Chapter 170: No Way Back on This Journey (20)
The once deathly silent and dark forest had suddenly become noisy and chaotic.
Tree branches shook violently, withered leaves fell in cascades, and vines were trampled and broken in the frantic stampede. Muddy soil was covered in messy footprints, a scene of utter disarray.
Even pieces of white bones were dropping in panic, falling into the dirt, only to be crushed under the feet of those fleeing behind, ground into fine powder.
It looked like a massive battle had taken place—helmets and armor cast aside, troops scattered and defeated.
Just moments ago, this skeletal forest had felt eerie and bone-chilling, but now it had been forcibly transformed into a new kind of purgatory for the remains.
Skeleton after skeleton ran through the woods, their bones clacking together with crisp “ka-ka” sounds that echoed in ghostly waves.
But this sound no longer had the power to scare the living.
Instead, it brought a powerful sense of pressure to the other skeletons.
They fled in panic, not even caring if their arm bones or finger joints fell into the mud.
Some skeletons had even been struck down by skulls hurled from behind. They collapsed into the muddy, damp earth—pelvis shattered, thigh bones crumbling into dust. The upper half of their skeletons were left crawling with difficulty, dead hands clutching desperately at the earth beneath them, using all their strength to drag themselves forward.
Even though they were already dead, the aura behind them made them tremble with fear, filled with desperation to escape.
The forest echoed with chaotic noise, mingling with the innocent, carefree laughter of a child.
“Hee-hee~”
The child laughed joyfully: Have you all hidden well? I’m coming to find you! If I find you, I’ll eat you. If I don’t, I’ll kill you anyway!
Jing Xiaobao held a smooth, jade-like skull in one hand while using the other to pull the slipping strap back onto his shoulder. He skipped through the woods, “da-da-da,” with light footsteps.
Wherever he passed, all the vines recoiled in fear, quickly withdrawing to open up a clear path.
Any vine that moved too slowly was instantly crushed into dust by the overwhelming ghostly aura surrounding Jing Xiaobao the moment he approached, scattering soundlessly into the soil.
In the next second, the earth seemed to come alive, wriggling as it swallowed the powder into its depths.
It was like the churning of intestines—after a few moments, the ground finally stilled.
The freshly turned soil was moist and stank of blood, but no trace of the bone dust could be seen.
Having witnessed this, the remaining vines and skeletons ran even faster.
Jing Xiaobao clapped his little hands in delight at seeing how energetic his playmates were. His smiling eyes formed crescents—he looked utterly adorable.
Ever since Yan Shixun had brought him home, Jing Xiaobao had been strictly taught to learn human nature. Starting from Yan Shixun’s small courtyard, he interacted with neighbors, listened to the ramblings of elderly grandmas and grandpas, and learned to distinguish good from evil in their words.
Because Jing Xiaobao had died young, Lin Ting hadn’t had the chance to teach him all this. Now, Yan Shixun was slowly making up for it, teaching him to walk the world like a living child rather than a vengeful ghost.
The Evil Spirit Bone Transformation gave Jing Xiaobao talents far beyond ordinary people. At first, he had obediently listened, but as time passed, he believed he had figured out human nature on his own, and started fussing to be allowed to go out and play.
—But every time, the result was the same: Yan Shixun would wordlessly grab him by the collar and drag him home to spank his butt, leaving him sobbing pitifully.
His playful nature had been thoroughly suppressed. On top of that, his fear of Yan Shixun made him and Zhang Wubing the big and little cowards of the household. Neither of them dared to truly let loose.
It wasn’t until they were in the car, when Zhang Wubing mentioned a new show that wanted to replicate the success of Heart-pounding, that Jing Xiaobao finally got a rare chance to enjoy himself a little.
But even that ended with a public spanking from Yan Shixun.
Jing Xiaobao had laid across Yan Shixun’s knee, crying his heart out.
Huge teardrops rolled down his tender cheeks. His bright, pretty eyes were misted over, his little pink nose twitching as he sniffled.
