Chapter 155: No Way Back on This Journey (5)
Not long after the official in charge left the villa where the imitation program was being filmed, he received a message from Yan Shixun.
Unlike at the beginning, when he would spiral into wild thoughts upon seeing that his message to Yan Shixun hadn’t been read, the official now understood well that Yan Shixun was simply not someone who checked his phone often. His dependence on electronic devices was almost nonexistent—he was practically a caveman in that regard.
So when he saw that Yan Shixun hadn’t replied, he just thought: Alright, Mr. Yan hasn’t checked his phone again.
He wasn’t anxious anymore. Instead, he patiently waited and went about his own business.
—After all, he had been dealing with various Taoist masters and reclusive grandmasters for years. Many of those elders didn’t even know what a cellphone was.
The official had already grown accustomed to the bizarre contrast of having one side be a PR team frantically searching for him, while the other side moved at a pace so slow and whimsical that getting a reply seemed entirely dependent on fate.
Official in charge: This job was my choice. I’ll smile and survive it :)
And the incident with today’s copycat show served as a wake-up call for the authorities.
Given the success of *Heart-Pounding Journey of Ninety-Nine Days*, it was inevitable that many investors and entertainment companies would try to take shortcuts, attempting to copy the show as if it were a factory product on an assembly line.
In response, the authorities made a special post and tagged the official account of the original production team, stating clearly that *this* was the only version recognized by the government.
As for anyone else trying to imitate it… Who do you think you are?
Especially since this particular copycat show, which had initially planned to feign encounters with ghosts for drama, ended up actually encountering a real one. The authorities responded with harsh criticism and unrelenting action, immediately canceling all similar types of programs.
One entertainment company protested indignantly: “Why is Director Zhang Wubing allowed to film, but we’re not? This is a market economy! Fair competition! Who succeeds should be left to the market to decide, not interfered with by forces that don’t belong.”
Where there was one, others chimed in: “Exactly. We’re all competitors. Either treat everyone equally, or you’ll lose public trust.”
The Binhai City officials remained unmoved. The department head sneered inwardly: The audacity of these people!
Director Zhang Wubing’s show had inspired viewers to go plant trees at Wild Wolf Peak. It boosted tourism to Jia Village, helping the local economy. His child had even become a proud volunteer, visibly promoting healthier lifestyles among young people.
And your program?
Promoting unhealthy values? Faking ghost stories?
The department head maintained a calm exterior and responded flatly, “Who said your show is even in the same category as Director Zhang Wubing’s?”
“*Heart-Pounding Journey of Ninety-Nine Days* is a domestic travel program focused on relaxation and sightseeing.”
The official in charge said: “Your show, on the other hand, promotes superstition and creates harmful narratives.”
The imitation crew: …………???
Perhaps the entertainment company looked too shocked, so the department head paused, then added, “It’s just that Director Zhang Wubing has had some bad luck and keeps coincidentally running into troublemakers.”
The entertainment reps were stunned on the spot.
If they weren’t standing in front of an official, they would’ve rolled their eyes on the spot and slammed the table. *What the hell do you mean “bad luck”? What the hell do you mean “coincidentally”?*
But no matter how painfully they watched a promising blue ocean market being sealed right in front of them, and no matter how much money was slipping through their fingers, the stance of the Binhai City authorities was firm.
—This program was co-endorsed by Haiyun Temple and the government. Director Zhang Wubing’s intent and outcomes had remained consistent, producing overwhelmingly positive effects. Mr. Yan Shixun’s involvement had been a stabilizing force that kept the show running smoothly. That was why the program had earned the trust of the authorities and was allowed to be broadcast in cooperation.
What’s more, Taoist Li from Haiyun Temple had performed a divination before entering deep meditation. His reading had been crystal clear: continuing this program would bring countless benefits and no harm, and could even prevent calamities before they manifest, saving lives directly.
For example, if the situation at Gui Mountain hadn’t been resolved in time, it would’ve affected all the nearby villages. If the evil god had risen at Wild Wolf Peak, the entire area would’ve become a wasteland, lifeless for miles around…
The government had taken all of this into account. They understood the stakes.
But as for those other knock-off shows… ha.
After submitting the official report to his superiors, the department head prepared to return to the villa for another inspection.
