Chapter 163: No Way Back on This Journey (13)
The roommate stared in shock as Yan Shixun, who had just exited through the door moments ago, suddenly climbed back in through the balcony. For a few seconds, he was completely dumbfounded, his mind freezing up.
The younger Yan Shixun took a long stride toward the door, yanked it open with force, and moved with full alertness. His fingers formed a spell seal, his muscles tense, ready to face any threat that might appear.
But outside the door, there was only an empty corridor. The dim yellow lights illuminated the stains on the walls.
He didn’t drop his guard. Instead, he cautiously leaned out from the doorway to look around.
After confirming that there was nothing lying in ambush on either side of the door, he finally stepped over the threshold.
No one.
That ominous and intensely threatening presence that had triggered his alarm—was gone.
Yan Shixun stood in front of the doorway. The light from the dorm room spilled onto his feet, and for a fleeting moment, he felt a strange sense of loneliness and desolation.
His chest felt hollow, a subtle sense of loss creeping in.
It was like… he had just missed meeting someone incredibly important.
That unfamiliar feeling made Yan Shixun purse his lips with slight irritation.
But he quickly adjusted his emotions, regaining his usual composure, and turned around to look behind him, eyes filled with scrutiny.
“The person who lives in the downstairs dorm room isn’t you.”
His gaze swept over his roommate and the dorm interior. “And you’re not someone who just randomly dropped by to hang out. You’ve been living here all along.”
“So why is what I saw… different from what I remember?”
Yan Shixun said firmly, “My memory doesn’t lie.”
The roommate nearly buckled under the weight of that stare, his legs going weak.
He collapsed into a chair behind him, narrowly avoiding an embarrassing fall to the ground.
“I—I don’t know either,” the roommate said, practically in tears. “I’ve lived in this dorm for four years. Is it my fault it’s under yours?”
“And Brother Yan, since when do you live at Binhai University? Aren’t you supposed to be filming a show?”
His head was spinning. “Are there two of you or something?”
Even though Yan Shixun had come in from outside the door, that wasn’t what confused him.
—It was the fact that the door and the window were on completely opposite sides!
How could anyone circle the whole building from south to north in a single second? No matter how you looked at it, it made no sense.
His roommate even wanted to ask Yan Shixun if he had… split into two.
But he didn’t dare.
He was afraid of getting punched.
After all, the Yan Shixun standing before him now… was terrifyingly sharp.
The version of Yan Shixun from moments ago was like a blade sheathed in its scabbard—his danger hidden deep, his emotions buried, impossible to read.
But even the occasional glint of cold steel leaking out was enough to make people tread carefully, afraid of the deadly sharpness and the unknown lurking beneath the surface.
Now, however, Yan Shixun was like a naked blade—unsheathed and unstoppable. Just being near him felt like it could cut you.
The roommate swallowed nervously. His sluggish brain finally caught on—wait a second… Yan Shixun had only been gone for one second, but he had changed clothes?
The Yan Shixun from before wore a dark green overcoat, his broad shoulders carrying an air of silent dominance. A black dress shirt outlined the firm, smooth lines of his muscles. Every movement exuded a refined brutality, like the aesthetics of violence wrapped in civilization.
Time had tempered him, but it only made the danger he exuded more palpable.
Now, though, Yan Shixun’s expression was even more defiant. He wore the school jacket from Binhai University loosely, and underneath it, a tight black tank top that revealed defined collarbones and muscles—young, vigorous, brimming with testosterone. It was impossible to look away.
He looked like he had come home, taken off his outside clothes, then suddenly remembered something and grabbed the nearest jacket before rushing back out.
Looking closer, the roommate even noticed the emblem of the Finance Department on Yan Shixun’s jacket.
Roommate: “?”
A flurry of question marks flew out of his brain like a child’s cartoon.
At that moment, shouting could still be heard from upstairs—someone calling for Yan Shixun, trying to make sure he was safe.
When the roommate turned to look, he even saw a foot tentatively stretching down from the top of the balcony, trembling as it hesitated, then retreating again—like someone wanted to jump down but got cold feet at the last second.
Roommate: “??”
Just as the roommate stood there utterly confused, the younger Yan Shixun had already looked around the dorm and realized—
Either the people in the downstairs dorm had gone to great lengths to pull off a massive prank, making the fake so real that even he had been fooled.