Even Bai Shuang, who originally thought of him as just an ordinary child because she had never seen his ghostly form, felt heartbroken at the sight. And the viewers watching through the screen had their hearts melting into a puddle.
At that moment, many people were pleading on his behalf, saying that such a small child only needed a scolding—there was no need to spank him so harshly.
Some couldn’t bear it and said that such an adorable kid, even if a bit mischievous, was just being true to his nature. Let him be—after all, cuteness was king.
Once word got out that Jing Xiaobao had acted in one of Director Li Xuetang’s short films, quite a few people started asking for his social media handle.
Some said they were willing to wait ten years for him. Others said they wanted to walk with this adorable little child star down a path of flowers…
At the time, Zhang Wubing, holding the tablet, had been completely stunned by the on-screen comments.
He peeked timidly at the poor, pitiful, and adorable Jing Xiaobao crying beside him and thought, You guys just haven’t seen this little ghost’s true terrifying form. If you had, there’s no way you’d want to wait ten years for him.
Wait for what? To collect your own corpse?
The happiness Jing Xiaobao had finally found was gone in a snap—just like that, “crack!”
Though he was full of complaints, with Yan Shixun on one side and Ye Li on the other, the oppressive force they created wasn’t just one plus one equals two—it was more like one plus one equals infinity to the power of infinity.
The terrifying pressure made Jing Xiaobao fall completely silent. Though he was angry, he didn’t dare to speak up. Tears welled up in his eyes as he sulked in silence, letting Bai Shuang coax him with snacks, munching on them with exaggerated crunching sounds.
The guests who had witnessed the earlier events at the Jing residence couldn’t help but feel a chill at the back of their necks when they heard those sounds.
This wasn’t snacking—it sounded like someone chewing on bones. Horrifying… After all, this was someone whose teeth were good enough to crunch through evil spirits.
Many guests looked at Yan Shixun’s calm and composed back in that terrifying noise, their faces full of awe.
—The gap between people could be a massive chasm.
While some were being hunted by malevolent ghosts, others were capable of beating them until they sobbed.
So, when Jing Xiaobao realized he had been pulled into another world by ghostly energy, he was overjoyed—as if flowers were blooming all around him.
He was actually the first among everyone to realize what had happened.
After all, he was very familiar with ghost energy forming an entire world.
The Jing Estate and the Concession Zone had both been his work.
But in this thick, suffocating ghostly atmosphere, Jing Xiaobao sensed something familiar.
This wasn’t the faint energy of wandering spirits stuck in the human world. It was something far deeper, closer to both the beginning and the end—the kind of dense ghostly aura that encompassed the start of life and its final curtain, bearing the weight of all death. It was so intense that it could nearly suffocate the living.
Yet, it made Jing Xiaobao feel wonderfully at ease.
He had already become a vengeful spirit, born from deep hatred, so ghost energy was practically a part of him.
That’s why, while the other guests were filled with unease and panic, Jing Xiaobao squinted his eyes in pure joy like a content little kitten.
Especially after he noticed that Yan Shixun and Ye Li weren’t around—his happiness instantly peaked.
—The adults weren’t home. That meant he could play however he liked!
Jing Xiaobao cherished this chance to play.
He understood Yan Shixun well. Since the guests were here, Yan Shixun would definitely come back to rescue them.
Which meant… the adults could return any time, and might even check to see if he’d been naughty.
So of course, Jing Xiaobao wanted to make the most of every second and have as much fun as possible.
He was like a mischievous kitten that had burst into a chicken coop, watching the little chicks flail and flap their tiny wings as they ran in all directions, feathers flying everywhere. He was ecstatic, giggling non-stop.
“Run faster, faster~”
Excitedly, Jing Xiaobao patted the skull he was hugging, tapping it with a soft thump-thump as if it were a treasured toy.
But in the next moment, he suddenly hurled the skull like a bowling ball, and it smashed into several skeletons, shattering them. Even the towering trees nearby collapsed with a thunderous crash after being drained of all life force by the ghostly remains.
