106. City of Wrongful Death, The Beheaded King Yama

The land of the Yellow Springs is vast and boundless. Not a trace of human habitation for a thousand miles, nor a glimmer of vitality for ten thousand.

Chen Huangpi did not know if the specters of this underworld were like those in the mortal realm, lying dormant by day and emerging by night. He only knew that there were four hours left until dark, and the procession of specters behind him remained in close pursuit. No matter how the Brass Oil Lamp maneuvered the Light of Escaping One—whether by spiraling upward or suddenly veering sharply—it could not shake them off. Worse, if there was even the slightest deviation, the procession would force him to change course, ensuring that Chen Huangpi, acting as their vanguard, stayed strictly on the path they demanded.

"I have never been so humiliated in my life," the Brass Oil Lamp lamented in despair. "Chen Huangpi, if it really comes to it, just kneel and kowtow to them. My oil is only half full, and they won't even tell us how much further we have to go. Do they really intend to work me like a donkey until I’m completely drained?"

"And do you think I enjoy this indignity?" Chen Huangpi retorted, feeling just as aggrieved. "Back at the Pure Immortal Temple in the Hundred Thousand Mountains, the greatest hardship I ever endured was that sticky, bland gruel—and even then, Master would always give me a gourd to eat. But here in the Yellow Springs, these specters are forcing me into forced labor and corvée service. Did the Son of Heaven not establish any laws against child labor before he died?"

"Forget it. The Son of Heaven has already ascended," the Brass Oil Lamp sighed, watching the long line of specters behind them, feeling utterly stifled. These specters were truly disgusting. Fighting was out of the question; there were over ten thousand of them, and he was no match for them. More importantly, he couldn't even gauge their true strength. As for cursing them, the specters were completely indifferent, no matter what he said. The lamp had already exhausted every insult he could think of, yet they didn't utter a single sound in response. He had run out of words.

What was even more frustrating was that the Brass Oil Lamp dared not slow down. It was clear the specters regarded Chen Huangpi as their leader, tacitly expecting him to guide these Soul-Returning Jades to "create gods"—to forge underworld deities. Though he didn't know if he would find an opportunity to slip away once they reached their destination, if he didn't use every ounce of his strength to push forward now, they would be trapped once darkness fell.

"Chen Huangpi, I need to save some of my oil. Channel some of your own energy into me."

Hearing this, Chen Huangpi quickly channeled the vital essence generated by the day-and-night cycles of his liver-temple into the Brass Oil Lamp. While the power of the Demonic Tree was immense, it was highly incompatible with the lamp. The same went for the black smoke; although both powers originated, directly or indirectly, from Chen Huangpi, they were not the same as vital essence. Vital essence stemmed from the five viscera—the kidneys, liver, lungs, heart, and spleen—whereas the black smoke and the Demonic Tree were linked to the kidney-temple. Only the vital essence resonated perfectly with the Brass Oil Lamp, as if the essence were Yang and the other powers were Yin.

Just then, perhaps because Chen Huangpi had strayed from the path again, a specter pressed against his shoulder, adjusting his direction to the left. The little golden sun surged forward, only to find a desolate mountain blocking their path. Chen Huangpi looked up to see that this peak was even larger than the previous one, and another procession of specters was descending from it. This group was even larger, numbering nearly twenty thousand. Upon seeing the procession led by Chen Huangpi, they immediately signaled for them to join.

Feeling the gaze of the specters behind him and watching the new group merge into their line, Chen Huangpi was so angry he laughed. Gritting his teeth, he muttered, "Fine, fine! So this is how you want to play, is it? You usually walk, but today you see me as a fast train and all want to hop on? You are going too far, way too far!"

He was, after all, still a youth—a youth full of hot blood and prone to impulse. Furthermore, ever since he began cultivating his liver-temple, his "liver fire" was easily ignited. With the two combined, he reached a breaking point. Chen Huangpi, hair bristling with rage, gripped the Void-Piercing Divine Sword, ready to fight the specters to the death.

Fortunately, the Brass Oil Lamp grabbed his hand tightly, shouting, "It’s not worth it, really! A moment of patience prevents a hundred days of sorrow. If you can't endure the small things, you'll ruin the grand strategy!" The lamp spoke earnestly, "The Great Qian Immortal Dynasty, the Yellow Springs, and the Pure Immortal Temple are all waiting for you to inherit them. Besides, what does it matter if they treat you like a train? They aren't paying you anyway, just pretend it's not happening. Also, the Light of Escaping One isn't..."

The lamp stopped mid-sentence, then erupted with indignation. "Damn it! After all this time, I’m the one being used for free! This is too much for a lamp to bear!"

"I'm going to fight them! Chen Huangpi, don't stop me!"

"I'm not stopping you."

"Oh..." The Brass Oil Lamp cleared its throat, acting as if nothing had happened. "Actually, the scenery of the Yellow Springs isn't half bad. Look ahead—there's an ancient city! It must be a ruin left from before the great upheaval. If we get a chance to go inside and have a look, it’ll be a good way to broaden our horizons!"

"I think we're about to broaden our horizons immediately," Chen Huangpi said dryly. "Look at the black dots by the city gate; those are more specter processions heading inside."

