Li Lingrui moved the instant the trap revealed itself.
A sheet of black light slammed down across the cave mouth and unfolded into a lattice of iron bars, crisscrossed and humming with formation-force. By the time anyone reacted, Wang Zuoqi was already outside the entrance.
Standing safely beyond the barrier.
Li Lingrui’s eyes turned cold. “Wang Zuoqi. What is the meaning of this?”
Others shouted over him.
“You set us up?”
“Killing fellow disciples? The Demonic Sect won’t let this pass!”
Wang Zuoqi laughed.
“Won’t let it pass?” He spread his hands as if explaining common sense to children. “This is the third time. Third. Every run, we feed you human-ore to the Ye Po, mine out the spirit stones afterward, hand seventy percent to the people above, and split the remaining thirty ourselves.”
He grinned, teeth white in the darkness.
“As long as the stones arrive, who exactly is going to investigate a few missing nobodies?”
The screams behind them were getting worse.
A few stronger disciples roared and unleashed killing moves at the formation. Demonic flames, blood blades, beast shadows, all of it smashed into the black-iron bars.
The barrier did not even tremble.
Fairy Chenyin stood outside with Wang Zuoqi, smiling as warmly as ever. “Human-ore, don’t waste your strength. Senior Brother Wang paid a thousand spirit stones to hire a formation master for this Black-Iron Cage Formation.”
She tilted her head, almost playful.
“If you’re not at late Initiate, you’re not getting out anytime soon.”
“You beast!” one disciple screamed. “You hired a formation master just to rob us of spirit stones?! Wang Zuoqi, you dog!”
No one mocked that choice.
In the Demonic Sect, formation masters stood above most paths. Of the hundred arts of cultivation, the array path ranked near the top. A Ninth-Grade array master who could truly deploy formations could fight late Initiate cultivators head-on.
And right now, a few poor outer disciples were trapped inside one of his formations like livestock in a slaughter pen.
The first of them broke.
A Ye Po landed on a disciple’s head, old-woman face twitching, claws hooked into scalp and shoulders. It drank in one pull. Flesh shrank. Blood vanished. Skin collapsed.
Bone hit the ground.
More despair rippled through the cave.
At that moment, a translucent system panel flashed before Li Lingrui’s eyes.
It began copying techniques at a frantic pace.
Wind-Gap Spear Mist.
Ghost Law Heart Sutra.
Puppet Command Art.
They were all the hidden trump cards people had just thrown out in panic.
Li Lingrui looked over the list, then shook his head.
Anyone desperate enough to come mine the abyss for twenty spirit stones was poor. Poor men did not carry miracle arts. None of these techniques were enough to break the Black-Iron Cage.
Then his expression hardened.
“Fine,” he said under his breath. “Then we fight.”
The change in him was immediate.
His black hair whipped in the blood-scented wind. Murder intent flooded his features, sharp enough to cut.
He moved like a predator, low and explosive, body coiling and springing through the swarm.
The system panel flashed again.
Li Lingrui dumped every copied technique at once.
Spear mist tore through wings. Ghost arts shredded spirit-bodies. Puppet threads yanked dead weight into shields. Mountain-Crushing Fist hammered monsters from the air.
Light and shadow exploded across the cave.
For a few breaths, Li Lingrui alone looked like an army.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Ye Po corpses rained down. Black blood splashed stone. The slope ran slick and red.
Across the sheepskin-colored system screen, lines of text rolled wildly:
[Wind-Gap Spear Mist (0/1)]
[Ghost Law Heart Sutra (0/1)]
[Puppet Command Art (0/1)]
[Mountain-Crushing Fist (0/1)]
Outside the cage, Chenyin’s pupils constricted.
A newly joined outer disciple should not have been this strong.
This was not “promising.”
This was the bearing of a future devil.
Wang Zuoqi clicked his tongue, almost regretful.
Guo Yuan had actually sent him a good one this time. Rare talent. In any other place, Wang would have shown goodwill, maybe even made a friend.
But not here.
Here, Li Lingrui was a money pouch waiting to be cashed in.
And Wang Zuoqi himself was drowning in debt after forcing his way into mid Initiate. People in debt did not leave profit on the table. Not in the Demonic Sect.
Still, looking at the rage building in the swarm, Wang Zuoqi relaxed.
No need for him to act.
The Ye Po King was coming.
A thunderous boom shook the cave.
The largest Ye Po reared back and screamed toward the ceiling, its old-woman face stretched into a hateful grin.
The sound became visible.
Rings. Ripples. Distorted air rolling forward in layered waves.
Ye Po demon art: Ultrasonic Ripple.
The ripples hit.
Li Lingrui and the remaining disciples jerked like puppets with their strings cut.
Then they came apart.
Bodies split at the waist, at the chest, at the neck. Blood sprayed in sheets. Bone and flesh dropped in broken heaps across the cave floor.
For an instant that felt impossibly long, Li Lingrui was still conscious.
He turned his head, vision tunneling, and stared through blood and darkness at the man and woman outside the cage.
The bastard pair.
He mouthed the words with the last of his strength.
“Just wait, Wang Zuoqi.”
