He had barely finished speaking when, suddenly, the whole world around them lit up. In the distance came the distant roar of a dragon, sounding as if in great pain, and the earth itself trembled. Then, a great fireball fell from the sky, as if the sun had dropped from the heavens, its heat scorching.

From utter darkness to blinding brightness, in an instant, the tears sprang from Logan Sullivan's eyes, but he stubbornly endured the searing pain and refused to close them.

He felt as if he was witnessing the very moment of creation.

The great fire fell from the sky, shattering into countless fragments. The golden, shimmering light made one feel as if they were treading upon the Milky Way. Such a dazzling, radiant scene could easily take one's breath away. Logan Sullivan quickly wiped away the tears that had been forced out, unwilling even to blink.

Then, from the scattered flames, countless hands stretched out, as if growing from the earth, slowly shaping themselves bit by bit, until they grew to the height of a person and crawled out from the soil.

No one "created" them; they gained life from the mire on their own.

No one taught them how to survive, how to reproduce. They stumbled and fumbled across the land glittering with fragments of light, learning to walk and run, and then, by instinct, learned to fight and devour one another.

The ghost clan was born in the crevice between light and darkness.

Where the fireball landed, a huge bonfire blazed. As it burned, the earth beneath it swelled, gradually forming a large flower bud.

The bud grew larger and larger, while the fire atop it grew smaller and smaller, until at last it was completely absorbed by the earthen "bud." All the ghosts who had been running, eating, and fighting involuntarily stopped what they were doing and turned their heads toward that spot. Suddenly, a crack appeared in the soil of the bud, and the fissure widened, until with a "crack," the earthen "bud" shattered like a kiln-fired pot gone wrong, breaking into several pieces.

Inside, two pitch-black human figures were being formed. The nearest ghosts were involuntarily drawn in, not even having time to struggle before being devoured. The more ghosts were consumed, the clearer the dark figures became, gradually taking on heads, necks, torsos, limbs, facial features, and even hair.

Like the mud-dots flung by Nuwa, it seemed that everything born from the earth was driven by some mysterious force, growing in a single direction—just like the gods and sages.

Perhaps... the gods and ancient saints born of heaven and earth were once born in this way, too.

"The thing that just fell—was that my soul fire? Was that... you and the ghost face?" After a long while, Logan Sullivan finally asked.

"It was us—at that time, you were entrusted by Chiyou to protect the witch and demon clans," William Sherman's voice was calm as he explained quietly in his ear. "No one expected that only a few decades after the first war between gods and demons, the water god Gonggong and Emperor Zhuanxu would start a second war. The water god was close to the dragon clan and allied with the demons, while in the east, Hou Yi found the Fuxi bow and rallied Chiyou's old followers, colluding with the witches. The witches, demons, and humans fought fiercely, unable to part."

"At that time, the order of the primordial world was not yet established. Nuwa had only recently created humans, and could only watch as they multiplied in batches and died in batches. She had not yet become Houtu, so the underworld did not exist, nor was there any so-called 'cycle of life and death.' For those who died in those days, death was simply death. As Shennong said, 'death' meant returning to chaos, to the great land of disrespect where nothing existed—no hope, no senses, nothing at all. No one was unafraid of 'death,' especially those who died with hatred in their hearts. They refused to close their eyes, and so, stuck between life and death, their souls lingered in the world."

"During the two wars between gods and demons, blood flowed like rivers, and the wandering souls drifted in the air day and night, wailing mournfully, never dissipating. By day, they suffered under the scorching sun—some were literally burned away, returning to chaos; some survived, recovering a little at night, only to face the same torment the next day."

William Sherman paused, gazing in the direction of his own birth. After a while, he continued, "Only then did Nuwa realize that what she had created was not merit, but sin. She had given the human race a brilliant yet fleeting life, as fragile as spring flowers. After that brief life, she let them suffer all the hardships of the world—scorched by the sun, with nowhere for their souls to rest, and pursued by death all their lives."

