Chapter Sixty-Five: The Soul of the Demon-Slaying Sword Strikes the Prison Wraith

Reminded by the leader of the Underworld Hounds and Horses, Wei Xiaoping suddenly recalled that, when he was still among the living, there was a divine sword on his back—a weapon granted to him by a great deity in a childhood dream.

He was about six years old then, and he and his younger brother, Wei Xiaofan, had just completed a year of martial and immortal arts training with Master Xuan Zhe. One night, after a day of intense study and an evening of extra cultivation, they were so exhausted that they fell into a deep sleep, each in their own bed.

That night, both brothers shared a dream.

In the dream, they were sitting cross-legged on their respective beds, channeling their energy as Master Xuan Zhe had taught them earlier that day—practicing the first step of the Nine Heavens Divine Iron Body: Expel the Impure and Inhale the Pure. This foundational technique involved expelling all the turbid air from one’s body and drawing in the pure, pristine essence of heaven and earth, ensuring the body’s vital energy was perfectly clean. It was the most crucial step in cultivating the Nine Heavens Divine Iron Body.

The brothers had just completed a cycle of energy circulation and were preparing to rest when Wei Xiaoping suddenly felt an intense, tingling pain on his right index finger. He saw a worm-like, faintly glowing blue thread flicker on his finger, crawl over the back of his hand, then up his arm, across his shoulder, and finally settle on his back, throbbing painfully.

As Wei Xiaoping was about to call his brother to check his back, a radiant sword of seven colors suddenly materialized above him, radiating dazzling, multicolored light in all directions. The sword hovered overhead for half a minute, then spun tip-upward and circled the brothers eight times before flying straight into Wei Xiaoping’s back and vanishing. At that moment, Wei Xiaoping felt a violent tremor in his back, followed by a sensation as if something hard was affixed there.

He reached back, eager to touch that hard spot and see what it was.

Meanwhile, on the other bed, Wei Xiaofan was experiencing something similar—he felt a pain in his right palm, and a glowing blue line shaped like a bow appeared, crawling up from the back of his hand to his arm, then to his back, where it stopped and vibrated as well.

The brothers, puzzled, each reached behind to touch the vibrating spot. As soon as their fingers made contact, their backs burst forth with a radiant sword and a shining bow, both formed of multicolored light, materializing from thin air before them.

Startled, they awoke from the dream and recounted the experience to each other, reaching back to feel their own backs. Indeed, each found a raised, flesh-like mark—a sword on one, a bow on the other.

When they pressed these marks, the same spectral sword and bow emerged, floating before them. Amazed and bewildered, they reached out and, to their astonishment, could grasp the glowing weapons as if they were real.

The next morning, the brothers sought out Master Xuan Zhe.

After hearing their story, Master Xuan Zhe had them touch their backs, and as they did, the radiant sword and bow appeared as described. Examining them, he saw the ancient characters “Demon-Slaying Sword” etched on the blade and “Immortal-Execution Bow” on the bow’s body. It was only then he realized these were extraordinary divine weapons, but no immortal he knew possessed such artifacts. After much pondering, he could not fathom what deity had bestowed these treasures upon his disciples.

Recognizing the power of these weapons, Master Xuan Zhe led the brothers to a secluded mountain spot to test them. He instructed Wei Xiaoping to strike a boulder with the sword and bow. As the sword swung, it hadn’t even touched the rock before the stone shattered with a thunderous crack, fragments scattering everywhere. As for the bow, Master Xuan Zhe drew it and, though there was no arrow, a luminous arrow shot forth, smashing the boulder to powder.

From that day on, the brothers understood that the weapons from their dream were special divine artifacts of immense power. Whenever evil forces threatened, they relied on these weapons for certain victory.

Thinking of this, Wei Xiaoping reached back for the sword. Yet, he forgot his current form was but a soul—he could not feel the sword’s mark on his corporeal back. Nevertheless, though the mark was intangible, the sword’s spirit remained. As his soul-hand touched the spot, the sword’s spirit responded, emerging before him in a faint blue glow—not the full spectrum seen in the living world.

Wei Xiaoping grasped the Demon-Slaying Sword, leapt from the back of the Underworld Hound leader, and hovered two or three meters above the Black River Prison. Addressing the drifting prison wraiths, he declared:

“Listen well, spirits of the prison! I am a new soul from the living world. My mortal body has not yet perished, my lifespan is not yet spent, and even now it is being revived. For my soul to return to my body and complete my resurrection, I must hurry. Now as I pass through the Black River Prison, I beg you, open a path and do not delay me. Should any spirit obstruct my way, I will show no mercy!”

The Underworld Hound leader and Niu Dahua saw the blue spectral sword in Wei Xiaoping’s hand, recognizing it as the spirit of a powerful divine weapon.

“Wei General, you should have drawn that sword long ago!” called the hound leader. “There’s no point talking to these ghosts—they will never listen to us!”

Niu Dahua added, “These ghosts are all condemned by King Yan to remain here eternally. Despairing of ever leaving, they try to seize every passing soul, hoping to escape with them. Words are useless, Wei General—only force will clear our path!”

“Indeed,” the hound leader urged. “Draw your sword and carve a way out so we can leave Black River Prison at once!”

Just as they had said, the ghosts paid no heed to Wei Xiaoping’s pleas and continued to drift toward them, mindless as ever.

The hound leader and Niu Dahua charged ahead, scattering the advancing ghosts in every direction. Wei Xiaoping, swift as lightning, struck out with both feet, sending ghosts flying dozens of meters away, then leapt into the air and addressed the spirits once more:

“Spirits of the prison, I am a new soul from the living world. My mortal body has not yet perished and is now reviving. I must return. Please, open a path and let me pass—I will be eternally grateful!”

Some of the ghosts paused, as if understanding his words, but soon continued drifting toward him, doubt and disbelief in their hollow eyes.

Seeing their stubbornness, Wei Xiaoping raised the Demon-Slaying Sword, ready to strike. Yet he hesitated, knowing the sword’s power—whoever it struck, mortal or spirit, would be utterly annihilated, leaving not even a trace. Though these ghosts were condemned, their souls still existed; to destroy them completely seemed a cruel fate.

He tried once more: “Spirits of the prison, I am a new soul from the living world. My mortal body’s time is not yet over, and I must return. Please, open a path and do not force me to use the Demon-Slaying Sword, for none who are struck by it will remain, not even as ghosts!”

A voice rang from among the spirits: “Ha! Living each day in this sunless pit, fighting and killing, drifting endlessly in this bloody storm—we might as well be annihilated! All we ask is that you take us out of Black River Prison. Take as many as you can, we won’t complain! Just promise to help, and we’ll let you pass!”

Wei Xiaoping looked at the speaker—a tall, fearsome ghost with bulging, wild eyes. He replied, “King Yan condemned you to eternal prison for a reason. We cannot break the rules and take you with us. Do a good deed—let us pass, and we will remember your kindness!”

The ghost responded, “If you won’t take us, then we have no choice but to keep trying to capture you—however many we can grab, we will! We’ll follow you wherever you go!” With that, they surged forward.

Wei Xiaoping, sword in hand, saluted the ghosts. “Since you refuse to make way, I have no choice but to use force. Forgive me if you are harmed.”

With that, he leapt into the air, raised the Demon-Slaying Sword, and brought it down toward the approaching spirits.

Blades of blue light shot forth like lightning, extending dozens of meters. Wherever the sword-light struck, the ghosts wailed, their forms shredded like torn cloth, dispersing into the air, fading away like smoke in the wind.