Chapter 159: No Way Back on This Journey (9)
Haiyun Temple was the most prominent Taoist temple in Binhai City. It was constantly busy with daily affairs and had countless collaborations with various sects and official departments. It often received pleas for help from all over the country.
Almost every Taoist priest who had completed their training and could operate independently was responsible for corresponding tasks. It was not unusual for them to go an entire year without seeing each other.
Only during major festivals would most of the Taoist priests return to Haiyun Temple to solemnly perform ceremonial rituals.
Taoist Ma, because of his expertise in formations, mainly worked with the Binhai City government to construct and reinforce protective barriers for the city, defending against annual typhoons and maritime disasters.
So, when this pair of Taoists explained the situation to him, Taoist Ma finally recalled something.
A few years ago, just after the old Taoist master emerged from a deep meditative state, his complexion was ashen, and he suddenly coughed up a large mouthful of blood, his life force rapidly slipping away.
The entire Haiyun Temple was thrown into chaos at the time. The abbot and the senior Taoist priests exerted enormous effort just to barely pull the old Taoist back from the brink of death.
As the highest-ranking Taoist in Haiyun Temple, the old master was like the temple’s spiritual pillar—there was no one with greater strength than him.
Even after racking their brains, the abbot and others could not determine what could have possibly inflicted such serious damage to the old Taoist.
But the old master simply shook his head, saying it was the will of Heaven, unknowable and untouchable.
During his meditation, he had attuned to the plants and trees and sensed a disturbance between Heaven and Earth.
—Something was wrong with the underworld.
For the human world, life and death had always been balanced: the old passed on, and the new were born.
After death, souls would be drawn into the underworld, judged for their sins and virtues, and then assigned to reincarnate or suffer punishment.
But if something went wrong in the underworld—if souls could not reincarnate, and evil spirits could not be restrained—
Then evil spirits would roam the human world unchecked, souls would crowd and linger in the mortal realm, and normal human life would inevitably be affected.
The old would die of sickness, the new could not be born, spirits would congest the world, and evil spirits would wreak havoc…
The mortal world would plunge into chaos.
If such a vast number of ghosts truly appeared, even if Haiyun Temple mobilized all its forces again, it would likely be annihilated—none would return.
The old Taoist had only barely caught a glimpse of this heavenly principle, yet he was instantly suppressed by the thunderous might of Heaven and Earth.
Had it not been for his immense strength, he would have died silently during that meditation. And if his talent had been even a bit greater, allowing him to see more, then even his formidable strength wouldn’t have saved him—he would still have fallen to the ruthlessness of the Great Dao.
The old Taoist lamented that if it had been his exceptionally gifted junior brother instead, they might have learned more—why the underworld had changed, and how to resolve it. Then perhaps they could have turned the tide before disaster struck.
But Haiyun Temple was a place where people laid down their lives for the Dao. None feared death or clung to life.
The Dao follows nature, but the Dao can also defy fate!
From that day on, Haiyun Temple had paid close attention to all matters concerning the underworld, and they had heard many stories from other sects with experiences similar to the old Taoist’s.
Several sects’ founding ancestors had sensed similar things around the same year.
This only strengthened Haiyun Temple’s belief that a great disaster was approaching.
The pair of Taoists Taoist Ma encountered had long been responsible for tracking movements in the underworld.
Last month, in the mountains on the outskirts of Binhai City, they detected a disturbance—signs that a new *Yin Path* had formed. It was likely that ghosts were about to cross over.
Eight Taoist priests took strict precautions and stood watch over the mountain for a long time.
Just when they began to suspect that they had made a mistake in their divination and misjudged the location, at midnight, they finally saw ghosts appear.
It was a procession of evil spirits that stretched so far it had no end in sight.
The Yin officials followed them, ghost soldiers stood guard, gongs rang to clear the way, and soul-calming bells protected the formation.
Amid their shock, the eight Taoists immediately recognized what they were seeing—
Evil spirits from the underworld were being escorted under guard.