The system spoke before the dark swallowed him whole.
[You died to the Ye Po King’s Ultrasonic Ripple.]
[You have automatically copied this divine ability.]
“Hah!”
Li Lingrui sucked in air like a drowning man breaching the surface.
It was freezing.
Yin wind poured into his abdomen, cold enough to feel like knives. His skull throbbed as if it had just exploded. Every part of him hurt, from soul to skin.
“So fast?” Sisheng looked him over with obvious amusement. “You died that quickly?”
Li Lingrui did not waste a single breath on dignity.
He raised both hands over his head and offered up the complete Red Dust Yin-Yang Rising Sutra to Sisheng like an imperial tribute.
They were walking the alleys of Fengdu again.
Same iron cage-cart.
Same rusted wheels.
This time, though, the cart held dozens of souls instead of a few.
One of them, Jia Dalong, had been a tycoon in life. A true magnate. Land in the tens of thousands of mu, estates by the hundred, once called the richest man south of the river in his world.
He watched Li Lingrui’s smooth, practiced movement, then looked at the delighted gleam lighting up Sisheng’s face.
A terrible thought hit him.
No way.
Surely not.
Did this routine exist in the underworld too?
Sisheng shot Li Lingrui a glare that looked oddly embarrassed, as if scolding him for trying this in public, in front of so many souls.
His hands, however, had already taken the manual.
Naturally.
He flipped pages at speed, eyes scanning like a starving man tasting a feast. With every page, the rims of his eyes grew redder, excitement rising off him in waves.
He muttered as he read, voice trembling with appreciation.
“Good. Good! Boss was right. The living world really knows how to play.”
A system notification flashed.
[Bribery successful: Underworld bailiff Sisheng.]
Li Lingrui let out a breath he had been holding since death.
It worked.
He had gambled on choosing a Red Dust Desire Cult technique, and the gamble had paid off. Their combat power might rank near the bottom within the Demonic Sect, but they specialized in strange methods, forbidden appetites, and things no one wanted to admit they understood.
Oddity had value.
As long as he could revive, everything was still possible.
After about a quarter hour, Sisheng finally finished the Yang-Rising Sutra. He licked his lips, still unsatisfied, then shook his sleeve and released a pulse of dense underworld qi.
The alley twisted.
The scenery around them blurred and snapped into place.
He was back at Fengdu’s great gate, with Sisheng still holding his wrist.
This time, Li Lingrui forced himself to pay attention.
The Gate of Ghosts towered into the clouds, its black surface carved with countless scars like axe marks and blade gouges, layer upon layer as if generations had tried to cut their way in or out.
On either side stood a pair of tall, gaunt figures.
Black and White Wuchang.
Their frames were unnaturally thin. Their robes hung like funeral banners. Their ghostly green eyes swept over Li Lingrui once, just once, and something deep in his soul recoiled in animal terror.
Sisheng hissed beside him, low and urgent.
“Those are Lords Wuchang. Don’t lock eyes. They can hook your soul out through your stare.”
Li Lingrui turned away immediately, focused his mind, and followed the memory from last time.
He took the jade token and slapped it onto the stone platform.
The ancient black-stone pedestal shuddered.
Then lines of glowing text rose slowly to the surface.
[Return-to-Yang Quota: 2]
[Reason: Violent death, lifespan not exhausted]
[Guarantor: Bailiff Sisheng]
Sisheng stared.
Then he swore.
“What kind of luck-monster are you? Fengdu’s return quota and you roll two in one draw?”
Even the Black and White Wuchang in the distance exchanged glances, rare surprise crossing their faces.
Li Lingrui saw none of it.
Before he could process the words, Sisheng poked a finger into the center of his brow, impatient.
“Lucky dog. I need to get home. I’ve got important business tonight.”
He paused, then added with a grimace like he was doing unpaid overtime.
“I also passed you a government ghost art. Public issue. It’s called Night Without Bounds. Try dying less. I’m busy these days.”
The world lurched.
Li Lingrui vanished on the spot.
Sisheng turned around and was already back in a narrow alley of Fengdu.
Jia Dalong immediately plastered on a flattering smile and leaned forward in the cage. “Sir, my lord, I was the richest man in Jiangnan! Vast estates, fertile land, more houses than I can count. Please, show me a way to live!”
Sisheng rolled his eyes.
“Can any of that be taken into the Nine Netherworlds? No? Then what exactly do you expect me to do with your land deeds?”
He snorted and jerked the soul-cart forward.
“And you think anyone can just draw a Return-to-Yang Quota? I’ve served in Fengdu for hundreds of years. This is only the second time I’ve ever seen one.”
At that, a trace of real wariness passed over his face. He did not say more.
Instead, he tugged the chains and drove the cart on.
“Tonight is the Guiyuan Festival. You can all be reborn after the celebration. Behave yourselves. I’m not working extra on a holiday.”
He smirked, suddenly in a better mood.
“My wife’s waiting at home.”
With a snap of his wrist, countless chains tightened and dragged the souls along, rattling through Fengdu’s alleys toward some distant part of the city where the festival lights were beginning to burn.