Even though the other skeletons were already decayed and fleshless, their body language still managed to convey sheer terror.
The poor little chicks were chased in every direction by the playful kitten, feathers scattered across the sky.
Pale bone joints dropped into the dirt, shattered skull fragments and broken bones lay everywhere.
In high spirits, Jing Xiaobao tilted his head back and forth and began humming a tuneless children’s song.
“One big brother lost his head, two big sisters lost their lives, the rag doll died in the ruins…”
“Where is my friend who used to play ball with me~ Lost my friend, and lost my ball, now the doll is crying so sadly…”
Jing Xiaobao blinked his big round eyes. In the dark, lightless forest, his gaze sparkled with an eerie brilliance.
“Xiao Bao lost his ball, so… can I have your heads instead? Hehe~”
But that innocent, childish laughter echoing through the forest didn’t bring joy—instead, it sounded like a death knell chasing the skeletal corpses, making them wonder in fear whether they would be utterly annihilated by this terrifying ghost.
The female guest still sat there in a daze.
Even though the cold ground beneath her made her tremble, she couldn’t snap out of her shock. It felt as though her entire worldview and understanding of reality had just been shattered and rebuilt from scratch.
She stared at the figure of the child gradually disappearing into the distance, her frozen gaze unable to move at all.
After encountering one bizarre incident after another, every muscle in her body had stiffened from fear. A buzzing noise filled her ears, and her brain felt completely fried.
Scenes from before the show flashed through her mind.
She had mocked the program to the people around her, calling it a “nouveau riche” that had suddenly gone viral but lacked substance. She hadn’t even wanted to come. Her original plan had been to participate in the long-running, well-established show next door. But her manager insisted she was just too scared of ghosts to take a chance on her career.
That comment had infuriated her—and it was what pushed her to agree to join this show.
Then there was the video sent by Director Zhang Wubing—those moments of frantic fleeing, the horrifying and grotesque monsters…
All those scenes she had once dismissed with disdain now resurfaced clearly in her mind.
Hot tears streamed from her eyes, turning ice-cold as they were blown across her cheeks by the chilling wind.
So it was all real… If only she had known, she never would have come!
She hated how she had assumed the world had no ghosts just because she hadn’t encountered any herself. She hadn’t believed Zhang Wubing’s warnings.
She had been arrogant.
Thinking back to her escape just now, waves of lingering fear surged in her heart.
Since Jing Xiaobao had been brought in by Yan Shixun, and she originally disliked Yan Shixun, she now felt a bit of awe toward him as well.
That child was so creepy, yet in front of Yan Shixun, he behaved like a well-mannered kitten… Just how terrifying was Yan Shixun?
Now that ghosts clearly existed, could those rumors about Yan Shixun being an incredibly powerful ghost repeller actually be true too?
The female guest’s eyes glazed over. She thought to herself: the next time I see Yan Shixun, I must apologize to him.
Even if she didn’t like his cold and unfeeling demeanor, she knew very well—some people you could only befriend, never offend.
“What kind of show is this…”
After a long while, she finally began to recover from her fear and let out her first sob. “I want to go home, Mom.”
Many viewers watching her split-screen feed were momentarily stunned by the development, even the barrage of comments seemed to freeze.
The screen went quiet for a second, and then a few timid viewers finally began to speak up again.
[Oh my God… I was nearly scared to death by that man just now. I was just getting off my night shift and walking home, and there was this guy standing under a tree ahead, facing away. Then on the live stream, a man who looked just like him appeared—with a dead man’s face! I nearly lost my soul right there!]
[Goose goose goose goose—are you the one in XX District, XX Street? I was just smoking upstairs and saw a woman downstairs scream “Ahhhh!” and run off yelling there was a ghost. Then a guy suddenly jumped out from under the tree yelling, “Ghost? Where’s the ghost, Mom?!” and ran off too.]
[Wuwuwu finally, someone alive! Thank you! Please post more comments—I’m watching alone and my heart can’t take it.]
