All Heavenly destiny reduced to ashes-Chapter 1504 - 274: Calamity

Of course, some go mad, and naturally, some are afraid. An Jing, after all, is a Seven Fiend Tribulation. Some of the Netherworld Souls from Shenjing, who understand the horror of the Seven Fiend Tribulation, almost knelt down in the Underworld. But most do not dare to curse An Jing, who truly dares to kill them, instead they curse Da Chen.

"What are those officials maintaining the Great Formation doing?! Under the Emperor’s feet, in the most virtuous place, how could it have been destroyed by a madman like this!"

"We’ve been loyal for generations, paying taxes and offerings, and the Divine Capital Array ends up breaking like this?!"

"Who is responsible? Useless! Bunch of useless wretches!"

They don’t dare to hate An Jing, nor do they dare to name names to curse the officials, but they have to vent their anger somehow.

The vast majority believe that everyone will curse along with them—whether it’s An Jing or Da Chen.

But not everyone did.

The river.

Here flows a river.

The river runs among the clouds of the Underworld, causing tears to pour, the Bitter Sea to surge, and thunder to flash over the Youli Sea. Whether it’s wind or rain, sorrow or pain, they cannot invade the Array of Shenjing, nor enter the realm of Ghost Capital.

But ultimately, no matter how, this place remains the Netherworld, a place for the dead, the sorrowful and the pained, those who are unwilling to leave.

Death. Death.

Death is a kind of pain, yet death is also a kind of release.

Those who hold expectations and hope for the Present World, no matter where or how those expectations are rooted, ultimately do not wish to die. But death, some still reject, not because they yearn for life, but merely because they drift along, living.

A soul spirit looks up blankly, gazing at the Heavenly Dome of Ghost Capital’s Shenjing, where the Netherworld barrier is not as tight compared to other places. Faintly, you can see something grandly luminous flowing through Shenjing, releasing and sweeping across everything, sending more and more soul spirits into Ghost Capital.

Countless souls thus fall into the Netherworld.

Death like rain, death like river, flows endlessly, never ceasing.

In this moment, she cannot help but recall the day many years ago when her father did not return.

She is just an ordinary old lady; her parents were farmers. If nothing unexpected happened, she should have been a farmer too, her children still farmers, living in a red brick house outside Shenjing, with life just passing like that.

Being a farmer on the outskirts of Shenjing is, of course, better than being a farmer elsewhere.

No need to live in straw huts on yellow soil, nor worry about natural disasters or human ones. No matter how many children are born, Shenjing can always support everyone, no matter what storm and frost, or red land stretching for miles, or war and chaos occurs outside, the surroundings of Shenjing are always blessed with favorable weather and bountiful harvests.

The happiest day for her each year is the day they enter the city to buy New Year’s goods.

Because on that day, her father would take her, riding on an old ox cart, creaking along the orderly Great Dao, heading to the city where the air is sweet and it’s bright day and night.

There, you find people who dance with fire, space shuttles that fly through the sky, dazzling pearls, and sweet candy.

Of course, she knows her family doesn’t have much money, so she behaves, never asking for anything indiscriminately. But her father would always use a few leftover copper coins from buying New Year’s goods to get her a sticky rice candy.

Her father’s hand, rough like old tree bark, would pat her head and hand her the candy.

The rice candy is aromatic, with the sweetness of malt and sticky rice, yet it sticks to the teeth.

She needs to hold it in her mouth, chewing constantly, to savor its taste; savor its taste to the point where once, she chewed too hard and a baby tooth needing replacement got pulled out by the candy, making her cry loudly. Her father, heartbroken yet amused, held her in his arms, stubbly beard poking her, spinning around twice.

Another year passed; new teeth grew in, but her father did not come back.

Not only did her father not come back, most of the villagers who went with him did not return.

The few uncles who returned, took her and the other young ones away hurriedly, returning to the village, and then, amid unclear reasons, the entire village became frantic, beginning preparations to migrate.

She remembers her mother covering her mouth upon hearing the news, this sturdy farmer who never complained just called out her father’s name once, without shedding a tear.

She quickly packed up their belongings, took her, and other pale-faced villagers of the same surname, and left their hometown overnight.

They offended a noble.

Only ten years later she began to vaguely understand the meaning behind these five words.

For some, this might make them sweat profusely, fearless, pondering how to send gifts to mend relations...

But for more ’Shenjing people’.

This means death, punishment, and departure.

What kind of offense was it?

Perhaps when the noble was chatting, her father’s rickety ox cart just made too much noise, or perhaps while they spoke, they were talking too.

Perhaps their odor was too strong, making them feel uncomfortable enough to frown.

Perhaps they accidentally blocked their carriage, got run over, still despised for the flesh and blood stained mess on the carriage.

So many maybes—even now, she still doesn’t know the truth, in those years of leaving Shenjing’s outskirts, her family, the village lived so difficultly, with no time to ponder these things.

Return to Shenjing.

Gradually, people began to say.

—Why?

No reason.

Without hesitation, people answered.

Return to Shenjing.

Must return to Shenjing.

Only there can one survive; only there is the best place to go.