Chapter 136 — Soul Summoning

Mingli's heart gave a leap, and a buzzing seemed to sound in his mind. A dread like needles piercing to the bone flashed through him. He held his breath and braced the shaman with greater force, then bent to look: the shaman's face was ashen beyond description, but his mouth was slightly open and he was still breathing—clearly from sheer exhaustion.

Only then did Mingli's heart settle back into place. At the same moment, he realized with a start that in that brief instant his own brow and back had broken out in sweat as well.

Beside him, almost at the same moment, came the sound of Hades letting out a long breath. Clearly, even he had been given a fright. In that moment, these two men who looked down upon the whole world were both trembling with fear over a single movement of a dying old man.

The shaman gasped for a long while before his spirits seemed to recover somewhat. He nodded to Mingli, signaling him to let him sit. Mingli's heart was in turmoil; seeing the shaman's condition, he was truly afraid the old man might die from one careless moment. Yet even with all his worry, there was nothing to be done. He could only follow the shaman's instructions and help him sit—at the very top of Bili's platform.

The shaman drew a deep breath and looked forward. Before him lay a blood array now wholly joined together, its crimson channels spread across the floor, holding countless streams of blood captive within. And that fresh, vivid blood, as though moved by some invisible force, on the smooth ground all began at once to flow in the same direction, not a single thread straying beyond the vein-like brushstrokes.

From this end it flowed to that, then from the linked channels circulated back, forming a complete celestial circuit, ceaseless and unending, turning without rest.

Behind the shaman, Mingli and Hades exchanged a glance. Both men were great masters of the cultivation arts, and in their eyes now there was astonishment.

The shaman pondered a moment, then stretched out a withered hand and picked up the red brush that had fallen beside him. He held it upright before him, the red fine hairs pointing downward. From the brush still clung residual drops of blood, beading into pearls that struggled and lingered a moment upon the hairs before falling silently into the river of blood before him.

The shaman's gaze did not waver, and his heavy breathing suddenly fell still. Within the stone chamber, all at once, there was calm.

His brows slowly drew upward, and into those dull eyes a light gradually kindled. And the blood in the array before him seemed likewise to have been provoked, for its rushing current suddenly quickened.

The hand holding the red brush slowly descended and soon touched the ground, three inches before the outermost river of blood. The slender red hairs met the floor and did not bend; the whole surface suddenly seemed to turn soft as water, and the red brush sank slowly and soundlessly into the ground.

The atmosphere in the stone chamber slowly turned eerie. As the rivers of blood ran faster and faster, a faint whistling began to rise. Thin blood-mist, as the red brush sank deeper, gradually rose from the array, and in a little while merged with the pale white vapor emanating from the cold ice platform, encircling Bili's body.

Hades and Mingli stared fixedly, not blinking, at the scene.

The shaman released the red brush, and a low voice of incantation began to echo through the stone chamber. From between his cracked lips, faint yet ceaseless, came strange sound after strange sound. His hands seemed to follow some inexplicable melody, rising slowly into the air, fingers curled into claws, waving gently.

The whistling in the stone chamber grew louder and louder. On the floor, the blood rivers of the array were now churning, wave surging over wave in a mad torrent, and gusts of ghostly power came howling out from those bloody channels.

Suddenly, a shrill cry burst from the shaman's mouth, and both hands, fingers hooked like claws, plunged downward. With a "splat," they gripped into the river of blood.

Almost at that very instant, Hades and Mingli, standing behind, were seized by a sense of bewilderment. For one moment it seemed to them that the stone chamber no longer existed—the four stone walls, the stone floor above and below, all at once became void, as though they stood in a boundless, spaceless realm beyond the heavens, grim and lightless, with not a single thing to cling to.

Then came the sudden chorus of ghostly wailing, swarming in from every direction, and brilliant red light burst forth from the blood array, soaring skyward. Within that wavering red radiance, countless shades of spirits and ghosts darted about in panic, as though seized by some invisible giant force and dragged here against their will, rushing wildly to and fro, yet utterly unable to escape the crimson curtain of light.

And in that same moment, the stone chamber returned to itself, and Mingli and Hades regained their senses at once. Both were shaken to the core, understanding that in that instant the Soul Summoning array had treated the surrounding stone walls and mountain belly as if they did not exist, using the uncanny shamanic power of the Southern Wastes to force open a passage into the Ninefold Ghost Realm and seize countless spirits and specters, imprisoning them within the array.

But such was the wonder of the Soul Summoning array that it naturally consumed enormous vitality. Seen through the red light, the shaman's face had gone as bad as a face could go—were one to say he was already a dead man, there would surely be those who believed it.

The hearts of Hades and Mingli beat faster despite themselves. They prayed silently that the shaman would hold on, their eyes fixed all the more intently upon the array.

In the midst of it all, countless spirits and ghosts shrieked and leaped and flew within the red light. There were ordinary specters, and there were mountain sprites and monstrous beasts of bizarre form. After a moment, these ghostly creatures, repelled one by one by the red light, seemed to realize they could not escape. One after another they turned to howl and shriek at the shaman seated at the head of the array.

The shaman paid the furious ghosts little mind. His eyes slowly lifted to the stone platform shrouded in red light—to the Hehuan Bell in Bili's hand. His arms suddenly swept upward: his left hand still clawed, but the fingers of his right shifted—the ring finger and little finger curved inward a fraction, the middle and index fingers extended like a sword, the thumb thrust toward the sky. It was the very seal of the shamanic way, pointing into the void.

The Hehuan Bell rang out, clear and sharp.

"Ding!…"

The crisp note of the bell was like an oriole singing in a deep valley at dawn. The Hehuan Bell rose from Bili's hand and slowly floated into the air. A pale golden light shone forth once more from its body.

Almost at the same instant the shaman pointed at the Hehuan Bell, the countless spirits and ghosts within the Soul Summoning blood array, as though driven by some invisible force, surged like a tide toward the golden bell rising in midair—furious, shrieking, unwilling, and yet helpless.

In an instant, ghostly energy ran rampant. The Hehuan Bell shuddered violently as spectral power poured in from every side, battering it again and again. Countless ghostly creatures swarmed upon it, gnawing at its body, striking it savagely—a scene of utter frenzy. And beneath it all, the crimson sea within the blood array grew ever more vivid, the blood howling as though about to boil.