Chapter 1813: Entering the Yin Ruins Again

Li Yan’s eyes lit up.

This line of thought is indeed correct.

The Nine Gates Yin Ruins was an absolute ground set up with the souls of tens of thousands of captives and the Dragon Vein Evil Qi when the Golden Tent Wolf Country was destroyed. In its complex layers of space, countless powerful yin souls are trapped.

No one dared to enter easily before—firstly, because the chaotic space made it easy to get lost, and secondly, because the resentment of the yin souls inside was too strong, making subduing them extremely risky. Furthermore, the Imperial Family had dispatched people to suppress and monitor the perimeter.

But now, with the court and the Mystical Sect actively intervening, if the Five Dao General can use Divine Path skills to stabilize the space channel, and Li Yan uses Hook Paper and the Five Directions Luo Feng Flag to capture souls…

“There’s another problem.”

Li Yan calmed down, “The Nine Gates Yin Ruins only allow souls to enter; the physical body must remain outside. If something happens to me inside, or if someone tampers with my body outside…”

“That’s why I must accompany you,” the Five Dao General interjected, “I will accompany you inside with my Incense Fire Avatar—as my Divine Power is insufficient, I cannot create a very strong avatar, but at least I can use the ‘Road’ Divine Skills to take you through another exit in case of emergency. As for your body…”

He thought for a moment, “Place it beneath the shrine in my main temple. It’s been soaked in my incense for a hundred years, and ordinary evil spirits wouldn’t dare approach. Also, have your companions set up a formation outside the temple to guard it. It’ll be foolproof!”

“Alright! Let’s do it that way!”

At this point, Li Yan no longer hesitated.

…

Midnight approaches, the Capital is dead silent.

The court has put on an unprecedented show of force for this Nine Gates Yin Ruins exploration.

The day before, curfew orders were posted all over the streets and alleys, endorsed with a Vermilion Pen decree, stamped with the great seals of the Ministry of War and the Five Cities Military Department. After nightfall, the Imperial Guard and City Patrol Soldiers poured out like a swarm, their iron boots stomping and armor clashing echoing through the deserted streets, torches forming a long dragon.

Any wandering or suspicious figure encountered at night would be dragged into prison by chains without question, and subjected to heavy interrogation. For a time, even the most unruly individuals retreated to their nests.

The entire Capital seemed to be suffocating under an overturned iron pot.

The entrance to the Nine Gates Yin Ruins is not fixed.

Any of the nine city gates in the Capital—Zhengyang, Chongwen, Xuanwu, Chaoyang, Dongzhi, Xizhi, Fucheng, Desheng, or Yongding—could become a fissure leading to that eerie place at a specific hour.

Therefore, heavy defenses had long been set up outside the Nine Gates.

Experts clad in the unique ocher-yellow attire of the Royal Ancestral Temple mingled with Mystical Sect Cultivators in various Daoist robes and strong clothes, keeping a subtle yet watchful eye on the void in the direction of the city gates, not daring to be lax for even a moment.

In the Imperial City Altar, it was even brighter, with incense and candle smoke rising steadily into the lead-gray night sky.

Several State Preceptors, who typically stayed behind the scenes, personally presided over the ritual, performing Step Gang Stepping, chanting spells, and shaking bells. They used the court’s orthodox Qi Fortune and immense Mana to stabilize the field between the Capital’s earth veins and the Nine Gates Yin Ruins.

The low chanting and clear sound of the Magic Artifact carried far with the wind, appearing especially solemn and making hearts tighten in the silent night.

Everyone knew what this display was guarding against.

The Emperor’s grand funeral was not yet completed, the spirit coffin still lay in Fengxian Hall, and yet the Crown Prince lay bedridden, on the brink of danger. This news had already spread like an undercurrent among the high echelons.

The supreme dragon throne hovered on the edge of a volcano, hot and dangerous.

The eyes of power from all sides were wide open, and the hands beneath the table were already itching to move.

Entering the Nine Gates Yin Ruins to seek a life-extending Spiritual Object was the Crown Prince Mansion’s and those aligned with the Crown Prince’s last bid, which was no secret.

Such a grand display of force, rather than guarding against external enemies, was more about intimidating those internal “allies” who were already restless or preparing to place their bets.

Common folk only felt stifled, shutting their doors, silent as cold cicadas.

But in the eyes of those in the deep courtyards of the Prince Mansion, in the secret halls of the Chamber of Commerce, and the leaders of pugilistic world sects, it was a different taste.

The Crown Prince might be ill, and the position of power uncertain, yet the force the Imperial Family could still muster, and the support the Mystical Sect was willing to provide, were substantial!

The overnight mobilization of elite troops, the usually aloof Grandmasters and Heavenly Masters, the costly State Preceptor rituals—each conveyed a cold and clear signal:

The Eastern Palace has not fallen; its residual power remains. Rash moves now could be costly and unpredictable!

Many who had quietly sent pledges to certain Vassal Kings, or were secretly preparing to change allegiances, couldn’t help but feel apprehensive, reconsidering the risks.

In this oppressive atmosphere, where the tension was palpable, midnight quietly arrived.

Imperial City, Heavenly Altar.

The ritual was at its critical juncture.

The incense table was laden with tributes of three animals and five grains, and the fire roared in the bronze giant tripod, flickering shadows on the faces of the presiding State Preceptors, whose robes were soaked with sweat.

Below the altar, shadows swayed, and the air was heavy.

Alongside the presiding State Preceptors, two figures stood out particularly.

One was Zhang Siyuan, the contemporary Heavenly Master of Dragon and Tiger Mountain.

He wore a purple Heavenly Master’s Robe, with a Furong Crown atop his head, his face ancient and serene, long beard draping his chest. He held a White Jade Feather Duster, quietly standing by the altar’s side. Occasionally, a flash of electric light glinted in his half-open eyes.

The other was Huo Yin, the head of the Divine Fist Hall and the acknowledged top of the Ten Grandmasters in terms of combat prowess across the Divine State.

He wore a brown strong outfit, enveloped in sleeveless leather armor, his tall figure standing like an iron tower, arms crossed, expressionless as he observed the ritual on the altar.

The night breeze brushed his short beard, and just standing there, he made one feel oppressed.

If anyone remembered past events, they might feel strange at this moment.

Back when Qiankun Academy forcibly sealed the godhood of “Sui Lun True Monarch,” Heavenly Master Zhang personally went to the Capital to obstruct it, and publicly clashed with Huo Yin, who was acting under the Emperor’s orders. Though the battle did not determine life and death, it escalated tensions and ended unpleasantly.