If these spirits broke free from the *Yin Path* and escaped into the world, the consequences for humanity would be unimaginable…
Even just thinking about it made the Taoists shudder.
Yet among the evil spirits, the Taoists noticed a strange figure.
This ghost looked like someone recently deceased—still lost and confused about the situation. Unlike the others, it wasn’t shackled in iron chains; it simply wandered aimlessly.
Confused souls that had recently died often lost all memories. They retained only the pain of death and unresolved resentment. Guided by their final obsession in life, they remained in the human world.
Then something astonishing happened.
Because the path of this newly dead ghost overlapped with that of the *Yin Path*, their ghostly energy and resentful aura began to merge—and eventually fused completely.
The ghost was firmly caught by the *Yin Path’s* spiritual force. And then, astonishingly, the *Yin Path* itself began to change direction, following the path taken by that ghost!
The Taoists were shocked and tried to rescue the new ghost from the *Yin Path*.
To ordinary people, all ghosts might seem the same. But in reality, “ghost” was just a general term. Some souls were merely lingering temporarily in the human realm. Having committed no sins, they were meant to reincarnate!
They should not be suffering alongside these sinful, condemned prisoners—wailing in despair in the endless darkness of Hell.
But the other Taoists quickly stopped their companion.
Underworld soldiers were borrowing the way—no living person was to interfere!
Even they, experienced Taoists, could not hope to snatch a soul away from such a massive procession of evil spirits and escape unharmed.
Had it been only ordinary Yin officials, there might have been a chance. But this group was clearly escorted by elite ghost soldiers.
Rushing in would mean certain death.
Besides, they had a more important task—to understand the underworld’s movements and uncover the reason behind the disturbance, in order to stop it.
Though worried for the new ghost, the Taoist knew what was more important and could only sigh, hoping to find another chance to save it.
What he hadn’t expected was that this pursuit would take them from the eastern edge of Binhai City all the way to the western side.
Among the eight, the leading Taoist said to Taoist Ma, “We hadn’t been paying close attention, and didn’t expect Gui Mountain to change.”
He added, “The Ghost Mountain beneath Gui Mountain has always been a long-standing unresolved issue for Haiyun Temple. Countless souls died there during the years of turmoil, and their gathered ghost energy made it a critical point for the city’s feng shui.”
“We originally calculated that Ghost Mountain would serve as one of the anchor points for the *Yin Path*. That way, the newly formed *Yin Path* wouldn’t float rootlessly in midair and could draw upon the ghost energy there to stabilize and expand.”
“But we never expected the ghost energy in Ghost Mountain to be completely gone! So the *Yin Path* lost its anchor and its source of energy. That’s why it ended up merging with that new ghost.”
Beside him, the Taoist with the goatee nodded in relief. “In a way, that actually prevented the worst-case scenario. The Great Dao has its will.”
They had chased the ghost trail all the way from the east of Binhai City, constantly on edge, terrified that the *Yin Path* would be drawn into the city.
After all, Binhai was a bustling metropolis, known as the city that never sleeps. Even at midnight, many residents were still outside, and many people only got off work in the early morning hours.
That time happened to be when yin energy was at its peak and yang energy at its weakest.
It was also when normally invisible *Yin Paths* would become visible.
Evil spirits were irrational. Any living person they saw—or who saw them—would be marked for vengeance.
Even though the Yin officials escorted them, they too were ghosts. How could they be expected to bother with such petty matters?
Anyone appearing near the *Yin Path* might, at best, be haunted into chronic illness, or at worst—die on the spot.
Taoist Yang Xuhu had once, in his youth, witnessed an appearance of the “Yin Path” over a decade ago. At that time, a farmer was working late into the night harvesting crops in the autumn. Unfortunately, he happened to be there at the exact moment the Yin Path emerged. Locking eyes with a malevolent ghost, the farmer was instantly drained of all his yang energy and turned into a dried corpse on the spot.