He couldn’t shake off what Taoist Ma had said.
After all, Jing Xiaobao had the Evil Spirit Bone Transformation. In the eyes of the Taoist masters, he was a walking danger—something to constantly guard against.
Once the official learned the full process of how Chi Yan had raised a ghost child, the masters were all shaken. None of them had expected someone to be so ruthless.
They understood very well: if a vicious ghost like Jing Xiaobao ever went out of control, the consequences would be unimaginable.
Originally, several masters had even insisted that Jing Xiaobao be completely eradicated—his soul scattered, never again able to threaten the safety of Binhai City’s ordinary citizens.
However, because Yan Shixun had taken over control of Jing Xiaobao and was personally suppressing him, and with the backing of a powerful force like Haiyun Temple, the masters gradually gave up on their intentions.
But… if Taoist Ma hadn’t sensed wrong inside the villa, and those internet celebrities really did encounter danger because of Jing Xiaobao…
The official in charge began to waver.
He was upset and uncertain—if it really was Jing Xiaobao, what choice should he make?
After all, his role was clear: he had to ensure the safety of ordinary people.
The very purpose of his and the special department’s existence was to build a great wall of safety between the public and any danger.
Yet just as he hesitated, a message from Yan Shixun arrived.
Yan Shixun: [The youngest in the family was being naughty. I’ve already disciplined him. No need to worry.]
[Also, we encountered a man asking for help on the road. He claimed to have had a car accident on the highway, but my calculations show he’s carrying a death on him. If you have time, please go check it out, or contact local emergency services.]
Yan Shixun roughly explained where they had encountered the man and gave details about his condition.
As the official read the message, his expression darkened.
Even though ordinary car accidents weren’t within his jurisdiction, after working together with Yan Shixun over this period, he had come to deeply respect and trust Yan Shixun’s ability in divination.
And now Yan Shixun claimed the man was burdened with a death, and that the car accident itself seemed suspicious…
The official acted immediately. He grabbed Taoist Ma, who had just walked out of the filming villa, and got into the car to head to the location Yan Shixun mentioned.
Taoist Ma was completely confused. “Huh? Where are we going?”
This year, Haiyun Temple’s primary collaborator with the special department had been Taoist Song Yi.
Taoist Ma, being skilled in formations, had been working mainly with Binhai City’s officials on coastal barrier protections.
This time, the reason he was helping the special department handle the cloned program incident was because Taoist Song Yi had been injured in the concession zone and was still recovering—so Taoist Ma came as a substitute.
So even as the car engine started, Taoist Ma still had a face full of question marks. “I still have a meeting with the officials this afternoon…”
The official replied, “Mr. Yan said he ran into someone on the highway carrying a death.”
Taoist Ma immediately changed his tune. “I’ve already taken leave from the afternoon meeting.”
Since car accidents didn’t fall under the purview of the special department, the official couldn’t deploy public resources beyond his authority. Besides, the rescue team was busy with other missions, and the remaining staff were still at the villa handling the aftermath of the cloned program incident.
So only the official and Taoist Ma set out, heading toward the highway stretch the program crew had passed.
Though it was late autumn, Binhai City was enjoying crisp, clear weather with bright sunshine.
Ever since the city had shaken off the impact of typhoons and heavy rain, this historic city had entered a truly beautiful season.
The streets were lined with trees whose leaves had turned shades of orange and ginger yellow. Century-old trees stood tall and graceful, and the scent of sweet osmanthus floated in the air.
But the good mood brought on by the sunshine and scenery came to an abrupt end once they got on the highway.
From a distance, the two of them could already see several vehicles up ahead flashing red and blue lights. The area had been cordoned off, and many people in uniforms were carrying equipment cases, crouching or standing as they collected evidence and analyzed residual substances.
Sensing something was wrong, the official quickly pulled over and ran down the road.
According to the map, this was the exact area where Yan Shixun had said the car accident occurred.
But what were the odds that this particular spot would be surrounded by so many specialists?
A bad feeling rose in the official’s chest.
After showing his credentials, he immediately asked the person in charge at the scene what was going on.
The team captain scratched his head in confusion. “I’d heard there was such a department, but I always thought it was just a made-up story for laughs. Didn’t expect it to actually exist.”
“But you guys are incredible—how did you get here so fast?”
