In the crushing quiet left behind, Ling Feng dusted his hands together as if he'd just thrown away some trash.
Then he looked back at the crowd.
"Anyone else," he asked lightly, "want to settle debts?"
Silence.
The kind of silence where even breathing sounded too loud.
Ghost Monk's lips moved around a silent Buddha's name; the ghostly lotus under his feet shrank a fraction, petals curling inward as if it too wanted to retreat. Golden Child's skeletal frame still shone with gold, but the flames in his eye sockets dimmed, no longer dancing as freely. Divine Spark Prince, who had been about to stride out earlier to posture, found his feet rooted to the ground, divine rings behind him tightening into a purely defensive array. The Hundred Clans Child's divine images lowered their gazes, their hymns turning into a low, mournful drone.
Killing intent did not vanish.
These were not monks of mercy.
They simply swallowed it.
Stuffed it deep into their hearts, compressing it into silent hatred and cold calculation.
Mo Lidao had been a Heavenly Sovereign, body like an iron mountain, blood energy like a tidal wave. Killed in one stroke by the woman behind Ling Feng.
Ye Sha had been the nightmare of countless experts, an assassin whose silent blade had reaped many lives at the same level. He hadn't even forced Ling Feng to turn his body.
To throw themselves forward now would not be bravery.
It would be stupidity.
Ling Feng watched their reactions, then smiled faintly.
"That's better," he said. "Knowing when to shut up is a good survival trait."
He turned away as if the entire field of proud geniuses and ghost lords were no more important than tombstones by the road.
"Wanxue," he called, voice softening instantly when it touched her name, "let's go. You still wanted to bring your people into Necropolis, right?"
Qiurong Wanxue, whose heart had been pounding against her ribs this entire time, exhaled slowly. The white shadow behind her, which had flared to its peak during the battle, gradually smoothed, returning to its naturally cold grace.
"Yes," she replied, regaining a bit of her calm. "Let us enter the city."
She gestured, and the Snow-Shadow elites moved as one. White hair, white robes, white shadows—under her command they were like a blade sliding into its sheath. Their formation tightened, flaring once, then settling into a seamless escort around Ling Feng's group as they stepped past the shattered ground where Mo Lidao had fallen.
No one blocked their way.
Even those who hated them the most stepped aside, faces stiff, eyes dark.
Sometimes, the wise move truly was to be cautious.
From the back of the assembled human group, as Thousand Carp River's flying treasure descended, Lan Yunzhu watched that unhurried back.
Her gaze did not move.
Not from the moment Bai Jianzhen's sword pierced Mo Lidao's skull.
Not from the moment Ling Feng caught Ye Sha like a child, then burned both Heavenly Sovereign corpses to nothing with a flick.
Not from the moment he walked away as if he hadn't just done something that would usually require a Heavenly King's hand.
Her jade pendant—her jade—hung against his chest, catching ghost light and bone lantern fire as he moved. She could see it clearly, the faint ripple of dao it gave off responding to his presence, as if greeting an old friend.
So this is… the one the tree chose?
The Dream Wishing Tree had never been wrong in all of Thousand Carp River's history. When it moved, eras shifted. Its choices had changed destinies, shaken Nine Worlds.
Lan Yunzhu's fingers curled at her side.
Her dao heart, tempered by Immortal Emperor Qian Li's legacy and the countless trials prepared for her by Thousand Carp River, did not shatter. Her mental sea did not overturn.
But the calm surface of that river now held a new, vivid reflection.
...
Inside Necropolis, the air changed.
Outside the walls, the world felt like a graveyard—barren plains, jagged tombstones, ghost winds howling through broken stone.
Inside, the dead city breathed.
The main gate swallowed them like a beast's maw. Bone lanterns hung along the archway, each flame a pale will-o-wisp fed by death and memory. Passing beneath them felt like walking through a curtain of whispers; Ling Feng could hear fragments of lives ending—sword cries, oaths, unwilling roars—dissolving into the city's pulse.
The streets were paved with old stone etched by countless steps, polished by unending traffic. Bone lanterns lit the avenues with steady, cold fire that never went out. Shops and pavilions crowded along the main arteries, their signs written in various ancient scripts, selling everything from ghost flags soaked in Nether qi to strange flowers that only bloomed on tomb mounds.