Or, there was a problem with time or space.
Otherwise, how could one explain the presence of items in the dorm that clearly came from several years in the future?
“You said… you saw me twice?”
The younger Yan Shixun slowly turned his gaze to his roommate and asked in a deep voice, “The other me—what did he look like?”
The roommate was on the verge of a breakdown.
He felt that ever since Cheng Jing had accidentally stumbled upon that livestream, everything had started to go wrong tonight.
First, Cheng Jing lost his mind, and then the Yan Shixun he had only seen on the screen suddenly appeared next to him—jumping in from the balcony no less!
After that, two Yan Shixuns appeared, and even their personalities and appearances didn’t quite match.
The scariest part—was that the Yan Shixun standing in front of him now was asking him to recall what had just happened.
All he wanted was amnesia, okay?! He wished a car would just come out of nowhere and knock the memories right out of him. He was losing his mind!
His head was spinning, a complete mess of thoughts.
But when he met Yan Shixun’s eyes, all the frustration and protest he wanted to express got stuck in his throat. He obediently began describing what the other Yan Shixun had looked like.
Roommate: How could someone ask something so outrageous? How could anyone not know what they themselves looked like?
But after hearing the roommate’s description, the younger Yan Shixun didn’t react the way the roommate expected.
He was very certain—that wasn’t him.
The first thought that flashed through Yan Shixun’s mind was a doppelgänger.
When the original host of a body desperately wanted to escape reality, and happened to collide with ghostly energy or a wandering soul, sometimes that ghost would take on the host’s appearance, mimic their speech and behavior, step into their life, and gradually take over their social circles and relationships.
In the end, the doppelgänger would become more human than the host, replace them entirely, and live on in the world, while the host slowly faded into a shadow—until they could never be found again.
But as soon as that thought appeared, Yan Shixun dismissed it.
He had never had the desire to run away from anything. He had always faced problems head-on—if he couldn’t solve them logically, he’d solve them with force.
No matter how difficult the challenge, he always cleared it.
From the very beginning, he didn’t fit the psychological conditions required for a doppelgänger to appear.
Besides, he had an Evil Spirit Bone Transformation…
Yan Shixun sneered.
If some blind ghost tried to take his place, it would be that ghost who’d suffer instead.
They’d probably end up begging to go back to being a ghost.
Having dismissed every possibility in his mind, Yan Shixun cut through the chaos like a sharp blade, forcing his tangled thoughts into order.
There was only one possibility left.
The most absurd—yet eerily logical.
—That other Yan Shixun was his future self.
The traces in the dorm from years in the future, and the evidence that someone had entered the room.
The moment when he realized something was wrong and jumped off the balcony to investigate, but found no one—only a lingering sense of disappointment in his chest…
Besides, jumping off the balcony to hide—that was something he himself would do.
But if that really was his future self, then what had caused the current chaos? What had prompted his future self to come back here?
He knew himself well. If that person was truly his future self, then it definitely wasn’t for something as boring as reminiscing with his past self.
Was there some kind of danger in Binhai University—or even in the entire city of Binhai—that could explain all this?
The younger Yan Shixun furrowed his brow, his expression severe.
He nearly scared the roommate to tears.
Meanwhile, outside the balcony, Zhang Wubing was clinging to the edge, trembling. He tried several times to put one foot down to jump but chickened out each time. He’d stretch his leg, then pull it back in again. When he accidentally looked down and saw how high it was, he got dizzy.
Zhang Wubing choked up, “Brother Yan, are you okay? Say something!”
“M-maybe I should just take the stairs and come find you…”
Brother Yan had managed to leap onto the balcony; he had probably jumped from the building! QAQ Better not risk it—sob sob—one must know their limits.
“There’s no need. Just wait up there.”
Yan Shixun’s voice, cool and emotionless, drifted up from below.
The younger Yan Shixun frowned. He was used to acting alone and wasn’t comfortable with Zhang Wubing’s clingy concern.
Besides, he didn’t understand—what could Zhang Wubing possibly do, even if he came down?
If he were injured, Zhang Wubing wasn’t a doctor. If he needed help, Zhang Wubing wasn’t a Taoist priest.
He was just a simple, naïve rich kid with a dream of becoming a director and no useful skills.
From the very beginning of the school year, Yan Shixun had noticed that this fellow student—same department, same class, same dorm—was a ghost magnet. Always silly, obviously well protected all his life, completely ignorant of how dangerous both people and spirits could be.
