Journey to the End of the Night Chapter 1528 - 947: An Ink Wash Painting, Part 2

The scene unfolding was utterly bizarre. Following her gaze, the old Taoist turned, only to realize they had been swept towards a cliffside waterfall.

How could such a small stream even possess a waterfall!

Greatly alarmed, the old Taoist cried out urgently, "Stop! Stop! We're about to fall! Have you all lost your minds?!"

However, neither the five women nor the young Taoist appeared to hear his desperate shouts. They continued paddling with all their might, pursuing a light in the darkness as if desperate for something, their eyes fixed on the cascading water over the cliff.

The old Taoist watched the entranced group with horror, his body trembling uncontrollably. He caught sight of Shu Ci's mocking, cold smile beneath the iron cauldron.

In his panic, the old Taoist was stunned, realizing that amidst such a surreal situation, she alone seemed unaffected, her gaze unnaturally calm.

Amidst his chaotic thoughts, the boat beneath him finally gave way, shattering into pieces.

Those on board plunged into the churning water like dumplings being dropped.

The moment the old Taoist hit the water, he recoiled in horror as countless icy hands, colder than the river itself, gripped his body from every direction, pulling him down into the depths.

Despite his skill as a swimmer, the water rushed violently into his chest and lungs. He thrashed his limbs, struggling desperately in the turbulent current, managing to pry his eyes open.

To his horror, he discovered the arms ensnaring him were unnaturally long and clearly not human, their joints bristling like those of an insect.

Some latched onto his arms and legs, while others coiled around his torso and neck like serpents.

The old Taoist felt as if he had plunged into a glacial cave, his blood turning to ice. He concluded that he was about to become food for the resident ghost in this haunted locale.

At the brink of death, a strange thought surfaced in his mind.

He observed the others submerged in the river; unlike him, they weren't struggling in panic.

They appeared to have fallen into a peaceful slumber, their expressions serene, lying with limbs relaxed and outstretched, drifting in the water.

They were being slowly dragged into the watery abyss by those disturbingly pale arms.

Why wasn't he, like them, ensnared by this spell?

Why could he perceive the red-clad female ghost and the edge of the abyss?

As the suffocating sensation intensified, a warm glow suddenly emanated from his chest, remarkably distinct within the water.

The grasping arms holding him were instantly scorched, releasing their grip.

Now free, the old Taoist kicked furiously, paddling with all his might towards the surface.

"Waha!!! Cough cough cough!!!"

His head broke the water's surface, and the old Taoist greedily gasped the cold air, the dizziness from his lack of oxygen receding.

He felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude, recognizing that the wolf fang pendant he wore had acted as a powerful ward against evil.

Had he sold the wolf fang his father had gifted him on his deathbed during his earlier poverty, he shuddered to think how he might have perished today.

At this critical juncture, he could not afford to concern himself with the fate of the women or his apprentice.

As the saying goes, one must preserve their own life in perilous times!

The old Taoist began frantically dog-paddling, searching for the riverbank. Before long, his forehead collided with something cold.

Looking up, he discovered a pair of strikingly pale, small feet, clearly bound in the traditional manner. Their deformed, three-inch appearance intensified his despair.

It was none other than the red-clad female ghost he had glimpsed earlier, with blood steadily dripping from beneath her feet.

Her clothes were not originally red; rather, the incessant oozing of blood from her preserved corpse had stained them crimson over the years.

She seemed preoccupied, not noticing the old Taoist at that moment.

Although he couldn't discern her face clearly, he could feel the palpable tension radiating from her, filling him with a sense of imminent danger.

Just a few meters away from the red-clad female ghost, an iron cauldron bobbed up and down in the rushing river, defying the very laws of physics.

And there sat Shu Ci, perched on the inverted bottom of the cauldron, her simple skirt fanning out like a delicate flower upon the water's surface.

Her long, ink-black hair swirled like misty clouds amid the tempest, while the vibrancy beneath her plain attire exuded an aura of striking grandeur.