[…My boyfriend just ran over crying with his phone, insisting we sleep in the same bed tonight. I even laughed at how cowardly he was. Damn, it really was terrifying! That kid was way too creepy!]
[Holy crap, wasn’t that the former child star? I used to say I’d wait twenty years for him to grow up. But now… he’s kind of scary.]
[Totally! The man didn’t really scare me, even the skull part I could grin through—but the moment that kid showed up, I got so spooked I threw my tablet across the room!]
[But seriously, what’s the deal with this forest? Did anyone see Lu Xingxing’s split-screen just now? It looked like they were in the same woods.]
[Yes!! I was watching An Nanyuan’s screen before this—he also encountered the exact same skeleton.]
[To those watching both feeds—my emotions are a mess. I don’t even know which part scared me more. Lu Xingxing talking about “underworld soldiers borrowing the path” nearly made me faint. But then switching to this side, even just a little ghost kid scared me stiff.]
[You guys are such wimps. That was nothing.]
[?? You clearly don’t know the backstory. If you’d seen the short film collab Li Xuetang did earlier, you wouldn’t be saying that. That kid’s acting is insanely good. Ever since I watched “The Jing Estate,” I’ve been avoiding kids after work.]
[…I must be crazy to think this side would be more relaxing than Lu Xingxing’s. Forget it—I’m going back to watch Xingxing.]
Meanwhile, Lu Xingxing—the one many viewers were keeping an eye on—was still crouched in the bushes with An Nanyuan, cautiously watching two people on the road they suspected to be their teammates.
Lu Xingxing’s ears twitched, and he sharply turned to glance behind him.
Amid the distant sounds of chaos, something faintly echoed.
He tilted his head to listen more carefully. It sounded like… someone chopping trees in the mountain?
Just moments ago he had been completely on edge, but now Lu Xingxing’s expression turned blank, as if he’d suddenly lost track of the situation. He looked a little dumbfounded.
An Nanyuan looked at him in confusion, silently asking with his gaze: What’s wrong?
“You…”
Lu Xingxing hesitated for a moment before asking An Nanyuan, “Did you hear any sounds coming from the mountains?”
Lu Xingxing touched his chin, worry evident in his voice as he asked, “Now that I think about it, it seems that ghost child has been following Brother Yan around. He should be here too, right? Could it be that he’s brought the same things from the Jing Estate again? Turning whatever he thinks into reality?”
An Nanyuan’s gaze turned cold. “I feel like you’re implying something.”
“I didn’t.”
Lu Xingxing immediately denied it.
A second later, he hesitated before asking, “Isn’t your messed-up brain just overthinking things again? Like imagining that it’s Big Bear and Little Bear chopping trees or something?”
An Nanyuan: “???”
I swear, you’re the one who’s messed up!
Seeing An Nanyuan give him a look as if he was a lunatic, Lu Xingxing scratched his nose, feeling a bit embarrassed to continue questioning.
After all, he had no evidence.
And…
Lu Xingxing hesitated for a moment.
Listening carefully, amid the huge chopping noises that sounded like tree cutting, there seemed to be some eerie sounds mixed in.
It sounded a bit like… bones clashing, and the laughter of children.
But in such a desolate, remote mountain forest, how could there be a child?
The innocent laughter, combined with the eerie and sinister environment, created such a stark contrast that it made his hair stand on end.
Lu Xingxing shuddered, quickly shaking off the chaotic thoughts in his mind and forcing himself to calm down, refocusing his attention on the road.
But when he casually glanced over again, his subconscious mind noticed something wrong before his eyes did. His brain immediately sounded an alarm.
Lu Xingxing widened his eyes in surprise as he quickly turned to look again.
Then he saw—
The entire road had turned into a sea of blood.
The blood and scattered flesh rushed toward him like a savage beast, engulfing the entire road from the farthest end, swallowing everything in its path.
The blood flowed down the edges of the road like a crimson waterfall falling into an abyss, the sound of water thundering.
The two people who had been walking on the road turned around in alarm at the noise from behind them.
This allowed Lu Xingxing to see their faces clearly.