Yan Shixun had seen all that, but didn’t care.
But Zhang Wubing had a sweet mouth. He kept showering compliments on Li Chengyun, who was with Yan Shixun at the time, making Li Chengyun smile and tell Yan Shixun to be more sociable.
“Who knows, he might end up being your lifelong friend. Xiao Xun, learning to befriend people from all walks of life is also a form of cultivation. First transcend the world, then re-enter it—observing the mortal realm is the true path.”
Back then, Li Chengyun had smiled gently as he said this.
But Yan Shixun didn’t take it to heart.
As a child, he had already seen the malice of both children and adults. In the years of wandering with Li Chengyun, he had seen the ugliness of the world and no longer had any desire to form connections with others.
If it weren’t for the counselor insisting that he experience college life and not miss out on dorm living, and his master agreeing and insisting he stay in school, he would’ve moved out of the dorm long ago and gone back to living quietly with his master in the courtyard.
However, staying in the dorm ended up saving Zhang Wubing’s life.
He was enjoying his afternoon nap when, on the other side of the room, Zhang Wubing suddenly started shouting in terror. The moment he opened his eyes, he saw Zhang Wubing trapped and surrounded by vicious ghosts.
Annoyed at being woken up from his precious nap, Yan Shixun—grumpy and short-tempered—got up and violently crushed the ghosts on the spot.
Zhang Wubing was dumbfounded.
From that day on, he began showering Yan Shixun with gifts under various pretexts of gratitude, ranging from yellow talisman paper and cinnabar to jade and emeralds—there was no end to them.
Of course, Yan Shixun rejected them all.
Receiving wealth without cause would create karmic ties, and he had no desire to form any kind of karmic connection with Zhang Wubing, not even as his roommate.
But Zhang Wubing was relentless. He clung to Yan Shixun, praising him non-stop, constantly chatting about all sorts of gossip from around campus. Even when he got no response, he could keep talking with great enthusiasm, sometimes laughing out loud when he got excited.
He was as tenacious as a blade of grass, brimming with life.
Occasionally, Yan Shixun would be touched by him, but he quickly distanced Zhang Wubing again.
He would endure this for four years. Once they graduated, Zhang Wubing would disappear from his life, never to return.
Just a passerby.
The young Yan Shixun thought this indifferently.
Only after Zhang Wubing finally quieted down did Yan Shixun turn to his roommate and ask, “You just said I was livestreaming? What livestream?”
“Oh, that! The most popular variety show right now,” his roommate replied instinctively, going to reach for the tablet as he spoke out of habit.
But his hand found nothing.
“Ah…” The roommate scratched his head, looking a little horrified. “I gave the tablet to the other you.”
Coincidence—or intentional?
Taking away the tablet that had “Yan Shixun” in it, which might expose his whereabouts, prevented him from using the livestream to track things, and also blocked him from getting any more information.
Once again, the younger Yan Shixun felt the meticulousness and forethought with which his future self planned things down to the smallest detail.
In the chessboard of the void, black and white pieces sat in confrontation. Every clash on the board was a hidden trap, with every move calculated.
The younger Yan Shixun felt as though he was playing a game of chess with his future self—intense, exhilarating, using up all his skill in a satisfying contest.
A worthy opponent.
He thought he had discovered a clue, unaware that it had long been anticipated and accounted for in the other’s strategy.
For a moment, he was stunned, unable to stop himself from feeling a sense of admiration.
So this was… what his future self was like?
A shiver of excitement coursed down Yan Shixun’s nerves. He felt a wild thrill rising from deep inside his chest.
Never before had he been so eager to meet his future self.
His eyes sparkled, and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
His roommate shrank back slightly but didn’t dare ask what exactly was going on with Yan Shixun.
Better to just go to sleep—just like Yan Shixun had suggested before he left. Maybe, when he woke up, everything would be back to normal.
Roommate: This world is too crazy. The only safe place is under the covers. Amitabha, may the blessings of the Heavenly Lord be with me, amen.
Even though Zhang Wubing had heard Yan Shixun respond, he was still leaning over the balcony, craning his neck for a long time to see what was happening below. He couldn’t make out much—just a few fragments of Yan Shixun’s voice drifting up.