The captain was curious. “We only just got the call and rushed over. We arrived maybe ten minutes before you. How did you even know about this already? You predicted it or something?”
Since the call they received from a citizen only described a normal car accident, they didn’t treat it as anything special. So the site was being handled by a regular squad leader.
The official in charge was well aware of the specifics concerning the special department—something that couldn’t be discussed with too many people. So, rather than directly answering the captain’s questions, he simply replied with a few noncommittal hums and redirected the conversation to inquire about the situation on their end—specifically, how they had learned about the car accident.
According to the captain, a passing driver had noticed signs of a car accident and called it in.
However, when the team arrived, the scene left them utterly baffled.
—After all, if there had been a car accident, shouldn’t there be a car?
So then… where was the car?
The site was completely empty. There were only long skid marks on the pavement, some scattered debris, and traces of blood splattered around—evidence that confirmed an accident had indeed occurred here.
But both the car and the people had vanished from the scene without a trace.
Even the driver who had made the call seemed confused. “I—I don’t know either. I definitely saw the car at first! It flipped several times right there on the road before crashing into the guardrail. I got out of my car to try and help, but the vehicle was completely wrecked, the body twisted. I was afraid it might catch fire if the fuel tank leaked, so I didn’t dare get close. That’s why I called it in.”
The official took a look around.
Near the skid marks, just as the caller had described, there were clear signs of gasoline leakage. It appeared that the now-missing car had indeed been badly damaged.
From the moment the official had gotten out of his car, he’d already noticed the broken parts and debris scattered all over the ground—clearly flung from that vehicle. But among those fragments, something peculiar caught his attention.
He bent down and, from a puddle of gasoline, picked up… an eyeball.
The driver, who happened to see this scene by chance, immediately let out a cry, clearly shaken.
“Th-this… an accident can grind someone’s eyeball out?!”
The man stammered, in shock. “Holy shit, that’s brutal! I swear, from now on I’ll drive safe for the rest of my life!”
Just imagining how painful that must have been made him feel faint.
The official didn’t respond to the driver’s comments.
But the members of the squad all grew serious, sensing that something was very wrong.
The pupil of the eyeball was already clouded, and the surrounding tissue had begun to oxidize—signs that it had been separated from the body for a while already.
But judging by the wound around it, it clearly hadn’t been detached due to trauma from the car rolling over.
Instead… it looked like it had been *cut out deliberately*.
The official lifted the eyeball, and under the horrified gazes of the team, brought it close to his nose and sniffed carefully, his expression grim.
He detected the strong gamey scent of mutton.
Human tissue was never supposed to smell like lamb.
But when taking into account the clean cuts around the eye, and the rough, frayed muscle fibers from repeated slicing on the cross-section, all signs pointed to one horrifying conclusion—
The eyeball had very likely been *forcibly gouged out using a dull knife that had previously been used to cut lamb*.
The squad’s forensic expert stepped forward and extended a hand to the official. “May I take a look?”
Everyone present had worked closely with death and injury over the years. They knew full well—this sort of thing would *never* happen from a simple car crash. The implications carried by a single eyeball were massive—and cruel enough to chill the blood.
If their suspicions were right… then aside from the car crash and the bizarre disappearance at the scene, they might also be dealing with a brutal assault—or worse—
A *murder case*.
The official handed the eyeball, cradled in his white-gloved palm, to the forensic expert. The more experienced examiner quickly came to a realization. “When this eyeball was cut out, the victim was still alive.”
“Judging from the state of the cornea and blood vessels, the individual was probably under thirty years old. But they had signs of long-term eye strain—most likely nearsighted.”
An eyeball removed *while the victim was still alive*!
Everyone felt a chill run down their spine.
Their expressions turned heavy and grim as they once again examined the surrounding scene.
If the eyeball had been cut out, the victim wouldn’t have been able to pass through the highway toll booth unnoticed—someone would have noticed something wrong immediately.
Which meant, whoever had been driving the car at the time, it couldn’t have been the injured party.
It had to be someone else.
Perhaps the *attacker*.
So the driver they had originally intended to save—was actually someone like *that*?
The team members were left with complicated feelings.
The driver who had overheard parts of the conversation also blurted out a “Holy shit!” under his breath, shaken to the core.
