Star Martial Soaring Cloud

If you can't win, you can run away. When Wang Xiao ordered a retreat, he planned to evacuate the ancient city first.

Firstly, they wanted to see if these ghost soldiers could leave the ancient city's territory; secondly, without the constraints of the city's protective formation, they could better unleash their power.

But in the ancient city where flying is prohibited, how could they possibly outrun these ghostly soldiers?

The ghost soldiers gave them no chance to catch their breath, and the three of them were instantly engulfed in a relentless wave of attacks.

"Fight them closely first, and don't give them a chance to use their strength!" Wang Xiao's voice was low, but it carried an undeniable decisiveness.

Now that we've figured out the source of their power, we should take some countermeasures.

He used the Seven Star Rain Steps, his body weaving through the horde of Yin soldiers like an eel, no longer throwing punches or launching attacks, focusing solely on dodging.

With each sidestep and each slide, he precisely avoided the blades and spears slashing at him by the ghost soldiers.

His speed was so fast that afterimages overlapped one after another, but the attacks of the ghost soldiers became more and more dense and swift, like an unstoppable tide, sweeping in layer upon layer.

Yan Zixi also abandoned her main offensive lightning and fire elemental abilities, and only activated her water and earth elemental abilities to set up defenses.

Earth flowers bloomed, forming a thick earthen wall around the three of them; water flowers swirled, covering the earthen wall with a flexible water curtain.

One forceful, one gentle; one robust, one resilient; together they barely managed to block all the attacks of the ghost soldiers.

Su Qinhe held the jade flute horizontally in her hand, stopping the musical attack. With a light tap of her toes, her figure flickered, drifted, and spun within a small space, displaying the ultimate in her ethereal movement technique.

Her figure was sometimes clear, sometimes ethereal, sometimes appearing in the east, sometimes falling in the west, as if she existed in multiple locations at the same time.

But there were just too many ghost soldiers.

Under the continuous impact of the Yin soldiers, cracks gradually appeared on Yan Zixi's earthen walls and water curtain. With each crack spreading, her face paled a little more.

Although Su Qinhe's shimmering illusions were exquisite, each flash consumed her energy, and over time, she would eventually run out of energy.

The two stood back to back, their chests heaving as they breathed heavily.

Of the three, only Wang Xiao was in slightly better condition; the benefits of body tempering were now being fully demonstrated.

Just as Wang Xiao was racking his brains for a way to break through, Su Qinhe suddenly spoke, her voice tinged with surprise and doubt: "Why do I feel... when I use the Flowing Light Illusion technique, the movements of these ghostly soldiers seem to pause?"

"What?"

Wang Xiao and Yan Zixi were both startled, and their divine senses simultaneously probed around Su Qinhe.

They were astonished to discover that whenever Su Qinhe used her Flowing Light Illusion technique, the Yin soldiers attacking her would noticeably pause in their movements.

It wasn't a slowdown, nor a hesitation, but rather as if they had suddenly lost their target; their movements came to an abrupt halt, and their weapons hung suspended in mid-air.

The pause lasted only a brief moment, so brief as to be almost negligible, yet that moment of stillness was undeniably real.

"What's going on?" Yan Zixi asked in confusion as she channeled her energy to reinforce the crumbling earthen wall.

Wang Xiao was also full of questions.

In terms of movement techniques, the Seven Star Rain Steps and the Flowing Light and Illusionary Shadow are equally matched. If the Yin Soldiers cannot lock onto their targets due to excessive speed, then why do the Yin Soldiers attacking him never show the same pause?

"The problem isn't speed," Wang Xiao thought rapidly as he dodged, "it's the Flowing Light and Illusion technique itself."

He began to ponder the difference between the Flowing Light and Illusion and the Seven Star Rain Steps.

The Seven Star Rain Steps represent the ultimate physical speed, relying on a powerful physique to move at high speed in space. Although fast, it always leaves a continuous trail in space.

Unlike the Flowing Light Illusion, it is a true supernatural power, a light-based movement technique, somewhat similar to the Void Crossing left to him by Lu Shu.

Void crossing is tearing through the void, appearing directly from one point to another without passing through any space in between.

While the ethereal illusions weren't quite that miraculous, they were still fleeting movements within a small space.

