That massive black heart throbbed with a steady rhythm, echoing through the darkness with a constant thumping. This was the Wailing Heart, formed from the tears and resentment of the female ghosts imprisoned in the Wailing Maiden's Den. Over time, it sprouted branches and leaves; the black water that had just struck me was the product of countless years of condensed sorrow and hatred.
The female ghost before us had been trapped here for over eight hundred years. This place, ever since Lord Wraith seized power, was built by his own hand. At first, it was merely a prison for ghostly criminals, but as Lord Wraith's desires grew monstrous and insatiable, he began to cast aside and imprison any female ghost he deemed unnecessary, condemning them to endless suffering.
Day after day, year after year, the female ghosts here could neither escape nor reincarnate. Even death was denied to them. Lord Wraith had injected every ghost here with Rakshasa Fruit, and gradually, all of them fused with the Wailing Maiden's Den itself, their bodies and souls twisted into the black, resentful roots and vines—living monuments to their hopeless agony.
"Miss, then why haven't you turned into one of those things?"
The female ghost shook her head. Howard Zhang sighed, holding her hand with a gentle smile.
"Don't worry, miss. I, Howard Zhang, always keep my word. Trust me."
"Howard Zhang, put her down."
Hugh Thompson spoke with grave seriousness as he walked over. He took out a pristine sheet of white paper, its surface almost luminous against the gloom, and spread it out with careful precision, setting down drawing tools that gleamed eerily in the dim light.
"Miss, do you remember the layout of Wraithhold?"
Howard Zhang responded with an 'oh,' realizing Hugh Thompson was getting down to business. He gently set the female ghost down.
The female ghost shook her head.
"I've been here for eight hundred years. I don't know much about the outside. You might want to ask the sisters who arrived just a few months ago." With that, the ghost closed her eyes and raised a hand.
A rustling sound followed as a root-like vine rose up. Its leaves transformed into the faces of women—and men—who began to chatter all at once.
Hugh Thompson listened intently, sketching the map as he went. I glanced at the process, realizing it would take a while. So we decided to head to the place where the Wailing Maiden's Den connected to Wraithhold for a look.
To save us the trouble of walking, the female ghosts here let their root-like vines form a path. In less than ten minutes, we saw a small downhill road, flanked by two pillars carved with grim, fanged ghost faces and topped with a string of skulls.
The pillars were a dark purple-black. As we stepped out of the cave, we were stunned—a vast city stretched endlessly before our eyes.
From a distance, the city boasted wide streets. A snow-white avenue split it from east to west, and we stood at the northern edge. At the far west, a massive, trapezoidal palace loomed, broad at the base and narrow at the top, with a grand staircase leading up to it.
Most of the buildings were ancient pavilions and towers, arranged in neat rows. Those near the main avenue were mostly single-story courtyard structures, while the outer buildings rose higher and higher. To our south, tall little towers swayed in the daylight, their shadows flickering.
The downhill path twisted and turned. At the foot of the mountain, a small city gate stood about seven or eight meters high. We crouched beside the pillars and watched. Apart from two ghost soldiers in chainmail and spears standing atop the gatehouse, there were few guards.
"This makes things easier. If we strike fast and hard and take out those two ghost soldiers, we can slip inside."
Miles Mao rubbed his fists together, eager for action, but Mason Yu remained calm and shook his head.
"Look over there," Mason Yu said, his voice low and urgent.
We all turned to where Mason Yu pointed. Behind the city wall, right in the center, an ominous five-story octagonal pavilion loomed, its shadow stretching across the ground.
Looking closer, we saw more of these octagonal pavilions spaced out in the distance, each one standing silent and foreboding. The nearest was only thirty or forty meters away, its presence oppressive.
"What are those?" Dalton Fang muttered, his voice tight with curiosity and unease.
"There are eleven octagonal pavilions in the city. Each is home to a Blue Wraith, one of Lord Wraith's subordinates, who manages the ghosts in the surrounding area," came Hugh Thompson's voice from behind as he approached, a faint smile on his face.
"Hugh, did you get the answers we need?" Miles Mao asked impatiently, his words spilling out before he could stop himself.
"Not yet. You guys, hurry inside. It's time to make a plan. We need at least three separate plans, and each one must have an escape route before we risk entering the city."
We nodded and looked at him. Hugh Thompson was like the brain of our team. Ever since entering the Ghost Realm, we’d all gotten used to letting him handle anything that required serious thought.
