Chapter 162: No Way Back on This Journey (12)
Lu Xingxing felt his whole body go limp, drained of all strength.
Just now, holding his breath while hiding had been even more exhausting than when he was frantically running through the woods earlier.
By the time he caught his breath, his head was buzzing, and he didn’t even have the energy to think anymore.
He couldn’t help but wonder how Yan Shixun managed to drive away ghosts while still calmly thinking through strategies every single time—like it was second nature to him.
Was he a monster or something? Jeez.
Lu Xingxing had always thought of himself as talented, so he’d never really grasped what it meant to be a true genius—until now. At this moment, the gap between them felt indescribable.
It was like standing at the bottom of a valley, looking up at the summit of a mountain.
You could see him up there, but you knew for certain you’d never catch up.
Talent…
Lu Xingxing suddenly recalled someone once saying that the scariest thing was someone gifted and harder-working than everyone else.
And Yan Shixun was exactly that kind of person. No wonder their grandmaster always used him as an example to lecture both Lu Xingxing and his master.
But Lu Xingxing quickly convinced himself otherwise and cheered up again.
—Yan Shixun was a master uncle!
He himself was just a novice little Taoist who hadn’t even completed his training. Of course he couldn’t compare. Why even try? It was enough just to be happy.
Thinking this, Lu Xingxing turned to check on An Nanyuan beside him.
And as soon as he looked, he burst out laughing.
Hey! What an idiot, this An Nanyuan.
Since the underworld soldiers had arrived so suddenly, Lu Xingxing hadn’t had time to explain anything. He’d just shoved An Nanyuan straight into the ground.
Even though An Nanyuan had managed to guess Lu Xingxing’s intention, his imagination had always been too good.
Now, he was curled up in the bushes, trembling like an ostrich with his face buried in the dirt, refusing to lift it even a little—like he was determined to suffocate himself right there.
Lu Xingxing couldn’t hold it in anymore and let out a muffled, “Pfft!”
An Nanyuan’s curled-up body went stiff, and then he started shaking even more violently.
—Who knew what kind of wild ideas he imagined Lu Xingxing’s laugh meant?
The forest was completely still, so Lu Xingxing didn’t dare to laugh out loud like he usually did.
He reached out and yanked An Nanyuan up while chuckling quietly, “Alright, man, if you hold it in any longer, you’re gonna suffocate yourself.”
An Nanyuan was like a radish, pulled straight out of the dirt by Lu Xingxing.
And now, Lu Xingxing and all the viewers on his split-screen saw a handsome face completely covered in mud.
The dazzling, radiant stage persona that An Nanyuan had once shown was gone without a trace. Now, he looked more like a silly golden retriever that had come back after playing in the mud.
Muddy golden retriever: Mom, open the door, it’s your good boy. Don’t you recognize me?
Viewers: [???]
Who are you?
Lu Xingxing: …
Lu Xingxing: Pfft—hahahahahaha!
He was laughing so hard he could barely keep it together. He pressed both hands to his mouth, but giggles still slipped out through his fingers.
An Nanyuan, who had just been scared out of his mind, was also infected by Lu Xingxing’s unrestrained laughter. His nerves, which had been wound so tightly, suddenly relaxed.
Embarrassed, An Nanyuan reached up to the spot Lu Xingxing was pointing at and touched his face—only to feel a thick layer of dirt.
He realized just how ridiculous he must look and couldn’t help but crack a grin, joining Lu Xingxing in laughter.
So now, what the viewers on the split-screen saw were two dorks who had just barely escaped death, grinning like fools at each other.
Viewers: [Who the hell are you two?! Give me back my idol!!]
But Lu Xingxing’s laugh was far too natural. He was trying so hard to hold it in, tears were leaking from his eyes. It was impossible not to be swept up in the moment.
And with An Nanyuan’s muddy, panda-like face being such a sight to behold, everyone who saw it went from stunned silence to bursting into laughter.
