Chapter 662: Dreaming Back to Mianzhou

Chapter 662: Dreaming Back to Mianzhou

In the Huagu region, Yuezhou Prefecture.

Within the burning valve tower, a human head erupted, crimson fragments scattering, the acrid air thickening with a sharp stench of blood.

“This is the last one.”

The flickering flames illuminated Yang Bai Ze’s face, his features etched with profound weariness as he slowly exhaled the suffocating breath trapped in his chest.

Now, within the entire southern Jizhou region, every loyalist hardliner still clinging to the Shun Quan Hui had been purged without exception.

Yang Bai Ze, the one overseeing the operation, had not closed his eyes in days, roaming the land with the merchants’ legal code, leaving behind a trail of corpses strewn like grain fields wherever he went.

Yet, fortunately, the sudden defection of Shang Qing had thrown the Shun Quan Hui into chaos. Added to this, the formidable intervention of Li Jun had led to the slaughter of the Shun Quan Hui’s upper echelon, leaving the organization’s ranks in disarray. In self-preservation, countless aristocratic families quietly purged their own members affiliated with the group, sparing Yang Bai Ze considerable effort.

Still, the most critical factor was the abandonment by the Shun Quan Hui’s hidden backers. Without their support, a vast force rooted deep within the Confucian Order could never have vanished so utterly in such a short span.

Even now, Yang Bai Ze remained certain that remnants of the Shun Quan Hui lingered among these aristocrats, waiting for Shang Qing to raise his hand—then, like a spark in dry tinder, it would flare anew.

Still, regardless, the once-prominent faction that had dared challenge the New Donglin Party’s dominance within the Confucian Order had become a relic of the past. As for whether it might rise again, Yang Bai Ze felt no concern.

For in his view, the one with the power to revive the Shun Quan Hui—Shang Qing—had almost no chance of survival.

Even without Li Jun, Mount Longhu would not easily let him escape before draining the last scraps of value from his body.

“To survive in a desperate situation, a death-place is the best. How many in history have achieved such a feat?”

Yang Bai Ze nodded toward the merchant coalition standing beside the corpses in the distance, brushed off the ash drifting onto his shoulder, and scattered his lingering thoughts.

“We cannot rest yet. The Master’s forces have just encountered an ambush; more actions surely follow. This battle has officially begun.”

In his contemplation, a chill crept up his spine. Instinctively, he glanced back—only to see the shattered doorway outside the valve tower, where an unnaturally heavy snowfall had begun, the biting cold of midwinter spreading relentlessly.

The street lamps along the avenue flickered, their shadows frozen on the road like living things, writhing and shifting.

One by one, figures rose from the gloom. Some whole, others maimed, their limbs twisted into grotesque shapes.

Yet all bore the face Yang Bai Ze knew intimately.

They were all members of the Shun Quan Hui, dead by his own hands!

The stench of burning wood and fresh blood vanished, replaced by a pervasive, unshakable odor of decay, seeping from the bodies of these things—neither wholly alive nor dead.

Beyond the pungent stench, mournful wails and the rattling of bones echoed, conjuring a scene of ghostly horror.

Amidst the gathering spirits stood a robed shaman, his head adorned with a golden mask.

Yang Bai Ze saw clearly—the shadows spawning the ghosts originated from beneath the shaman’s feet, countless phantom arms stretching from his hem.

“Hmm?”

The odd sensation beneath his feet made Yang Bai Ze glance down. The ground where he stood was carpeted with splinters of meat and bone. With each step, thick red tendrils clung to his soles.

“They really did construct it like this,” Yang Bai Ze chuckled, his legs suddenly emitting a rolling sound.

A human head passed between his legs, face-up, eyes wide with malevolence, blood trickling from ruptured corners.

“My life! My life!”

A piercing scream tore through the air, wind whipping past.

Yang Bai Ze jerked his head back—a pallid, paper-thin face had crashed into his own. The resurrected “Xu Hai Chao,” like a beast, opened his maw and lunged for Yang Bai Ze’s throat!