William Sherman turned to glance at Logan Sullivan: "Some say that newborns cry so bitterly because they have taken one step closer to their destined death. So, when Shennong, who had already lost his divinity, had no other choice, he borrowed your soul fire to use the soul of the mountain saint to pacify all the vengeful spirits who died in war, to ease their suffering and let them rest sooner. That's also why the great wooden tablet you left behind was later called the 'Order of Soul Suppression.'"

At this moment, the crack above their heads grew wider and wider, until at last a sliver of sky was revealed, and faint moonlight spilled in. Buzhou Mountain was about to collapse completely.

William Sherman continued, "Shennong, holding a wisp of your soul fire, happened to pass by Buzhou Mountain just as Gonggong, riding the divine dragon, crashed into the stone pillar of the mountain with utter resolve. The dragon's tail swept across Shennong's shoulder, and your soul fire fell from his hand, by chance landing at the foot of Buzhou Mountain, in the land of great disrespect."

William Sherman paused, then let out a cold laugh: "You were the one who told me all this. I don't know if it's true—maybe it really was a coincidence, or maybe Shennong did it on purpose. Who can say?"

Just then, Logan Sullivan saw two people descend into the exposed land of great disrespect—it was Warden of Highspire and Shennong.

Warden of Highspire seemed a little bewildered as he looked at the host of ghosts and monsters, and asked, "What are all these?"

Shennong replied, "They are born of heaven and earth."

Chapter 92: The Soul Suppressing Lamp …

This answer left both the Warden of Highspire in the memory and the Logan Sullivan in the present silent.

Suddenly, whether or not that fire had been thrown down by Shennong on purpose no longer mattered.

Shennong grabbed Highspire's wrist, his aged, clouded eyes fixed on the bewildered and savage ghosts as he took two steps forward. He was already very old, so Warden of Highspire had to bend down slightly to support him. As he looked down at Shennong, there was a faint shadow on Warden of Highspire's face—old age meant death was near.

Warden of Highspire had never experienced "old age" or "death," but he could already smell that dreadful scent of decay on Shennong.

"Did you hear what I said to Nuwa last time?" Shennong asked.

Warden of Highspire frowned: "Who has the patience to listen to your endless mystical talk? Just tell me what to do now. And you mention Nuwa—if she finds out you burned a hole in the Fuxi seal with a shiver, I’d be surprised if she didn’t turn on you... and you even used my soul fire. You really know how to get me in trouble."

Shennong shot him a glance. "She won't."

Warden of Highspire snorted sarcastically, "I beg to differ."

Shennong coughed weakly, his age showing. "Life and death are serious matters. No living being is unafraid of death; it's not something to joke about. But if you can step outside the cycle of life and death, you need not fear it anymore."

"I'm standing right here, not stepping anywhere, so I don't need to be afraid," Warden of Highspire replied coolly. "I think you're the one who should be worried. By the way, the fruit of the great divine tree ripened—only two in a hundred years. I gave one to my cat brother, and left the other for you. It can extend your life by a hundred years."

"Thank you." Shennong smiled freely. "Actually, I'm not afraid of death. Little Kunlun, you don't understand—without death and destruction, there can be no gods. Maybe when we're all gone, you'll understand."

Warden of Highspire rolled his eyes, glancing around as if looking for something to stuff into Shennong's rambling mouth.

"There will be hope." At last, as they were about to leave, Shennong looked at the ghosts scattered across the ground and said, "If even the most barren place can give rise to life, what could possibly be impossible?"

Warden of Highspire helped him across the uneven ground. Hearing this, he turned to look at the two nearest ghosts—one was gnawing on the other's head. The mountain saint of the wilds frowned and commented bluntly, "Enough, you old immortal. What kind of damned life is this? I think you’re just senile. If you have time, you’d better think about how to explain this to Nuwa."

Warden of Highspire and Shennong left the land of great disrespect. The silent observer William Sherman tugged Logan Sullivan's hand. "Let's go."

The two of them followed. Only then did William Sherman say, "With your intelligence, you must have understood Shennong's intentions. You just thought it was too far-fetched, so you didn't agree."

Logan Sullivan paused and asked, "So... Shennong wanted to construct the cycle of life and death? As long as the soul doesn't perish, it can reincarnate through the six realms, turning life into death and death into life—is that what he meant by 'standing outside life and death'?"