It was Zhao Zhen and Song Ci!
Lu Xingxing was horrified. In a panic, he stood up abruptly from behind the bushes.
“Zhao Zhen!!!”
Lu Xingxing shouted with all his might, his voice filled with desperation.
On the road.
Zhao Zhen, his muscles tensed from the blood sea rushing toward him, vaguely heard someone calling his name.
He instinctively turned his head to look.
It felt as though it was very far away, yet somehow so close.
In the mountain forest beside the road, a familiar figure was desperately waving its arms at him.
Zhao Zhen squinted his eyes, but before he could clearly see who was calling him, a sharp pain shot through his scalp.
Song Ci, in his urgency, grabbed Zhao Zhen’s hair, as if yanking on a horse’s mane.
Zhao Zhen winced in pain, his eyes twitching. He thought helplessly, The young master must be so used to riding horses that he’s habitually trying to rein the horse in, isn’t he?
However, this feeling unexpectedly eased the intense tension that had been building up in Zhao Zhen, allowing him to calm down and start thinking of a strategy.
“It’s Lu Xingxing!” Song Ci said urgently.
The young master, who had been raised in luxury, had excellent vision and hearing, and he successfully received the message Lu Xingxing was trying to convey to them.
“Lu Xingxing said…”
Song Ci’s voice faltered for a moment, then he hesitated before adding, “There are ghosts coming toward us from behind. It’s…. the ‘underworld soldiers borrowing the road’?”
Zhao Zhen’s heart sank.
He had heard of the folk legend — underworld soldiers borrowing the road, and anyone who saw them would die.
Zhao Zhen immediately forgot about meeting up with Lu Xingxing, staring in shock at the blood sea surging toward him from the distance. He quickly turned and ran with long strides.
Song Ci, who hadn’t reacted in time, was nearly thrown off balance by Zhao Zhen’s sudden movement, almost snapping his slender waist in the process.
The young master slapped Zhao Zhen on the head angrily: “Did you forget to bring your brain? Didn’t we already figure out that the road we’ve been on is a circular one with no end?”
“Running? Where are you planning to run to?” The young master was so angry that he could hardly contain himself. “You’re just delivering yourself to the monsters, aren’t you?”
Since the road was circular, running forward would mean heading straight into the lair of the ghosts and demons.
It’s like delivering yourself on a platter to them, a gesture that would surely please the old ghosts.
Song Ci couldn’t believe his bad luck, having ended up with such a fool.
Zhao Zhen, however, smiled bitterly.
He knew that the faster he ran, the closer he would get to the ghosts following behind them.
But the problem was that if Lu Xingxing’s warning was correct, it meant that they were walking the same path as the underworld soldiers.
If they didn’t run, it would be like waiting to crash into them.
Zhao Zhen had heard the old folks say that if you encountered underworld soldiers using the road, you must run as far as you can, not looking back or calling out to each other, so that the Yin official wouldn’t know who you were and come after your life.
All the living who collided with the underworld soldiers would turn to dust, their souls scattered in the process.
Underworld soldiers were ruthless and merciless, never sparing anyone.
Zhao Zhen wasn’t sure if the old folks’ words were true—he had no way of verifying them.
But right now, he wasn’t willing to take that gamble.
What if what they said was true? He and Song Ci were unarmed, unlike Brother Yan and Lu Xingxing, who had some knowledge in this area. They would just be waiting for death, helpless.
This was a high-stakes gamble where their lives were the chips on the table.
But Zhao Zhen, sitting on the other side of the table, had already backed down even before the game had begun.
If it were just him alone, with only a fifty-fifty chance of survival, he could risk it.
But… he couldn’t risk Song Ci’s life.
The guests from the show had formed bonds through life-or-death situations, especially Song Ci, who had initially been someone Zhao Zhen didn’t like. He thought Song Ci was a spoiled young master, but as they spent more time together, Zhao Zhen realized that Song Ci was more of a tough, soft-hearted, explosive little cat.
How could he dare to bet with his companion’s life?