“Jesus, that’s terrifying. I was just trying to help, but it turns out the guy was a total freak?”
While the others continued investigating the crash site, the official had followed the skid marks all the way to the edge of the road.
Beyond the highway was a drop of nearly ten meters—below it were the farmlands belonging to nearby villages.
The roadside guardrail and wire fence had both been smashed to pieces.
It seemed the eyewitness caller hadn’t been wrong. The car had built up a tremendous amount of momentum as it flipped, so the force of impact was much stronger than usual. It had torn straight through the fence—meant only as a precautionary barrier—before finally stopping when opposing forces canceled out.
But…
The official stepped onto the broken guardrail and leaned forward to peer down.
The wind across the fields still carried the scorched scent of household fires, and the drifting black ash made the official in charge frown.
The greenery below had been carefully maintained. To prevent soil erosion, many shrubs had been planted on the sloped outer edge of the road, which now blocked the official’s view of what lay beneath.
“You think the car probably flew off the road too, right?”
The team captain walked over. “That’s what we suspected when we first arrived and heard the car owner shouting that both the vehicle and the driver vanished into thin air. We already called to check if any surveillance cameras might have captured what happened.”
“But the storm a while ago destroyed the surveillance lines along this stretch. It hasn’t been repaired yet, so there’s no footage to help us figure out what really occurred.”
The captain sighed. “Just as you arrived, I was about to send someone down to investigate.”
“Even though a crash this bad, with a ten-meter drop, there’s basically no chance of survival if someone fell that far. But still.”
He shrugged. “You never know. Maybe there’s a miracle.”
Though they had found the eyeball and now realized the driver they were supposed to rescue might actually be the perpetrator, the thought unsettled the captain.
But duty was duty.
He despised those who harmed others, yet he would still do everything in his power to ensure their safety.
“Sometimes I really wonder what kind of scum human rights are protecting,” he muttered, then turned around to instruct his team to prepare for the descent.
But the official in charge didn’t share the same mindset.
He turned to Taoist Ma beside him. “Taoist, can you tell whether the person this eyeball belonged to is still alive? What about the driver?”
Taoist Ma slowly shook his head, his face grave. “…I’m sorry.”
The official understood.
The person the eyeball belonged to… was already dead.
What they had stumbled upon was the aftermath of a murder.
Unlike the team captain, who tried to explain everything with science, the official was well aware that there were things in this world that couldn’t be explained by current science.
So he wasn’t hopeful about finding the car under the road. Instead, he began to consider another possibility.
—This was the work of a ghost.
What Taoist Ma had divined only deepened this suspicion.
Moreover…
The official recalled why they had come here in the first place.
It was Yan Shixun who had told them there was an accident here and a strange person calling for help.
At that time, Yan Shixun had mentioned one thing: the driver of their car had suddenly seen an overturned vehicle up ahead.
Strangely enough, at the scene, they hadn’t found a car, a person,
Or even a corpse.
The only clue left that could speak the truth was a single eyeball.
The forensic team had already taken a sample from the eyeball and were preparing to compare it with the database, hoping this could identify the victim.
The idea that someone had their eyeball gouged out while still alive, and had to watch as the tip of the blade inched closer and closer—that kind of fear and pain in the face of impending death…
Even for seasoned forensic examiners who had seen countless deaths, it was hard to stomach.
The official furrowed his brow in deep thought, replaying the details Yan Shixun had told him again and again.
Cars on the expressway continued to roar past. Upon seeing an accident on this side, everyone instinctively sped up, not wanting to be caught in a traffic jam.
People lived in constant noise; they were so used to the sound of cars that they often filtered it out completely.
After failing to reach Yan Shixun on the phone, the official—whose mind had been tirelessly analyzing the situation—suddenly had a flash of insight when he caught the blare of a nearby car horn.
Unlike the usual ambient noise, this particular sound pierced through and caught his attention.
As if he had just realized something, the official, still holding his phone, quickly turned around and grabbed the arm of the car owner. He asked urgently, “Is this stretch of road usually always this busy with traffic?”
The car owner nodded. “This road connects Binhai City to a neighboring county, so a lot of people going home to the county or heading to Binhai take this route.”
He pointed to his car and motioned to the sacks piled in the back seat. “See? I’m one of them. I bought some things and I’m heading home to see my dad.”
