Chapter 687: The Mountain Ghost Whispers

Chapter687: Whisper of the Mountain Ghost

Black tiles, yellow walls, pearls set in the eaves, black clouds and torrential rain, killing intent concealed.

"Interesting, what truth do you want to speak?"

Zou Sijiou surveyed Zhai Chong, chuckling lightly as he asked.

"Without my covert cooperation with the Mountain Ghost, Yin Wen, you would not have so easily seized the initiative in dream‑weaving, shaping this place into a world devoid of order, pure martial art, maximizing your advantage."

"I hold two‑tenths of the Yellow Millet authority; if we truly contend, you may not be a match."

Hearing Zou Sijiou's rebuttal, Zhai Chong remained unfazed, continuing calmly: "You also said it’s uncertain; the six dream‑lord rules are not necessarily inferior to your two‑tenths authority."

"I also possess four dream‑lord rules. Thus at best we are even; no one gains an advantage."

Zou Sijiou’s petty, nitpicking merchant demeanor made Zhai Chong’s expression darken slightly.

"If we are determined to fight you to the end, during this dream‑span none of your people will die unscathed, including the bright ghosts you dragged in."

"Not dying does not necessarily mean you showed mercy; perhaps you lacked the strength despite the will. Moreover, the two who fell under your command were hardly worth anything—mere Yellow Millet ghosts."

As he spoke, Shen Li stepped out from the hall’s eaves, strides into the downpour, heading straight for the rag‑tag loafers huddled in the plaza’s corner.

Zhao Yin, mingled among the crowd, wore a solemn expression, his fingers constantly rubbing the strange mask hanging at his waist.

Ao Hu and Meng Chong likewise walked side by side toward another spot, where those sheltering from the rain were ordinary incense‑burners and sightseers.

Had the fortune‑telling yin‑yang master been present, he would have noticed the lovely girl who had slipped his earlier divination standing among them.

Shentu watched the two sturdy men approach, a helpless, bitter smile crossing his face; he flicked his head, throwing off his topknot, and as his hair fell loose, his simple aura deepened into alluring charm, a gleam flashing from his right palm.

In an instant, amidst the rain’s patter, the clang of swords and spears rang out.

The damp air seethed with waves of killing intent.

"So many bright ghosts have entered—authority truly is a fine thing, though alas, my fortune, Yin Wen, has been poor all my life; I lack the qualification to lay claim to it."

Beneath a flourishing patch of peonies, the fortune‑teller crouched on the ground, using his livelihood sign as a makeshift umbrella over his head, gazing enviously at the distant black‑umbrella‑wielding, aura‑deep Zou Sijiou.

"Blessings harbor misfortune; could a lifetime of ill omen be a lifetime of good? The yin‑yang sequence is surely more than playing with dreams and people—strong vigor and fortified fate are the true path."

"Have you simply sold these two? Or is the Eastern Emperor’s Palace again staging some sacrificial rite, lest Zhan Shun suddenly appear before us any moment?"

Zou Sijiou laughed heartily, yet the wariness in his eyes did not diminish; if anything, it deepened.

"From the moment we entered the dream, my and Yin Wen’s memories have remained intact. Even if you inscribe the rule 【Heaven and Earth Share Longevity】 here, we still possess a means to kill you; there is no chance for you to await the guidance of the Ten‑Directions Bodhisattva and recover your memories."

Zhai Chong ignored the slaughter erupting beyond the eaves, as if, in his eyes, calculating who benefited in this dream mattered far more than the lives of Zhao Yin and Shentu.

"If you put it that way, indeed I have gained the advantage."

Contrary to Zhai Chong’s expectation, Zou Sijiou did not continue to obstinately retort; instead he frankly admitted.

"But there is one thing I cannot fathom: how do you preserve your memories? Is my dream‑crafting so feeble that you two true dream‑lords cannot even immerse yourselves?"

Zhai Chong fell silent for a moment, then said: "Yin Wen’s dream‑lord rule is called 【Myriad Dreams Hear the Wind】; one of its effects prevents him from becoming obsessed with any dream."

"This Zhai Chong, how foolishly he blurts out everything. If the talks fall through, he’ll find it troublesome to even try to flee."

The fortune‑teller muttered under his breath, then lifted his head just as Zou Sijiou’s gaze met his.