Not being able to confirm Yan Shixun’s safety with his own eyes made him a little anxious.
To him, his roommate was a kind-hearted person despite always wearing a cold expression. After all, he had been willing to sacrifice his nap to save him—what a good person!
On one hand, Zhang Wubing wanted to cling to Yan Shixun to protect his own little life. But on the other, he felt that Yan Shixun lacked a certain human warmth. He had seen the way Yan Shixun looked at other people—calm and indifferent, perfectly clear—but it was as if Yan Shixun himself didn’t belong in this world.
He stood apart from it all.
Zhang Wubing didn’t know what Yan Shixun had gone through before, but he always felt that Yan Shixun wasn’t meant to be like this. He should have shone more brightly—bright enough for everyone to see.
That’s why he stuck to Yan Shixun and refused to leave, trying his best to bring a little more warmth and humanity into his life.
Even though it hadn’t worked so far, Zhang Wubing didn’t mind at all and kept at it with a cheerful smile.
—Dripping water can wear away a stone. He believed he would succeed one day!
Zhang Wubing clenched his fists to encourage himself. But the moment he looked down from the balcony again, his knees went weak.
Too, too high. Forget it—he’d just take the stairs down instead.
He was just a regular student. No need to risk his life on some extreme route.
But just as he opened the dorm room door, the yellow talisman papers stacked on the doorknob suddenly whooshed! into flames right before his eyes, burning to ash and scattering to the floor.
Zhang Wubing: “…………”
He looked up in terror and saw that the lights in the corridor outside the dormitory had gone out at some point.
In the faint darkness, only the emergency exit sign still emitted a soft green glow.
Because of the sound of him opening the door, the ghosts that had been wandering in the darkness gradually stopped moving. They slowly turned their heads, looking toward Zhang Wubing, who stood illuminated by the light.
In the pitch-black hallway, Zhang Wubing was like a living target, instantly catching the attention of every ghost.
Zhang Wubing clearly saw those faces turning toward him — pale gray, bloodless, with lifeless, blank eyes that glowed with death. They were clearly not alive.
Some of the ghosts still wore Binhai University uniforms, their platinum-white jackets soaked red with blood. Some had heads that had exploded, leaving only a mess of red and white where their necks had been — like someone had jumped from a high place and landed head-first.
Zhang Wubing sucked in a breath of cold air so sharply that it seemed to freeze inside his lungs.
Under all those intense, lifeless gazes, he instinctively took a step back, goosebumps rising on his arms.
He trembled, wanting to call out for Brother Yan, but as soon as he opened his mouth, he remembered with a jolt that Yan Shixun was still downstairs in his own dorm. There was no way he’d notice what was happening up here anytime soon.
Zhang Wubing nearly burst into tears.
But the ghosts didn’t give him time to think or be afraid.
Just as plants were drawn to sunlight, ghosts had an instinct to move toward signs of life.
At that moment, Zhang Wubing was like a giant glowing bulb in their eyes.
Immediately, after a moment of stillness, the ghosts in the corridor began dragging their stiff bodies toward the wide-open dorm room door.
Zhang Wubing could even see the red and white gory remains dropping to the floor as the ghosts walked, wet and sticky.
His scalp throbbed in fear.
Zhang Wubing knew he should turn and run — at the very least, he should’ve slammed the door shut and locked it, then waited for Yan Shixun to come back and save him.
But plans were always beautiful in theory and cruel in execution.
Overwhelmed by terror, all the blood in his body surged to his legs. His survival instincts screamed at him to run, redirecting all energy to his legs — making his arms and hands go cold and stiff.
But unfortunately, his leg muscles had tensed too much, the tendons twitching from strain. His calves trembled uncontrollably, but he simply couldn’t lift his feet.
Zhang Wubing felt like crying but had no tears. His brain shouted desperately to lift his arms and close the door, to move his legs and run.
But his limbs refused to obey.
He watched helplessly as the ghosts in the corridor drew closer and closer. He could even make out the blank, hollow face of one ghost clearly.
…Wait a minute.
Zhang Wubing’s frozen brain was suddenly shaken loose by an unsettling realization.
—That ghost’s face was unmistakably his roommate’s!
He had only seen the guy once during move-in day. After that, his roommate moved back to his family’s upscale home downtown and never returned. Still, they moved in similar circles, so Zhang Wubing had some impression of him.
