Part 6: The Ghost Lord’s Son

In the Ghost Sovereign’s arms, the tiny sphere of light glimmered with a faint white glow. He lowered his eyes and gazed at the little being bound to him by blood. It had died in the womb before it could ever be born, and could exist only as a soul. For now, it would need careful tending; only after that could a new body be fashioned for it.

After a long while without hearing the Ghost Sovereign speak, Black Servant lifted his head. He had meant to steal a glance, but his eyes happened to fall upon the little soul the sovereign held in his arms. He seemed to sense within that soul a current of spiritual energy strikingly similar to the Ghost Sovereign’s own.

A thought Black Servant had not yet dared to form suddenly flashed through his mind. Could it truly be as he had imagined? He asked through divine telepathy, “My lord, what is this?”

Without looking up, the Ghost Sovereign said, “Can’t you tell? This is my child.”

Child. His lord had a child? In that brief instant, Black Servant’s face went pale with shock. Had his lord not always detested those fluttering, fawning women? Who on earth had managed this? Taking a few deep breaths, Black Servant forced himself to calm down.

The places his lord had lingered in lately were only the mortal realm and the heavenly realm. The little master had not yet taken form and could survive only as a soul, which meant his mother must be someone from the mortal world. If she was merely a mortal, then things would be easy enough. He would never allow such a woman to hound his lord without end.

Having made up his mind, Black Servant asked, “Then did my lord summon me because you wish for me to make a trip to the mortal realm?”

The Ghost Sovereign lifted a brow and nodded, thinking that this Black Servant had finally grown some sense and knew how to take the initiative in sharing his burden. He added, “Do not rush. Go to the mortal realm after I enter the Pool of Rebirth; there is no need to go before then. In the meantime, take good care of my child.”

Black Servant frowned in confusion. “Why must my lord still go to the mortal realm? Would it not be enough to let this servant go and end that person’s life?”

The Ghost Sovereign cast him a light, indifferent glance. In that instant, Black Servant felt as though a mountain of iron had been laid upon him, and he could not bear it for even a moment before collapsing to his knees. Hastily, he said, “This servant knows his mistake.”

He did not even know where the mistake lay, yet his skill at admitting fault was first-rate. “I see you have spent too long with that one at the head of the Four Fiends, and learned nothing but such low tricks. When have I ever taught you to speak only of killing? Or do you wish to return to the Demon Abyss and stay there?” His tone was lazy, almost careless, but to Black Servant it sounded like a death sentence. He dared not say another word. The weight on his back increased again, and he panted, “This servant knows his mistake.”

The Ghost Sovereign’s chamber was far from the gilded splendor and ostentatious luxury one might imagine. On the contrary, it was rather plain. There was not much furniture in the room: only an unremarkable ancient bed, a recliner woven from clouds, a table, a chair, and a few such ordinary household items.

After spending long enough at the Ghost Sovereign’s side, one would discover that he adored white. Most of his garments were white, and naturally, what he hated most was anyone staining them. That was why he detested the second princess of the Demon Realm, Demon Fragrant, to the extreme.

The moment he saw that woman, he thought of the already destroyed robe that had been dirtied by her filth.

No matter the time, there was always a string of silver bells at the Ghost Sovereign’s waist. Yet those bells rarely rang. Anyone with a bit of sense would know that they were the Soul-Devouring Bells. If those bells ever rang before someone, that person was in for grievous misfortune.

When the Soul-Devouring Bells rang, souls were devoured.

Anyone who had heard of the Ghost Sovereign knew that he was famously extraordinary in the forging of weapons. Of course, he did not shortchange himself. In his possession were six renowned weapons: the Soul-Devouring Bell, the Soul-Suppressing Sword, the Soul-Imprisoning Cord, the Soul-Stealing Hairpin, the Soul-Returning Whip, and the Soul-Chasing Tassel.

Their uses were exactly as their names suggested.

The Ghost Sovereign had one peculiar habit: he disliked wearing shoes, yet he was also unaccustomed to letting bare feet touch the ground. Thus he always moved by floating a few inches above it.

Among demons, monsters, ghosts, and the so-called immortals, most either rode clouds or vanished through earth and void. There were few who strolled leisurely along the road. So the Ghost Sovereign’s manner was hardly strange. After all, he merely disliked shoes. Compared with those vulgar beasts freshly transformed, who disliked clothing and wandered naked through the wilds, he was already beyond comparison.

With a slightly languid motion, the Ghost Sovereign drifted onto the cloud recliner. The clouds of the heavenly realm were not only pure white, but their soft, springy texture and the comfort that made one sink into them at a single lie-down rendered them beloved by countless immortals.

Alas, good things were always scarce. Each year the heavenly realm produced only a small batch of such cloud silk, and most of it was either extorted by the Ghost Sovereign or, rather, sent by the heavenly realm to his Shura Hall. After all, they had need of him.

Besides, those clouds were of little use to them. Losing them was no loss at all. Absolutely no loss.

Floating in midair, the cloud chair left the Ghost Sovereign half-lidded and faintly pleased, like a noble Persian cat at last given a ball of yarn. His mood improved at once. The burden on Black Servant’s shoulders lifted, and after a long moment of recovery he remained kneeling on the ground. “Many thanks, my lord.”

The Ghost Sovereign’s final syllable rose slightly. This little sphere of light was even softer to the touch than the cloud silk. Unable to resist, he stroked it again. The little sphere seemed to sense it and even nuzzled against his hand. “Rise.”

He was quite satisfied. His child was just like him, utterly unlike these subordinates who gave him nothing but vexation. Thinking of that, he remembered again that face, carved as if by divine hands, with eyes so black and deep that when they looked at him in earnest, it felt as though they might draw him in.

The Ghost Sovereign could not help grinding his teeth in private irritation. That little King of Hell truly had a face fit to bring ruin. A straight high nose, brows and eyes like a figure from an immortal painting, fair skin, tall build, yet not the least bit frail. Standing before that person, he even seemed a full inch shorter. Only an inch, of course. At worst, he could simply float a little higher. He would have to move quickly, lest that person be carried off by someone else in the mortal realm.

What troubled him most, however, was age. Even the father of that little King of Hell would not have been too proud to call him ancestor. He himself had forgotten how many years he had lived. It must be several cycles older than that one.

The Ghost Sovereign clenched his teeth. No matter how much older the other was, with his own power, who in this world would dare object? Having lived for countless tens of thousands of years, at last he had met someone he liked in every possible way. What was wrong with pursuing him?

His expression remained perfectly still as he gave Black Servant a cold look. The more agitated he felt inside, the colder his tone became. “As for my servant...”

Black Servant stiffened without realizing it. “This subordinate is here!”

The Ghost Sovereign spoke softly. “Regarding my child, I do not wish the slightest rumor to spread outside.”

Black Servant kept his gaze fixed on his nose and his nose on his heart. He answered, “Yes.”

The Ghost Sovereign lowered his eyes, a trace of tenderness in them that even he himself had not noticed, as he looked at the little sphere nestled so intimately near him. Thinking that he would soon spend some time unable to see this child, he felt faint reluctance and loss. “Also, while I am entering the Pool of Rebirth and going to the mortal realm, take good care of my child. Leave the Four Fiends to guard Shura Hall. You shall bring my child and use the Soul-Chasing Tassel to find me in the mortal realm. I will cast a spell to spare myself the cleansing of the Pool of Rebirth and be reborn with my memories intact.”

Though Black Servant was full of questions, he no longer dared ask. He could only answer once more, “Yes.”