She doesn't simply "run" to a certain place; she can actually disappear from one place in an instant and reappear in another, with the distance between the two points not exceeding three inches.

It appears to be the ultimate speed, but in reality, it has a completely different principle from the Seven Star Rain Step.

The ghostly soldiers lose sight of their target, not because they can't see it clearly, but because the target truly vanishes in that instant.

A thought flashed through Wang Xiao's mind, and he remembered an even more crucial detail—when the Yin soldiers first appeared, they did not immediately launch an attack on them.

"I understand!" Wang Xiao's eyes suddenly lit up. "So that's how it is!"

While dodging the attacks of the ghost soldiers, he rapidly deduced the situation in his mind.

A mirror reflects light not because it emits light itself; it reflects light not because it has eyes, but because it passively receives and reflects light.

The same applies to ghost soldiers; they have no independent consciousness or perception, and only react instinctively to "hostility."

Hostility is their source of energy; if this source is removed, how can the mirror "come alive"?

"You guys help me hold them off, I'll try out that big oaf on my right!" Wang Xiao shouted sternly.

"Okay!" the two women replied in unison.

But the next second, their exclamations rang out simultaneously:

"Wang Xiao!"

"What are you going to do?"

Suddenly, Wang Xiao stopped dodging, abandoned his defense, and went straight to meet the tallest Yin soldier on his right.

He held his breath and concentrated, and the vital energy in his body suddenly stagnated, no longer flowing or leaking out; his gaze became calm and still, and there was not a trace of fluctuation in his aura, and more importantly, there was no hostility whatsoever.

He seemed utterly desolate, like a cold, stubborn rock, a lifeless piece of withered wood, a void completely disconnected from this world.

To outsiders, he looked as if he were bravely facing death.

The tall ghost soldier had already raised his broadsword high, its blade gleaming with a chilling light, and with an irresistible force, he slashed down fiercely towards Wang Xiao's head!

But the blade stopped abruptly three inches from Wang Xiao's forehead.

It wasn't that something stopped him, nor did Wang Xiao try to resist; rather, the ghostly soldiers stopped on their own.

Its empty eyes seemed to be "looking" at Wang Xiao, and the large knife in its hand was suspended in mid-air, motionless. Then, it slowly lowered the knife and took a step back.

"Huh?" Su Qinhe and Yan Zixi both sighed softly at the same time. After exchanging a glance, they both stopped attacking and defending.

Yan Zixi retracted all the earth and water flowers into her body, and the spiritual light around her instantly dissipated; Su Qinhe also stopped the illusory light and stood quietly in place, her jade flute gently hanging by her side.

The hostility dissipated.

The ghostly soldiers who were attacking frantically suddenly stopped moving as if an invisible hand had flipped a switch. Then, they withdrew their weapons, took a step back, and then another, slowly and neatly returning to their original ranks.

They stopped attacking.

The square fell silent once more.

"Tap, tap, tap..."

The ghostly soldiers reformed into neat ranks, marching in unison towards the depths of the street.

Their silhouettes appeared and disappeared among the crumbling city walls and collapsed houses, like an army that was always marching, always patrolling, always guarding something.

"That...is it resolved?" Yan Zixi stared incredulously at the departing ghostly soldiers, her voice filled with disbelief. "Just that simple?"

"It's not simple at all." Su Qinhe let out a long sigh, her tone tinged with the exhaustion of surviving a close call. "With such a sudden turn of events, who could remain unmoved? Who would dare to rashly halt their attack?"

She paused, then turned her gaze to Wang Xiao, her voice suddenly becoming tense: "Wang Xiao, could you please not take such risks next time? What if it didn't stop, what if..."

She didn't finish her sentence; her voice trembled slightly, as if something was stuck in her throat, and she couldn't utter a single word.

She suddenly realized her lapse in composure and looked up to see Yan Zixi standing to the side with her arms crossed and a mischievous smile on her lips, looking like she was watching a good show.

Su Qinhe's cheeks flushed red, and she was momentarily at a loss for what to do. She quickly lowered her head and whispered, "I'm sorry... I just felt it was too risky."

She waited for a moment, but received no response. When she looked up, Wang Xiao was no longer beside her.

He followed at the very back of the ghostly army, keeping pace with them every step of the way, moving slowly and intently, as if afraid of disturbing this silent procession.