Since there were underworld soldiers behind them, Zhao Zhen’s best option was to delay.
Every second counted—maybe, just maybe, there was a chance in that moment!
Standing behind the bushes, Lu Xingxing looked at Zhao Zhen running down the road because of his warning, feeling anxious in his heart.
From his angle, he could already see the flags in the distance behind the road.
Through the thick fog, the ghostly figures of the underworld soldiers were faintly visible, flickering in and out.
The ghosts were wailing, and where they passed, life withered away.
An Nanyuan also wanted to step out from the bushes a few times, but the dark line that split the road from the mountains ahead silently blocked their way, preventing them from moving forward.
He remembered the scene when he and Lu Xingxing had been hiding from the underworld soldiers earlier, and a cold sweat broke out on his back.
“Xingxing, is there no other way to help them?”
An Nanyuan searched frantically through the movies he had seen in his memories. “Didn’t you guys at Haiyun Temple teach any sword flight or teleportation spells? What about a teleportation array? Anything works, just hurry up and use something to get us over there!”
As soon as An Nanyuan spoke, Lu Xingxing almost choked on his breath.
I’m a cultivator, not an immortal cultivator!!
What are you watching? Where did you get these sword flight techniques from? Even if something like that existed, why do you think I would know how to use it?
I don’t even have that much confidence in myself!
“Please, can you not watch so many movies next time?!”
Lu Xingxing choked on a breath, gritting his teeth as he said, “I! CANT! DO! IT!”
“If I knew how to do those things, would I have needed to jump off the slope with you in my arms just now?”
Lu Xingxing let out a snort and pointed at his bruised and battered waist. “Am I crazy? Why would I do this to myself on purpose?”
An Nanyuan: “………”
Ah… well, when you put it that way.
Lu Xingxing looked anxiously at Zhao Zhen’s retreating figure.
He was also deeply worried about the two people on the road.
If it were his master, or his grandmaster, or even Yan Shixun here, they might have thought of a better way to help those two escape danger.
But as luck would have it—it was him here.
And right now, his mind was completely blank.
At this moment, Lu Xingxing felt like a failing student sitting in an exam hall, with the bell about to ring, and his test paper still entirely blank.
He was so anxious he could claw at his own head, sweating all over, desperately trying to recall what the teacher had said in class.
But no matter how hard he tried, all he could remember was the question.
No matter what, the answer just wouldn’t come to him.
The mountain wind was clearly cold, yet Lu Xingxing was drenched in sweat, his clothes sticking to his body.
It was only in such a critical moment that he suddenly realized how little he knew. This feeling of insignificance and helplessness nearly overwhelmed him.
The only thing Lu Xingxing could think of was to get those two to leave the straight path and move to the side, giving them a chance to avoid the route where the underworld soldiers had passed.
Just like how he and An Nanyuan had done.
But the problem was…
The entire road was straight, with vast, deep ravines on both sides.
Zhao Zhen and Song Ci had no room to change direction.
Everything ahead seemed like a deadlock; the only straight path would inevitably cause the two parties to collide.
And once they encountered the underworld soldiers… there was no escaping death!
Despair filled Lu Xingxing’s heart.
He silently prayed to the heavens…
Please save these two.
Save them and don’t let them die at the hands of the underworld soldiers.
If they were saved, he promised to obediently stay at Haiyun Temple and study under his martial uncle, never skipping lessons again.
As he thought about it in near despair, his eyes filled with moisture.
……
The counselor standing at the dormitory building’s entrance felt a slight sense of relief when she saw the Taoist priest rushing toward her, despite not believing in ghosts or spirits before.
“I’ll take responsibility for the safety of these dormitory buildings.”
The Taoist nodded to the counselor. With a flick of his peach-wood sword, a stream of foul blood flew off, and he let out a deep breath before speaking solemnly, “Please don’t worry. I will ensure the safety of the students and any remaining personnel.”
“Unless I die here, no evil ghost will pass me and harm any living person!”
