William Sherman let out a soft laugh. “Shennong wanted to use the Netherworld to truly separate yin and yang at the edge of death, establishing the cycle of life and death.”

“He didn’t succeed in the end, otherwise Lifesmith wouldn’t have sacrificed herself to seal the rift,” Logan Sullivan said.

“Do you know why?” William Sherman stopped, a strange smile appearing on his face. Before Logan Sullivan could answer, he continued, “Because the ghost clan has no souls.”

The great curse of being soulless...

“We are only chaos, only resentment. Regardless of rank, from birth to destruction, we exist only to instinctively devour, plunder, and crave the freshest flesh and blood.” For the first time, William Sherman realized that as he spoke these words, he actually felt a kind of pleasure—like pressing on a wound or slicing his own flesh with a knife, “As for me, because you forcibly elevated my divinity, I became a monster that is neither human, nor god, nor demon, nor ghost—the only one of its kind in the world, a true oddity.”

Logan Sullivan was at a loss for words.

William Sherman gave a soft laugh. Ever since Logan Sullivan pointed out that he knew he was being deceived, William Sherman felt as if a lump of ice had settled in his heart, stuck there, neither up nor down, making him feel cold all over and unbearably stifled. Yet after saying all this, he miraculously felt a sense of relief.

“No one can really say what the ghost clan is. Maybe we’re just a variant of chaos, just chaos that can move and run. Actually, what Ghostface said was right: ‘Death’ itself boiled over because of a fire, giving birth to us, these ‘living things’ that are neither alive nor dead. It’s all a strange twist of fate.” William Sherman’s smile faded as he turned to look at Logan Sullivan, his voice almost gentle. “But you, of all people, just had to provoke me. Do you know what you’ve gotten yourself into? Do you know how dangerous this is?”

Logan Sullivan hugged him from behind. “Hey, just get to the point. I don’t want to hear all this nonsense.”

The warmth of a human body spread through the embrace, like a person whose chest was numb from the cold swallowing the first mouthful of hot porridge—almost enough to make one tremble.

William Sherman was silent for a moment, then raised his hands to clasp the ones Logan Sullivan had wrapped around his chest, and continued, “When Mount Buzhou collapsed, the sky fell and the earth caved in, unexpectedly interrupting the war between humans, demons, and shamans. The sky leaked, and endless rain fell, washing over the resentful souls in midair, falling to the ground where not a blade of grass grew, while beneath the earth, billions of ghost soldiers crawled up from the abyss... You should have seen all this in the sacred tree. The first time I saw you should have been at the place of my birth, but you stood too far away, refusing to come near me, as if I were something filthy. My eyes weren’t fully open then; I only vaguely saw a figure in green.”

William Sherman closed his eyes, his chin gently rubbing against Logan Sullivan’s hand, his voice lowering, “But I was more vicious than my brothers from the moment I was born, devouring more of my own kind. I could already hear then, and could vaguely understand your conversation with Shennong. So I was different from him—I knew what I was from the very beginning. I searched the world for you, enduring the temptation of living flesh and blood, yet only eating those... I considered as disgusting as myself, the ghost clan that crawled up from underground.”

“I always wanted to ask you, what counts as life?” William Sherman felt Logan Sullivan’s arms tightening around him. “Later, I finally met you by the edge of the Denglin forest, as you were preparing to go to Penglai... But when I saw you, all the questions I had on the tip of my tongue, I couldn’t ask a single one.”

“Why was I going to Penglai?” Logan Sullivan asked hoarsely.

“Of the three great mountains of the primordial era, Buzhou had already fallen, and Kunlun was forbidden to all but the gods—mortals could not reach it. Only Penglai could shelter the living beings of the earth. But there were too many living beings; at most, only two of the three clans could ascend, and the rest had to wait for Lifesmith to finish mending the sky with the five-colored stones, leaving their fate to the heavens.” When William Sherman said this, he suddenly paused. “I hate the phrase ‘leaving it to fate.’”

“Wouldn’t that just make everyone fight even harder?”