Because of this, all the Taoist priests were on high alert, fully prepared for the worst-case scenario. They had resolved to place themselves between the ordinary citizens and any evil spirits, determined not to let harm befall the innocent.
Yet strangely, the newly deceased ghost had been following a battered car—so dilapidated it should’ve been scrapped—ever since it entered from the ring road. By coincidence, it had avoided all densely populated urban areas.
The Taoists couldn’t figure out why the ghost would follow a car, but ultimately, it had led the Path into a rarely traveled place, avoiding casualties altogether.
After hearing the other Taoists’ reports, Taoist Ma had only one thought in his heart: *Thank the heavens!*
Thank the heavens that, even under the Great Dao, there was still a sliver of hope.
If the film crew hadn’t gone to Gui Mountain for filming, if they hadn’t mistakenly ended up on Ghost Mountain due to Director Zhang Wubing’s involvement, and if Yan Shixun hadn’t completely eradicated the resentment there, then the Yin Path would likely have grown stronger from all the added ghost energy—so strong it would’ve been beyond control.
Had that happened, many citizens living near Binhai’s outer ring would have been seriously harmed.
Seeing Taoist Ma’s expression shift rapidly, Taoist Yang Xuhu asked curiously, “Taoist Ma, are you having a facial spasm?”
“Oh right, Taoist Ma, shouldn’t you be with the Binhai city authorities? How did you end up here?”
Taoist Ma: “……”
Suddenly, a shout came from nearby, grabbing the Taoists’ attention.
“I saw it! The side profile—caught a clear look at the driver’s face!”
“Hurry, take a screenshot and try to identify him.”
It was the government officials—they had found the driver’s face flashing by in the footage from the highway toll booth.
At the same time, from the dashcam footage provided by the car owner who had tried to help, everyone could now see the full course of events.
The decrepit vehicle had been driving normally on the road when, all of a sudden, the silhouette of an arm appeared on the rear window, stretching as if reaching toward the driver up front.
Then the car began violently jolting, swerving left and right in a serpentine motion—it looked like the driver had lost control of the steering wheel.
In that state, the car crashed straight into the guardrail with a loud bang, flipping over several times before finally stopping at the roadside.
Immediately afterward, the driver who tried to help jumped out, ran around the vehicle to check the situation, and then made a call.
But the moment he turned around, the wrecked car mysteriously vanished into thin air!
Seeing this, the driver screamed in shock and pointed at the surveillance footage. “Look! I wasn’t lying, right? It really disappeared in the blink of an eye—car and all!”
“What the hell? Is this… is this ghost stuff?” the driver’s legs trembled as he forced himself to swallow hard.
The official quickly pulled the driver aside, gently soothing his nerves and told him he could leave.
After seeing the silhouette of the arm in the rear window, the official had already sensed something was very wrong.
But that wasn’t all. During the car’s wild jolting, the trunk had popped open slightly—and the official had caught a glimpse of something red inside.
It looked like… raw flesh.
Because of his professional instincts, a terrible thought occurred to him.
—He feared that at the time, aside from the driver, there had been someone else in that car.
Someone not alive… but a heavily mutilated corpse.
At this point, the matter clearly fell under the jurisdiction of the special department.
The official immediately called his subordinates, sent them the location, and instructed them to get there at once.
Taoist Yang Xuhu took in the scene before him, then silently raised his hand, pinched a sign, and began divining.
A few minutes later, his expression turned from shock to sudden realization. “So that’s what it was… So that’s what it was!”
Taoist Ma immediately pressed him, “What did you calculate, fellow Taoist?”
After all, divination was his weakness—wasn’t this the perfect opportunity?
Just then, another convoy approached on the highway, sirens blaring and red-and-blue lights flashing. No one could mistake who they were.
The government official and the earlier-arrived team instinctively paused their actions to watch the newly arrived vehicles.
The Taoists looked over as well.
One of them chuckled, “Blessings from the Boundless Heavenly Lord, things sure are lively today.”
