Demon Sword Sect’s Undercover
Chapter 434 - 434 433 Shanyin Ghost Festival 4

434: Chapter 433 Shanyin Ghost Festival 4 434: Chapter 433 Shanyin Ghost Festival 4 Hou Niao was very satisfied.

Being able to help someone in need wasn’t just about helping him find his wife, but also about providing this young Cultivator with a channel to ascend.

Hatred could exist, but if one let hatred cloud the mind, the loss would outweigh the gain.

He was not one to forgive easily, but he kept his rage under the control of the legal system, able to exercise it freely.

The law was not something to be followed blindly, but to be understood.

He found himself increasingly inclined to this belief and wondered if it was good or bad.

He suddenly realized that his promise to Chong Ling to deliberately become demonized in order to create a division within the Shan Sect Quanzhen was, in fact, unnecessary.

He was born with this potential and used his promise to Chong Ling as an excuse.

This unexpected event made him realize that his perseverance was meaningful.

In this space where Yin and Yang intersect, all sorts of bizarre incidents occurred.

When most Soul Ghosts and human Cultivators left, certain things began to emerge.

He encountered human Cultivators who secretly entered and attacked the Ghost Messengers just to obtain some form of pure Netherworld power; likewise, he saw Ghost Messengers besieging intruding human Cultivators, all for a whiff of the Pure Yang Qi that made ghostly souls drool.

Mutual needs, mutual prey…

These were just small-scale, occasional conflicts, considered minor ripples during the Shanyin Ghost Festival.

Both parties were beings of Cultivation, and Hou Niao chose to turn a blind eye to their skirmishes.

He also discovered that he was not the only Cultivator who wasn’t in a rush to reach the main venue of the Ghost Festival.

There was another Daoist with an unclear lineage, wearing a mask and riding a particularly flashy Bone Dragon, wandering around the outskirts of the wilderness just like him, doing similar things.

Essentially, there were no fixed rules nor inherent hierarchy in how one participated in the Shanyin Ghost Festival; attending the main venue had its reasoning since it had far more souls, in the tens of millions, and naturally more potential trouble.

It was simply a different representation of personal philosophy among Cultivators.

The path was boundless, each treading their own.

With the last three days remaining, the sky rang with increasingly urgent ghostly wails.

To a Cultivator like him, they were merely a noisy disturbance, but for the wayward souls, the wails held different significances.

They started to desperately head back, no longer daring to linger in their old haunts.

In one area, this urgency led to chaos.

The unique arrangement of several mountains cleverly created an echo chamber effect; the ghostly wails surged and spiraled between the mountains.

The more urgent the wails, the more difficult it was to discern their origin.

Accidents always happened, and places like this along the Yin Yang Border were not uncommon, though most souls managed to find their way out.

Only this place, with a terrain that seemed divinely conceived, naturally formed something akin to an echoing array.

Apart from urging them on, the wails also provided direction.

They were not obstacles for Cultivators, but for the ordinary souls in states of panic, sadness, and helplessness, they were unable to discern the correct way.

Like a swarm of headless flies.

Hou Niao noticed this situation immediately and began to guide the souls on horseback.

At the same time, the masked Daoist who rode the Bone Dragon also took action.

The two began to cooperate and divide the labor, guiding the lost souls within this hundred-mile range surrounded by mountains.

For a time, the howling of swords and the roaring of dragons resounded through the sky, gradually drowning out the wails of ghosts.

Tens of thousands of lost souls were gathered and merged; then, guided by the dragon’s roar and ordered by the sword’s call, they began to drift in a fixed direction.

Although I didn’t know what would happen to these souls if they missed the Grand Assembly of the Ghost Festival, it surely wasn’t anything good.

Under the tacit guidance of the two, tens of thousands of lost souls drifted out of the mountain valley.

To prevent further strays, the two escorted them all the way; the lost souls cooperated as well, forming a mighty procession, like an army of the dead, an impressive sight.

Not two days had passed as we escorted these souls back to the venue to participate in the final ceremony; it was flawless.

This year’s Shanyin Ghost Festival, I didn’t see many Ghost Messengers or specters, nor did I make any Cultivator friends, but emotionally, I felt it was meaningful, much better than being a stick in the mud at the Ghost Festival venue.

………

Two days’ journey from our procession of souls hurrying on its way, on a boundless wasteland, where the dark masses of souls were stirring.

Viewed from above, it seemed like a layer of gray waves, covering the field, dense and endless.

In the center, a giant black altar was packed with hundreds of Ghost Messengers.

If it were an army, standing in disciplined silence, the scene would have been stark and solemn.

However, the problem was that Soul Ghosts could not stand still.

Without a definitive shape, their forms were swayed by the wind; coupled with the ancient-style robes and tall hats they wore to signify their status, they appeared to be in strong motion, even though they were not moving.

A group of Daoists stood on a mound, watching from afar.

Here were Cultivators from the Daoist Sect traditions of Jinxiu Continent, one from each sect, amounting to dozens of individuals.

Due to their limited Realms, although they could not represent their respective Daoist lineages, their collective presence here was in itself a statement of their dominion over the living.

Other Cultivators, from the Buddhist Sect, Demon Sect, and various others, did not cluster like them but scattered in twos and threes, watching the performance of the Underworld Ghost Messengers with indifference, thinking that it was finally coming to an end, truly dull.

“A dance of myriad ghosts, wandering lost souls…

I’ll tell you the truth.

I really want to throw a Big Flame Skill in there; that would truly set the mood.”

A Daoist frowned as he watched.

His name was Gao Yunqi, a Daoist from the Qi Sect, which was also one of the most renowned and powerful Daoist Sects of the Jinxiu Continent, with a hidden but significant influence.

It wasn’t just him, in fact; every Cultivator here found the aesthetic of the Underworld unacceptable, enduring days that felt like years, a long dreariness.

“Born in the Mortal World, we part ways; dying and returning to the Underworld, what harm is there?

Mortal World and Underworld revel in their likeness; consider it a drift in a foreign land.

These shadowy ghosts, take the Underworld too seriously, like it’s a career.

It’s quite laughable.”

That was Yang Yanzheng, a Cultivator from the Wu Sect, which was also a top Daoist Sect of Jinxiu Continent.

Hence, the order in which one speaks and responds is quite crucial within the Daoist community.

Generally, the sequence of their discourse could quite accurately distinguish the relative strength of the Sects they represented, fairly unerring.

On the dusky altar, hundreds of Ghost Messengers vibrated in unison, like wind-swept ripples of wheat, singing out loud,

…

Heaven and the Underworld, with good and evil born from the heart, grappling with the confusion of life and death.

Forsake homebound ties, forget and surrender to fate.

Living humbly in simplicity, let the clouds and waters carry me where they may.

Holding firm to my resolve, to endure as long as heaven and earth, endlessly extending.

As old karmas near complete dissolution, I am resolute in my quest for the profound wisdom of sages…