Seeing the Taoist’s determined expression, the counselor inexplicably felt a sense of calm settle in her heart.
After steadying herself, she couldn’t help but ask about the situation at other buildings.
When she heard that the Taoist was from Haiyun Temple and that many other Taoists were assisting at various locations on campus, the counselor finally sighed in relief, “That’s good. That’s a relief.”
The counselor gave a wry smile.
She never imagined that one day she would encounter something this absurd. It felt like her worldview had shattered, like a dream—too surreal.
Back when she was a student at Binhai University, she had heard about the legend of the Coffin Hall, and one version of the story that was widely circulated nowadays was from a Halloween ghost story contest that her roommate had participated in.
She had never believed such things and, after hearing her roommate’s story, couldn’t help but laugh, thinking that all these ghost tales were just stories made up by people in the past, which had gotten more eerie and bizarre as they spread.
The stories had mutated through the loss of details and the passage of time, eventually becoming the widely known versions we now hear.
But now, the counselor was wavering.
She couldn’t help but wonder, could it be that beneath the Great Lecture Hall, they really were suppressing an evil ghost?
With that thought, she hurriedly asked the Taoist priest.
The Taoist was momentarily stunned before answering seriously, “The Great Lecture Hall is being guarded by our most powerful Taoist. Don’t worry.”
“The students near the Great Lecture Hall were saved before encountering danger by Senior Brother Song. With him around, the students will be safe.”
The counselor was somewhat shaken: “It’s really true!”
Ah…
The Taoist paused for a moment, then silently turned away.
So, he had been socially anxious even before joining the temple, and his inability to speak was something that couldn’t be fixed even after all his training in Taoism…
He couldn’t help but envy Yan Shixun, wondering how he could speak and have everyone believe him so easily. He wished he had that kind of skill.
Fortunately, the counselor didn’t fall apart for long. She soon handed the responsibility of guarding the dormitory building over to the Taoist, and he quietly sighed in relief.
The counselor ran through every floor, personally delivering reassuring news to each student in the midst of the complete loss of external communication.
Only then did many panicked students manage to calm down, some of them even finally breaking down in tears from the fear.
“I almost thought we were all going to die here… Wuwu…”
The counselor gently yet resolutely comforted them, “Don’t worry, everyone is doing everything they can to turn the situation around.”
“They are here, and they won’t let you come to harm.”
Under the grand law of heaven and earth, death always threatened life.
But there have always been brave and resolute people who, with their own bodies, performed divine deeds, protecting humanity with their own lives, and in their fragile forms, they forged an insurmountable and victorious Great Wall.
Humans are fragile.
But humans are also resilient.
The Taoists’ gazes were firm. Beneath their peach-wood swords, the evil spirits howled in agony, and yellow talismans burned with fierce flames.
The rescue team remained silently stationed outside the campus, ensuring that ordinary citizens were not affected by the danger.
The official team from Binhai City guarded the school gates, their eyes sharp and bright, always ready to rush into the most dangerous areas to save lives.
Beyond the school gates, a dense mist of cold darkness loomed, dim and ghostly, like a realm of the dead.
And in another world, there were still those who never let their guard down, continuing to fight.
The young Yan Shixun, growing impatient, waved his hand and broke off a branch from a nearby tree. His eyes remained calm and cold as he watched the vicious ghost lunging toward him.
The seemingly ordinary branch fell into Yan Shixun’s hand, instantly becoming as hard and sharp as a sword. He spun it once in his hand, then, with immense force, swung it forward in a powerful slash.
The branch cut through the air with a sharp, explosive sound.
Golden characters circled the branch, and as it struck the ghost, the characters suddenly burst into bright flames, enveloping the ghost entirely.
The pain caused the ghost to howl in agony as it tried to turn and flee.
But it was too late.
The moment it charged toward the young yet powerful exorcist, its fate was already sealed.
Yan Shixun sneered coldly. The branch in his hand felt like a sharp blade cutting through soft tofu, quickly cleaving the ghost in half before him.
The golden flames burned along the ghost’s bones, and its split body slowly toppled to the ground.