From a distance, someone in the convoy noticed the cordoned-off area, the gathered people, and the vehicles. They were puzzled—why were so many people here?
He didn’t connect it to the case he was working on. He just assumed something had gone wrong with a fellow department, perhaps a car accident.
So, after confirming with superiors, the convoy pulled over. The window rolled down. “Hello, do you need a hand?”
He glanced at a forensic expert nearby holding a toolbox and suddenly realized—maybe it wasn’t another department that had a crash. Maybe they were investigating one?
But… where was the car?
You couldn’t have a car crash without a car, right? If the forensic experts were here, there should be a body to examine. But there was nothing?
His professional instincts told him something was off. But when his eyes swept across the laptop in front of the government official, he froze.
On the screen was a screenshot of the suspect from his case!
He had stared at that face all day—he’d recognize it even if it turned to ash!
He immediately turned to report to his team leader, then opened the door, got out of the car, saluted the official, and asked about the man in the screenshot.
The official was surprised. “You mean this person is the suspect in your missing person case?”
The uniformed officer nodded.
A few days ago, a couple had reported their son missing. He had disappeared for an entire day.
Their son, a student at Binhai University, had been stressed about graduate school and overwhelmed by campus gossip. So the couple had encouraged him to go out and relax.
But once he left, all contact was lost.
At first, they could still reach him while he was leaving Binhai, but after he entered the suburbs, he stopped answering calls. Then his phone was turned off.
Panicked, the couple immediately filed a report.
The local authorities sprang into action. They tracked the last known location of the phone—on the western outskirts of Binhai.
They rushed there and questioned villagers along the way. Someone said they had seen the young man heading toward the mountains.
The son had even asked about temperature differences between day and night, and had brought warm clothes. He seemed to be going to see the sunrise.
They searched the mountain, but found no trace of him.
However, the search dogs began barking furiously at a bush.
When they parted the branches, they found a severed finger—with a ring on it.
From the ring’s design, the couple identified it as their son’s. They said it was a gift from a close friend, and he had always worn it. Seeing that ring always made him smile.
The couple nearly fainted.
The search team’s hearts sank.
That mountain did occasionally see wild animals during the colder seasons.
But they soon realized this wasn’t a beast attack—it was murder.
The severed finger was too cleanly cut. Not the jagged tear of a bite, but the precise slice of a blade.
And… there was a faint scent of lamb.
All of this pointed toward a human killer.
The search dogs had tracked the scent down to a road at the base of the mountain. There, the team found a dried pool of blood and tire tracks beside it.
The trail ended there.
They concluded that someone had injured the boy and taken him away by car.
Using the tire patterns, they matched the vehicle’s signal and, with the sparse surveillance in the suburbs, tracked it to the edge of a nearby village.
There, the search dogs found an abandoned shack.
When they opened the door, the scene inside left everyone silent.
That was a vision of hell.
Blood was splattered everywhere. Bits of flesh and fragments of white bone littered the ground.
Some of it had already dried and oxidized, while some remained fresh—suggesting that the injuries had occurred over a span of more than a day.
They knew the missing son was likely beyond saving.
Still, clinging to the faintest sliver of hope, they pressed on and continued tracking.
Then, they encountered the official in charge on the highway.
The nearby advance team that had arrived first looked enraged upon hearing the news.
“Is that even human?!” the captain trembled with fury.
The forensic specialist clenched his fists so tightly that his nails pierced his palms.
The official connected all the clues, finally piecing together the truth.
—A few days ago, the student from Binhai University who had gone missing was killed by a driver. The killer had stuffed the body in the trunk and planned to dump it across district lines.
But unexpectedly, the corpse reanimated, caused the driver to crash, and exacted its revenge.
The official let out a heavy sigh. “The suspect you’re looking for got into a car accident. His life or death is currently unknown.”
A uniformed officer asked in confusion, “Car accident? Where’s the car?”
