Song Wanníng gave a soft laugh, her tone tinged with helplessness.
She didn't feel any envy. Her own cultivation was advancing rapidly, and it wouldn't be long before she reached the Mahayana stage as well.
Perched on her shoulder, Shenyou Mystic Flame stared at the ghost servant, who had been whisked into her internal world the moment they met, looking faintly bewildered at the impossibility of it.
"Sister, neither of us can enter your internal world. How can the ghost servant get in? Could it be because he absorbed so much yin energy earlier?"
But there was spiritual energy inside her internal world too. If that was the case, why couldn't Long Ling go in?
All the little ones widened their eyes, curiosity practically spilling over, eager for answers.
Song Wanníng only spread her hands. "I don't know either. I just acted on instinct in the heat of the moment."
The poor fellow had suffered enough. Since he was now following her, she was determined to keep him safe.
With that thought, she released him from her internal world. But the instant she did, her pupils contracted slightly.
The aura of living soul around him had completely vanished, replaced by a thick, unmistakable yin energy. And more than that—he had stepped onto the path of ghost cultivation.
Song Wanníng's eyes trembled with shock.
"What happened to you?" she asked in a low voice.
The ghost servant still wore a blank, bewildered expression. Yet deep within, he now felt something strange and profound. His once weary and hungry body brimmed with power, as if strength was flooding into every part of him.
In all his life—both living and dead—he had never experienced such a feeling.
It was incredible.
"I… I don't know. As soon as I went in, some kind of gray mist gathered toward me."
He blinked rapidly, more confused than ever.
What he spoke of was not yin energy—yin energy filled every corner of the Netherworld, yet countless souls still failed to gain enlightenment and could never become ghost cultivators. They would remain wandering souls, drifting endlessly through the underworld.
If they were lucky, a benevolent ghost cultivator might take them in as a servant, having them run errands in exchange for yin coins and other supplies.
Which meant… what he had absorbed must have been chaotic qi.
Song Wanníng's expression shifted. This pitiful man had been unlucky even in death, yet somehow today he had stumbled upon a rare stroke of fortune—absorbing chaotic qi.
Her gaze narrowed. She had only planned to help him a little, but now it was clear she could not let him wander off on his own.
Chaotic qi was too precious. Since he had taken it in, he would have to stay by her side.
At least he could remain inside her internal world, and once they left this place, he would have a safe environment to cultivate. The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced this was the most profitable course. Her eyes sharpened as she looked at him again.
The ghost servant felt his scalp prickle under that gaze, an uneasy chill creeping through him. He looked at her with wide, innocent eyes, his entire ghostly aura practically radiating misfortune.
Song Wanníng almost couldn't bear to meet his eyes. Perhaps she had been a little too hasty in recruiting this ghost servant.
…
After a night's rest, Song Wanníng finally left the Rebirth Valley.
Stepping outside, she almost felt as though she had returned to the Spirit Realm, though here the air was saturated with yin energy and the plants had a strange, otherworldly quality.
But the moment she entered the city, that familiar feeling returned in full.
The buildings loomed tall and grand, every one exuding a royal air.
Her lips curved slightly. In this city, even the most ordinary structures were built like palaces—it must be the lingering obsession of these ghost cultivators from their mortal days.
She wandered the streets, passing by stalls piled with herbs unique to the Netherworld.
Ghost cultivators, demon cultivators, spiritual cultivators, Buddhist cultivators…
Though their cultivation paths differed, they were all cultivators in the end.
Which meant ghost cultivators also needed resources to train, and currency to trade for them.
As she strolled, she quietly observed, her eyes brightening.
On her way here, she had collected quite a few promising-looking herbs. From what she had just learned from the stall owners, she might be able to trade them for some yin coins.
Once she had currency, she could buy books about the Netherworld to better understand this realm.
With that plan in mind, she quickly searched for a shop and chose the nearest one.
The moment she stepped inside, a ghost cultivator greeted her with a practiced smile. "Dàrén, would you like to buy something or sell something? We can handle anything you need. If it exists, we can find it for you."
The ghost cultivator spoke with confidence—their store was among the best in all of Guifeng City.
Song Wanníng glanced over the hall with calm eyes. There were only a few customers scattered about; perhaps the upper floors held more.
"I have some herbs to sell. See what you think."
Without further talk, she brought out her herbs, even as she was already considering whether she might try refining ghost pills herself. If she could… hell coins would flow into her hands without end.
"Oh? Please, let me take a look."
Keeping his face neutral, the ghost cultivator accepted the bundle of herbs and examined them carefully.
"Yes, very fresh. You picked them with care—no damage at all. How about this—three hundred hell coins for the lot. Will that do?"
He dared not shortchange her, not with her cultivation level.
"Alright."
She agreed readily. The important thing was to have the coins in hand first.
"Please, Dàrén, have a seat."
He gestured to a table in the hall, then disappeared into the back with her goods.
Ghost cultivators came and went at the entrance, and if not for the yin aura clinging to them, she might have forgotten she was in the Netherworld at all.
Watching them, she noticed something else—their cultivation levels were generally quite high.
Ghost cultivation relied on yin energy, though as for fortuitous encounters, she couldn't say. But ghosts often lived a long time here. The Netherworld had no shortage of ancient souls who refused to face lightning tribulation and ascend.
After all, failing to transcend meant annihilation, their souls scattered forever.
Song Wanníng's eyes darkened slightly. As an outsider here, she would have to be careful not to give herself away.
Before long, the ghost cultivator returned carrying a tray on which three hundred hell coins lay neatly arranged. Despite the name, they were irregularly shaped stones radiating a dense yin aura—the currency of the Netherworld.
"Please, Dàrén, count them."
He set the tray before her, then added with a gleam in his eye, "On our second and third floors we have many treasures, including Soul-Nourishing Pills specially obtained from Ghost Valley. Would you care to take a look?"
His gaze was sharp—hoping she would spend her newly earned coins here, perhaps even more.
"Soul-Nourishing Pills?"
The familiar name stirred something in her. Could they be the same as those in the Spirit Realm?
And Ghost Valley… was that a place specializing in the refinement of ghost pills?