In that instant, the tense mood in the two split screens eased. The barrage of anxious messages from viewers also shifted, as everyone relaxed along with them.
[Bro, what happened to your idol image?! What are you saying right now, bro?! Weren’t you the one who was so dazzling on stage it hurt to look at you… I’m sorry, I need a second—HAHAHA I’m so sorry, HAHAHAHA.]
[Damn, I never really got why people found An Nanyuan good-looking. He always felt too distant, like a perfect doll, not real. But now I’m laughing like crazy—suddenly he feels so much more human, like a real person beside me instead of a star in the sky. I’m in love now, seriously.]
[Speaking of stars… sob sob, Mommy’s Xing baby! Weren’t you the sexiest, wildest indie musician out there? Who is this silly person laughing like a lunatic? My heart can’t take it!]
[Damn hahahahaha, after being scared out of my mind for so long, I can finally breathe again. Thank you, Lu Xingxing, for saving my dog life! If no one else had helped me, I would’ve died from fright. From now on, we’re brothers who eat and sleep in the same kennel! dog head emoji]
[I’m laughing so hard in my dorm right now that I can’t catch my breath. My roommate just asked me if I’ve lost my mind.]
[Me too… I was slacking off at work during overtime and watching the livestream during a meeting, hoping to draw some courage from the crowd. But then I screamed from being scared, and immediately burst into laughter. I ended up scaring my boss. He told me to go home right away and warned me not to drop dead from exhaustion.]
[?? Does this show also help prevent overtime? Spread the word—watching this show means you don’t have to work overtime anymore!]
Because their nerves had been too tightly strung just moments ago, the two of them laughed together for a long while, as if trying to release all the negative emotions they had just gone through. Only after quite some time did they finally stop.
Lu Xingxing blinked, clearing his vision that had been blurred by reflexive tears, then cleared his throat with a couple of coughs and stopped laughing.
“Why are you here?” Lu Xingxing patted around his body, pulled off a decorative scarf from his clothes, and handed it to An Nanyuan, signaling him to wipe his face.
“When you shouted my name just now, I almost went into cardiac arrest.”
Lu Xingxing said, “When I first woke up, I was planning to come find you guys, but did you really have to hit me with a shock like that right off the bat? If we weren’t as familiar with each other as we are, and you called out my full name, I might’ve been dragged off by the Yin official right then and there.”
The fact that An Nanyuan had ended up on the path of the ghostly procession was something Lu Xingxing never expected.
But at the same time, he also felt a bit fortunate. If he hadn’t encountered An Nanyuan and taken him away, An Nanyuan could’ve crossed paths with the ghost procession, and by now, might’ve ended up as nothing more than a lifeless skeleton.
—That would have been truly beyond saving.
An Nanyuan looked slightly embarrassed. “I’m not sure myself. I opened my eyes and I was already in the mountains. Since there was no one around, I wanted to find you guys to see if anyone needed help.”
“But I honestly didn’t think about my lack of survival skills. That’s on me.”
At the time, he had been so anxious to check on his teammates’ situation that he completely overlooked his own—he’d always been a city kid. Let alone surviving in the wild, even in a slightly underdeveloped village he could probably starve himself to death.
So, unsurprisingly, An Nanyuan ended up getting lost in the mountains.
And what terrified him the most were the sounds in the forest.
After so many episodes of filming, An Nanyuan was no longer a clueless beginner. He firmly believed in science and didn’t think ghosts existed.
So when he sensed something was off in the woods, his first reaction was—Ghosts!
The mountain was dark, without even a hint of moonlight. All light and sound around him were swallowed by the surrounding darkness.
An Nanyuan stumbled alone along the mountain path, tripping over dirt clumps underfoot every few steps, nearly falling flat on his face several times.
In a panic, he reached out to grab a nearby tree to steady himself. But once he had caught his balance, he realized something wasn’t right about the texture under his hand.