"Hey, Wang Xiao!" Yan Zixi shouted at Wang Xiao's back, hands on her hips, "Didn't you hear how concerned our Qinhe was about you?"

"What did Miss Su just say? I'm sorry, I really didn't hear it!" People who are deep in thought often overlook many things.

Wang Xiao did not turn around, but continued to follow behind the ghostly soldiers, staring intently at their gray-blue backs, as if pondering some crucial question.

Su Qinhe watched his retreating figure, gently shook her head, but a smile unconsciously appeared on her lips.

She followed him, thinking with relief: Thank goodness he didn't hear me. What was wrong with me? How could I have lost my composure like that?

Yan Zixi glanced at Wang Xiao, then at Su Qinhe, sighed helplessly, and quickly followed.

The ghostly soldiers entered a wide street, the very street that Wang Xiao and his group had passed through on their way here.

The street was lined with taverns, inns, cloth shops, pharmacies, and a courtyard with a plaque that read "School".

The streets were overgrown with weeds and the stone slabs were broken. The houses on both sides still stood, but they were already dilapidated.

Then, Wang Xiao witnessed a scene that he would never forget.

Those ghostly soldiers actually began to "clean up".

The swords and shields in their hands had somehow transformed into brooms and rags.

Withered, bluish-gray fingers gripped a bamboo broom, moving slowly and carefully, sweeping away fallen leaves and dust from the street; some ghostly soldiers squatted in front of the stone steps, wiping the stains on the door panels with a rag; others stood by the well, scraping away the moss from the well's edge bit by bit.

They cleaned with such meticulous care that it felt as if they were performing a sacred ritual, not doing something futile.

When Wang Xiao arrived at the pharmacy, he saw a ghostly soldier dressed in gray cloth standing behind the medicine cabinet, using his bluish-gray hands to open and close the drawers one by one, and rearranging the medicinal herbs inside neatly.

He did it slowly, and his movements were a little stiff, but he was meticulous in every single one of them.

The faint aroma of herbs in the pharmacy seemed to be intensified by this.

Wang Xiao walked to the well again. Beside the well stood a ghostly soldier dressed in a coarse cloth shirt, drawing water from the well with a wooden bucket.

But the bucket he brought up was empty. The well water was crystal clear, and when the bucket passed through the water, it seemed to pass through air without lifting anything.

But the ghostly soldier didn't care at all. He kept drawing water and washing the well edge over and over again, as if as long as he worked hard enough, the bucket would definitely be filled with water and the well edge would definitely become clean and new.

Su Qinhe stood under the old jujube tree, watching a ghostly soldier in a long robe trimming the withered branches of the tree with a pair of non-existent scissors.

His movements were gentle and patient, as if he were caring for a sleeping child.

On the jujube tree, a few shriveled jujubes swayed gently in the breeze.

Yan Zixi stood in front of a house, watching a female ghost soldier dressed in a ruqun (a type of traditional Chinese dress) righting a fallen chair and picking up the broken ceramic bowls and plates one by one.

The fragments were pieced back together in her hands, becoming whole bowls and plates again, but when she let go, they shattered on the floor once more.

She tirelessly picked it up, pieced it back together, let go, and picked it up again. There was no frustration or anger in her actions, only an almost obsessive persistence.

"It feels like..." Yan Zixi's voice was a little hoarse, "They're tidying up their home."

Wang Xiao nodded without saying anything.

Su Qinhe looked at the busy ghost soldiers and said softly, "But why is it that some of their actions work, while others cause everything to return to normal?"

No one can answer this question.

Everyone understood that it was they who had been silently protecting the city all along, and that was the origin of those brand-new tools.

A warm feeling rose in the hearts of the three.

That warm current surged from the depths of this desolate ancient city, from the souls of those who have been gone for countless years, from their empty eye sockets and stiff fingertips.

They swept the streets with brooms, wiped the doors with rags, and filled wooden buckets with water as if to water the flowers and plants...

They are protecting this city, protecting every brick, every tile, every blade of grass and tree...

Even though they were already dead, and even though most of what they did was in vain, they still did not give up.

What kind of people are so obsessed with this?

Wang Xiao followed behind the ghost soldiers, walking very slowly.

