Chapter 602 - 563: The Whole World Is Corrupt, and We Are Guilty

They were here—

In the darkness beneath the illuminated Vast Sea Tower Library, a dense crowd of "human figures" suddenly appeared.

They were called "human figures," but these things had no shadows at all.

They had human appearances, wearing a mix-and-match assortment of classical and fantastical clothing. Their forms varied in age and build.

Tall, short, fat, thin, men, women, old, and young... Bustling and shoulder-to-shoulder, they surged onto the long street with the chaotic energy of a temple fair.

All sorts of clamorous sounds were mixed in, especially the gleeful shout of a child: "An eyeball! I want this eyeball, Mommy! I want to use this eyeball as a marble!"

"Mokhele, for sale! Get your Mokhele here! Refined from ten children bound together! You can detach the facial features, remove the organs! Only five copper coins each! Come and buy...!"

"Three pounds of the Mortal World’s greatest desires, crafted into a furnace of Immortal Incense! Not for sale, oh no... Trade your own head for it..."

...

All sorts of bizarre, clamorous, and scalp-numbing shouts and hawkers’ cries mingled together.

One after another, orange-red lights illuminated both sides of the dim street, abruptly revealing this demonic marketplace before Song Ciwan and the gray-clothed youth.

The gray-clothed youth beside Song Ciwan broke out in a cold sweat. With swift movements, he pulled two pitch-black plugs from his belt, quickly stuffed them into his ears, and said to Song Ciwan, "Don’t listen! Don’t look! We can’t get back to the safe zone! Let’s just find a random house and hide!"

With his ears plugged and eyes shut, he turned and charged toward a dilapidated, collapsed building by the side of the street.

As he charged, he completely failed to notice the vine still tied to his wrist, the other end of which was held firmly in Song Ciwan’s hand.

With his eyes closed, the gray-clothed youth failed to notice something even more crucial. He had only taken a single step—

His initial goal was the dilapidated building by the roadside, but in reality, after just one step, his feet had somehow changed direction, veering toward the center of the bustling, "crowded" marketplace!

The gray-clothed youth, completely oblivious, moved as fast as a whirlwind.

If not for the vine tied to his wrist—and the fact that Song Ciwan had yanked it hard the very instant he changed direction—he would have charged straight into the heart of the marketplace.

And what would be the consequences of charging into the heart of the marketplace?

Song Ciwan, standing by the side of the street, raised a hand and placed it—not too heavily, not too lightly—on the shoulder of the gray-clothed youth, who was still making running motions.

Her palm looked slender, but it pressed down with the weight of a mountain, instantly immobilizing the gray-clothed youth.

With the two small, pitch-black plugs in his ears and his eyes squeezed shut, he had clearly sealed his own five senses. Yet he mumbled incessantly, "I can’t hear, I can’t see, I’m not... I’m nothing..."

’What does that mean?’

Song Ciwan mentally scanned the Character Techniques she knew, hoping to find a suitable way to snap the gray-clothed youth out of it. But suddenly, from the other end of the long street, the piercing sound of a suona erupted.

The sound of the suona was utterly unique and domineering; as soon as it began, all other sounds vanished.

Only the sound of gongs and drums accompanied it, beating out a rhythm, playing a supporting role to the suona’s wailing song, which sounded both joyful and mournful.

The suona cleared the path, gongs and drums sounded in unison.

Dozens of "human figures" sang and danced in a procession, shouldering a stretcher. On that stretcher, placed there shockingly, was a young man clad only in a thin inner robe.

He was described as "placed" for a reason.

He lay on his side with his eyes closed, his expression peaceful. At first glance, he seemed to be asleep on the stretcher, but in reality, both of his lower legs were severed at the knee. The severed limbs were positioned behind him in a strangely twisted posture.

His arms were in a similar state. They weren’t completely severed, but they were bent backward in a way that defied the limits of the human body. His wrists were twisted like rope, and a beautiful white, decorative knot was tied around them!

And so he lay on the stretcher: back arched, arms twisted, legs severed—

On closer inspection, it was clearly the way one would plate food!

Just like on a human menu, a whole roasted chicken or a whole suckling pig... They were often arranged in similar positions.

A pitch-black sky, a clamorous street, floating orange-red lanterns, the sounding of gongs and drums, and a suona clearing the way.

And against this backdrop, what was being carried forth amidst the singing and dancing of these humanoid figures was a person, arranged in the shape of a food dish!

A living person. A living person who was still breathing, whose legs were severed, but who appeared to be sleeping with profound peace.

One could not say the scene wasn’t terrifying; rather, the terror was intangible and unseen, making it even more chilling than straightforward horror.

For some reason, Song Ciwan felt her own head grow heavy. Her mind became fuzzy, and she felt an impulse to rush into the street and join the "figures" in their singing and dancing.

The suona wailed on, mournful and joyous all at once.

From the ranks of the suona players, a handful of white paper money flowers was suddenly tossed into the air. A voice, both world-weary and ecstatic, shrieked in a high-pitched tone: "Daylight retreats, twilight appears! The world is sullied, and we are sinful!"

’The world is sullied, and we are sinful?’

’What a strange phrase?’

Song Ciwan’s heart began to pound. She felt as if her blood was flowing backward, as if she were about to pitch forward and collapse.

Her Cultivation was now so high that she was confident she could stand shoulder-to-shoulder with an ordinary Celestial Immortal or Grandmaster. If she brought all her abilities to bear in a life-or-death battle, she wouldn’t even fear a top-tier Celestial Immortal or Demon Venerable.

And yet, standing here on the edge of this pitch-black street, her mind had wavered several times.

’W-what was I doing, standing here?’

’Right, the gray-clothed youth said there are Tier Six or higher Chaotic God Martial Artists in Heaven-Reaching City!’

’Oh, the gray-clothed youth... that kid... I’m still holding him with the vine.’

Song Ciwan jolted and snapped back to her senses.

At that moment, she found she had already taken a step forward, as if about to rush into the "crowd," join them in swarming the stretcher, and shout, "The world is sullied, and we are sinful"—

So, what exactly would happen if one rushed into the crowd?

Song Ciwan quickly got her answer.

The instant she came to her senses, a tall, burly man, his upper body stained with blood, suddenly burst out from the shadows across the street.

The man’s left arm was severed, and in his right hand, he gripped a long spear that was at least ten feet long.

He roared from the edge of the street, "Junior Brother Luo, wake up! It’s me, Old Yue! I’ve come to save you!"

As he yelled, the phantom image of a furious lion rose high behind him. Like a Fierce Beast of old, it threw its head back and roared, the sound echoing with immense power.

It was as if the very darkness was being shaken apart... The singing, dancing figures on the street were blown about, and a child floated into the air, giggling.

Then, in the next moment, Old Yue, who had charged into the crowd with his spear, suddenly put it away. He pulled down the phantom of the furious lion behind him, opened his mouth, and began to giggle too.