Good question—he wanted to know too.
The official answered calmly, “It’s currently missing. We’re looking for it.”
“Please rest assured,” he said with gravity. “Whether he’s alive or dead, if he truly committed murder, he won’t escape justice.”
The official had also finally figured out why the show’s production team had gone radio silent.
Given Director Zhang Wubing’s constitution, and based on the information sent by Mr. Yan, the middle-aged man who had flagged down a car for help was most likely the suspect driver. Judging from the crash site and the vengeful ghost, the driver was probably already dead.
Since Mr. Yan was involved, the official was confident the suspect couldn’t escape.
He trusted Yan Shixun.
“Sorry to butt in,” a Taoist with a goat-like beard approached. “This deceased person you’re talking about… what did he look like? Do you have a photo or his birth date and time?”
At that moment, Taoist Ma, who had witnessed everything from the side, suddenly had a flash of insight—everything made sense now.
…
When Yan Shixun opened his eyes, he hadn’t yet fully recovered from the earlier grogginess. Instinctively, he flipped upright, and before his mind could catch up, his body followed the last command it had received before losing consciousness—his hand shot forward, trying to grasp the young man who had been sinking into the blood pool.
But his hand struck a wall.
The sting of pain helped snap him back to clarity. The contrast between the wall here and the wall-less highway helped ground him as he quickly regained awareness, alert and scanning his surroundings.
That’s when he saw it—a stark white wall.
Yan Shixun: “?”
He looked around in confusion and realized he was no longer on the highway.
Instead, he was inside a dorm room.
He had just awoken lying in the dorm bed. Now he sat upright on the narrow frame, overlooking the small, enclosed space.
A long-forgotten memory surfaced.
Yan Shixun recognized the place.
—It was the dorm room he had lived in for four years while attending Binhai University.
But why was he here? Wasn’t he supposed to be on the highway?
And after all these years, why did everything in the dorm still look exactly the same as it did back then?
Yan Shixun frowned, puzzled.
The four-person dorm was dimly lit, with no lights on. Only vague outlines of furniture were visible.
Still, relying on memory, Yan Shixun swiftly reconstructed the room’s layout in his mind.
Across from him, one of the beds was shrouded with a mosquito net. A messily tossed blanket formed a vague human shape, but in the low light, it was unclear whether someone was actually there.
Yan Shixun narrowed his eyes and cautiously braced himself on the bed railing, preparing to jump down and check the other bed—when it suddenly moved.
A tall figure slowly sat up.
“Shixun?” the person across the room asked hoarsely.
It was Ye Li’s voice.
Yan Shixun felt a slight sense of relief.
Immediately afterward, he put on a serious expression and asked Ye Li, “What happened after I lost consciousness? Why are we here?”
Though he asked the question, Yan Shixun already had a suspicion.
Back in the abyss, he had seen a pool of blood and a young man—then the same scene had appeared on the highway.
At the time, he had determined that the entire space must have been frozen at a certain moment, but due to the presence of ghostly energy, the highway extended endlessly.
Now, the sudden shift in scenes—finding himself in his old university dormitory—was likely for the same reason.
—Ghostly interference.
Only now, instead of the frozen highway scene, it had changed to the student dormitory of Binhai University.
Yan Shixun didn’t believe the dormitory from back then would have been preserved exactly the same, so this had to be the doing of some ghostly force.
Ye Li whispered, “You were dragged into the blood pool by a group of ghosts, so I followed you down.”
Yan Shixun blinked: “You saw that there were only ghosts beneath the blood pool, and you still jumped in?”
He was somewhat surprised: “Didn’t you know that such a strange blood pool was bound to be dangerous?”
What lay beneath the blood pool was an unknown danger.
Why… would anyone be willing to jump in?
Was it simply because he was worried about him?
Even someone as emotionally dense as Yan Shixun couldn’t help but feel that something wasn’t quite right.