Their eyes locked; Yin Wen grinned, stuck out his rear, clasped his fists in a bow, offering a greeting to Zou Sijiou.

"So that’s it, yet hearing you say that leaves me even more puzzled—what do you mean? Do you wish to make me feel guilty, spare your lives, and let you leave the dream?"

Zou Sijiou turned his gaze back to Zhai Chong, smiling: "If I recall correctly, in Yongle Paradise you were the first to set a trap intending to ambush me; now what act are you performing?"

Zhai Chong spoke solemnly: "All that came before was merely feigned compliance; had circumstances not forced us, I and Yin Wen would never have involved ourselves in this muddy affair."

Yin Wen, crouched far off, seemed to hear their dialogue on the wind, nodding repeatedly, his face bitter, sighing deeply.

"Are you plotting to rebel against Zhan Shun?"

Zou Sijiou burst into laughter; he had dealt with the Eastern Emperor’s Palace many times, seen many pleas for surrender, but betraying it was a first for him.

Moreover, Zhai Chong and Yin Wen are no ordinary folk; aside from the 'God Lord' Zhan Shun, they are the only two true dream‑lords he knows among the Nine Lords of the Eastern Emperor.

Is Zhan Shun truly so despised, or is this yet another bitter‑sweet stratagem?

Zou Sijiou felt uncertain, asking: "If you wish to stay uninvolved, why not withdraw from the Eastern Emperor’s Palace earlier? The Yin Sea hides countless dreams, vast and boundless; even if Zhan Shun is the Second‑Derived Venerable of the Yin‑Yang Sequence, could he possibly comb through dream after dream to seize you?"

"The dream sea is boundless, but the waking world has borders. Zou Sijiou, you too are a dream‑lord; you should know that for us, the flesh is both a shackle that hinders wandering the dream sea and a lighthouse that guides us back to reality."

Zhai Chong’s tone grew bleak: "Escaping a dream is not difficult, but should we lose our bodies, we will inevitably lose ourselves in the Yellow Millet Yin Sea, scattered by countless dream identities, eventually becoming no different from the Yellow Millet ghosts."

What he said was true, yet to Zou Sijiou it seemed excessively extreme.

A third‑rank dream‑lord of the yin‑yang sequence could become utterly lost in the Yin Sea, undergoing who knows how many dreams, cycles of rebirth lasting untold time.

Moreover, even without our flesh, we could adopt the same tactic as the Yellow Millet ghosts—seizing the bodies of ordinary folk linked to the dream to return to the waking world, or, like Ao Hu, inhabit a special construct as a bright ghost.

Such a fate as Zhai Chong describes would not come to pass.

"I know what you wish to say, but do you think any faction in the Ink Sequence today would dare risk offending Zhan Shun to aid us? Or would you be willing to possess an ordinary person, watching helplessly as your rank‑seal genes re‑lock, decaying into despair and death?"

"Tragic, truly damned tragic."

Yin Wen squatted beneath the blossoms, lamenting himself; the banner above him bearing the words “Iron‑Mouthed Fate” in coarse cloth could not shield him from the torrent, his garments soaked through, his appearance wretched.

"At this moment in the Yin Sea, Yuan Mingfei occupies most of Zhan Shun’s attention, and with your authority‑crafted dream, we have temporarily stalled his scrutiny—thus we dare to take the risk."

"Otherwise, I and Yin Wen would rather fight you to the death, await the next chance, than rashly confront you."

One stood beneath the nearby eaves, the other in the distant rain; they echoed each other, sincere and heartfelt, appearing not as actors but as genuine.

"Since someone holds your lifeline, why do you still insist on rebelling? Do you truly hate Zhan Shun that much?"

Zou Sijiou pondered, then asked.

"How could we not hate? How could we not fear?"

Zhai Chong’s voice drifted wanly as he turned to watch the melee unfolding in the rain.

Zhao Yin had already donned the mask; the rabble before him proved no match for Shen Li, being cut down in a sweep of his blade.

Likewise, Shentu found herself in dire straits, surrounded by the fierce bright ghosts led by Ao Hu and Meng Chong, destined to be drowned in the crowd.

"What are the Nine Lords of the Eastern Emperor but a bunch of pretenders, monsters and fiends? Even clutching the dream‑lord rules, these Yellow Millet ghosts remain as stupid as swine."