Upon hearing this, the official didn’t press further. Instead, he stared at the highway, carefully counting the number of cars passing by.
In the span of just one minute, over a dozen vehicles had driven past.
Compared to the usual congestion in Binhai’s urban center—where traffic moved a mere three meters per hour—this volume was practically nothing. Still, it caught the official off guard.
He remembered very clearly.
Yan Shixun had mentioned that one of the reasons they had stopped to check on the person seeking help was because no cars were passing by at all.
If they hadn’t happened to drive through, that person probably wouldn’t have found anyone to ask for help.
According to Yan Shixun, the accident happened in a completely deserted area.
But what the official saw now was far from deserted—it was actually somewhat busy.
More than ten cars in one minute. Even if the timing was different, it still didn’t match Yan Shixun’s description at all.
The official trusted Yan Shixun and didn’t believe he was lying—there was no reason for him to do so.
He wanted to confirm things with Yan Shixun, but unfortunately, his calls still weren’t getting through, and his messages weren’t being read.
So the official compiled what he knew so far into a message and sent it to Yan Shixun.
Just as he was about to ask Taoist Ma something, his gaze happened to sweep across the car parked nearby.
T-The dashcam!
The official’s eyes lit up and he quickly asked, “Do you have a dashcam installed in your car?”
If they could get footage of the incident, maybe they could figure out why the vehicle had vanished and how the accident had happened.
The car owner slapped his forehead in realization. “Oh right! Yes, yes, of course I do! These days, if you’re going to stop and help someone, who wouldn’t install a dashcam? What if you get blamed for something?”
Just then, the team captain also finished a phone call and walked over.
“Since we couldn’t get surveillance footage from this section of the road, I requested access to footage from the toll station to try identifying the driver.”
He said. “Even though the car went through the automatic payment lane, the camera still caught a glimpse of someone’s face. They’ve sent me the footage. Want to take a look together?”
The official nodded. “Perfect timing. This gentleman’s dashcam might have captured the accident scene too. Let’s review everything together.”
Taoist Ma didn’t join them. Instead, he kept his head down, carefully nudging debris on the road with the tip of his cloth shoe, trying to spot any remaining evidence.
Like another eyeball, for example.
As brutal as it was, what mattered most now was the evidence.
Among Taoist priests of his level, Taoist Ma’s fortune-telling skills were on the weaker side. He was often scolded by the elder Taoists, who said he ought to be “reforged” alongside Lu Xingxing.
He couldn’t do what Yan Shixun could—immediately cast divinations on the spot using the weather, the location, or even whatever caught the eye. His connection to heaven and earth relied heavily on formal rituals and precise calculations.
But if he could gather more information related to the victim, he might be able to cast a more accurate divination and figure out their current situation and whereabouts.
“Hm?”
A sudden glint of light under the sun caught him off guard, making him instinctively turn his head.
When he looked again, he realized it was a piece of plastic reflecting rainbow-like colors. It was among the scattered parts from the crashed vehicle.
Taoist Ma looked up at the clear, bright sky and couldn’t help but sigh—it must be fate. If it weren’t for the sunlight, he wouldn’t have noticed it.
He walked over, crouched down, and carefully picked out the piece of plastic from the debris.
It looked like it had been cut from a larger sheet, the jagged edges still rough to the touch. If one leaned in close, there was still a distinct smell of mutton grease and blood clinging to it.
From the remaining clean-cut edge, it appeared that the original width of the plastic strip had been close to five centimeters.
That was also the preferred width for various types of cards.
Taoist Ma carefully wiped the gasoline and dust off the plastic strip using the corner of his robe, revealing the text that had been obscured underneath.
The logo at the top was one he was very familiar with.
It was unmistakably the emblem of Binhai University.
—
When Yan Shixun dragged Jing Xiaobao to the front of the car for a beating, everyone else stared at their noses and pretended to be deep in thought, acting as if they neither saw nor heard anything.
The viewers in front of the livestream were a bit confused at first, but most just assumed the kid had been misbehaving, and Yan Shixun was simply teaching him a lesson.
Some even recognized Jing Xiaobao as the child actor who had appeared in a film with director Li Xuetang.
One viewer commented: [Wow, even child stars who earn their own money can’t escape a spanking.]