It didn’t feel like wood at all.
It was cold and damp, with a chill that seeped into his bones.
Instead of the roughness of bark, it felt smooth, like ivory.
An Nanyuan squinted in confusion and leaned closer to take a better look.
Then he suddenly realized—
What he had thought was a tree wasn’t a tree at all!
It was a skeleton.
A towering skeleton stood silently in the darkness, its empty eye sockets staring directly at An Nanyuan, locking eyes with him.
Vines and dried branches tangled around its ribcage, the sickly yellow-greens and dark browns making the bones appear even whiter and more ghastly. Parasitic vines crept up its leg bones, burrowed into its jaw, pierced through the skull, and sprouted from the top, greedily sucking in nutrients.
The plants formed a dense net, trapping the skeleton in place, anchoring it like a prison from which it could never escape.
No one knew how long this skeleton had been here, or why it had died there, leaving nothing behind but bones.
An Nanyuan had no time or interest to ponder such things.
As soon as his gaze met the pair of eyes half-hidden beneath the dead branches, he felt a wave of cold creeping up his back. Goosebumps rose on his arms, his leg muscles went stiff, and every instinct in his body screamed at him to run.
But it felt as if something beneath his feet was breaking through the soil to grab him—trying to pull him down, to feed on his body, let vines crawl over him until he met the same fate as that skeleton: trapped forever in this mountain, never able to leave.
It felt like roots had grown from beneath his feet, making it physically impossible to lift them.
Beads of cold sweat rolled down his forehead. He clenched his teeth, trying to suppress the overwhelming panic. His hand trembled as he tried to pull it away from the skeleton.
But it felt as if his palm had fused with the bones.
The skeleton’s empty eyes stared silently at the intruder, as if saying—Stay here, and keep me company.
An Nanyuan felt his heart beating out of rhythm, on the verge of bursting out of his chest.
But he still forced his muscles into action and yanked his hand back with all his strength.
“Sorry, brother. I didn’t mean to offend you,” he whispered. “If you’ll let me leave, I promise I’ll burn paper offerings and incense for you.”
As soon as those words left his mouth, a miracle happened—he was suddenly able to pull his hand away.
And because he hadn’t adjusted his strength in time, the force made him stumble back two steps, nearly losing his balance.
An Nanyuan stared in shock at the spot where he had just been standing.
There, a small plant had sprouted, an unnaturally bright green.
When he looked up in a daze, he realized that the skeleton was no longer looking at him. Its head had turned, its eye sockets now gazing past An Nanyuan and into the depths of the forest.
It looked like… a prisoner longing for freedom.
An Nanyuan felt unsettled, but didn’t dare linger. He said a quick, “Sorry to bother you,” and ran off as fast as he could.
After that encounter, An Nanyuan didn’t dare stay in the mountains any longer. He just wanted to find traces of the others and get off the mountain with them as quickly as possible.
But while running aimlessly, he suddenly heard a scream in the distance.
Judging by the voice, it was a man—not a young one either.
Although the scream was distorted by fear and pain, making it hard to distinguish the voice, An Nanyuan couldn’t tell if it was someone from the production team.
But even so, the scream still conveyed a clear message—someone was in danger!
An Nanyuan had intended to head in the direction of the sound, but he ended up getting lost. It felt like he had walked into a maze made by ghosts—no matter how hard he tried, he just kept going in circles in the forest. Anxious and panicked, he couldn’t find a way out.
Worse yet, he vaguely caught sight of a shadowy figure darting through the darkness.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a ferocious, hideous ghost face. But when An Nanyuan, startled, quickly turned to look, there was nothing there. Just emptiness—as if it had all been a hallucination.
His hands and feet turned cold. He could even feel something brushing past him from behind, and the cold wind it stirred slipped into his clothes, making his back curl from the chill.
In this lifeless forest, he felt like a living target. Anyone—or anything—could see him and hurt him.