Zhai Chong’s eyes burned with resentment: "Just imagine—someday the lord who poured his lifelong blood into drafting the dream‑lord rules might see them fall into the hands of these filthy things; I would gladly flay Zhan Shun’s skin and devour his flesh!"

Among the Nine Lords of the Eastern Emperor, most are Yellow Millet ghosts, taking turns wielding dream‑lord rules whose original owners are unknown.

This, Zou Sijiou had already perceived.

"The reason Yin Wen and I still live is merely that he has not yet cultivated a Yellow Millet ghost capable of inheriting our dream‑lord rules; but that day may not be far off."

Zhai Chong laughed bitterly: "In Zhan Shun’s eyes, we are nothing but breeding pigs for rules, the four beams and eight pillars of his dream‑world, the stepping stone by which he fuses completely with the Yellow Millet!" In the downpour, Shen Li cleaved Zhao Yin at the waist; his upper half crashed onto the rain‑slick ground, his shattered mask revealing a pair of wolf‑like, feral eyes locked on Zhai Chong.

*Pfft!*

Shentu’s arms were seized by Ao Hu and Meng Chong, torn away.

Her broken frame remained upright, her blood‑stained face retaining its allure; she gave Zhai Chong a faint smile.

"You cannot escape; not one of you will get away."

The scene was eerie, profoundly uncanny.

“In such a predicament, placed upon you, Zou Jiujiu, what would you do?”

Di Chong snapped his head toward Zou Jiujiu, his eyes threaded with bloodshot veins, and demanded harshly: “Surely you wouldn’t refuse to fight for a sliver of life for yourself?”

“If the world were just, who among the honorable would turn to villainy?”

Yin Wen heaved a weary sigh to the heavens, tossed aside the signboard in his hand, rose to his feet, and strode toward Zou Jiujiu.

“We know nothing of Zhan Shun’s origins or when he attained the rank of Yin-Yang Sequence Two; the only thing clear is that his dream-master rule is called the ‘Great Derivation Dream.’”

“The Great Derivation Dream?”

Zou Jiujiu’s brow furrowed suddenly.

Yin Wen nodded. “Exactly. It is the phrase ‘Great Derivation Dream’ chanted by Yin-Yang Sequences such as ourselves when invoking the incantation of Yellow Millet. Moreover, the so‑called ‘back door’ that now circulates among the Yin‑Yang Sequences is, for the most part, Zhan Shun’s handiwork.”

“The relationship between Zhan Shun and Yellow Millet is anything but simple, it seems.”

Zou Jiujiu sighed inwardly, though it was no surprise—given the other’s current rank, he was undoubtedly Yellow Millet’s own son.

Even if their bond were more complicated, it would amount to nothing more than some illicit liaison or twisted affection, not unlike the decadent frenzy once seen in the Wa region.

The most outrageous possibility is that beneath Zhan Shun’s human façade lies the very consciousness of Yellow Millet itself.

But whichever of these scenarios is true, it makes no difference to Zou Jiujiu.

It comes down to one road: you die, I live.

“Actually, Di Chong didn’t tell you the whole truth just now.”

Zou Jiujiu raised an eyebrow: “Huh?”

“He claimed we don’t flee because we’re reluctant to abandon our mortal flesh, unable to become ordinary folk. That’s a lie.”

The guise Yin Wen had fabricated for himself was that of a middle‑aged man with long brows and small eyes, frail and thin, his drenched clothes clinging to his frame, accentuating his gauntness.

He looked as if his flesh had been devoured, leaving nothing but an empty skeleton.

Yet his eyes shone with an uncanny brightness, a world apart from Di Chong’s despair on the brink of collapse.

“If we chose to abandon the mortal realm and hide in the nether seas, the outcome could only be worse.”

Yin Wen chuckled. “We aren’t deliberately concealing things; we simply don’t wish to appear too miserable, lest you take advantage. But upon reflection, we have nothing left but this life—what else could we lose?”

He stepped to Di Chong’s side and raised a hand to pat the shoulder of his fellow sufferer.

“We are now fish upon the chopping block, with no retreat and no room to bargain. All we ask is that Dream‑Master Zou, seeing that we share the same Yin‑Yang Sequence and have never been your enemies, extend us a helping hand.”