He walked past a tavern and saw a ghostly soldier wiping an abacus on the counter; he walked past a cloth shop and saw a ghostly soldier folding fabrics neatly on the shelves; he walked past a school and saw a ghostly soldier writing on the wall with charcoal, writing again and again, but not a single mark was left on the wall.

"What do they want us to see?" Wang Xiao muttered to himself.

The ghostly soldiers walked slowly and carefully, cleaning as they went, from the inner city to the outer city, from the square to the city gate, as if they were telling the story of the city to the intruders.

As they approached the city gate, they changed.

The broom and rag in his hands transformed back into swords and shields. His back straightened, his steps became steady and powerful, and the crimson light in his empty eye sockets reignited, like a warrior about to go to war, igniting the flames in his heart.

The weather in the sky suddenly changed.

This is not a real change in the weather, but an inexplicable force surging between heaven and earth.

Dark clouds gathered from all directions, completely blocking out the sunlight, plunging the world into darkness in an instant.

The wind howled, whipping up dust and fallen leaves that swirled in the air.

Then, atop the city wall, in the void where dark clouds and glimmers of light intertwined, enormous, semi-transparent images slowly unfolded.

It's as if memories sealed away by time for thousands of years have finally found an outlet and are pouring out in full.

Mirage!

Those images were not real. Wang Xiao could clearly sense that they had no sound, no temperature, and no fluctuations of vital energy. They were just projections of light and shadow, like phantoms carried to the sky by the wind.

Yet they were so clear, so clear that you could see the expression on every soldier's face, so clear that you could see every drop of blood dripping from the swords.

In that scene, there is a city; it's this very city.

At that time, the city gates were intact, the city walls were towering, and the glazed tiles on the roofs shone brightly in the sunlight; the streets were bustling with people, vendors were hawking their wares, and children were playing, creating a scene of great prosperity.

The people in the city wore robes from Kyushu, spoke the language of Kyushu, and lived the same life as those in Kyushu.

Then, the screen shattered.

The sounds of battle seemed to burst forth from the screen—no, the sounds didn't come from the screen, but suddenly arose from all directions, as if the heavens and earth were resonating.

The sound was ethereal and otherworldly, as if it came through a thick layer of glass, yet Wang Xiao's eardrums still rang with a buzzing sound.

On the screen, countless soldiers are fighting against a group of alien races.

Those alien races, with their blond hair and blue eyes, were tall and wore armor completely different from that of Kyushu. They wielded greatswords and battle axes and frantically climbed the city walls.

The soldiers on the city walls fought desperately, stabbing with spears, slashing with swords, hurling stones, and using their own bodies to block the breaches in the walls.

A soldier was pierced through the chest by a giant sword. He clung tightly to the alien warrior and rolled off the city wall, dying together with him. Another soldier had his arm severed. He picked up a knife from the ground with his remaining hand and continued to slash until he was covered in blood and could no longer stand up.

Those images, those light and shadows floating in the air like mirages, kept switching and jumping, sometimes clear, sometimes blurry, sometimes brightly colored, and sometimes faded to black and white, as if someone had compressed thousands of years of memories and poured them out all at once.

After an unknown amount of time, the soldiers on the city wall finally raised their tattered flags and cheered silently.

Some were laughing, some were crying, and some were holding their comrades' cold bodies, saying nothing.

They supported each other as they stood atop the city wall, gazing into the distance at the sky stained red by the flames of war.

They won; they defeated the invasion of the foreign race.

The scene changes again.

The city wall collapsed with a roar, the city gate shattered and fell to the ground, and countless corpses piled up on the city wall. Some were wearing armor from all over the country, while others were wearing unfamiliar armor. It was impossible to tell friend from foe.

A new enemy has emerged.

They have five eyes on their faces, arranged in an arc, emitting an eerie glow.

They have no weapons, but they can condense black orbs of light in their hands. When these orbs land on the city walls, the bricks and stones turn to dust; when they land on people, their flesh and blood turn into black smoke.

The soldiers on the city walls were still fighting, even though they were already exhausted.

Swords were dulled, shields shattered, and arrows were exhausted. They could only use their own bodies to block the gaps and their own lives to delay the enemy's advance.