From the distance drifted the faint aura of Nightsea, a cold, metallic scent like damp iron and fish scales—Yang Nightfish scales, soaked in the mysterious tide that could nurture or drown destinies. Somewhere deeper in the city, the invisible pressure of Ancestral Flow lay like a heavy, watchful gaze, the place said to guard the legendary Treasure Mountain and the most precious fortunes of Necropolis.
Humans, Ghost Immortals, Heavenly Devils, Blood Race, Demons, Stone Golems… all kinds of beings mingled on the wide avenues. Some wore heavy cloaks to hide their features, others strutted openly, proud of their lineages.
And interwoven among them were the "people" of Necropolis itself.
Sentiments.
They looked like anyone else—men with scholarly faces, veiled beauties, hulking warriors in armor—but their bodies were formed from condensed qi and lingering will, not flesh and blood. They walked, bargained, laughed like the living, yet no heartbeat stirred in their chests. Countless cultivators on the verge of death had come here over ages, choosing to perish within Necropolis so they could live on as these ghostly remnants, their past erased, starting new lineages in the city of the dead.
Ling Feng's group drew eyes anyway.
It was hard not to look.
Snow-Shadow elites with white hair and white shadows flanked them, their formation crisp despite their earlier fright. At the center walked a human man whose aura seemed like an abyss that refused to reflect light, surrounded by women whose presence could shake regions on their own.
Qiurong Wanxue walked slightly ahead, keeping her speed just slow enough that Ling Feng could walk at a comfortable, lazy pace and still remain within her radius.
"Ling Feng," she said quietly, her tone returning to the respectful earnestness she had shown since the road to Necropolis, "is there any particular place you wish to visit first? Nightsea, Ghost River, Midtown's auction?"
Her voice carried, and the words "Nightsea" made a few nearby ghost cultivators turn in surprise. These were not places one mentioned casually, as if picking restaurants.
Nightsea, where the dead world's tides concealed strange Yang treasures and buried fortunes.
Ghost River, whose currents once granted Immortal Emperor Ju Tian a treasure that had paved his path to invincibility.
Ling Feng glanced around.
Bone lantern fires.
Crowded streets.
Layers upon layers of suppressed greed and fear and ambition.
He could feel it in the way conversations dipped when they passed, in the hungry glints that appeared and vanished in the corners of eyes. Shadowy scouts tailed from the edges: Sky-Devil remnants, envoys from great kingdoms, assassins from obscure sects, even a few sentiments whose eyes flickered with alien intentions.
All around them—Snow-Shadow elites, Thousand Carp elders trailing at a distance, other sects' scouts—gazes turned unconsciously toward him at Qiurong's question.
His women too.
Xu Pei, arms crossed, lips already twitching with suspicion, her gentle temperament wrapped around a spine of violence.
Li Shangyuan, calm and gentle on the surface, eyes faintly narrowed, feeling the way Chaos currents shifted with each of his choices, Pure Jade Physique quietly resonating with the city's strange balances.
Chen Baojiao, chin slightly raised, fiery aura simmering like a hot spring sealed by thin ice, waiting to see what kind of trouble he'd pick next.
Bing Yuxia, fan half-raised to her lips, trying—and failing—to hide the curiosity shining there, her cold mirror tucked away but always ready.
Su Yonghuang, serene, her complete Yang Saint Physique suppressed under layers of restraint, watching not just him but how the path of the Grand Dao seemed to tilt around his decisions.
Chi Xiaodie, eyes sharp, assessing overlapping dangers, hands never far from her Life Treasure, the scowl between her brows hiding worry.
Bai Jianzhen, sword at her side, expression as calm as ever, though the slight flutter of her lashes earlier hadn't fully faded. Her sword, still quietly humming from killing Mo Lidao, rested with its edge turned inward, yet everyone around them still felt as if a blade hovered at their own neck.
Ling Feng smiled.
"Mm… no rush," he said. "Let's wander first. See what Necropolis feels like up close. The really interesting things in cities like this never sit in the places everyone points at."
His tone was light, almost lazy, as if he were suggesting they stroll through a market instead of one of the most dangerous cities of the Sacred Nether World.
Xu Pei shot him a flat look.
"…Every time you say that," she muttered under her breath, "we end up flipping some place upside down."
But there was no real complaint in it. Her eyes shone with a kind of helpless pride.
Chen Baojiao snorted softly.
"Wandering, huh?" she said, voice low. "Fine. Let's see which arrogant idiot tries to jump out this time."