*Thwack!*

Sharp teeth sank into his palm, fingers gripping his face.

The merchant coalition member Shang Lu, standing beside Yang Bai Ze, hoisted “Xu Hai Chao” with one hand.

“It’s from the Imperial Palace. Be careful—don’t let this vermin find a weakness and steal your heart.”

Shang Lu’s stern voice echoed as he flicked his wrist, sending the corpse flying.

“Xu Hai Chao” crashed to the ground, his spine splintering, yet his body writhed like a serpent, eyes fixed on Yang Bai Ze, white teeth chattering in a grimace of rage.

“Stay here. I’ll dismantle this dream first,” Yang Bai Ze said, receiving a dense, scale-like object from Shang Lu’s hand.

Suddenly, his mind brimmed with inexplicable thoughts—rules, legal codes, fragments of documents—all bearing his name in crimson ink, accompanied by the characters “Not Guilty.”

Before Yang Bai Ze could process this, a sharp metallic ring rang out.

*Clang!*

Shang Lu’s hand now held a black-scaled legal tablet, its blade-like form gleaming like a long, razor-edged sword.

It wasn’t a mistake—he felt Shang Lu’s authority in this dream realm far stronger than in the mortal world.

“A dream of the yellow plum is no forbidden zone!”

An idea struck him. In his vision, a shadow flickered—Shang Lu had already leaped beyond the tower’s ruins.

*Thwack!*

The blade sliced through “Xu Hai Chao’s” face like a hot knife through oil, cleaving his body vertically.

Shang Lu’s feet pattered, his arm arced, the legal tablet unleashing a black arc of light. The ghosts before him were not struck by the beam, but their bodies froze mid-leap, black flames erupting from their mouths and nostrils, burning them to ash in moments.

The lingering smoke coiled upward, forming the unmistakable characters: “Traitorous Party Crime.”

Offenses: dereliction of duty, slothful governance, unlawful killing, corruption, and rebellion.

Fifteen legal codes of civil service, eighteen penal statutes.

Like a judge descending from the underworld, Shang Lu sentenced the countless wicked spirits with the law, meting out justice without flaw or omission.

Wherever the legal tablet passed, the Shun Quan Hui members fell, their screams silenced, consumed by the flames of justice.

Yet oddly, as the ghosts around him dissipated, the golden-masked shaman remained unmoving.

Only the snowflakes drifting through the narrow gap between the collapsing buildings grew larger, denser.

“Unauthorized intrusion into a ruler’s dream—this crime one.”

“Fabricating a demonic illusion—this crime two.”

“Desecrating the dead’s rest—this crime three.”

“Violating the yellow plum dream—this crime equals the mortal realm! Seize him!”

Shang Lu roared, raising his legal tablet high, striking Zhao Yin beneath the ribs.

*Clang!*

A thunderous sound drowned out the echoing proclamations of crimes and sentences.

The scene of death and dream dissolution never appeared before Yang Bai Ze’s eyes. Standing at a distance, his brow furrowed, his gaze fixed on Shang Lu, now motionless.

“The Great Ming Code hasn’t been mentioned in centuries,” Zhao’s voice sneered beneath the mask. “Tell me, in this dream and beyond, where lies law? Where lies order?”

“There is.”

The sealing of the clenched teeth within the tight embrace of the clenched jaw cast a cold visage, steadfast as the merciless march of winter encroaching, while the avalanche of snow swelled around, swallowing the once-vibrant urban tapestry into obscurity, leaving only echoes of past lives and forgotten faces to linger in the hollow silence.

A black-red bolt of lightning lanced down from the heavens, yet it was eerily silent.

A 'plop' sound.

A decrepit corpse was flung onto Yang Bai Ze's feet, nearly sinking into the rotting features of the skull, with several shards of glowing gold embedded within.

"I held back my strength to leave him a whole corpse. You don't want to step on him to vent your anger?"

Yang Bai Ze wiped the sweat from his face, raised his head to look at the man who stood with arms crossed, and smiled slyly.

"Come on!"