Yan Shixun withdrew his gaze indifferently, no longer sparing a glance at the trash-like thing, and stepped over the burning remains.
He ascended the steps of the Chemistry Department’s laboratory building.
The instant his foot touched the first step, Yan Shixun’s expression suddenly sharpened.
From a distance, he had only vaguely sensed that this was the area with the densest ghostly energy, but it wasn’t until he actually set foot here that he truly realized just how intense the ghostly energy was.
This was not the level that could be gathered by a thousand or even a hundred thousand evil spirits. It was something beyond the human realm.
During his travels with Li Chengyun, Yan Shixun had never once felt such an icy, dangerous presence.
Even the air had become sticky and oppressive.
It felt as if he had been thrust into a sheath soaked with blood—everywhere he reached out, all he touched were corpses, skeletal remains, and dripping, fresh blood.
Vengeful spirits that had been festering for hundreds, even thousands of years opened their eyes in the darkness. They stared at the human world with silent hatred, their resentment only pacified by the taste of living flesh and blood.
Countless eyes bore down from every direction, locking Yan Shixun in place.
The young Yan Shixun could clearly sense that if he made even the slightest wrong move—one misstep, one mistake—those ghosts would pounce on him all at once, breaking free from their infernal shackles and drowning him in a surge of ghostly energy.
They might even kill him, shattering the protective barrier he had become for the ordinary students behind him, exposing their souls to danger.
His gaze darkened, filled with chill and fury.
His slender hand at his side tightened around the branch in his grip.
“Brother Yan!”
Behind him came Zhang Wubing’s cheerful voice.
He cautiously kicked at the ghost’s charred remains twice, muttering angrily, “Serves you right for hurting people! See how powerful my Brother Yan is?” Then, fearing that Yan Shixun might leave him behind, he quickly dashed forward.
Seeing Yan Shixun standing still on the steps, Zhang Wubing looked puzzled. “Brother Yan, why are you just standing at the door? Aren’t we going in?”
Saying that, Zhang Wubing—who couldn’t see Yan Shixun’s serious expression from the side—naturally reached out his hand and placed it on the door.
The moment his palm touched the door, a sudden crack resounded from within the darkness.
“Crack!”
An invisible barrier shattered.
Thousands of vengeful spirits that had been fixated on the young Yan Shixun suddenly shifted their gaze, turning toward a deeper, darker place within.
—There, another soul shone just as brilliantly and ominously.
Yan Shixun paused briefly, then resumed walking with long strides.
Yet, the way he looked at Zhang Wubing now carried a hint of complexity and curiosity.
Zhang Wubing was like the perfect sycophant always sticking close to the boss—he didn’t need Yan Shixun to say anything, he just instinctively took care of all the trivial matters.
Opening a door, for example, was a small thing.
Brother Yan was such a powerful man. Wasn’t it natural for him, Zhang Wubing, to handle the door?
If that golden thigh walked off without him, where would he cry?
Zhang Wubing thought happily to himself.
If he had a tail, it would already be spinning like a propeller behind him.
He diligently pushed open the large door, and when he turned back around, he finally noticed the complicated look on Yan Shixun’s handsome face.
He tilted his head in confusion. “What’s wrong, Brother Yan? Why are you looking at me like that?”
Yan Shixun calmly withdrew his gaze from Zhang Wubing.
Suddenly, he felt that maybe this little fool wasn’t completely useless after all.
This was the lair of vengeful spirits—dense with ghostly energy, like a nine-layered hell bound in chains—absolutely inaccessible to ordinary people.
Even he had to put in great effort, possibly even get injured, just to step inside.
Yan Shixun had mentally prepared himself for a tough battle.
Yet unexpectedly, Zhang Wubing had simply pushed the door open—breaking through the ghost gate hidden beneath the ordinary one—and walked right into the core of the evil energy.
Was it…talent?
Yan Shixun’s eyes were full of curiosity as he looked at Zhang Wubing.
Zhang Wubing was full of question marks. “?”
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