In Fengdu, King Qin Guang was startled awake by urgent news.
“What? His Majesty pulled a nameless ghost from the sea of blood?”
Sitting up sharply, he waved his hand. An ancient scroll appeared before him—the Book of Life and Death. Moistening his finger, he flipped through its yellowed pages with haste, searching for the name of this mysterious female ghost.
Not long ago, the new Ghost King of Fengdu—Feng Xun—had lost a piece of this very book while rescuing the souls of fallen soldiers from an ancient battlefield beyond the ghost realm. Feng Xun hadn’t blamed him, but Qin Guang had carried the guilt ever since, suspecting that one too many cups of celestial wine had cost him that vital page.
Yet now, even with the book intact, there was no trace of the ghost in question. This meant only one thing—she was a life created in defiance of heaven and earth, not born of natural energy but through dark cultivation.
Such beings were cold, emotionless, and guided by only one instinct—hatred. They were more terrifying than even the most sinful souls of humankind, for they could not be redeemed. Not even the cruelest tortures—peeling skin, cutting tongues, or forcing them across mountains of blades—could make them repent.
For the first time in millennia, the underworld faced such an existence. A ghost that should have been cast into the sea of blood and obliterated forever.
When Feng Xun returned to Fengdu with Xie Xuan in his arms, King Qin Guang awaited him at the gates, crimson crown gleaming, jade scepter in hand.
“My Lord,” Qin Guang greeted, bowing deeply. His gentle gaze shifted toward Xie Xuan—and froze. “You know well what nameless ghosts are, do you not?”
Feng Xun nodded slightly. Indeed, he had never seen one before, but her presence was unlike any spirit he had encountered. Even now, this fragile “poisonous snake” still bit at his neck, and though her teeth left only shallow marks, her strength grew sharper by the second.
“She doesn’t belong in the mortal world,” Qin Guang said gravely.
“Isn’t this the underworld?” Feng Xun replied, a faint, amused smile touching his lips.
Qin Guang sighed, realizing how young and idealistic this little immortal was—untouched by the cruelty of either the human or spirit realms. He came from the divine world, a place of purity, and still believed every soul was worth saving.
Though the Ten Kings of Hell had long ruled the underworld, none objected to Feng Xun’s arrival. His leadership mirrored his father’s—strong, just, and unwavering.
Now, this young Ghost King carried in his arms a creature that defied every law of heaven. He didn’t summon guards or priests. He would watch over her himself, though he knew how dangerous she was. After all, even the bronze-armored general of Fengdu—a once-heroic soul turned demon—had nearly lost his eternal lamp to her bite.
Xie Xuan never dreamed.
When unconscious, her mind was filled with fragments—distorted light, fleeting warmth, and the memory of a white dress in sunlight. She despised that light, reaching to crush it. But her pale fingers burned and festered in the glow.
“It hurts… I envy them… I just want to go out and see…”
The whisper in the darkness gave her strength. She walked toward the light again, even as it melted her flesh. Her body trembled, pain rising from her very soul. She clenched her teeth, biting through the agony, but the light only grew stronger—vast and unyielding.
Yet within that searing brilliance, a new force pulsed—a power not of malice, but of mercy—meeting her hatred with something she could not understand.
And for the first time, the nameless ghost, Xie Xuan, trembled not from pain—but from confusion.
Why couldn’t she hurt him?
Why was his body so strong, while she grew weak under the sunlight?
Xie Xuan’s pale fingers dug into Feng Xun’s shoulders, but her strength was useless. Frustration built in her chest, and a low, guttural whimper escaped her throat.
Outside, faint sunlight spilled over Fengdu—the only light in a land yet untouched by snow. Beneath the shadow of his ghost mask, a trace of helplessness flickered in Feng Xun’s expression. Gently, he pried Xie Xuan’s trembling hand from his shoulder and infused her fragile soul with divine power, mending the damage caused by the sea of blood.
Startled awake from her nightmare, Xie Xuan blinked into the dim glow. Her gaze landed on Feng Xun’s neck—smooth and flawless like carved jade. Shallow teeth marks lingered there, and an overwhelming power pressed down upon her, cold and vast as the ocean.