An Nanyuan knew this couldn’t go on. After getting lost for the fourth time, he gave up and found a dense shrub where he could hide his body. He crouched inside, deciding to wait and observe before making another move.
Just as he finished hiding, he saw Lu Xingxing running toward him at high speed.
He was overjoyed and immediately called out to him.
After hearing An Nanyuan’s account, Lu Xingxing was silent for a moment: “…”
“Please, next time, call me ‘Taoist.” Lu Xingxing said sincerely
An Nanyuan was puzzled. “Would calling you “Taoist’ scare the ghosts away or something? Like, they won’t dare chase you if I do that?”
“Not really, but if you call me ‘Taoist’ and I end up dying, at least it sounds respectable.”
Lu Xingxing replied earnestly: “Maybe, seeing that I sacrificed myself for others, my master would personally conduct my funeral rites.”
“If other junior Taoists found out I died because someone shouted my full name, that’d be super embarrassing. But if they heard I died protecting someone, at least it sounds like I was a decent Taoist from Haiyun Temple.”
An Nanyuan: “…”
He hadn’t expected Lu Xingxing to think that far ahead.
“But just now, you said you touched a human skeleton?” Lu Xingxing’s expression turned serious. “Was it just one tree, or all of them?”
An Nanyuan tried to recall, but could only shake his head in confusion. “It was too dark, and I was too scared to get a clear look. But…”
Remembering the faint whiteness he’d seen, and the constant chilling gaze he’d felt while fleeing, An Nanyuan said hesitantly, “It might be true.”
If it was really like Lu Xingxing said—if countless bones were hidden under vines, blended among the trees, impossible to tell apart in the darkness…
Then hadn’t he, thinking he was escaping danger, actually been running through the danger the whole time?
The more he thought about it, the more terrified An Nanyuan became. A creeping, suffocating despair spread from the depths of his chest, gripping his heart tightly.
He looked around in a nervous frenzy, eyes wide open, desperately trying to distinguish between bones and trees.
But once that fear took root in his mind, everything he saw looked like skeletons.
Trapped in a cage of greed and death, these skeletons could never find peace. They could only silently watch passersby from beneath the decaying leaves and branches of the dark forest, through the black hollows of their eye sockets.
Lu Xingxing noticed something was wrong with An Nanyuan. He suddenly raised his hand and smacked An Nanyuan hard on the back—smack!—with so much force it nearly knocked him flat.
Only then did An Nanyuan snap out of it. Still startled, he looked at Lu Xingxing. “What’s wrong?”
Lu Xingxing gave a disdainful snort, stood up from the tree he’d been leaning on, and brushed the dirt and dust from his clothes.
“Enough with the wild thoughts. Get up, we’re leaving. If anyone else is nearby, every minute we waste is a minute less safe.”
“Yes, it’s dangerous. But—”
Lu Xingxing tilted his head back, youthful pride radiating from him. “If one comes, I’ll kill one. If two come, I’ll kill both. If I can’t win, I still won’t surrender. And if I really die, so what? My master will bring my soul back to Haiyun Temple.”
“So, what’s there to be afraid of?” Lu Xingxing declared boldly. “My master is Taoist Song Yi, and my master uncle is Yan Shixun. Pretty badass, right?”
An Nanyuan stared up at Lu Xingxing in surprise. After a moment, the tension in his brows and eyes gradually relaxed.
“Xingxing… I finally get it now. Why so many fans like you.”
He shook his head and stood up, feeling somewhat reassured by Lu Xingxing’s words. He wasn’t nearly as terrified as he had been, imagining all kinds of horrors alone.
Yeah… they had Brother Yan.
Even if Brother Yan wasn’t here right now, they’d find him eventually. Then everything would be okay.
What was there to be afraid of? Even if the sky fell, Brother Yan would hold it up. And Lu Xingxing was here with him too.