When he was younger, because he could see things others couldn’t, his peers often called him a “liar,” said he was “making things up,” or “watched too many dramas.” So he stopped talking and just observed the rowdy world around him in silence.
After being abandoned by his parents, the people he came into contact with through Li Chengyun were mostly enlightened individuals—mature and composed in their dealings.
The others, whether they were clients who sought out Li Chengyun or all sorts of people they met on the road, were merely passing strangers, never ones Yan Shixun paid much attention to.
Strictly speaking, aside from Li Chengyun, the only person Yan Shixun had spent a long time with was Zhang Wubing.
But Yan Shixun was certain that if it had been Li Chengyun in that moment, he would have calmly stayed outside the blood pool and looked for a way to rescue him. If it had been Zhang Wubing, he would have called on other masters for help.
Either way, neither of them would have done something so reckless and dangerous as jumping in.
But Ye Li did.
There had been no reference point for Yan Shixun to study or learn from—no one had ever taught him this kind of emotion.
Yet… at that moment, he was genuinely moved.
Ye Li gave a soft laugh. “Of course I knew. But you were down here, and you were in danger too.”
“So naturally, I had to come.”
The dorm room fell silent for a moment.
Yan Shixun pressed his lips together, not knowing how to respond.
It wasn’t until he heard the noisy chatter of young men coming down the hallway—sounding like they had just finished class and returned—that he snapped out of it.
He looked warily toward the dorm room door, his muscles tensing.
He had thought that, like the highway, this place was also a frozen space. But judging by the noise outside… it wasn’t just the two of them here!
There were probably other ordinary people caught up in this.
Students from Binhai University, for example.
Yan Shixun immediately grabbed the rail of the bed. Without using the ladder, he flipped himself down with agility and landed steadily on the ground.
“Wanna game tonight?”
“Can’t, can’t, I’ve got another exam the day after. I need to study. Let’s play after finals.”
“Ugh, I don’t wanna go to class.”
“Fewer classes during finals anyway. I’ve just been holed up in the dorm. It’s not bad.”
…
The students passing outside chatted enthusiastically, their youthful energy palpable. The lights in the hallway cast slatted shadows under the door as the group walked by.
It was just like any other ordinary night in college—students returning to their dorms after class, laughing and chatting, shaking off the cold outside. Peaceful and warm.
But Yan Shixun, standing just one door away, felt his gaze turn icy cold.
Whatever that blood pool was, or whoever that young man might be, Yan Shixun was now seriously angered.
There weren’t just him and Ye Li in this scene—there were also regular students.
These were innocent people who didn’t belong here, who shouldn’t have been dragged into danger.
Since he still hadn’t figured out the current situation, Yan Shixun quietly listened from inside the dorm. He didn’t make a sound, nor did he open the door.
The presence of ordinary students made him extra cautious. If he made a single mistake, the price would be… the lives of these innocent people.
Luckily, there weren’t too many students returning from class, and they soon walked past. The hallway outside gradually quieted down again.
Ye Li landed lightly on the ground, his tall figure silent. He raised his hand and gently placed it on Yan Shixun’s shoulder. “Shixun?”
Yan Shixun turned slightly to respond to him.
But his gaze remained fixed.
From the voices outside, there must’ve been at least a hundred students.
And chances were, they were all ordinary people—untrained in the arcane arts, unable to defend themselves against ghosts.
Others might be able to ignore them.
But Yan Shixun took their lives onto his shoulders.
Even if he hadn’t seen their faces, even if they were strangers to him—since he was the only one among them capable, he had to take responsibility and protect them.
But the sheer number pressed down on his heart like a weight.
Ye Li understood what Yan Shixun was thinking. He softly said, “Don’t worry.”
“I’m here.”
It was a while before Yan Shixun finally responded with a quiet “Mm,” and snapped out of his thoughts, taking in the environment around him.
Binhai University, being one of the oldest schools in the city, was its top academic institution. The legendary diplomat Jing Bin even held an honorary professorship here.
