscured by clouds, and Han Moyi felt engulfed in utter darkness. Beyond the shrieking of the ghosts, he could hear nothing.

“Han Moyi, you must live.” Suddenly, the Daoist man approached Han Moyi and spoke, handing him a strange, pitch-black blade.

Han Moyi looked at the blade in the man’s hand—it was uncanny and bizarre.