[LOL. Your dad is always your dad.]
[In front of Brother Yan, forget a kid—even a grown man would cry. Hilarious, there’s just no standing your ground against him.]
[Ahem… I feel a little embarrassed to admit, but I was just cursing Brother Yan earlier. After hearing his explanation, I realized I might’ve jumped to conclusions. Sorry, Brother Yan—I owe you an apology.]
[See? I warned you all earlier—watch out, or your face will get slapped swollen.]
Jing Xiaobao’s pleading and pitiful sobbing could be heard all the way from the front of the vehicle to the back.
It was Bai Shuang who finally couldn’t bear it anymore and spoke up for him: “Brother Yan, Xiao Bao didn’t mean to do it. I think he knows he was wrong now.”
Jing Xiaobao looked up at the kind older sister who had spoken for him, eyes brimming with tears.
In that moment, he felt she was the prettiest big sister in the world—second only to his mom.
Jing Xiaobao: There are still good people in this world! Boohoo… just definitely not Yan Shixun or that tattletale.
His little butt… had swelled like a peach.
If anyone else had tried to lay a hand on Jing Xiaobao, they wouldn’t even have been able to touch him, let alone hurt him.
But for some reason, Yan Shixun was like his natural nemesis.
Especially considering how many more years Yan Shixun had lived than Jing Xiaobao—the way Heaven and Earth treated the two of them was completely different.
Humans were the most spiritually attuned among all living things, naturally favored by the Great Dao.
As for Jing Xiaobao, though he had lingered in the human world as a ghost child for decades and was technically not that young anymore, he was ultimately a ghost, not a living person. The Great Dao no longer favored him.
It could be said that once the Great Dao realized Jing Xiaobao couldn’t fully completed the Evil Spirit Bone Transformation, it had already abandoned him.
He no longer had any alignment with the Five Elements or the Eight Trigrams.
But Yan Shixun was different.
The power he had achieved in this era was almost unimaginable.
Even in Haiyun Temple, where talents had gathered for centuries, no one recorded in the past hundreds of years could compare to the present-day Yan Shixun.
If Yan Shixun’s master, Li Chengyun, had still been alive and continued cultivating, he might have been able to stand alongside the current Yan Shixun.
But sadly…
Yan Shixun calmly raised a hand to straighten his slightly rumpled robe, then looked down at the weeping Jing Xiaobao with a cold smile.
“If I catch you releasing ghosts to harm people again, I’ll send you away. The prison of Fengdu might be a better fit for you.”
He snorted coldly, his voice chilling: “Don’t think I’m the kind to scare kids with ghost stories. I always follow through on my words.”
Hearing that, Ye Li tilted his head slightly to look over, his gaze as if asking: Need my help?
Yan Shixun was puzzled: I just said Fengdu’s prison—what are you going to help with?
Still, it made him once again realize that while Ye Li was undeniably powerful and somewhat dangerous, he truly didn’t harbor ill will toward him.
He clearly saw earlier that Ye Li could invoke divine responses and even borrow divine power—so logically, Ye Li should be aligned with a deity. But even after he mentioned Fengdu, Ye Li still offered to help.
—That shouldn’t have been convenient for him.
Yan Shixun may have been cold and indifferent, but that didn’t mean he didn’t value emotions.
On the contrary, because there were so few people he cared about, he valued those karmic ties all the more deeply.
Like Li Chengyun, for example.
Take Zhang Wubing, for example.
From the way Yan Shixun had protected Zhang Wubing year after year, without fail, never once refusing him no matter how impatient he grew, it was clear that he was someone who valued emotional bonds deeply.
Unfortunately, after Li Chengyun passed away and ascended to immortality, Yan Shixun became increasingly cold and distant, a lone wolf who kept to himself.
After all, while Zhang Wubing had genuinely wanted to befriend Yan Shixun and regarded him as his closest friend—no, more like a father—he ultimately wasn’t a professional cultivator. There were many things he simply couldn’t discuss with Yan Shixun, lacking common ground between them.
So, no matter how much he tried, there was still a gap—he wasn’t someone whom Yan Shixun could truly cherish from the depths of his soul.
That was, until Yan Shixun met Ye Li.