The divine force was terrifying enough to make anyone bow their head. Yet beneath its weight, she lifted her chin stubbornly, glaring at him with defiance.
Half of his face, exposed beneath the ghost mask, was elegant and clear. Following the sharp line of his jaw, she could almost imagine the rest of his features—perfect, unblemished. She hated such perfection. No one in this world could be flawless; surely, a monster hid beneath that mask, just like her.
With a sudden motion, she reached out to tear it off.
Feng Xun, startled, caught her wrist. Her translucent fingers trembled before his eyes, and beneath the frayed red string on her wrist, a weathered jade pendant swayed gently.
“Xie Xuan?” he murmured, releasing her hand. He placed her carefully on the bed and turned away, realizing with quiet embarrassment that her clothes had been shredded by the sea of blood.
Hearing her name, Xie Xuan stiffened. She couldn’t move, only nodding angrily in acknowledgment.
Just wait, she thought bitterly. Once I find my little snake, I’ll make him pay for this humiliation.
Her tongue searched the inside of her mouth for her venomous companion—but it was gone. She pressed against her cheek in frustration, her malicious intent obvious.
“The dream snake?” Feng Xun said softly, amusement tugging at his lips. “Birds, beasts, and spirits all return to reincarnation. Even your snake has gone to its next life.”
He paused. “Even that creature was recorded in the Book of Life and Death, yet you were not.”
“I caught it—” she tried to say, but her voice broke into pitiful, wordless sounds.
“Is it yours?” he asked, still understanding her meaning from her strained tone.
Of course it was hers—she had raised it, used it, and together they had brought down those executioners and soldiers of men.
“It hates you,” Feng Xun said, adjusting his ghost mask.
I hate it too, she thought fiercely, her faint voice trembling in the air.
Under the shadow of the mask, Feng Xun’s gaze softened. His eyes, calm and full of divine compassion, drifted over her without desire—only quiet observation, as though studying a rare spirit.
Moments later, the sound of heavy fabric broke the silence. A white dress fell before her, simple yet radiant. Its hem shimmered faintly with hidden color—the mark of divine feathers he had once borne.
Thankfully, Xie Xuan didn’t notice.
She grabbed the dress and tried to tear it apart, but no matter how hard she pulled, the fabric remained whole. Her frustration deepened. She hated white.
“If it won’t tear, then wear it,” Feng Xun’s voice came from behind the screen, calm but hesitant. “Miss…” He paused, awkwardly correcting himself, “Girl, you are a girl.”
He rarely spoke to anyone, least of all women. His tone was gentle but unsure.
Xie Xuan threw the white dress toward him and glared at his tall silhouette behind the screen. She tried to speak, but her mouth couldn’t form words—only soft, plaintive whines escaped her lips.
“Don’t like white?” he guessed. Then, remembering the celestial goddesses’ preference for purity, he smiled faintly and changed the garment’s hue.
A black dress appeared before her, its color deep as night.
She hesitated, sensing danger. But when she touched it, the fabric felt warm—like sunlight after a storm. Gentle, forgiving, and bright even in darkness.
For the first time, she didn’t resist.
Burying her face in the dress, Xie Xuan wondered what the word “girl” meant. No one had ever called her that before.
Outside, Feng Xun’s patient voice returned. “Are you dressed?”
She didn’t answer.
After a long silence, he stepped from behind the screen. Her blank, indifferent gaze met his, and his eyes softened again.
“You can’t even put it on properly?” he sighed.
Her tangled hair and twisted skirt made her look more like a lost spirit than a threat. Without a word, he knelt to help, covering his mask with a black veil to avoid impropriety. His hands moved carefully, tying the silk ribbons with precision, helping the nameless ghost into the dress she could not destroy.
Xie Xuan froze, her body trembling beneath the weight of his overwhelming presence. Her fingers curled into tight fists as a faint, broken sound escaped her throat.
When he gently raised her arms to slip the robe over her shoulders, she whispered softly, almost to herself—
“I’m not human.”
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