A thin chill bled through Nana Toki’s eyes, like frost threading a pond. The Heavenly Dao Sect disciples downstairs met her gaze and their words clogged in their throats like stones in a stream.

“Well then, see you later?” Her brows curved, her lips tilted with a faint smile, and her voice slipped out cold, a mountain wind sliding through pines.

All four disciples shivered, like reeds in a winter gust. When they finally came to, the woman upstairs was gone, and the inn’s clamor rolled back like a boiling kitchen.

“Host, why do you always court grudges?” The System followed Nana into the room, voice buzzing like a gnat in a jar. “Can’t you talk nicely and fix things the peaceful way?”

“When life’s too easy and still, you get lazy,” she said, tone flat as a frozen lake.

“...” The System bristled, like a cat with wet fur. “That’s not a reason to swan-dive off the cliff of karma!”

“Enough. Talk’s cheap.” Nana snagged the System by the back of its collar like a chick and hauled it out. “Go back to Sister Heavenswallow’s room. We’re heading to Netherworld City tonight.”

“But—what? I’m sharing with Heavenswallow?” The System stared, wide-eyed as a startled hare. “Wasn’t Blue Magpie sharing with her?”

“Huh? Don’t be ridiculous.” Nana stood behind the door, voice dry as tinder. “Blue Magpie’s with me. She kicks the covers at night—if she catches a chill, what then?”

“...” The System was speechless, like a drum with no skin. She’s already Nascent Soul—can she even catch a cold? And how do you know she kicks the covers?

Night seeped in, and Nana woke in a muddled haze, like surfacing from a cold lake. The temperature had dropped at some unknown hour; even wrapped in her quilt, the chill pricked like needles.

“Has Netherworld City appeared?” She drew a cotton robe from her hidden space, like pulling a cloud off a hook, slipped it on, and tiptoed to the window. Outside, only thick fog pressed against the panes, the Nether River smothered under a quilt of mist.

“Host, time to move.” The System padded in from next door, voice low as a bell muffled in snow. “The ferryman’s almost at shore. If we dawdle, we’ll wait for the next opening.”

“Let’s go.” Nana didn’t linger. She draped a heavy robe over Blue Magpie, like swaddling a fledgling, then hurried downstairs with the System to find Heavenswallow.

The river mouth was a different beast from morning—clear water had curdled murky, and huge black shadows drifted under the surface like leviathans rolling in sleep.

Flat boats hung with straw men clustered along the bank, scarecrows in a fog-bound field. Cultivators spilled from nearby inns and rushed aboard in streams, afraid to miss the first ferry in.

Heavenswallow Serpent had secured a ferry at a quiet landing. As Nana drew near, she realized the “straw men” were alive—tall and gaunt, two meters at least, wearing straw raincoats and high straw hats, only scarlet eyes showing like embers in ash.

“All aboard. It’s late,” Heavenswallow called from the boat, voice steady as iron. “Once we enter Netherworld territory, there’s plenty to do.” She didn’t spare the ferryman’s eerie face a second thought.

Nana did. She circled the ferryman with a curious look, like a fox inspecting a scarecrow, until the System’s patience thinned to paper, and then she stepped aboard.

Creak… creak… The ferryman stood at the stern and set his long bamboo pole into the black water, and the flat boat glided out, swaying like a cradle in a dark sea.

The river lay silent, a night-cat holding its breath. Only the scrape of the hull and the soft churn of water spoke; light was dim, cold bit to the bone, and time stretched thin, like drifting toward a beast’s waiting maw.

Nana’s nerves were iron. She wasn’t afraid; she sat and watched the mist and the water until boredom sank in, like embers turning to ash.

The journey passed without incident.

When the fog finally thinned, a vast, dark silhouette loomed ahead like a mountain without stars, and the ferryman rasped, “We’ve arrived,” his voice sandpaper against glass.

Everyone looked up. The shadow’s edges sharpened, and an ancient, battered city gate lifted out of the murk like a ruin rising from a dream.

“Finally.” Nana saw the plaque above the arch carved with Netherworld City and let out a breath that steamed in the cold. This river was too bitter; stay longer and even iron would frost.

She woke the dozing Blue Magpie with a gentle touch, like brushing dew from a leaf. When the boat bumped the stone and settled, she took Blue Magpie’s hand and leaped onto the soil of Netherworld City.

It wasn’t the grave-choked ghost town she’d pictured. The city blazed lively—hawkers cried at street corners like sparrows in spring, stalls lined the road, and lanterns burned bright as scattered stars. Shadows flowed through the avenues in tides; less a dreaded ghost city, more an ordinary town painted in night.

“Techniques, pills, artifacts! Three thousand spirit crystals, everything three thousand!”

“Huiyuan Spirit-Gathering Powder! Usable below Golden Core! Boosts Qi refinement purity by ten percent! Fair price—ten thousand spirit crystals!”

The streets were broad, the flow of people endless like a river in flood. Most were ordinary folk, faces washed by routine; a few cultivators passed like birds through reeds, then vanished into the crowd.

Heavenswallow’s flawless face, veiled like moonlight behind clouds, stirred a little. Years of running from Immortal Realm hunters had starved her of peace; this bustle tasted sweet as warm tea.

Only Nana stayed steady, a pond unruffled by wind. The city was lively, yes—on the surface only.

She saw it in the hawkers’ eyes, dull and lightless, winter ponds without fish—marks of the dead. And the Spirit Energy was thin, scattered like ash; if the city were truly thriving, the pulse should be stronger.

“Looks like the System was right. These people are corporeal ghosts born of lingering obsessions.”

She tightened her grip on Blue Magpie’s hand, like tying a ribbon, and watched the street a while. When enough cultivators from the mortal world trickled in, she led them deeper into the city.

The System had said Netherworld City hosted grand auctions, drawing sects and rogue cultivators from the world outside, all fishing for treasures.

Nana parted with one hundred spirit crystals to ask a roadside vendor, a coin flicked like a pebble into a pond, and learned a new auction would start soon at the Central Auction Hall.

“Let’s go.” Her funds were comfortable; her cultivation had crawled this past year, but her pack was heavy with spoils, glittering like a fox’s hoard.

She felt confident about securing an Eight Cornered Ghost Algae Fish. If needed, she’d sell off extras or barter—this auction allowed trades like swapping blades by the fireside.

By the time Nana and her group reached the Central Auction Hall, many cultivators were already waiting—mostly Foundation Establishment and Golden Core, with the occasional Nascent Soul shining like a taller candle.

She wandered outside, looping once like a hawk circling a field, and found an entrance where people queued to pay. The Hall had its rules: everyone paid a thousand spirit crystals to enter, whether bidding or not.

Steep, but worth it. Netherworld City’s auctions offered treasures rare as phoenix feathers; even if you bought nothing, a thousand crystals for a broader horizon was well spent.

They queued a while, a slow stream under a bridge, paid, took seat plaques, and entered. Nana found a spot and sat, calm as a rock by a river.

The hall was already crowded; names of mortal-world sects shuttled through the air like tossed coins. She didn’t recognize a single one.

Then her brow arched, a leaf lifted by wind. “That robe… Heavenly Ascent Sect?” Her gaze locked on four seats not far away, eyes sharp as a blade’s edge. “What’s the Heavenly Ascent Sect doing here?”