At first, his attention had been drawn to Ye Li purely because he found the man too dangerous. Keeping Ye Li nearby was more about suppressing that threat himself, so that if anything unexpected happened, he could take immediate action.
But as they spent more time together, Yan Shixun gradually came to feel how in sync they were.
Many times, he didn’t even need to speak—just a flicker of thought, and Ye Li would already be doing exactly what he wanted him to help with. In fact, Ye Li often did even more than what he asked.
And the conversations between them—perhaps because Ye Li himself was the founder of a sect—flowed without any barriers at all.
Even though he still couldn’t fully trust Ye Li, Yan Shixun often found himself thinking that this had been the most comfortable time he had experienced since his master’s passing.
That feeling of deep resonance in his very soul always caught Yan Shixun off guard.
And now, Ye Li’s willingness to help on his own initiative also lifted Yan Shixun’s mood a little, though he couldn’t quite explain why.
—If Ye Li bore no ill will toward the human world, then having a friend like this around didn’t seem like such a bad thing after all.
That was what Yan Shixun thought.
The atmosphere between the two of them was pleasant—only Jing Xiaobao was still covering his butt, crying pitifully like a little victim.
Meanwhile, Yan Shixun sat back down in his seat as if nothing had happened at all.
Just moments ago, the female guest who had held resentment toward Yan Shixun now stared at him in stunned silence after watching him beat a child. She shrank fearfully into a corner.
The other guests, however, knew Jing Xiaobao’s true identity and couldn’t be bothered to explain it to her.
Her actions earlier had already annoyed everyone.
—After all, which one of them hadn’t been saved by Yan Shixun?
That was a debt of life. And besides, Brother Yan hadn’t done anything wrong. So naturally, her attempts to stir up trouble had left the other guests with a bad impression of her.
Yan Shixun didn’t pay this shift in atmosphere any mind.
He turned his head to look out the window, only to find that the sky had grown even darker.
The sun had long vanished from sight. Thick, black clouds loomed low overhead, and distant thunder rumbled faintly in the background.
A fierce wind howled across the open fields. Tree branches and leaves flailed like clawing ghosts. The trees bent sharply in the gale, as if they could be uprooted at any moment.
Pebbles and sand pelted the sides of the car, their light patter creating an uneasy rhythm that stirred restlessness in the heart.
It felt like a lone boat adrift on stormy seas, where a single wave could overturn the fragile calm at any moment.
Yan Shixun frowned slightly.
Why had it gotten dark so early? That didn’t seem right.
Even though winter was approaching and the days were getting shorter, it still felt too soon for it to be this dark already.
He clearly remembered that when they had gotten out of the car earlier, the sky hadn’t been completely dark yet. Even with the overcast weather, he could still make out the scenery on both sides of the road.
But now, he couldn’t see a thing.
It was as if a giant beast of darkness had opened its maw and swallowed heaven and earth whole.
The interior lighting of the car reflected only Yan Shixun’s own face in the window, making it impossible to see what was outside.
The driver had long since turned on the headlights.
But just as Yan Shixun was frowning in deep thought, the driver suddenly spoke, voice trembling:
“M-Mr. Yan…”
Yan Shixun turned to look at him.
The driver swallowed hard, his voice quivering with fear and near tears: “I-I don’t know, I really don’t know what’s going on.”
A vein twitched at Yan Shixun’s temple. “What is it?”
The driver shakily raised his hand and pointed forward. “That sign—I already passed it once just now, but it’s there again!”
It was a highway distance marker, reflecting the headlights. The kilometer count was clearly visible.
Logically, the numbers on those signs should change as the car moved forward. Even though there were many such signs along the highway, no two with the same number should appear back-to-back.
Yan Shixun’s heart dropped. “Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”
The driver cried, clearly terrified: “I-I thought I was seeing things! These roads barely change and there’s not even another car passing by, so it’s easy to get visual fatigue. I thought I was just imagining it…”
He hadn’t even finished speaking when suddenly, a figure appeared in the beam of the headlights.
That person stood there with their head lowered, completely silent.
Just as the driver had described before.
Now, Yan Shixun saw it too.
The driver let out a shout and, acting on instinct, slammed the brakes.
But either from braking too hard, or from the tires hitting a stone, the car jerked violently.
Then it tipped over to one side.
Screams and cries of panic erupted inside the vehicle.
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