Her gaze swept over lightly, causing the female ghost's body to visibly flinch, seemingly intimidated by Shu Ci's presence.

Shu Ci's eyes held a deep, mocking sneer: "Useless trash, I've practically delivered this meal to your doorstep, and you still can't handle it? What, do you expect me to slaughter it myself and then feed it to you?"

Shu Ci's words were clearly pointed, and the taoist in yellow robes, not being a fool, understood that the 'meal' she referred to was none other than himself.

Well then!

It was a case of the mantis stalking the cicada, with no awareness of the oriole lurking behind!

Her initial agreement to accompany him for the River God's sacrifice was nothing but a sinister plot to deliver him into the haunt of specters.

The aged Taoist never anticipated falling prey to this venomous woman today, his voice trembling with fury:

"You vile woman! It was you all along who murdered the innocent women of this village!

Your malevolent intent has festered within you, deliberately luring me here to be devoured by the ghosts!"

Shu Ci remained seated, unperturbed amidst the tempestuous winds and the terrifying spectral tide, raindrops misting her brow, her demeanor both eerie and serene:

"From the outset, this grand ritual to appease the River God was my design."

This simple declaration silenced the Taoist, shame coloring his face, as it was he who initially harbored wicked intentions.

The Taoist stammered briefly before adopting a facade of righteous indignation, admonishing her: "Even if the old Taoist and you have differences, if you seek vengeance, so be it.

However, the village women and my young disciple are innocent; how could you be so heartless as to harm those who bear you no ill will?!"

Alas, his noble sermon fell upon deaf ears. Shu Ci was never one for mercy, and being labeled 'ruthless' or 'heartless' would be considered a compliment.

She narrowed her eyes, slowly raising her pearlescent hand and examining it with care, speaking in a casual tone:

"The innocent souls I've dispatched number far more than these mere five.

I never concern myself with reason; if I decree your demise, your only recourse is to meet your end obediently."

"You! You!" The old Taoist choked, inadvertently swallowing a gulp of the chilling river water, his limbs growing immensely heavy.

He frantically seized a floating log, finally finding a brief respite to catch his breath.

Adrift on the log, he harbored a dread that the phantom woman might heed Shu Ci's words and descend to consume him.

Yet, fortunately, the spectral woman was facing Shu Ci, appearing to focus all her spectral might upon her.

He could distinctly perceive the ghost's unease and apprehension, even a discernible hint of withdrawal.

A chill snaked through the old Taoist's heart as he swallowed hard.

What could possibly inspire such terror in the ghost woman without provoking an attack?

The spectral presence draped in red saw her malevolent aura wane, her bloodied, cracked lips slowly sealing, evidently reluctant to act rashly in Shu Ci's vicinity.

Her form, submerged in the water, began to descend, as if attempting to evade Shu Ci's unwavering gaze.

Shu Ci remained seated atop the iron cauldron, observing her with cold detachment, making no further movement.

"Ding dong..."

At that precise moment, it seemed as though the world's myriad sounds were abruptly stolen by an unseen force.

The breeze softened, the mountains and rivers receded into the distance, as if primordial darkness had reclaimed its domain; the surrounding hues bled into a somber, ink-washed landscape of bleak white.

Like a solitary droplet impacting a still, desolate lake, a crisp, echoing splash resonated.

The specter in red, who had been sinking into the water, abruptly ceased her descent.

Shu Ci's eyes narrowed into sharp slits, her gaze suddenly piercing.

Within the monochromatic tableau of this moment, she discerned a fine, mist-like crimson thread piercing the ghost's brow.

Could that be... the Demon Lord's Winged Flame?

Has the Demon Lord truly manifested here?

At this juncture, Shu Ci was experiencing a forced reversion to her original form, her Divine Sense critically impaired, rendering her incapable of discerning the Demon Lord's presence within this realm.

Concurrently, the red-robed specter unleashed a piercing shriek, her crimson garments billowing like liquid blood, instantly suffusing the entire lake with its scarlet hue.