But this person had been in the same exam room as him earlier that day. How could he have turned into a ghost already? That made no sense!
As Zhang Wubing gritted his teeth, trying to pull his legs free from the ground, his mind began spiraling with questions about his roommate’s face.
His throat was too dry to speak, and his lips trembled so badly he couldn’t make a sound — only faint puffs of breath came out. Desperate, he gave up trying to talk and started chanting Yan Shixun’s name in his heart like a mantra.
Amazingly, he suddenly felt a warm current flowing into his veins. His cramped, overstrained muscles loosened and came back to life.
His heart leapt with joy.
Seeing the ghosts nearly at the door, he didn’t dare delay. In a flurry of panic, he swung his arm and slammed the door shut, then fumbled to lock it, hands shaking. Still not reassured, he grabbed a nearby chair and jammed it under the doorknob to block it, terrified the ghosts would break through.
Just as he finished, before he could even breathe a sigh of relief, the door shuddered with a loud bang! A dent immediately caved into the metal panel.
Zhang Wubing flinched in shock, eyes wide with fear as he stared at the dorm door.
Binhai University never skimped on amenities for its top students. The dorms were fitted with good-quality equipment, including sturdy metal security doors built for home use.
But even so, the metal surface of the door warped and bent with every blow, each dent protruding sharply inward.
The scene made one inevitably wonder how much longer the door could hold before being broken down.
Zhang Wubing had never, in his entire life, felt as grateful for Binhai University’s generosity as he did now.
If this had been a wooden door, he would’ve already been torn to pieces by the ghost that broke in!
With that in mind, Zhang Wubing didn’t dare waste a second. He grabbed the books nearby and piled them against the door, one after another, trying to delay the ghost’s breakthrough as much as possible.
Truly, knowledge was power!
He dusted off his hands, took one satisfied glance at his masterpiece, and immediately turned and ran.
“Brother!! YAN!!! AHHHH!!!”
A blood-curdling scream tore through the dormitory area, echoing under the night sky.
The sound reverberated through the open space between the dormitory buildings, the trembling tail of the scream growing deeper and deeper—bleak and chilling.
The young Yan Shixun, face cold, stood still: “…………”
Was that ghost magnet roommate of his running into another ghost again?
Beside the dormitory, along the quiet, tree-lined path—
Yan Shixun came to a halt and turned to look back at the dormitory building.
Next to him, Ye Li frowned. “Zhang Wubing also got dragged into this place.”
“Hmm…”
Yan Shixun blinked. “It should be Zhang Wubing from our freshman year, calling out to the me from back then for help.”
Ye Li raised a brow. “So, are you planning to go back and save him?”
“No.”
Yan Shixun chuckled softly and turned back around, lowering his lashes. “The me from that time had to learn to accept that I was human, not just an exorcist.”
“What taught me that back then was my master’s death—and Zhang Wubing’s help.”
He had no intention of offering his younger self any gentle, compassionate guidance. Only by weathering storms head-on could one be prepared for even greater ones ahead.
After all… he was on his own now.
After his master died, it was up to him to hold up his own sky.
When his thoughts reached the time of Li Chengyun’s death, Yan Shixun’s expression wavered momentarily in a daze, but he quickly composed himself again.
Even so, Ye Li, who had been watching him all along, still caught that flicker of unease.
Ye Li reached out with his long, slender fingers and clasped Yan Shixun’s wrist.
Yan Shixun looked over, confused.
“Shixun, I’m here with you. The heavens, earth, ghosts, and gods are with you,” Ye Li said in a low voice. “Even if you never learn how… it doesn’t matter.”
“You have me.”
Yan Shixun’s eyes flickered slightly. He gave a small laugh, looked away, and took long strides forward. “Let’s go.”
“If that’s the Zhang Wubing from the past, then let the ‘me’ from back then deal with it. We’ve got our own problems to worry about—no time to concern ourselves with them.”
Ye Li looked slightly puzzled. “You don’t seem to want to run into your past self. Why?”
“Even if you don’t trust anyone else, surely you…”
Can at least trust yourself.
Yan Shixun slowly shook his head. “You don’t know the me from back then, but I remember exactly what kind of person I was.”
Yan Shixun was sure that if he ever met his past self, it wouldn’t be some heartwarming reunion with hugs and tears. No—it would be a standoff on the brink of an all-out fight.
