Chapter 171: No Way Back on This Journey (21)
Director Zhang Wubing was trembling as he crouched behind a cabinet, the sliver of light coming through the crack in the door casting a faint glow across his face.
He listened to the sound from outside—“shhhla… shhhla…” something being dragged slowly across the floor—and felt like he was about to faint.
He clearly remembered that he had been filming a show, and then the driver, swerving suddenly to avoid someone ahead, hit the brakes too hard, causing a car crash.
Just before Zhang Wubing lost consciousness, his mind had been spinning with thoughts, trying to figure out what to do next and whether everyone else was safe.
That thought had clung to him tightly, even haunting his unconsciousness, making it impossible for him to rest peacefully. His dreams were bizarre and chaotic.
At the time, Director Zhang Wubing had been fully aware he was dreaming.
He could hear the sound of his own heartbeat and breathing by his ears, but strangely, he couldn’t feel his body’s warmth. When he tried to check his own pulse, it was eerily quiet—no signs of a living heartbeat.
It was as if he had been trapped inside a corpse.
Zhang Wubing looked around in confusion and found himself surrounded by a gloomy, shadowy world, thick with blood and torn flesh.
He even spotted a long, dangling tongue hanging beside him.
From beneath the red-black soil at his feet, gnarled branches burst through the ground, growing and twisting as though mimicking human limbs stretching out.
Those humanoid trees were covered in internal organs and chunks of flesh.
In horror, Zhang Wubing instinctively stepped back—only to hear a sickening squelch. “Squish!” He had stepped on something soft and crushed it.
His face instantly turned green.
Summoning all his courage, he looked down and saw that he had trampled something that looked like a lobe of a lung, now squashed into pulp, sticky chunks clinging to his heel.
The stench of blood hit him like a sledgehammer, shooting straight to his brain.
Zhang Wubing felt his stomach churn and a wave of nausea rise violently in his throat.
He quickly covered his mouth, fighting with all his strength to suppress the urge to vomit, but a faint retching sound still slipped out—“urgh.”
Next to him, one of the humanoid trees gave a slight tremble.
Its withered branches rustled, and then—on those very branches—eyes slowly began to open.
First one pair, then a second, then a third…
Eyes upon eyes began to emerge from the tree limbs, countless and densely packed. The pupils turned and focused in the direction of the tiny sound.
In that instant, Zhang Wubing felt thousands of eyes—silent, intense—lock onto him from within the blood-soaked darkness.
His own tear-filled eyes, misted from holding back nausea, blinked a few times, and through the haze, he finally saw clearly what was around him.
He sucked in a sharp breath, a chill creeping up his spine and spreading until his entire brain buzzed with numbness.
Those eyes weren’t human.
They were hollow, murky, and lifeless.
Some of them had even begun to rot, with dried blood and pus caked on their surfaces. The yellow and red mixed together, giving the eyeballs a dead, lifeless sheen, making Zhang Wubing feel like he was being stared at by the gaze of the dead.
At that moment, countless ghostly spirits were silently watching Zhang Wubing—
The only living soul in this sea of darkness.
In that setting, Zhang Wubing felt his knees weaken, trembling so much he could barely stand.
Tears nearly burst from his eyes. He desperately wanted to grab onto Brother Yan’s leg and cry for help like he always did.
But he had already checked—he was completely alone here.
There was no Yan Shixun, no Jing Xiaobao, none of the other guests.
This was a dream that belonged to him alone. No one else would be coming to save him.
The moment that realization hit, a wave of despair rose in Zhang Wubing’s heart.
He even gave up hope and thought bitterly: fine, it’s just a dream. Let these monsters eat me already. Maybe that’ll end it, and I can finally escape this place. Once I wake up, everything will be back to normal.
However, when those humanoid trees began to sway and slowly pull their roots out of the soil, shambling toward where Zhang Wubing was, his body moved before his brain could catch up—very honestly taking a step forward to run.
His eyes widened in terror, tears still clinging to the corners, and in the blood-scented wind, they streamed down uncontrollably.
He had made a mistake. He didn’t want to die, ahhh!!!
Even if this was just a dream, what if there was something strange about it? If he died in the dream, wouldn’t his real body end up in a vegetative state?
It wasn’t like he hadn’t heard Brother Yan mention such things before!