A soldier was struck by a black orb of light, and half of his body instantly turned into black smoke. With his remaining hand, he clung tightly to the leg of a five-eyed alien and dragged it off the city wall.

His body completely dissipated in mid-air, but his hand remained clenched until the very last moment.

The scene changed again.

This time, the number of enemies besieging the city walls was so great that they stretched as far as the eye could see.

They were dressed in jet-black armor and wore helmets that covered their faces. They moved forward silently and in unison, without roaring or shouting, only with heavy footsteps like the approach of death.

The soldiers on the city wall were trapped in a corner and had no way to retreat.

Behind him was a bottomless abyss, and in front of him were countless enemies.

Swords were broken, shields were shattered, arrows were exhausted; they had nothing left but their last breath and a heart determined to protect their original aspirations.

In the center of the line, a man who looked like a general stepped forward.

His armor was tattered and his face was covered in blood, but his back was straight, like a drawn sword, its sharpness chilling.

His gaze swept over every soldier on the city wall, over the distant mountains and rivers, over the city he had dedicated his life to protecting, and then he laughed loudly to the sky.

The laughter was completely silent—the scene was merely a projection of light and shadow, so how could there be sound? Yet Wang Xiao clearly "heard" it.

That laughter pierced through a century of time, crossed the boundary between life and death, and broke through the barrier between illusion and reality, striking straight into his heart.

It is desolate and tragic, yet it carries an indescribable sense of heroism, as if laughing at the enemy's overestimation of their abilities, as if laughing at the injustice of fate, and as if laughing at their own life... It was all worth it.

His lips moved, each word carrying the weight of a thousand pounds:

"A thousand years of conquest have left the land empty, but alas, the unity of the nine provinces is nowhere to be seen. A century of fierce battles has not thawed our resolve, but our loyal hearts will forever shine in the ancient heavens."

Then, he drew the long sword from his waist, and with a flash of light, blood gushed out.

His body slowly fell, and the long sword in his hand fell to the ground with a silent thud.

His eyes were still open, gazing in one direction—the direction of Kyushu.

As he fell, the mirage-like scene began to blur, like a pebble thrown into a reflection on water, creating ripples.

The figures of the soldiers, the city walls, the foreign tribes, and the flashing swords all twisted, deformed, and dissipated in the ripples.

got windy.

It's not the wind in the picture, it's the real wind blowing in from outside the city.

The wind passed through the broken city gates, the collapsed city walls, and the empty streets, gently brushing against the cheeks of Wang Xiao, Su Qinhe, and Yan Zixi, carrying a hint of coolness, a hint of dust, and a faint, ancient smell of blood.

The image completely disappeared.

The moment the general fell, the bodies of the ghostly soldiers before him began to disintegrate.

It wasn't an explosion, nor did it shatter; rather, it was like a sand sculpture being blown away by the wind, starting from the soles of the feet, gradually turning into grayish-black powder.

This collapse spread from the city walls, sweeping down from top to bottom and engulfing all the ghostly soldiers.

Those arms that were wielding swords turned into scattered dust; those heads that seemed to be shouting and roaring turned into scattered dust; those bodies that burned with indomitable will also, bit by bit, turned into dust.

But on their faces, there was no pain, no resentment.

A gust of wind blew by, and the powder remaining on the city wall was lifted up and drifted slowly in the air, like a gray-white snowfall.

Su Qinhe's tears had already streamed down her face without her realizing it.

She didn't wipe it; she just stared blankly at the empty city wall and the still-drifting gray snow.

Yan Zixi remained silent, her hands hanging limply at her sides, trembling slightly.

Her eyes were red and swirling with tears, which she eventually couldn't hold back and let slip.

Wang Xiaoli stood in front of the city gate, looking up at the powdery light that was still drifting in the air.

His fists were clenched tightly, and his throat felt as if it were blocked by something, so he couldn't utter a single word.

Kyushu, oh Kyushu...

Demon Island is truly a part of Kyushu.

"So..." Su Qinhe's voice choked with emotion, "So they were our predecessors, our ancestors."

The Demon Island was separated from Kyushu only because of the invasion of foreign races.

But they never gave up, always holding firm and fighting until they ran out of ammunition and food, and died.

They were born here, grew up here, and ultimately died here in battle, becoming ghosts who still guard this place.