Thanks to generous donations from well-known alumni year after year, the school was well-funded and quite willing to give back to its students. The four-person dorms were spacious and equipped with new, modern amenities.
The finance department of Binhai University had long been prestigious. Many students came from wealthy families, and those who couldn’t get used to dorm life simply lived at home.
That’s how there had always been an empty bed in Yan Shixun’s dorm.
He had only seen that roommate once on the first day of freshman year. The next time he saw him was in the middle of the night—when he opened his eyes to find his roommate’s ghostly, hollow soul sitting above his head.
After that student died, his family quickly came to collect his belongings from the dorm. Since then, the bed had remained empty. No one wanted to move in.
—Back then, there were rumors all through the finance department that this dorm room was full of weirdos—and worse, someone had died here. It was considered inauspicious.
But now, Yan Shixun noticed that the desk under that empty bed still had some personal belongings on it, already covered with dust.
It made him wonder—was there a discrepancy in the timeline? Otherwise, why would his roommate’s things still be here?
Ye Li looked around the dorm. “This was where you lived back then?”
Yan Shixun nodded. “It was part of college life—communal living.”
Ye Li looked genuinely surprised.
He had seen many highly gifted ghost exorcists and celestial masters. In past dynasties, such individuals were often revered by emperors and traveled with grand entourages. Even the renowned modern masters lived in luxury and opulence.
Though he had already realized, from visiting Yan Shixun’s humble courtyard, that he wasn’t materialistic, and after spending some time with him, he knew Yan didn’t care much about clothes, food, or comfort.
Still, Yan Shixun was a ghost exorcist—he dealt with the supernatural regularly. Ye Li had assumed he wouldn’t live with ordinary people.
Yan Shixun glanced at Ye Li, unfazed by his reaction. “When Zhang Wubing’s father found out I shared a dorm with Zhang Wubing, he had the exact same expression.”
Ye Li: “…You and Zhang Wubing…”
His tone carried a hint of gritted teeth. “Lived together for four years?”
With anyone else, he might have let it go. But Ye Li knew that Yan Shixun didn’t trust others easily. Zhang Wubing was different. He had witnessed firsthand how close the two of them were.
A ripple of emotion stirred in Ye Li’s heart—an unexpected flicker of jealousy toward Zhang Wubing.
If only he had reunited with Yan Shixun earlier…
Yan Shixun casually pointed to the bed Ye Li had jumped down from just now. “The one you were lying on earlier—that was Zhang Wubing’s bed.”
Ye Li: “…”
Why hadn’t he lain on *Shixun’s* bed instead?
“Actually, my small courtyard isn’t far from Binhai University. I could’ve easily commuted.”
Yan Shixun said calmly while inspecting the dorm. “But I had a very good advisor—dedicated and responsible. She was worried I might go astray, so she talked to my master and suggested I live on campus to experience student life.”
“My master agreed. He told me that observing the human world was also a kind of cultivation.”
Yan Shixun’s voice remained level. “So I stayed.”
—And ended up watching that little fool Zhang Wubing cry and cling to him for four years.
Ye Li was deeply interested in Yan Shixun’s past. Every time Yan was about to stop talking, Ye Li would bring up a new question to keep the stories coming.
After Yan Shixun had roughly gone through the dorm room’s items, Ye Li had learned all about his university years.
The look Ye Li gave Zhang Wubing’s bed grew darker.
*Tsk.*
Somewhere far away, Zhang Wubing sneezed loudly: “Achoo!”
He curled up into a shivering ball, hugging himself tightly inside the cramped cabinet, on the verge of tears but unable to cry.
Brother Yan, Dad, when are you coming to rescue your adorable Xiao Bing… *sob*…
But Yan Shixun stared coldly at the textbooks on the desk.
He recognized them—these were from the second semester of his freshman year.
That was… the one year he least wanted to remember.
The darkest time of his life.