—Although An Nanyuan didn’t quite believe Lu Xingxing could hold the sky like Yan Shixun could…
Still, humans were social creatures, and easily influenced by those around them.
Lu Xingxing’s optimism and fearlessness helped calm An Nanyuan down. It was certainly better than running around the mountain alone in a panic.
But the viewers who heard their conversation were all: [………]
[Sh*t! Brother, I’ll thank you for life! My house is right next to an orchard, surrounded by trees. I’m scared now.]
[WTF! I was just out walking my dog, and now I’m sprinting home like a maniac. My poor husky couldn’t even keep up—he looked so confused, like I was the crazy one! Now all I can think is that the woods by the road are full of dead people!]
[Help me help me help me!! Sobs hysterically I couldn’t hold it in anymore, finally forced myself to go to the bathroom, and THIS is what I hear?! The toilet is surrounded by trees! I’m too scared to go back to the dorm alone! cries]
[I’m wrapping myself tight in my blanket. At this point, it’s the only place in the world that still feels warm.]
[?? Did I hear wrong? Did they just mention Brother Yan? Do those two seriously think he’s going to show up and save them, so now they’re relaxed?]
[Sh*t, that’s right! I totally forgot. Didn’t Brother Yan go to Binhai University? People were tagging Binhai University’s official account on social media, complaining they didn’t announce their partnership with the show.]
[…I suspect there’s some censorship going on. Lots of high-liked comments about ghosts and stuff got their posters’ accounts banned.]
[Of course there is, no doubt about it. Binhai University’s own forums have already blown up twice tonight. They’re swamped just managing that. There’s no way they’d let public opinion online spiral out of control. If social media platforms don’t cooperate, someone’s getting a “tea invitation.”]
Many Binhai University students had followed the forum chatter and tuned in to the live broadcast.
Then they watched with their own eyes as the camera shook violently, raspy breaths blasted through the speakers, and terrifying scenes from the pitch-black forest flashed by.
It felt like they were fleeing through the mountains in first-person—immersed in the panic and dread.
Many students who had never even heard of the show before now felt absolutely shaken.
All of a sudden, the campus forums—previously quiet due to upcoming finals—exploded back into activity.
But aside from threads about the show, the hottest topic was—
Shocking! Gold Medal Chemistry Student Disappears Mysteriously at Midnight—Ghosts to Blame or Just a Scare?
Cheng Jing, a senior in the College of Chemistry, had always been a well-known figure on campus.
A long wall of award announcements still hung in the chemistry building, and at the top of each competition list, one name always appeared—Cheng Jing.
When one person achieved greatness, everyone around them rose too.
That sentence was often used by many students at Binhai University to describe Cheng Jing’s roommate.
Because Cheng Jing had a cold personality toward people he wasn’t familiar with and wasn’t the type to make friends easily, during his sophomore year, when he participated in a competition for the first time, he couldn’t even gather the minimum required number of teammates.
At that time, no one had yet discovered Cheng Jing’s immense potential. Naturally, most students preferred to team up with seniors.
As the deadline approached and Cheng Jing was about to lose eligibility for the competition due to a lack of team members, his roommate volunteered to join.
Unexpectedly, Cheng Jing, just a sophomore, ended up defeating numerous senior-year students and even graduate and doctoral teams, directly snatching the first prize in Binhai City and winning the national gold medal.
Everyone who had participated in the competition was dumbfounded.
His roommate was dumbfounded too.
After that, many people wanted to join Cheng Jing’s team, but he turned them all down. He remained fully committed to his original teammates and led them to win one medal after another.
His roommate even gleefully posted on the forum: “How do you win a gold medal and fulfill your graduation requirements?”
“Thanks for the invite. You just need to find a ‘dad’ and hold on to his thigh for dear life.”
The big shot charged forward, while he cheered from the sidelines. The thrill of being carried to victory—only those who experienced it would understand.
Binhai University students were filled with envy and jealousy, so much so that even the roommate became a figure they remembered.