There were two clear turning points in his life.
One was when he was abandoned by his parents in a marketplace. The other was Li Chengyun’s death.
Each brought a seismic change that forced him to grow overnight into someone completely different.
Who was that man, covered in blood, at the market? And why did Li Chengyun die after investigating the ruins of Fengdu?
Those two questions had weighed heavily on Yan Shixun’s heart for years. He had never stopped searching for answers.
Before Li Chengyun’s death, Yan Shixun had been sharp, cold, and out of place in the human world.
He hadn’t yet become the exorcist who later wandered the streets, mingled with all walks of life, and saved those whose lives were threatened by evil spirits—as well as helping lost souls find peace.
If the younger “Yan Shixun” discovered someone who looked exactly like him, the current Yan Shixun figured there was no way he could convince his past self of his goodwill without first having an apocalyptic fight.
Only after that could they sit down and have a proper conversation.
Yan Shixun smiled: I choose to refuse.
More importantly, he hadn’t yet figured out the current situation, so he couldn’t be sure what consequences might arise if he were to meet the other version of himself.
So… better to wait and see.
Faced with an alternate version of himself whose allegiance was unclear, Yan Shixun couldn’t help but feel a bit of a headache.
If the other him turned out to be an ally, that would be ideal. But if not, he would become the greatest threat in this whole situation.
Becoming enemies with himself—especially when that “self” had considerable power and complete knowledge of him—would be a nightmare-level challenge.
During the summer, the students at Binhai University all loved this tree-lined avenue. The intertwined branches of the century-old trees formed a cool canopy overhead.
But now, in late autumn, with fallen leaves covering the ground, only the tangled branches remained. Under the dim yellow streetlights, the trees cast shadows that, at a glance, looked like dancing ghosts.
There wasn’t a single student walking along the avenue. The area was deathly silent, and the only sound was the crunching of dried branches beneath the feet of Yan Shixun and Ye Li.
Crack…
Binhai University had fifteen thousand students, most of whom lived on campus.
Even considering the time when “Yan Shixun” and “Zhang Wubing” usually returned to their dorms after the last evening class, most students should already have been back. Still, it shouldn’t have been this quiet.
In Yan Shixun’s memory, his four years at Binhai University were some of the most relaxed and peaceful times of his life, full of the warmth of ordinary human life.
People jogging at night, playing basketball or soccer, participating in club activities, going out for food or shopping… The atmosphere on campus during free time had always been cozy and lively.
But now, it was eerily silent and filled with a chilling gloom.
Even the Binhai students watching the livestream were stunned: [Isn’t that the road below the boys’ dorm? It’s the most convenient way to the Science Building, Chemistry Building, and the main teaching complexes. I remember there were always people walking around until dorms closed.]
[? What’s going on? I was confused and even ran out to the balcony to check. Just now, I saw some guy singing on that road—he was howling worse than a ghost.]
[You’re too new to this. If you’d watched earlier episodes, you wouldn’t say that. Trust me—no matter how awful a person sings, there’s still a limit. But ghosts… they’ll have you crawling under your blanket, and even that won’t save you.]
[Sh*t! Don’t scare me! I’m literally walking on that road right now. I saw the livestream showing nobody there and got so freaked out, I asked someone passing by, “Hey, can you see me?” The guy looked at me like I was insane.]
[Wait? I’m looking from my balcony… Why do the trees next to the road seem like they’re… moving???]
[Aaaaah shut up! That’s enough, don’t scare me! It’s the wind! It has to be the wind!]
Taking the tablet from the roommate, Yan Shixun had two reasons for doing so: first, he didn’t want to reveal too much to the younger version of himself, to avoid giving him any reason to stand on the opposing side.
The second reason was to read the comments on the livestream.
Many Binhai students were posting in the live chat, and the information revealed in those comments gave Yan Shixun a clear picture of what was really happening at Binhai University. He could also gather clues about Cheng Jing and that young man who had become a blood-covered skeleton.
Yan Shixun was particularly concerned about the name Cheng Jing.
He had a strong feeling that Cheng Jing was the reason ghostly energy had been drawn to Binhai University.
Although he had yet to find solid evidence to support this theory, he chose to remain cautious and observant.
After seeing many comments saying that there were people currently walking on that road, Yan Shixun looked around at the empty surroundings and confirmed one thing—
They weren’t in the real Binhai University.
