Chapter 32

Gunshot

In the pitch-black night, on a rugged and narrow mountain road, a black car chased closely behind an unlicensed white van like a predator locking onto its prey.

“They’re speeding up. They might have noticed us,” Qi Shanglan said calmly. “Hold onto the handle.”

Lin Qianyou obeyed, gripping the handle tightly. Her heartbeat raced in sync with the car’s increasing speed, too tense to say a word. The trees outside the window blurred into streaks, vanishing in an instant.

The van in front kept accelerating, but it was no match for the aggressive black car behind it.

Yet, at an upcoming fork in the road, Qi Shanglan suddenly jerked the steering wheel, veering off onto another path.

“Why are you taking this road? Aren’t we chasing them?” Lin Qianyou asked.

“No,” Qi Shanglan floored the gas pedal. “We’re cutting them off.”

The car sped down the winding mountain road, its tires screeching against the pavement.

Lin Qianyou gripped the handle even tighter, the centrifugal force from the sharp turns threatening to throw her off balance.

Another sudden turn later, the car swerved onto an even narrower path, flanked by dense trees. The branches nearly scraped against the windows.

“This is the only road they can take to get down the mountain,” Qi Shanglan said steadily. “Get ready.”

Before Lin Qianyou could ask what to prepare for, the car suddenly accelerated again. She finally saw it—there was no road ahead, only a cliff!

“Qi Shanglan, stop the car! We’re going to fall off!” she screamed in shock.

“It’s not a cliff. Below is the downhill highway. Hold on tight.”

The moment he finished speaking, the car shot off the cliff.

For a few seconds in mid-air, time seemed to stretch endlessly. Then, with a heavy crash, the car landed hard. The impact sent a jolt through Lin Qianyou, forcing a scream from her lips. Yet, the man beside her remained as calm as ever, his expression unchanged.

As soon as they touched down, Qi Shanglan spun the steering wheel sharply. The black car swerved nearly 180 degrees on the highway—now facing the oncoming tomb robbers’ van.

The white van hadn’t expected the black car to appear so suddenly in front of them. Panicked, the driver yanked the wheel to the right to avoid a collision.

But Qi Shanglan didn’t hesitate—he turned left.

The black car slammed into the left side of the van with full force, sending it careening off the road.

The van spun out of control, plunging into a roadside ditch. It rolled twice before coming to an unsteady stop.

Inside, the tomb robbers groaned in pain. From the driver’s seat, Brother Lei cursed loudly, stomping on the gas to restart the van—but the engine was dead.

“Damn it! The car’s totaled! Grab your weapons and get out!” Brother Lei roared.

Inside the black car behind them, Qi Shanglan’s eyes grew darker and more unreadable. The black mist surrounding him thickened, nearly swallowing him whole.

He fought to suppress the turmoil within him and steadily brought the car to a stop. Then, he unbuckled his seatbelt and handed his phone to Lin Qianyou. “Stay in the car. Call Captain Zhang and have him access the surveillance at every road exit from Lingchuan to Yangcheng. The password is your birthday.”

Without waiting for her response, he pushed open the door and strode out.

As the car door shut, Lin Qianyou stared at his back, nearly consumed by the swirling black mist. A sense of unease and dread surged within her.

Qi Shanglan sprinted down the slope, the words “kill them” echoing relentlessly in his mind.

Flashes of unfamiliar yet blood-soaked memories flooded his thoughts—beneath an ancient city gate, corpses littered the ground, and the earth was drenched in crimson.

Suddenly, he braced a hand against a tree trunk, shaking his head violently in an attempt to clear his mind, but it was useless. His breathing grew heavier, his eyes turning a terrifying shade of blood-red, like a beast on the verge of losing control.

At the same time, not far ahead, the Huoyuan Sword in the hands of the tomb raider known as Lao Si trembled violently, almost slipping from his grasp.

Just as he was about to lose hold of it, the sword wrenched itself free, streaking backward like a bolt of lightning.

In the next instant, its hilt landed firmly in Qi Shanglan’s hand.

As he gripped the sword, a bone-chilling gleam flickered in his deep eyes. The blade, which had been restless, fell eerily still in his grasp, but he himself was spiraling further out of control.

Like a specter, he surged forward in a blink, descending from above and appearing before Lao Si, who had fallen behind.

The tomb raider’s soul nearly left his body in terror. This is cursed! he thought. I actually ran into a ghost tonight!

Qi Shanglan’s face was cold and emotionless, devoid of any humanity. His eyes held only a savage desire for slaughter, just as they had a thousand years ago.

His voice, as icy as a blade, cut through the air. “You think you’re worthy of wielding my sword?”

Before Lao Si could react, the sword in Qi Shanglan’s hand lashed out like a venomous snake.

The tip of the blade pierced straight through his chest.

A moment later, Qi Shanglan pulled the sword out without hesitation, and blood gushed out like a fountain.

Not far away, the remaining two tomb raiders were so terrified their legs turned to jelly.

Brother Lei reacted quickly, reaching for the pistol at his waist, but before he could even load a bullet, Qi Shanglan flashed in front of him like a phantom. With a flick of his sword, the gun flew from Brother Lei’s hand.

The next second, the blade sliced across his throat.

Blood sprayed into the night.

Qi Shanglan caught the airborne gun. Before the Ghost Hand could even pull the trigger, Qi Shanglan fired first.

A single bullet struck the Ghost Hand squarely in the forehead.

The sharp crack of gunfire shattered the silence of the mountain forest.