None of them actually objected.
By now, they all knew something: when Ling Feng said "let's look around," it usually meant he had already smelled some opportunity the rest of them hadn't even seen yet.
Qiurong Wanxue nodded gently.
"As you wish," she said. "Necropolis' main street leads to Midtown and several branch districts. I will guide you. If there are items that catch your eye, just say the word."
They walked.
Past stalls where ghost hands sold jars of condensed nether frost that could freeze souls.
Past a stone building where a Blood Race elder quietly offered cursed blood beads, each one sealing a wailing face.
Past the shadowed entrance of an underground auction house where hushed whispers about Prime Ominous Keys and Treasure Mountain drifted out with the lamplight, drawing greedy looks like moths to a flame.
Time passed in the rhythm of footsteps on old stone.
At first, the onlookers only watched from afar, weighing his strength, fantasizing about killing him for his treasures and prestige. In this city, news traveled faster than sound; by now, half of Necropolis knew of the terrifying human who had erased Mo Lidao and Ye Sha like nuisances.
Then, at some point, Ling Feng stopped.
He didn't say anything at first.
He just stood there in the middle of the street, gaze lowered slightly, thumb absently rubbing the edge of the jade pendant at his chest.
Behind him, his whole group halted as one, trust built through many battles turning into unconscious, synchronized motion.
"Young Noble?" Li Shangyuan asked softly, voice like cool spring water.
"What is it?" Su Yonghuang's eyes sharpened, already scanning for threats. Solar flames stirred faintly in the depths of her pupils.
Qiurong Wanxue's white shadow flared, Snow-Shadow elites responding to the shift in her aura. Formation lines tightened, the cold of their white shadows seeping into the stones.
Ling Feng's smile curled at one corner.
"It's quite rude," he said, voice carrying easily through the bustling street, "to follow people this long and not show yourself, you know."
Every gaze snapped outward.
From the flow of pedestrians on the street's edge, a ripple spread.
A woman in blue robes froze for the briefest moment.
Her posture was straight, bearing refined, the aura around her like water under moonlight—gentle on the surface, but with hidden depths that could overturn boats when stirred. Beside and behind her were elders whose qi felt like deep rivers and ancient lakes, Thousand Carp River's stamp clear in the faint fish and wave dao patterns swirling around them.
Lan Yunzhu.
Her eyes met Ling Feng's.
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to narrow to the line between those two gazes.
In her pupils, the jade pendant at his chest flashed—the same piece that now danced with ghost light and bone lantern fire as he moved. It pulsed faintly, the dao waves it emitted whispering in tune with the rhythm of her own jade.
Then she stepped forward.
Her back remained straight, chin held at the angle befitting the proud descendant of Thousand Carp River. The slight pause in her stride vanished under trained composure. It was as if she was walking onto a ceremonial stage instead of into the orbit of a human who killed Heavenly Sovereigns like chickens.
"We are not 'following' you," she said lightly, voice clear and cool. "Necropolis is not your private city. We are simply… visiting the same places."
Several Ghost Immortal onlookers felt the corner of their mouths twitch.
Brave words.
Inwardly, though, some admired her. To speak so calmly to the man who had just erased two Heavenly Sovereigns… that took a different sort of courage.
Ling Feng's gaze dropped to the jade pendant resting against his own chest.
The same jade.
The one that pulsed faintly whenever Lan Yunzhu drew near.
The "tree" that had passed it on had never moved without reason. In Thousand Carp River, that was an article of faith; the Golden Divine Willow's will was treated as decree.
He turned it between his fingers, then looked back up at her, eyes gleaming with amusement.
"Mm," he said. "When I see a unique jade, I like to see it through too."
His women blinked almost in unison.
"…What?" Xu Pei murmured.
"What does that even mean?" Chi Xiaodie muttered, puzzled.
Even Qiurong Wanxue looked briefly confused, white brows drawing together.
But Lan Yunzhu's eyes narrowed.
She knew.
The jade on his chest had once hung at her own.
The "tree" that had given it away had never moved for anyone casually. It had chosen once, long ago, for Immortal Emperor Qian Li. And now, again, for this man.
Ling Feng took a step forward.
He didn't release any aura. He didn't try to suppress her with force.
He just moved, with the kind of relaxed confidence that came from knowing the world itself would adjust to his pace.
