The souls of the dead making offerings.
The souls of the dead on the road.
Clearly divided, none disturbing the others.
And yet, some hidden connection seemed to exist between them, making one unable to resist probing into it.
But Jiang Qiao held himself back.
He did not act rashly.
He continued walking forward with the surrounding souls.
Before long.
The ghost villages on both sides also vanished, once again transforming into hazy mist. But this mist was not only damper—it was practically a mass of water vapor, and it also carried a sinister, fishy saltiness.
This saltiness was somewhat like the smell of blood, but not exactly the same.
Walking through the watery fog.
A feeling of weariness with the world arose spontaneously.
It was as if life held no joy anymore, and one only wanted to let go of everything, leave early, and return to eternal annihilation.
"I want to kill myself."
Jiang Qiao experienced this strange emotion.
Suddenly, he seemed to sense something.
He abruptly raised his head.
He saw a spring floating high in the distant sky, like a mirage.
Spring water gurgled out.
It fell from the sky, transforming into water vapor that blanketed the wilderness.
A stone stele covered in cracks stood beside the spring. On it, two striking characters were written in ancient, weathered, vigorous script: Yellow Springs!
"So that's how it is."
"So this is Yellow Springs!"
Jiang Qiao stopped and quietly gazed at the spring.
His heart was indescribably shaken.
It was not large.
Only three feet across.
Nor did much water flow from it.
It merely overflowed in a gentle, trickling stream.
But the instant he looked at it, Jiang Qiao felt that it was incomparably majestic—so majestic that the entire world could not contain it. So majestic that it