“Bang—”

The sound echoed through the night, making Lin Qianyou, who had just hung up the call, tremble all over.

Why is there gunfire?!

Worry gripped her heart. She couldn’t care less about Qi Shanglan’s earlier instructions—she pushed open the car door and ran out.

“Qi Shanglan!”

She ran down the slope, shouting his name, but the only answer she received was an eerie, deathly silence.

A terrifying thought crossed her mind, making her heart seize with fear.

“Qi Shanglan!” she cried, her voice breaking as she ran forward.

Then, she saw them—the bodies of the tomb raiders lying motionless on the ground.

She gasped and took a step back, her gaze landing on the forehead of one of the corpses, blood still oozing from the fatal wound.

Only one gunshot had been fired. If the one who got shot was a tomb raider, then Qi Shanglan should be fine.

She reassured herself with this thought and called out his name again.

Still, there was no response.

The fear she had just managed to suppress surged back even stronger.

Under the moonlight, she carefully made her way forward.

And then—

She finally saw them.

Qi Shanglan and the remaining tomb raiders, all lying unconscious on the ground.

“Qi Shanglan!”

Lin Qianyou rushed over, knelt beside Qi Shanglan, and frantically shook his body. She screamed his name hoarsely, but no matter how hard she tried, Qi Shanglan gave her no response.

Her trembling hands carefully checked his body, only to find that he wasn’t injured at all.

But why? Why was he unconscious?

Large tears dripped onto Qi Shanglan’s face, and in the silent valley, only her cries echoed.

Dozens of minutes later, Lingchuan City’s police cars and ambulances arrived one after another.

The paramedics first checked the vital signs of the four bodies, confirming that all had died. Their causes of death were as follows: chest stab wound leading to cardiac or major vascular injury and hemorrhagic shock; throat laceration resulting in hemorrhagic shock or asphyxiation; gunshot wound to the forehead, causing severe cranial trauma and instant death; the last one had no visible external injuries, with the cause of death pending forensic examination.

At this moment, the Underworld welcomed four new wandering souls.

Amidst the vast, boundless yellow sands, the three tomb robbers desperately sprinted toward the Bridge of Reincarnation. As long as they drank Meng Po’s soup and crossed the bridge, they could be reborn into the next life.

But Qi Shanglan, who was chasing them relentlessly, would never allow that.

Reincarnation? Wishful thinking.

Within the endless expanse of sand, a man clad in black battle armor descended from the sky, abruptly blocking the path of the three panicked tomb robbers. The golden sands swept past him, but rather than obscuring his figure, they made him appear even more imposing, his presence sharp and overwhelming.

His gaze was icy, and the tip of his sword pointed directly at them. “Still trying to run? Do you think you can escape?” The corners of his lips curled into a cold, merciless smile, sending a chill down their spines.

The three tomb robbers trembled uncontrollably, staring at the man before them as if he were a madman. They wanted to flee but found their legs frozen in place, as though nailed to the ground.

With a swift flick of his sword, the young general cut them down in an instant. Their bodies dissipated into sand, scattered by the wind, and he did not blink even once.

Lowering his gaze, he looked at the Chixiao Sword in his hand—a weapon that had accompanied him through countless battles. A thousand years had passed, yet it remained as sharp as ever.

Just as he was lost in thought, a horde of wandering souls surged forward. Some brushed past him as they fled.

A murderous glint flashed in his eyes, and without hesitation, he swung his sword. The souls disintegrated into sand, vanishing without a trace.

Among the panicked, fleeing souls, there was also a cold-blooded god of calamity—a god from Lingchuan Mountain, trapped in Wangchuan for a thousand years.

Suddenly, a young man dressed in red silk robes appeared before him, sword in hand. A playful smirk danced on his handsome face.

“General Qi? What’s this? Life in the mortal realm didn’t go as planned? You’ve only been gone twenty-three years, and you’re back already?” The red-robed youth chuckled, teasingly curling his lips.

He still remembered that day, twenty-three years ago. The two of them had been slaying wandering souls in the Underworld as usual when, for some inexplicable reason, Qi Shanglan suddenly held his sword to Meng Po’s throat, forcing her to brew a bowl of Meng Po’s soup for him. After drinking it, he crossed the Bridge of Reincarnation, turned into a wisp of sand, and entered the mortal realm—so quickly that the red-robed youth hadn’t even been able to stop him.

“Is that so? I don’t remember ever going to the mortal realm.” Qi Shanglan replied coldly, his expression devoid of emotion.

“It doesn’t matter if you don’t remember. I’ve never thought about the mortal world either. What matters is that you’re back.” The red-robed youth laughed softly, arms crossed as he gazed out at the endless Underworld. Leisurely, he said, “For the past twenty-three years, I’ve been killing wandering souls here alone. It’s been dreadfully dull. Now that you’ve returned, why don’t we compete to see who can kill more souls today?”

“Compete? Fine by me.” Qi Shanglan’s lips curled into a disdainful smirk, a cold glint flashing in his eyes.

Near the Bridge of Reincarnation, Meng Po watched their imposing figures disappear into the distance and let out a weary sigh.

For a thousand years, though the waters of Wangchuan River had washed away their memories of the mortal world, they had never been able to erase the endless bloodlust in their hearts.

Endless slaughter had elevated them to the rank of gods—gods of calamity, whose only duty was to kill.

The boundless sands of the Underworld, stretching for eight hundred miles, were all that remained of the countless souls slain by their hands.