Yin Wen’s hand, resting on Di Chong’s shoulder, revealed bulging veins as he pressed down together and bowed deeply toward Zou Jiujiu.

What sort of temperament does Zou Jiujiu possess?

In Shen Qian’s view, he appears carefree and unrestrained, even a bit low‑born, yet inwardly his mind is as fine as a thread, ever‑holding warmth.

It is not some ostentatious “tiger‑heart, rose‑sniffing” affectation; rather, he has grown accustomed to the thinness of human affection, while his own heart remains unchanged.

Beneath the rain falling from the sky, Shen Qian washed the blood from his hands, lifted his chin, signaled Ao Hu and the others to keep their distance, and followed himself out of the Heavenly Empress Palace.

Throughout the process he did not utter another word to Zou Jiujiu, who stood lost in thought beneath the eaves.

Had Shen Qian been in their place, given his nature, he would have paid them no heed and simply slain them both in one breath.

But regardless of how Zou Jiujiu ultimately chooses, he will lend his full support.

Of course, the most crucial point is that Zou Jiujiu’s mind is the sharpest among our company.

If these two try to scheme against Zou Jiujiu, they’ll only dig their own pit and leap into it!

“Please, don’t do this—you’ll break me. To speak plainly, I’d love to right a wrong and draw my sword, but what sort of figure is Zhan Shun? I, Zou Jiujiu, have no power to snatch people from his grasp. If you won’t rise, I can only kowtow to you—here I come.”

Having reached the doorway, Shen Qian heard the clamor from beneath the eaves; his back to the crowd, his face broke into a faint smile.

Yin Wen rose to watch the uproar, while Zou Jiujiu remained motionless; the anxiety in his eyes ebbed considerably.

Since they did not flatly refuse, there remains hope for negotiation; whether it succeeds hinges on whether the terms we offer can sway them.

Conversely, if Zou Jiujiu outright agrees to help, Yin Wen might still feel uneasy, suspecting hidden motives.

“Dream‑Master Zou, you jest—we would never presume to take something for nothing. If you grant us this chance to survive, we will repay you with a spring’s gratitude; whether we live or die, we will not let your effort be in vain.”

Yin Wen bowed and scraped, his tone so respectful it bordered on servile; it did not ease Zou Jiujiu, but rather left him feeling a vague oppression in his chest.

We are all third‑rank Yin‑Yang Sequence Dream‑Masters, and Yin Wen and his companion attained their ranks far earlier than I; yet, for the sake of survival, they must now set aside all prestige and dignity.

Face and dignity are useless; Zou Jiujiu long ago discarded them entirely—being alive outweighs anything else.

Yet now, when others come to him in such supplication, he feels ill at ease throughout his body.

“We’ve laid it all out—no more beating around the bush. Since we can’t talk feelings, let’s talk business. If you can meet the price, I’ll summon the courage to tug a tiger’s tail!”

“Dream‑Master Zou, you are indeed forthright.”

As Yin Wen spoke, he raised his hand and slapped Di Chong on the back.

“My old friend’s dream‑master rule is called the ‘Derivation of Heaven’s Direction.’ The name may seem obscure, but its function is simple: it can help you write an additional dream‑master rule of your choosing—such as the spirit‑invocation gate you, Dream‑Master Zou, habitually employ.”

Yin Wen paused, then laid out the pros and cons in full detail.

“Of course, this is merely a substitute, and it is shared. Should Di Chong perish, the rule would naturally dissipate; until then, both you and he may use it.”

Yin Wen carefully watched the shifting expressions on Zou Jiujiu’s face, then continued to raise the stakes.

“As for my ‘Myriad Dreams Hear the Wind,’ besides keeping myself lucid, it can also detect certain concealed tactics others might employ.”

Yin Wen spoke softly: “You’d best seal away your ‘Eternal Suppression of Yellow Earth’ and ‘Eternal Night’s Sealed Legacy’ with authority first—anything Zhan Shun has touched is not to be trusted.”

The fiery ardor kindled in Zou Jiujiu’s heart by Di Chong’s ability was instantly doused to a bone‑chilling chill by those words.

Yet the thought that rose in his mind was not Zhan Shun’s cold scheming, but the deep foresight of another elder.

“Are we to suppose that Old Zhang foresaw all this profit long ago? Surely it can’t be that sinister.”