Instead, just like when they were on the highway earlier, they were trapped in a frozen pocket of space. There was no exit, and the road under their feet stretched endlessly, looping into an eternal circle.
Yan Shixun’s brow furrowed.
The younger version of “Yan Shixun” came from his own memories, where ghostly energy had turned that cut-off piece of space into a ghostly world.
Then this current version of Binhai University—at this point in time—was it constructed from the memories of that blood-covered skeleton?
That would explain the presence of Cheng Jing, his roommates, and the quiet, peaceful campus.
While Yan Shixun pondered this, the streetlights along the tree-lined avenue ahead flickered suddenly.
The sizzle and crackle of electricity echoed through the dead silence, sounding particularly eerie. Under the flickering, dim light, a vague human figure appeared.
Yan Shixun’s eyes turned sharp. He quickly pulled Ye Li behind a large tree, hiding their figures behind the thick trunk, and held his breath while watching the road.
The streetlights began flashing faster and faster, as if from unstable voltage, until finally—Pop! A burst of sparks flew, and the bulb instantly went out.
Pop!
Pop!
One streetlight after another burst and extinguished.
The entire avenue plunged into darkness.
In that instant, the trees on both sides of the road seemed to come alive. Ghostly shadows twisted and danced wildly, and the branches stretched like arms, gnarled fingers clawing at the sky.
It was as if demons in an endless hell were desperately yearning for light and human life.
Yan Shixun felt a gentle tug—Ye Li had quietly held his hand.
He opened his hand and, using his finger like a pen, Ye Li began writing slowly in his palm: “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.”
Yan Shixun didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Did Ye Li think he was some naive fool like Zhang Wubing? Did Ye Li think he hadn’t seen his fair share of vengeful ghosts and murderous spirits? He had seen scenes like this plenty of times.
The writing in his palm tickled, so Yan Shixun simply turned his hand over and grasped Ye Li’s, putting an end to the scribbling.
In the darkness, Ye Li’s eyes slowly widened, and his tall, slender body went still.
The warmth of Yan Shixun’s hand seeped into his own, leaving him completely flustered.
This was… the first time his exorcist had ever taken his hand voluntarily.
It felt safe, full of life, carrying the warmth of the human world.
Just like he had imagined—no, far better than he had imagined.
In that moment, Ye Li’s thoughts came to a halt.
The entire world seemed to vanish into nothingness. All that remained in his mind was the figure of Yan Shixun.
The darkness had given Ye Li cover, so Yan Shixun hadn’t noticed anything unusual about him.
He was still fully focused on the road, unaware that Ye Li had been staring at him all along.
Suddenly, one of the streetlights flickered and let out a low hum.
Then—pop!—the bulb, which had been burnt out, lit up again.
One by one, the streetlights turned back on, and the avenue was bathed in light once more.
But this time, the lighting wasn’t dim or eerie—it was soft and warm, and the atmosphere was calm and comforting.
Two human figures slowly emerged on the road.
Two young men were walking hand in hand, side by side. The taller one tilted his head, listening to his companion speak, with a gentle and warm expression on his face. The way he looked at the person beside him—it was like he was gazing at his entire world.
Their semi-transparent forms gradually solidified. They walked past on the road, smiling. The taller one reached out and gently brushed a flower petal off the other’s shoulder.
The other person looked up and responded with a smile.
They whispered to each other, their affection soft and tender.
But Yan Shixun’s brows slowly furrowed.
From their expressions, the two were clearly talking—but he couldn’t hear a single word.
And one of them had brushed off a flower petal… but this was late autumn. Where would flower petals come from?
It was obvious: this scene wasn’t taking place in the present.
Meanwhile, the students watching the livestream had exploded in the comments:
[Isn’t that “God Cheng”? Why is he walking with Lan Ze? I thought Lan Ze used connections to steal God Cheng’s guaranteed grad school spot. God Cheng doesn’t mind at all??]
[Wait, how come they look so much like a couple?]
[Lan Ze? LAN ZE??? Didn’t he go out for a break and then disappear? The news has been reporting about it for days.]
[Holy crap! That guy in the news is from our school?!]
When Yan Shixun saw the chat on the tablet, his expression instantly darkened.
He had already felt earlier that one of the young men looked like the one he saw on the highway.
…The true identity of the blood-covered skeleton—
Was Lan Ze.
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