The Netherworld was shrouded in a suffocating weight of yin energy. Coupled with the River of Forgetfulness, which only wandering souls could cross, it made it nearly impossible for any cultivator to venture deep into its domain.
Countless ages had passed, and no one knew what the Netherworld had become. If she simply charged in now, even if a Mahayana cultivator didn't kill her outright, survival would be a near-impossible gamble.
But this Guiding Stone changed everything.
It could project a protective barrier around its holder, shielding them from the oppressive yin energy and offering protection when crossing the River of Forgetfulness.
With this, her safety in the Netherworld would be vastly improved.
Song Wanníng held the Guiding Stone tightly, her gaze burning with determination.
"We wait two more days. No need to walk right into a giant's path the moment we get down there."
The Netherworld was full of temptations, but she kept her composure.
No treasure was worth more than her own life.
So she stayed in the cave for two more days, making certain no Mahayana cultivator emerged. Only then did she leave the cave and head toward the entrance to the Netherworld.
Yet the moment she stepped into the tunnel, the Three Lives Mirror abruptly went dark, offering no further aid.
Song Wanníng's heart sank.
What had truly happened to the Netherworld during that ancient war?
Now it had completely severed its link to the Heavenly Dao of the upper realm.
The passage ahead was pitch black. She took out a luminous pearl to light the way, but it failed to glow.
Even the Shenyou Mystic Flame proved useless. The tunnel was so dark she could not see her own hand, her divine sense unable to extend outward. She had no choice but to feel her way forward with utmost caution.
The Guiding Stone kept the yin energy from touching her, so though she felt a chill seep into her bones, her movements remained unaffected.
But the tunnel seemed endless. At first she could count her steps and estimate the distance, but eventually her sense of measure dulled. She only knew she was moving forward through an eternal darkness—no light, no sense of time, only the monotonous rhythm of her legs carrying her onward.
Thankfully, her companions cracked jokes to ease the tedium; otherwise the journey would have felt even longer.
Still, she had no idea how much time passed.
It slipped away silently. Just when Song Wanníng thought she might be trapped in darkness forever, a glimmer appeared ahead. A vast field of red blossoms came into view—Manjushahua flowers—and soon a mingling of red and black light spilled down, finally allowing her to see again.
She breathed out slowly, relieved. Darkness itself was not frightening, but endless darkness was.
Emerging from the tunnel, she found herself amid the blooming Manjushahua flowers, each petal crimson and dewy.
Between the blossoms stretched a narrow path, winding toward a bend in the distance.
Drawing her sword, Song Wanníng advanced with caution. The path curved again and again until, at last, she reached the fabled River of Forgetfulness.
The records said the river was perilous beyond measure. Countless spirits, unwilling to reincarnate and filled with bitterness, lingered here. Their seething resentment could cloud the mind. Any soul whose will faltered would be swayed, condemned to remain in the River of Forgetfulness forever.
This was the place most feared by the living and the dead alike. Once trapped here, there was no rebirth.
Song Wanníng's expression hardened. The river's surface appeared calm, but danger hid beneath.
Beside her stood a massive rock, the characters "River of Forgetfulness" scrawled across it in blood-red strokes—ghastly and unforgettable.
"Sister, this river is deadly dangerous! You must be careful!"
For those burdened by inner demons, the Wangchuan was a death sentence. In her past life, her heart demon had consumed her. Though she had avenged herself in this life, that shadow still lurked. If the River of Forgetfulness provoked it to surface, she would be finished.
"Sister, maybe we should turn back? The Netherworld really doesn't seem that great!" Long Ling's voice wavered, and Shenyou Mystic Flame tugged anxiously at Song Wanníng's collar.
All their eyes brimmed with worry and unspoken pleas.
Song Wanníng's heart warmed. She reached out to touch them, one by one.
"Since fate led me here, this place might hold the key to restoring the world. I must see it through. And you're right—the River of Forgetfulness is death for those with inner demons.
That's exactly why I must enter. I need to face death to be reborn, to destroy my heart demon once and for all."
Once an inner demon took root, it was nearly impossible to eradicate. The best one could do was suppress it, as she had done before, locking it away and keeping it from causing havoc.
But as long as it existed, it was a threat—one that could return at any time, ending in tragedy like Huo Jinchuan's fate.
This was her chance to sever that shadow entirely.
Her gaze grew firm. Closing her eyes, she calmed her thoughts before summoning a small boat and setting it upon the River of Forgetfulness.
At first, the river was calm, the boat drifting gently forward.
But soon, bones began to surface.
Skulls, limbs, scattered chaotically across the water—enough to terrify any newly dead soul.
Song Wanníng's eyes stayed cold. Yet the farther she went, the more bones appeared, eventually blocking her path.
She swung her sword, scattering them aside.
After struggling past the first third of the river, a new horror rose.
Countless ghosts surged from the water. Most had died violent deaths, their forms gruesome and twisted. Some hung with tongues down to their chests, some had ears cut away, others' heads were cleaved and held together by strips of skin.
Some had been turned into human swine.
The sight made her scalp prickle.
There were too many to count—how many ages of malice had gathered here?
Among them were spirits with lighter auras, likely those who had simply lacked the will to cross, their resentment weaker.
The evil spirits shrieked, their voices raspy and piercing, clawing at her mind. Song Wanníng instantly shut her hearing.
Yet the sound still pierced into her Primordial Soul.
The boat rocked violently, threatening to capsize.
She forced herself to remain steady, channeling spiritual power to keep the vessel upright.
But under the constant assault, cracks formed in her soul.
In the next instant, her consciousness was swept away.
…
When she opened her eyes, pain wracked her body.
Looking around, she found herself at the bottom of a cliff.
Shaking her head to clear it, her memory returned—and her expression darkened.
It had been the pursuit of the demon clan that had driven her to this dead end.
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Manjushahua is Red Spider Lily