As he spoke, the Soul-Snatching Tome emitted a sudden chill. The Soul-Snatching Ghost said excitedly, "Master of the Contract, this is the City of Wrongful Death under the jurisdiction of the Seventh Hall Yama. I told you before that the tome was incomplete. If we can enter the Yama Hall, I might be able to help you retrieve the other volume."

The full name of the Soul-Snatching Tome was the Book of Life, Death, and Reincarnation. It consisted of ten volumes, each held by one of the Ten Yama Kings. While it wasn't a particularly powerful treasure—serving mostly as a register—it was more than enough for Chen Huangpi's needs.

At that moment, Golden Horn also roared in excitement, "Father Huangpi, I can feel a path leading back to the mortal realm in this godforsaken place!"

"Impossible," Chen Huangpi said bitterly. "If I were that lucky, I wouldn't have ended up in this wretched state."

"Father Huangpi, believe me!" Golden Horn urged anxiously. "I swear on Silver Horn’s life! I really feel a path to the mortal realm here. It's hidden very deep, but I am the son of Di Ting; the underworld is like a stepfather to me—it won't lie to me."

"Fine, I believe you..." Chen Huangpi didn't know who else he could trust if not Golden Horn. He certainly couldn't rely on his own luck. Yet, he couldn't shake a strange feeling. These specters had come to the City of Wrongful Death to create gods, yet there was nothing in this place that seemed capable of bestowing divinity. If the Soul-Snatching Ghost was right about the book, and Golden Horn was right about the path, could they both be inside the Yama Hall?

But where was the Yama Hall? By the time they reached the gates of the City of Wrongful Death, Chen Huangpi hadn't seen a single structure that resembled one. The city was immense; as he looked up, the gate itself was nearly a thousand meters high, and the walls were at least three times taller. A plaque hung above the gate, inscribed with the three characters "City of Wrongful Death" in underworld script. Blood dripped from it, pooling below.

Hanging from the gate was a colossal head, larger than the body of the Great-Eyed Deity. It was square-jawed, with green skin and sharp fangs, its eyes bulging with cruelty and malice. It wore an imperial crown, though not the nine-bead, twelve-tassel crown of the Son of Heaven—it had only nine beads. Even as a severed head, it radiated a terrifying aura.

Chen Huangpi met the gaze of that head for only a split second before he found himself unable to look away, unable to speak, and unable to move. The eyes of the head were like twin black holes, threatening to suck his very soul inside.

No, they *were* sucking his soul inside.

The Six Yin Gods, which had long since eaten their fill of Soul-Returning Jade and were in a deep slumber, suddenly sensed a fatal danger and began to pulse frantically. With a loud *boom*, Chen Huangpi's mind exploded. Golden and black characters, resembling birds, fish, and insects, surged forth—the complete text of the Yin-Yang Harmonization God-Creation Technique. As these characters appeared, the eerie suction vanished instantly.

"Terrifying, absolutely terrifying," Chen Huangpi said, his heart still racing. "Whose head is that? It feels like the head of an evil Buddha; you can't even look at it, or you'll fall into its trap."

"It is the Seventh Hall Yama..." the Soul-Snatching Ghost whispered, its voice trembling. "It hasn't turned to ash... no, it has become a specter, and it was decapitated and hung on the gate of the City of Wrongful Death?"

In the Yellow Springs, the Son of Heaven ruled supreme, his power in a league of its own. Below him were the Ten Yama Kings. As the Son of Heaven rarely appeared, the Ten Yama Kings were the most powerful entities openly active in the underworld—stronger even than immortals.

"Could it have been done by the Temple Master?" the Brass Oil Lamp mused in disbelief. "The Temple Master loves cutting off heads and hanging them on the gate. Could he have come to the Yellow Springs, and when this Yama provoked him, the Master simply chopped his head off?"

"I don't think Master did it," Chen Huangpi shook his head. "Besides, Master doesn't kill specters; he only throws them into the Old Temple."

Hearing this, the Brass Oil Lamp fell silent. The truth was, the Temple Master didn't *not* kill specters; he had simply gone mad later on and stopped patrolling the mountains. Before he went mad, he did kill them, though rarely. Even when sane, he didn't patrol every day, only occasionally venturing out during the day and returning quickly because little Chen Huangpi would cry if he couldn't find him. And the Temple Master couldn't leave the Hundred Thousand Mountains, or the Brass Oil Lamp wouldn't have had to scheme to trick Chen Huangpi into taking it along.

However, the specter processions seemed accustomed to the Yama head hanging on the gate. It was as if the City of Wrongful Death had looked this way for a very, very long time.

Chen Huangpi was pushed through the gates by the specters. After passing through nine layers of gates, he finally reached the city center. Looking around, he saw nothing but massive, ruined buildings. The very heart of the city was empty, save for a single, colossal golden gate standing on the flat ground. The City of Wrongful Death was dark and gloomy, radiating the same ominous, chilling aura as the sky of the Yellow Springs. But this golden gate was magnificent and luxurious, appearing entirely out of place, as if it had simply manifested out of thin air.

The Soul-Snatching Ghost said blankly, "Master of the Contract, this place... this is where the Yama Hall should have been..."