The Substitute Dao Page had already vanished, yet the Taoist Body had not fully rged, and the two Magic Treasures were still in the process of being promoted to top-grade.
Li Mo remained seated, eyes closed, nourishing his Buddha Demon Body with the Body and Soul Rejuvenation Wine.
Through the Substitute Dao Page, he had gained twelve distinctive features of the Taoist Body, of which the Buddha Demon Body had the greatest yield. Not only had it vastly refined his cultivation technique, but it also pushed his Dark Moon Sword Intent to the brink of breaking through to top-quality.
Li Mo understood that the Tomb-Sweeping Festival was approaching, yet he would deeply regret missing the chance to comprehend his Sword Intent. He thus split his consciousness and continued his cultivation.
Unbeknownst to him.
A gentle drizzle began to shroud the town. Though the rain carried no trace of taboo, it made the Sword Cultivators’ hearts tighten with unease—the abnormality foretold an incoming demon.
By the Beili Riverbank, rainwater was slowly accumulating. Within the tavern, one could hear the rush of a swelling stream.
All three heads of the Three-Life Skull howled in unison: "Where in Qingming lies new smoke? Alas, alas, try the Wu Sect, yet no ancestor worship!"
"Sothing’s wrong! Sothing’s wrong!!!"
Ye Zhuo Daoist jolted awake, his Little Luotian Magic Robe drenched in sweat.
Instinctively, he glanced at Li Mo, who remained secluded in Concealing Breath cultivation. Conflicted, his expression brimd with helplessness.
"Brother... dear brother, weren’t you supposed to erge before Qingming?"
Ye Zhuo Daoist let out a long sigh, summoning Yang Niu to confirm the tavern’s stability and began reinforcing the hall’s defenses inside and out.
Fortunately, after the Three-Life Skull’s howls subsided, no Sword Cultivators were summoned to suppress external calamities. The Fire Spirit Hall returned to its deathly silence.
"Damn it, when I was a mortal, the Tomb-Sweeping Festival never turned into such a ss."
Ye Zhuo Daoist muttered curses under his breath.
The only relief was Li Mo’s stable condition, unmistakably far from the signs of Deviation; he seed poised to erge at any mont.
Turning his gaze to the gloomy sky beyond the window, he felt as though countless evil spirits lurked in the shadows.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The Black Coffin reverberated with the sound of Daoist Bai Shuo’s head striking its interior.
Ye Zhuo Daoist’s scalp crawled with dread as Bai Shuo Daoist started muttering in a strange, venomous tone, akin to a blade slicing against his throat.
"Three sticks of incense on Wu Sect Street, soul, return..."
The murmurs dripped with malice, interwoven with the horrific scratching of Bai Shuo Daoist’s nails clawing at the Black Coffin—its lid now streaked with blood from his broken fingernails.
"Piss off, Bai Shuo! Damn it, I’m not lighting incense for your soul to return. If you want back, roll back yourself! Wait till... my brother transcends you."
Ye Zhuo Daoist prepared to seal the Black Coffin with Blood Soul, but Bai Shuo Daoist abruptly fell silent.
He dared not act rashly, focusing instead on monitoring the narrow alleys outside the window where Little Luotian squird like a living entity under the infusion of Spiritual Power.
Ti crept by, yet no anomalies occurred.
"Drizzling rains on Qingming? Could it really be that the so-called calamities from the Three-Life Elder just amount to nothing more than a damp Fire Spirit Hall and so pooled river water..."
"Wait!!!"
Ye Zhuo Daoist’s breath caught in his throat.
He suddenly realized the humid air and flooding waters were distinguishing features of the Copper Mirror’s first layer. Could the Fire Spirit Hall be slowly sinking into the Copper Mirror?
"Damn it, this is trouble."
Ye Zhuo Daoist hoped he was overthinking, though the situation unmistakably leaned in that direction.
Lone candles flickered in scattered shops as paper money inexplicably rained from the skies, mournful sobbing reverberating from the corners.
Staying far from the Beili Riverbank, Ye Zhuo Daoist watched as new sprouts erged on the willow trees—but they were pale red buds, dripping blood along branch-like human tendons that attracted swarming flies beneath.