This time, the incident where the counselor went to Cheng Jing’s dorm drew even more attention on the forum due to Cheng Jing’s already high profile.
Many students who were staying up late to cram for exams couldn’t resist checking the forum to see what was going on.
And those who were at the dorm scene at the time sent back updates: the counselor broke in, but there wasn’t a single person inside Cheng Jing’s dorm—not even his roommate was present.
A lot of people looked at that statement, then looked at the person who was clearly visible in Yan Shixun’s split-screen livestream: ???
You kidding me? You really think we’re stupid? We’re watching this guy sitting right there in the dorm on live stream, and you’re telling us no one’s inside?
The person being doubted was equally frustrated. He happened to still be in the hallway and hadn’t gone far. Taking advantage of the moment when the counselor was explaining the situation to a leader over the phone, he quietly slipped over and snapped a picture, then posted it.
Then, everyone who had just questioned him saw the photo of that dorm room—completely empty, not a soul in sight.
Only the harsh white fluorescent light remained on, casting a cold, lifeless glow.
Everyone who saw the photo felt a chill rise from the soles of their feet, so cold it made them shiver all over.
“What the hell? Did I not wear enough clothes today? Why is it so cold?”
“This dorm… something feels off about it.”
“Huh? That’s strange. I saw God Cheng walking from the lab building today. His usual seat at the library was empty. If he’s not in the dorm, then where could he be?”
“Cheng Jing is honestly so pitiful. He should’ve gotten the guaranteed postgrad spot, but some rando showed up halfway and snatched it through connections. Ugh. I hope that heartless jerk drops dead.”
“I remember the guy who got the spot was from another department in the chemistry school, right? So unfair. The whole school only had one reserved seat for the Kyoto University Research Institute, and that guy took it. I’m angry just thinking about it—God Cheng must have a great temper.”
“Alright, wasn’t this whole thing discussed before? Didn’t the department issue a statement back then, saying that guy named Lan Ze got the spot based on merit too? What’s the point of dragging this up again?”
While the hot debate around Cheng Jing and his roommate continued, someone else curiously asked, “Did any of you pass by the Coffin Lecture Hall today? I was walking near there and felt super creeped out…”
But that comment quickly got buried in the flood of messages and was overlooked.
Several of Binhai University’s leaders had just returned home to rest when they were urgently summoned back to campus by a series of phone calls.
The official in charge anxiously asked them to help confirm Yan Shixun’s location and figure out what was happening at Binhai University.
The university leader who had been watching the livestream also found the situation baffling. He clearly recognized the dorm room on the stream as one from their school, yet the reports coming in said that no one was in the dorm.
He couldn’t wrap his head around how two such completely different scenarios could exist at once.
Yan Shixun had initially been unaware of what was happening online, but the way this roommate screamed at the tablet screen—where his own image was displayed—piqued his curiosity.
He walked over and effortlessly pulled the tablet from his roommate’s hands.
The next moment, Yan Shixun’s eyes widened slightly.
Scrolling across the screen were countless comments, many of which said the Binhai University counselor hadn’t found any trace of the roommate in the dorm, and some people even speculated that maybe the show’s production team had built a set.
But Yan Shixun knew very well—they were indeed inside that dorm room.
They were clearly present here, yet no one could see them, and people were even searching for them… This gave rise to a bad suspicion in Yan Shixun’s heart.
Back on the highway, he had taken a bold risk that led to shocking discoveries.
The blood pool in the abyss, and that young man… all of those scenes pointed to the same conclusion: this wasn’t just some run-of-the-mill looping or time-freeze phenomenon.
It was the overlap of ghostly energy and the human world—an anomaly in the underworld that had begun affecting the living world.
Now, what the comments on the tablet mentioned made Yan Shixun realize—perhaps the memories he had seen of his own past were also overlapping with someone else’s memories, which was why the scenes jumped erratically from years ago to the present.