Back when he left the little courtyard and turned around for a last look, Li Chengyun had still been smiling warmly at him, waving as he took off his own scarf—still holding a trace of body heat—and draped it around Yan Shixun’s neck to shield him from the chill of winter.
Li Chengyun had said regretfully that since the semester was starting early, they wouldn’t be able to have Yuanxiao dumplings together for the Lantern Festival, so it wouldn’t really feel like a reunion.
Looking at the sorrowful expression on Li Chengyun’s face, the young Yan Shixun hadn’t been able to read between the lines.
He had only said to his master: “When you come back, next year’s Lantern Festival, we’ll definitely spend it at home together.”
Li Chengyun had looked momentarily surprised, his expression dazed, then softly, with hope in his voice, replied: “Alright.”
“If I ever get the chance to see you again, I’ll learn how to make Yuanxiao, and we’ll make them together by hand, a proper reunion.”
Young Yan Shixun hadn’t understood what he meant.
He had walked away.
Even when he had walked far enough to vanish around the corner of the alley, Li Chengyun’s gaze had still been fixed on his back.
As if… as if taking one last, reluctant look.
And then, when spring came and the cherry blossoms bloomed and withered, Yan Shixun was met with his counselor’s anxious and sorrowful face—
And a letter carrying the news of Li Chengyun’s death.
Even after so many years, Yan Shixun still couldn’t bear to recall that year.
He didn’t know how he had muddled through that time. It felt like a part of his heart had been hollowed out, his very soul lost in confusion.
A mentor, a friend, a father—Li Chengyun had played every role he’d needed during the first half of his life.
After Li Chengyun’s death, even the sunlight had lost its color, laughter became distant like a sound muffled through frosted glass, and he’d drawn a prison around himself.
Later… what had happened later?
Yan Shixun’s eyes went distant as he lifted his long, slender fingers and gently pressed them against the scattered textbooks on the desk.
Later, a fool had sat down beside him, bawling loudly, crying all the tears he himself couldn’t shed.
Then that little fool had looked at him with eyes red from crying and said, “Brother Yan, from today on, I’m your family. Don’t worry, even though our master is gone, I’m still here. I’ll take care of you. I won’t ever let you be lonely or wronged.”
The little fool had been so hopelessly dumb that the young Yan Shixun—who had grown used to being around brilliant people—couldn’t help but wonder how someone could be this stupid.
But the little fool still made him laugh, and with a light kick, he’d sent him out of the room.
Yan Shixun was still immersed in the memories that had just been stirred when he suddenly heard a voice from outside the door.
“Brother Yan, can I sleep in your bed with you tonight?” the voice asked pitifully.
Yan Shixun immediately exchanged a look with Ye Li—they could both see the surprise in each other’s eyes.
Ye Li looked wounded: …That voice belongs to Zhang Wubing. Shixun, aren’t you and Zhang Wubing just normal friends?
Yan Shixun looked confused: ??? What are you talking about?
Then the voice came again: “The night before last, I think there was a ghost sitting beside my pillow, just staring at me. When I opened my eyes, I came face to face with its pus-covered face. I was terrified.”
“I didn’t sleep at all last night—every time I shut my eyes, all I could see was that ghost’s face. I almost nodded off during the small languages listening test today.”
The voice outside whimpered, “What am I gonna do about tomorrow’s exam? If I fall asleep again, the teacher’s going to eat me alive.”
This voice—Yan Shixun knew it so well that even a single syllable would have been enough for him to recognize it.
It was Zhang Wubing.
Only, he sounded younger, more naïve—protected by the Zhang family, he had lived all his life in an ivory tower, innocent and full of vitality.
Yan Shixun silently opened the door a crack and peeked outside.
Just as a cold voice snapped:
“I refuse.”
Those few short words instantly made both Ye Li and Yan Shixun freeze in place.
—It was Yan Shixun’s voice.
But he was here, inside the dorm room.
Then… who was outside the door?
Through the narrow slit of the doorway, a glimpse of Yan Shixun’s figure flashed by.
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