"This jade came to me for a reason, right?" he said softly, eyes steady on hers. "You were seeking me."
Lan Yunzhu's lips parted.
For a moment, the instinctive denial rose to her tongue, proud and sharp: I wasn't seeking you.
Because she hadn't been. She had been following the jade. Following the pull of the willow's choice. Following the curiosity—no, the need—to see what kind of man could make Thousand Carp River's guardian tree give up its treasure.
"…I was not asking for you specifically," she said at last, choosing each word carefully. "Only… the one it pointed to."
Ling Feng chuckled.
"Your tree has good taste then," he said. "Lucky for me. I get to meet another heaven-defying genius because of it."
His gaze was open.
No false flattery, no greasy undertone.
Just simple honesty and a glint of appreciation that went beyond looks, straight to the dao light he could see coiled in her fate palaces.
Lan Yunzhu felt something stir in her chest at that.
She had been praised before. She was Lan Yunzhu of Thousand Carp River; from the day she opened her first fate palace, elders and peers alike had called her a prodigy, a future pillar, a once-in-an-era talent.
But his tone was different.
He spoke as if "heaven-defying genius" was simply stating a fact obvious to anyone with eyes. As if her dao was something interesting to walk alongside, not an excuse to curry favor or fear the backing behind her.
Ling Feng tipped his head slightly.
"Come with me for a bit," he said, voice easy but threaded with something deeper. "I'm going to cause some noise across the world very soon."
The words were not shouted.
They were not arrogant declarations thrown to the sky.
But the way he said "noise"—like it meant shifting eras rather than just stirring up local trouble—made several elders' expressions change slightly. Thousand Carp River's Elders, following a step behind, exchanged quick glances.
"Why would I follow you?" Lan Yunzhu asked, tone still proud, but softer than before.
The question was real.
She was Thousand Carp's descendant, not some random girl to be swept away by a few flashy moves.
Ling Feng grinned.
"Because," he replied, "I intend to rob Necropolis blind."
Several passersby choked.
The words were so casual one might think he was talking about buying snacks.
"It'd be a shame," he continued, "not to let the girl whose jade dragged me into you get some of the good stuff."
He held out his hand.
Not domineering.
Not the grasp of someone who assumed the world owed him obedience.
Just a simple invitation, palm open, fingers relaxed, offered as if this was the most natural thing in the world.
Bone lantern light flickered across his knuckles.
Lan Yunzhu stared at that hand.
Her jade pendant—no, his pendant now—warmed against her chest, pulse matching the faint thrum of her own heart.
Images flashed through her mind: the elders' shocked faces when the jade flew away of its own accord; the way her dao heart had trembled when she saw Ling Feng's back amidst gathered geniuses.
She snorted once, lightly.
"Don't think too much of yourself," she said.
Then she raised her hand and placed it in his.
Warmth met warmth.
His fingers closed around hers—not crushing, not overly gentle, but steady. He didn't let go quickly.
For a breath, Lan Yunzhu felt as if the bustling street, the ghostly city, even Necropolis' heavy atmosphere had all faded to the background.
He gave her hand a small, unhurried tug.
"Come on," Ling Feng said. "You can scold me later if I disappoint you."
He turned, bringing her with him without a hint of hesitation, as if adding another heaven-defying woman to his orbit was as natural as breathing.
They walked back toward his group, fingers still linked.
Snow-Shadow elites' eyes widened.
Xu Pei's brows shot up.
"Oh?" she drawled, lips curving. "We were only wandering for a bit, and you already got into trouble, Feng?"
Lan Yunzhu's ears turned faintly pink despite herself.
Thousand Carp elders behind her watched with complex expressions. Some bristled at the overly familiar tone; others eyed Ling Feng with the wary respect people reserved for mountain-sized beasts.
Ling Feng only laughed.
"Everyone," he said, utterly shameless, "this is Lan Yunzhu. Thousand Carp's proud genius, chosen by a very picky tree. Try not to bully her too much."
He didn't let go of her hand as he gestured with the other.
"This troublemaker here is Wanxue," he said cheerfully, nodding toward Qiurong Wanxue. "Snow-Shadow's backbone and proud leader."
Qiurong Wanxue's white shadow flickered, a flush rising to her pale face, the cold beauty of a ghost clan Saintess gaining a faint human warmth.
"Ling Feng…" she protested softly, embarrassed. "You praise me too much."
He smiled at her, tone turning light and teasing.