Upstairs was the younger version of “himself” from university, while the people downstairs were in the “now,” even watching their livestream in real-time.
Yan Shixun’s heart sank slightly.
Maybe… the ghostly aura had disrupted the normally one-way flow of time and space. Guided by that young man who had turned into a bloodied skeleton—perhaps because of his dying obsession, or his hatred—it had led the ghostly aura to Binhai University and wrapped the present time in a warped reality.
And along with it, it had brought both him and Ye Li, who were in the midst of the ghost aura at the time, to this place.
Since Yan Shixun himself had originally come from Binhai University, the ghost aura within the campus had recreated his memories.
But now… whose memories were they reliving? That young man’s? Or perhaps someone else from Binhai University who had been enveloped by the ghost aura back then?
Yan Shixun had come to a conclusion in his heart.
If he couldn’t find that young man who had led the ghost aura, or the person who currently held the memories of this “now” in Binhai University, then he and Ye Li would remain trapped in the ghost aura, until it completely devoured them and turned them into part of itself.
The only good news was that Yan Shixun had the Evil Spirit Bone Transformation. That allowed him to last longer in the ghost aura compared to others.
He believed that time would be enough for him to find the core of what had caused all this.
But…
Yan Shixun turned his gaze to Ye Li beside him.
He sighed inwardly. That was exactly why he preferred to act alone.
Having someone by his side meant every move he made would be affected. He would have to divert part of his attention to protect the person next to him, instead of focusing entirely on dealing with ghosts and spirits.
Even though Ye Li had jumped into the sea of blood with him out of concern, and that had touched him somewhat…
Still, someone as clueless about emotions as Yan Shixun thought—it was better to be alone.
Ye Li, who understood Yan Shixun’s sighing expression: “…”
Was he being disliked again?
Ye Li gave a smile devoid of warmth. “Shixun, maybe you’d like to give it a try. I could become your support.”
Yan Shixun replied sincerely, “But the ghost aura invades your meridians. Even if you were the founder of a sect, your powers would still be eroded. It’s irreversible damage. Didn’t you just recently get injured?”
Ye Li, who had previously used that misunderstanding to successfully stay by Yan Shixun’s side, suddenly found that mistaken identity incredibly annoying.
Right now, he felt that telling Yan Shixun he was injured just to get closer was truly a misstep.
Now his husband had begun to doubt his strength :)
“It won’t,” Ye Li said calmly. “Don’t worry.”
He smiled gently. “Trust me, Shixun. I will be your one and only.”
Just as you are mine.
Since Ye Li said so, Yan Shixun let him be.
He wasn’t in the habit of repeatedly persuading people. Advice and reminders were offered only once. Whether to say it was his choice; whether to change was the other person’s decision.
Yan “emotionally unavailable” Shixun: It really was more comfortable to be alone.
Ye Li was nearly laughing from sheer frustration.
But he also felt a bit heartache and couldn’t find the words to explain, so he simply gave a helpless expression, held Yan Shixun’s wrist, and decided to just go along with the misunderstanding.
Since Yan Shixun had already misunderstood him, he might as well hold his hand for a little longer—maybe that would ease the shadows in his heart.
Meanwhile, the roommate was still in utter shock from having just gone live on stream.
He had followed several episodes and knew well that the show had a massive audience. Especially the split-screen featuring Yan Shixun—there were at least a few million viewers watching it.
So… did this mean he was famous now?
His emotions swung back and forth—one moment tugging at his hair in frustration, the next howling with excitement.
He was like some wild animal that had escaped from an unlatched zoo enclosure.
Soon after, because Yan Shixun was holding a tablet and reading the live comments, the camera followed his gaze and zoomed in on the screen. It turned into a scene straight out of Rashomon, where the viewers could actually see their own comments being displayed live.
Audience: [???]
What was going on? Weren’t we here to watch Brother Yan? Why were we seeing our own comments on the screen?