Ye Zhuo Daoist steadied himself—their preplanned precautions had indeed served them well.
Beyond the Road Head God Temple, all Qingming-related shops had been resolved, so chaos was unlikely in the short term.
He cast a glance at the temple, where thin wisps of green smoke coiled within the courtyard walls.
"Brother ntioned the temple doesn’t truly enshrine the Road Head God, it shouldn’t lose control."
That didn’t ease Ye Zhuo Daoist’s tension. He deliberately extinguished the tavern’s lights, settling down to patiently wait for Li Mo to conclude his cultivation.
Day after day felt like an eternity; every subtle noise seed to herald catastrophe.
Ye Zhuo Daoist watched as the Fire Spirit Hall descended further into the Copper Mirror’s first layer.
It began with scattered paper money.
Soon, he noticed the nearby Hexing Road coffin shop had swung open its doors, sounds of wood being sawed emanating from within.
"That coffin shop... Taishan Yan previously banished a Sword Ghost into the deeper Copper Mirror layers there. As expected, incomplete seals are useless."
Taishan Yan suddenly barged into the coffin shop in a rush.
A long spell of silence passed until the sawing sounds within doubled.
Half a day later, Taishan Yan staggered out, utterly battered, missing an arm and leg, barely keeping his foundation intact.
"Was that a Little Night Wander inside the coffin shop? Even Taishan Yan couldn’t fend it off?"
Ye Zhuo Daoist inhaled sharply—severely wounded amidst such a critical Qingming mont, Taishan Yan was unlikely to endure much longer.
Within the Copper Mirror, a shared understanding existed: one must never use their Externalized Dharma Body lightly.
Doing so was akin to becoming a blazing torch in the dead of night, attracting a swarm of Sword Ghosts, and potentially being dragged into the Copper Mirror’s deeper layers.
As Ye Zhuo Daoist stood frozen with realization, twelve Pig Headed n erged from the coffin shop.
Arranged in two groups of six, they carried a redwood coffin across the street with rigid movents, scattering paper money as they marched.
Their necks were stitched shut, grotesquely mismatched by their pig heads.
"Pig Headed n... have arrived."
From what Ye Zhuo Daoist could discern, the coffin they bore was crafted from ancient redwood, its lid layered in three boards carved with images of qin zithers, longevity peaches, plum blossoms, orchids, chrysanthemums, and bamboo—but oddly missing the characters for "longevity mountain and happiness sea."
"Also known as Four-and-a-Half Boards; it likely contains Taishan Yan’s missing limbs."
"Taishan Yan’s situation couldn’t be graver. Without retrieving his limbs, who knows the vile purpose these Pig Headed n might serve next?"
There was not a speck of schadenfreude in Ye Zhuo Daoist’s heart.
The Pig Headed n traveling through the town implied that the taboos of certain shops were no longer confined to their premises but had seeped into the streets.
"I’ll need to investigate the coffin shop’s taboos soday. Otherwise, it’s like living with a blade on my neck."
Sword Cultivators darted across the skies overhead, yet the Pig Headed n remained passive, simply pacing eerily with the coffin as they toured the streets.
Beili Riverbank fared slightly better, but chaos varied in intensity across different neighborhoods.
"Once Qingming ends, the Fire Spirit Hall better return to the surface layer—for prolonged imrsion in the Copper Mirror’s first layer, it’s only a matter of ti..."
Before Ye Zhuo Daoist could finish his words, his expression froze in shock.
He noticed the ground subtly sinking—or more precisely, the tavern itself collapsing, while surrounding buildings remained untouched.
Cursing inwardly, Ye Zhuo Daoist bound Li Mo’s body tightly with Blood Soul.
Leaving the tavern was no longer an option; instead, he braced himself to ascend to the second floor, despite Li Mo’s repeated warnings.
"I didn’t realize. If the tavern symbolizes the Sword Ghost activities linked to the five layers of the Copper Mirror, then now that the Fire Spirit Hall has fallen into the Mirror, the tavern should indeed lose a layer as well."
"Hiss..."
Footing the staircase, an icy chill pierced Ye Zhuo Daoist’s bones and organs.
A vague yet overwhelming dread seized his heart. Without hesitation, he retrieved the remaining Rust Grease and sared it over himself and Li Mo.
