The Post Station had weathered countless storms and looked extremely dilapidated.
Only half the signboard remained, its writing so blurred that barely half of the character for "station" could be made out.
The vermilion paint had almost completely peeled from the half-open gate. It swayed slightly in the howling wind, like a spirit-summoning banner at a funeral.
Pei Ling strode forward, pushed open the gate, and walked straight inside.
The layout of this Post Station was much like the previous ones. Beyond the screen directly ahead lay a courtyard overgrown with moss.
Behind the moon gate, the main hall blazed with light. Its doors stood half open, and behind the chest-high counter near the entrance stood a black-robed figure, dark as night.
Su Xirou, Meng Hongxuan, and Huan Yunzhen followed behind with graceful steps.
The sound of their footsteps, mixed with the pleasant clinking of their jade pendants, broke the courtyard's dead silence.
Before long, Pei Ling reached the main hall entrance. At a thought, he sent out a wisp of force, and the lattice doors carved with countless demons, ghosts, and spirit plants swung open.
The brilliant light inside the main hall immediately poured out.
Yet what the light revealed in full was a hall packed with people.
The main halls of the first eight Post Stations had been brightly lit, but all had been empty.
Now, however, nearly every seat was taken.
Every one of these people had a powerful aura, their circulating magic power pure and surging. Some were ice-cold, their bloodthirsty baleful aura dense; some were lively and clear, brimming with vitality; some were withered as the dead, shaped like walking corpses; some wore white robes and golden crowns, radiating carefree elegance; some were battle-hardened, their imposing presence soaring; some were dignified and luxurious, their authority