As more and more Binhai University students found out about this through the campus forum, they started flooding into Yan Shixun’s split-screen livestream. They filled the screen with comments, sharing what they knew, either confused or excited.
Suddenly, Yan Shixun looked up and asked his roommate, “Who’s Cheng Jing?”
He had seen this name pop up repeatedly in the comments. People were saying that they were currently in Cheng Jing’s dorm room.
This raised his suspicions.
He remembered clearly that when he studied at Binhai University, the dorm room downstairs had not been this one.
But since the room upstairs was “his”—constructed from his own memory—then this one downstairs was most likely pulled from the memory of someone else who had been wrapped in the ghostly energy.
Possibly the roommate. Possibly Cheng Jing.
Or… someone who cared about them.
His roommate instinctively replied, “That’s Dad Cheng. He’s in the same dorm as me.”
Yan Shixun glanced around the room and noticed that one of the beds was neatly made, stacked with books and notes. It was the complete opposite of his roommate’s “lively and chaotic” bed.
But there was no one else in sight. Only the roommate was in the dorm.
“Where’s Cheng Jing now?” Yan Shixun asked.
The roommate shook his head. “No idea.”
“When he came back last night, he looked freaked out after seeing the livestream—the one with that super terrifying face. Then he made a call and rushed out like something urgent was happening. Anyone who didn’t know better would’ve thought he ran off to meet his boyfriend.”
Yan Shixun picked up on the crucial points immediately.
First, Cheng Jing had some connection with the young man who turned into a bloodied skeleton in the pool. He knew him.
Second, Cheng Jing had a boyfriend.
Yan Shixun had already been suspicious of that young man. He didn’t know who he was, but he was certain that the young man was the one who triggered the outbreak of ghost energy.
And the current anomalies were all caused by that intense, netherworld-like ghost energy.
If this continued to spread unchecked…
Binhai University as a whole might fall under its influence.
Right now, the ghost energy only distorted their memories and those of related individuals. But if it kept expanding, there was no guarantee it wouldn’t leak into actual reality. After all, they had managed to cross from the highways outside Binhai City directly into the university—it wouldn’t be the strangest thing to happen.
This had to be resolved quickly and decisively.
Yan Shixun’s gaze turned icy.
He nodded at his talkative roommate, who was still praising Cheng Jing, and lifted the tablet in his hand. “I’m borrowing your tablet for now.”
The roommate, who had been planning to take screenshots and show off in the group chat: “QAQ”
But he had watched the show and deeply admired and trusted Yan Shixun, so he made the sacrifice. “Alright.”
Yan Shixun casually advised, “Get some sleep. Don’t overthink it. Best if you can sleep straight through to tomorrow morning—that would be luckier for you.”
The roommate blinked in confusion. “Huh?”
At that moment, a sound came from the balcony outside.
Yan Shixun’s ears twitched. His expression sharpened instantly. Without another word, he grabbed Ye Li and rushed out the door.
He moved so fast, he didn’t even have time to say goodbye.
Roommate: “…?”
He stood there alone in the dorm, staring at the door that had just slammed shut again, utterly bewildered.
But in the next second, a figure swung down from the balcony and landed lightly on it.
“You’re not the one who lives downstairs. Who are you?”
A low, cool, magnetic voice came from the balcony.
The roommate jumped and spun around, only to see “Yan Shixun” standing on the balcony, staring at him with a sharp and wary expression.
He felt like he had to be hallucinating.
“Brother Yan? Didn’t you just walk out the door? How did you come back from up there?!”
At the same time, another voice called out from above the balcony.
“Brother Yan??!! Why did you suddenly jump down?”
Roommate: %@&*￥？？？
His head filled with question marks. His brain felt completely scrambled.
The younger Yan Shixun, meanwhile, had already turned his attention toward the tightly shut dorm door, his brows furrowed and his gaze as sharp as a blade.
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