William Sherman said, “Shennong thought that, as the Saint of the Mountain, you would favor the shamans and demons, abandoning the humans. He wanted to personally bring Fireborne Emperor up the mountain to see you, but discovered you had only set up a formation at the foot of Penglai. You’d built a simple altar there, with Ironhorn’s head placed in the center of the path. The demon clan has always revered Ironhorn as their ancestor, so they were the first to kneel and worship. Since the time of the Yellow Emperor Xuanyuan, the human clan also honored Ironhorn as the god of war, so Emperor Fireborne Emperor stopped his people, ordering them to stand behind the demon clan and bow their heads in respect. Only the shaman clan ignored it, busy fighting for a place to ascend the mountain, showing no respect as they walked right past Ironhorn’s head. As soon as the shamans passed, Ironhorn’s head disappeared, turning into a real path up the mountain, while the shamans who had already passed were trapped by an illusion in the abyss below.”

So this was why the demon clan still sang of the fall of Buzhou Mountain to this day. It was the day the demon clan truly replaced the shamans and gained a foothold on the primordial continent, sharing the world with the humans... though this balance didn’t last many years.

“You took me across the devastated land of the primordial era,” William Sherman said, “from Kunlun to Denglin, then from Denglin to Penglai, walking step by step through the mortal world. We saved people, slew man-eating ghosts, and got caught up in conflicts between other clans. Our ghost clan always saw each other as prey, with no concept of kin. I didn’t understand anything back then—sometimes I just thought it was a waste that you killed but didn’t eat, and you became more and more silent.”

“Come on, let’s go up the mountain.” William Sherman turned, wrapping his arm around Logan Sullivan’s waist. Logan Sullivan felt the world spin before his eyes, and in a flash, the two of them stood at the foot of the immortal mountain. Then William Sherman leapt, carrying Logan Sullivan straight to the summit of Penglai.

There was no thunder or lightning, only a sky so heavy it seemed about to fall. The rain stirred up layers of mist, and the air was thick with an indescribable stench.

At the summit, Logan Sullivan saw Lifesmith. She was alone, dragging her long serpent tail, standing within the sea of clouds, while Warden of Highspire stood with the young ghost king outside the clouds, watching her from afar.

At this moment, Warden of Highspire looked very different from when Logan Sullivan had first seen him in the land of blasphemy. He was thinner, his already sharp features now tinged with a certain exhaustion, but his gaze was clear and resolute, standing out on his gaunt face.

Lifesmith suddenly turned around, her beautiful face still tinged with worry. She said, “Highspire, what if Shennong was wrong? What if we were all wrong?”

Warden of Highspire tucked his hands into his sleeves, the fierce wind whipping his long sleeves and sash. He replied calmly, “It doesn’t matter. Then we’ll atone with our deaths, sacrificing ourselves for righteousness. And when the primordial continent gives birth to someone even stronger and more powerful than Pangu, they’ll learn from our mistakes and finish what we couldn’t.”

Lifesmith sighed, her brows relaxing slightly. “You’re right. Shennong has already been wrong once—I hope he won’t be wrong a second time. But... even if he is, we can’t turn back now. You’ve really grown up. It makes me feel that even after I die, I can entrust this world to you.”

The words of a primordial sage carried the weight of gold. As her words fell, Warden of Highspire already felt a tremendous pressure crash down on his shoulders, with no buffer at all. Yet he stood firm, so steady that even the ghost king behind him didn’t notice anything amiss.

Warden of Highspire took a deep breath, extending his palm to catch the falling rain, quietly feeling the weight of... the world and sky pressing down on him.

“Actually, these days, I suddenly figured something out—humans are so weak, never free from greed, anger, and delusion, their senses impure, foolish and shortsighted, violent and quarrelsome. Why is it that you gained such great merit for creating these seemingly useless beings? Why does Heaven keep choosing humans?” Warden of Highspire narrowed his eyes, gazing at the swirling sea of clouds and the faintly visible five-colored stones within. “Now I understand. Humans are actually just like the world, just like us.”

Lifesmith’s lips curved in a slight smile. “How are they just like us?”

“From the moment they’re born, humans know they’re going to die. With each passing day, they get closer to death. Whether hero or coward, decades pass in the blink of an eye, and in the end, all roads lead to the same place. It’s as if they were born just to die.”

Warden of Highspire laughed softly. “But look at them—every day they’re alive, they struggle with all their might: for food, for power, for wealth, for love, to live just one more day, for anything you can imagine. They survive countless brushes with death, and finally, in their last struggle, they die exhausted.”