"Aah!"
Chen Siyao screamed in fright, squeezed her eyes shut, and instinctively swung the Parasol Wood Sword in her hand, slashing wildly ahead.
The hanged ghost lunging at her was caught by the blade and let out a piercing shriek—not a human sound, but the sound of metal scraping glass, sharp enough to hurt the ears. Its body curled at the edges like burning paper, turning black, then gray.
It struggled to retreat, but the sword wound clung to it like a festering sore. Three seconds—in less than three seconds, the hanged ghost scattered. It did not vanish; it scattered—like dust blown apart by the wind, drifting away bit by bit until nothing remained.
The other hanged ghost lunged at her too. Chen Siyao had no time to think and swung again on instinct. The same shriek, the same disintegration.
The room fell silent.
The hallway fell silent too.
Chen Siyao stood rooted to the spot, holding the Parasol Wood Sword, her arms still extended from the swing. Her heart pounded so fast it felt ready to leap out of her throat. But she was not afraid—she actually found it a little exhilarating.
"I... I actually did it?" She looked down at the Parasol Wood Sword in her hand, then at the empty room, her voice full of disbelief. "Was I really that powerful?"
Beside her, Yang Wanqing stood with her mouth hanging open, unable to close it for a long while.
In the livestream chat:
[I Am Ying Zheng: Holy shit! Yaoyao took them down with one swing each! What kind of god-tier move was that?]
[Yaoyao's Little Red Riding Hood: Yaoyao, you're amazing! You're my goddess!]
[Snow Blows at the East Gate: Could it be that the High God's sword is powerful? One look tells you that sword