The floorboards creaked ominously, as the grand hall beneath them beca enshrouded in profound darkness.
Ye Zhuo Daoist pressed forward stubbornly. Turning a corner, he was greeted by the faint warmth of candlelight dispelling the darkness—and the cold instantly vanished.
Though no solace touched him; no candles had ever burned on the second floor before.
He turned back for a glance.
The stairway leading to the ground floor had transford into a corridor ending in a wall.
Soon after, Ye Zhuo Daoist heard noise emanating from the floor that had replaced the ground level—it was now bustling with chatter, as if patrons toasted and dined extravagantly.
Amid hysterical laughter, revelers openly gossiped about tales of the townsfolk.
"Chen’s Tofu Workshop, what’s happened there? Their taste has gone downhill; could the century-old craft have died with Old Chen?"
"Yeah, but man, the Ma Family’s stewed dishes sure hit the spot."
"Waiter, here, take this tip and grab so pork entrails from the corner shop."
"On it, dear custor."
"Keep away from the noodle stalls in the southern part of town—for so reason, Zhang Hong’s wife, due in eight months, went insane after visiting the Road Head God Temple."
"A troubled ti, indeed..."
"You said it—Captain Li hasn’t gone fishing in days, has he? Word is, his boat was stolen by a Water Ghost near the riverbank."
...
Ye Zhuo Daoist stood like a soldier braced for war, watching the stairway gradually fade away.
Trapped, without options to retreat.
He slowed his pace, crouching low to peer around the hall’s threshold.
The second floor, once ant for guest rooms, now resembled the grand hall below, complete with identical furnishings. From the ceiling dangled over a dozen ropes for hanging.
What baffled Ye Zhuo Daoist most was the realization that the lively cacophony was re illusion.
At the center of the hall crouched an unspeakable Sword Ghost.
Barely maintaining a humanoid form, the Sword Ghost possessed grotesquely elongated limbs, its skin bristling with fine black hairs. At the end of each strand, clusters of innurable human heads dangled.
The wicked din originated from the incessant chatter among the heads.
Ye Zhuo Daoist wiped sweat from his brow.
Taishan Yan had barely escaped a re Little Night Wander—if this tavern’s Sword Ghost noticed him, his fate was sealed.
But... with the stairway vanishing, there was no way out. Unless the Sword Ghost voluntarily left the hall...
"Storyteller, Mr. Zhang, are you here? How about narrating a tale of the Luan Chuan Immortal? They say the Immortal Master once road vast, beautiful lands."
The heads collided, squeezing forth a gaunt old man’s skull.
"Cough... cough... Speaking of the Luan Chuan Immortal, now there’s a righteous soul. Twenty years ago, he traveled eight hundred miles to eradicate three thousand bandits in Beiliang Mountain..."
Ye Zhuo Daoist had no interest in storytelling, crawling on all fours to hide behind the counter.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
The Black Coffin stirred once more as Bai Shuo Daoist opened his eyes. Even amidst the restraints of Blood Soul, his careless movents produced sound.
Ye Zhuo Daoist’s pupils contracted. The storytelling continued.
Its source, however, shifted to the ceiling.
Luan Chuan sprawled along the ceiling boards, strands of black hair stretching downward toward Ye Zhuo Daoist.
"Damn you, Bai Shuo."
Ye Zhuo Daoist cursed in despair, pushing off with his legs to roll away, flinging the Black Coffin to divert Luan Chuan’s attention, and lunging toward a window.
His right hand clutched a gourd tightly—if desperation struck, he could release the sealed Sword Ghost inside.
Luan Chuan ignored the Black Coffin entirely as the storyteller resud, his tone shifting: "When the Luan Chuan Immortal reached Beiliang Mountain, sothing erred—the bandits were backed by an Evil Man."
"The Luan Chuan Immortal battled the Evil Man for three days, driving him into the warehouses of the mountain lair."
Ye Zhuo Daoist faltered as the grand hall transford into a sealed, decrepit warehouse, surrounded by pillaged loot.
The window had vanished.
"Let’s settle this."
Ye Zhuo Daoist grasped his Lifebound Flying Sword, preparing to strike—yet an eruption of cold light burst before him.
"Taiyang."
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