Back inside the cave, we saw the map had been marked up with all sorts of notes. Hugh pointed to a spot and began to explain, anticipation thick in the air.
First, there's the main avenue in the center. Whenever Lord Wraith gets married, a grand feast is held there, and all the ghosts in the city gather to celebrate in a riot of sound and shadow.
Female ghost prisoners, once brought in, are first locked up in the eastern Ghost Jail. Despite the name, it’s more like a vast estate, with small separate rooms for the women to dress and prepare. The estate is guarded by the most powerful Blue Wraith under Lord Wraith—a female ghost named Mia Lin.
On the day of Lord Wraith’s wedding, all these female ghosts emerge from the place called the Red Palace. From east to south, they march with drums and gongs, a spectacular procession heading to the Wraith Hall in the far west, where they climb the long staircase to perform the marriage rites with Lord Wraith.
The wedding lasts nine days and nights. Such grand ceremonies are held every year, but every hundred years, Lord Wraith invites guests from all directions to show off his power. Some ghosts seeking his favor bring women as gifts; others bring money, gold, and jewels.
All guests are housed in the northern part of the city—the area just past the small city gate we saw, and a bit further east. The army is stationed at the very north, guarded by seven Blue Wraiths, though rumor has it only three remain now. Besides Mia Lin, nine Blue Wraiths are in the north, busy receiving guests and keeping order.
"Right now, our main priority is to get our hands on invitations," Hugh Thompson said, his voice grave.
Hugh Thompson spoke, and I let out a surprised sound, turning to him, my heart pounding.
"Does it really matter?" my cousin asked, doubt flickering in his eyes.
"Every ghost in the city has a number on their body, like an ID. Guests have to show their invitation. If we get caught without one, we’ll be in serious danger," Hugh explained, his tone somber.
"That’s right. I’ve seen spies sneak into Wraithhold without a mark. When they’re caught, they’re thrown into the Hungry Ghost Pit in the northwest, left for the starving dead to devour," said a female voice, trembling with remembered horror.
I swallowed hard, a chill running through me as the realization set in.
"Hey, what if we just write some numbers on ourselves? Wouldn’t that work?" I blurted out.
Hugh Thompson shot me an annoyed look.
"Are you stupid, cousin? That old freak’s security is airtight. You think you can fool him with some childish trick?"
"Those numbers can’t be faked. Every mark is written with sap from the Wraith Tree. It’s easy to spot a fake."
I laughed awkwardly and scratched my head.
As long as we carry invitations, even if we’re stopped and questioned, we won’t have any major problems. There are eight of us, so we need eight invitations.
"First step: after we sneak in, wait until nightfall, then slip into the guest area and grab eight invitations. That’s our priority. We have a little over four days. Once we get the invitations, I’ll explain the next steps. Get ready to move."
Hugh Thompson finished speaking and folded up the map. We started heading outside.
"Alright, everyone, take out your Chaoswood sticks."
Hugh Thompson spoke, and each of us pulled out a stick of Chaoswood.
"Hugh, how do we use these exactly?"
"Spit on it, then hold it to your chest and keep thinking, ‘I am a worm.’ That’s all you need to do."
I made a sound of surprise. When Mia Lin explained the Chaoswood to Hugh earlier, we were outside messing with the wood, clueless about how to use it.
"Listen up. Clear your mind. Just focus on being a worm. That’s it."
Hugh then had us all sit cross-legged and stay quiet for a moment, letting our restless hearts settle down.
But I couldn’t calm myself. My mind was a storm of anxiety.
Especially when I thought of Lan Ruoxi, my nerves were shot.
"Qingyuan, your mind is a mess," Huanfu Ruofei said quietly, eyes closed, clutching her Chaoswood stick.
According to Hugh Thompson, as long as our minds were calm and we imagined ourselves as worms, holding the Chaoswood, the ghosts wouldn’t be able to see us—at most, they’d just see worms writhing on the ground.
"Qingyuan, remember that time we went boating? Think about it. That was peaceful, wasn’t it?" my cousin reminded me.
His words brought back a memory—a sunset, the two of us lying on a bed, gazing at the sky, feeling utterly at ease.
After a long while, my heart finally settled into complete calm.
"Let’s go," Hugh Thompson said. All eight of us stood up and headed down the mountain path.