"Don't be shy," he said. "You were the one carrying your tribe on your shoulders while everyone else thought Snow-Shadow was just another minor ghost clan. Give yourself some credit."
Qiurong Wanxue lowered her lashes, but the corners of her lips curved slightly. For a tribe from the remote Nether Border to stand eye-to-eye with ancient powers, how many sleepless nights had she endured? Being seen by him—just like this—made the burden feel a little lighter.
Then he turned slightly, still keeping Lan Yunzhu in his orbit.
"And these," he went on, voice going deliberately casual, "are my wives."
A small verbal bomb landed in the middle of the group.
"Xu Pei," he said first, squeezing the woman's shoulder affectionately. "She's the sharpest speaker when I pretend to be lazy for too long."
Xu Pei's cheeks colored, but she tossed her hair and gave Lan Yunzhu a sideways grin.
"Don't let him fool you," she said. "He's worse than he looks. If you follow him, be ready to have your life turned upside down."
"Li Shangyuan," Ling Feng continued, brushing fingers briefly against Li Shangyuan's hand. The contact was light, intimate, completely unconcerned with watching eyes. "Soft voice, sharp dao. Don't be deceived by that gentle smile."
Li Shangyuan's eyes softened, a faint warmth blooming there. Her Pure Jade Physique responded to his touch with a ripple of cold clarity.
"Chen Baojiao," he said, nodding to the fiery beauty whose eyes were currently narrowing with amused annoyance. "If anyone challenges me in being unreasonable, it's her."
Chen Baojiao snorted, but the corner of her lips curled upward. Tyrannical aura coiled around her like coiled springs; her body was a battlefield that turned enemy force into her own, and her gaze promised that anyone who tried to test it would be pulverized.
"Bing Yuxia," he added, looking toward the girl who was trying to hide behind her fan. "She pretends to dislike it when I give her attention, but she never actually runs away."
Bing Yuxia's fan snapped fully up, hiding most of her face.
"You—" she sputtered, voice muffled. "Why are you saying that out loud?"
But her ears were red, and she didn't retreat.
"Su Yonghuang," he said more softly, meeting the sun dao's calm gaze. "If I ever start doing something truly stupid, she'll be the first one to talk me back to my senses."
Su Yonghuang's lips curved faintly, eyes shining with a quiet, steady light. Radiant yang energy, usually so domineering, in her body flowed like a well-tamed sun, guided by his presence instead of burning her foundation.
"Chi Xiaodie," he added, jerking his chin toward the woman who was trying hard to stay serious. "Don't be fooled by her scowl. She cares more than she admits."
Chi Xiaodie looked away, but the stiffness in her shoulders eased.
"And Bai Jianzhen," he finished, glancing back at the swordswoman who had just killed a Heavenly Sovereign with one stroke. "You saw what her sword can do. If you're ever in trouble and I'm too far away, stand behind her and you'll be fine."
Bai Jianzhen's eyes flickered, the faintest hint of color touching her ears.
"…You talk too much," she said quietly.
Ling Feng smiled.
"Someone has to," he replied.
Lan Yunzhu watched all this in silence.
The shameless way he called them his wives.
The way these terrifying women—each with enough power to found her own legend—reacted. Flustered. Annoyed. Exasperated. But not truly rejecting. Not a single one tried to correct him, to distance herself, to pretend the bond wasn't there.
It didn't feel like empty bragging.
It felt like a man calling his stars by name.
Her amusement rose despite herself, mixing with a growing curiosity.
This human… this Ling Feng…
He walked through Sacred Nether World's most dangerous regions as if he were strolling through his courtyard. He killed Heavenly Sovereigns like swatting flies. He invited the proud disciple of Thousand Carp River to "rob Necropolis blind" with him in the same tone someone else might use to invite a friend to go fishing. And his women—each one extraordinary—chose to circle around him, not because he crushed them under his will, but because he lifted them higher, saw them clearly, and laughed with them.
Lan Yunzhu tightened her fingers slightly around his hand, just enough that he would notice.
He glanced sideways, eyes warm.
"Curious?" he asked softly, low enough that only she would hear.
Lan Yunzhu looked ahead at the long street of Necropolis, at bone lanterns and ghost stalls and deep, unseen currents of fate.
"…A little," she admitted.
Ling Feng's smile turned slow and dangerous.
"Good," he said. "Then let's make this city remember our names."