Especially things as terrifying and disgusting as this…
Just the memory of the scene he had just witnessed made Zhang Wubing shiver uncontrollably all over.
—The roots of those humanoid trees were actually skulls.
Dried femur bones were covered in clusters of yellowed skulls like tumors. Those skulls had long been soaked in blood, turning blackish-red and grotesque. And from their deep, hollow eye sockets, blood still trickled out the moment they were pulled from the earth.
It was horrifying to the bone, making Zhang Wubing’s hair stand on end.
Even though he desperately wanted to escape from this place, the humanoid trees kept blocking his path again and again, forcing him to slow down and constantly change direction just to avoid crashing into those eerie things.
Still, many of the intestines and other organs hanging from the branches ended up flinging onto him as he fled in panic, leaving large bloodstains on his body and making him look utterly miserable.
What’s worse, Zhang Wubing had no control over his body.
This was a dead man’s corpse—he didn’t know whose corpse it was, but the muscles were stiff, the blood had stopped flowing, and even the pulse was gone.
The limbs were rigid and clumsy, and whenever he tried to move with force, he could hear the tearing sound of ligaments snapping.
Even though he fought with all his might to control his arms and legs, they seemed to have minds of their own—his legs ran in different directions, and his arms would often lift by themselves, sometimes reaching for his own eyes, blocking his vision without warning.
He was completely baffled, and several times nearly ran headfirst into a humanoid tree charging toward him.
Barely dodging danger, still covered in splattered blood, Zhang Wubing had no time to catch his breath before he was thrown into another round of fleeing.
If anyone had seen Zhang Wubing just then, they would’ve thought he looked as ridiculous as a waddling duck—maybe even laughed that he was live-streaming a failed attempt at taming wild limbs.
But Zhang Wubing had no time to care about that.
He ran so hard that his vision darkened in bursts. His lungs, stripped of any elasticity, felt like they were tearing apart, the pain so intense he nearly passed out.
His knee joints felt as though someone had been grinding them with a dull knife over and over, the searing pain rapidly draining his strength.
And then, something even worse happened—Zhang Wubing watched in horror as chunks of flesh started falling off his legs!
It was as if those pieces had already been sliced off long ago, and his body had only appeared intact because someone had stitched the flesh and organs back together.
Like a doll that had been torn apart and messily sewn up again.
From the outside, it looked barely whole, but in truth it was full of holes and barely holding together.
Finally, he heard a crisp crack!
Instinctively, Zhang Wubing looked down—his kneecap had snapped clean in half and jutted out of his torn flesh.
In the next instant, his field of vision dropped sharply.
Bang!
As a wave of weightlessness hit him, Zhang Wubing crashed hard to the ground.
Blood from the soil smeared his face, and the stench that filled his nose was nauseating and overwhelming.
Dizzy from the fall, Zhang Wubing lay there on the ground for quite a while before he managed to shakily crawl back up.
Both of his leg bones had broken, and with muscles and tendons torn, he could no longer run.
He gasped for air, his vision swimming in a sea of red.
Instinctively, he reached up to wipe the tears from the corners of his eyes—but just as his vision cleared and his hand passed before him, a sudden sense of unease washed over him.
…This wasn’t his hand. The slender, pale fingers, with their clearly defined joints, were adorned with a plain ring.
And what had dripped from the corner of his eye onto the back of his hand wasn’t tears like he’d thought.
It was blood.
Zhang Wubing froze for a long moment. Already groggy from being trapped in a dream, his mind teetered on the brink of shutting down, overwhelmed by fear and confusion from being hunted in such an unfamiliar setting.
It was the faint sound beside him that finally jolted him back to awareness.
He shivered, then scrambled awkwardly with both hands and feet to flip himself over from the face-down position he had landed in, desperately trying to get a clearer view of the humanoid tree that was chasing him.
But the moment he looked, Zhang Wubing nearly stopped breathing.
The humanoid trees had surrounded him in a tight circle, with thousands upon thousands of eyes crowding above, staring down at him.
He gasped and choked, nearly suffocating himself.
Survival instinct kicked in, and he forced his limbs into motion, dragging himself forward along the ground, struggling and crawling, even though he knew deep down that there was little hope—he still clung to the urge to escape.
But then, a bloodstained, battered skull blocked his way.
His entire body froze.
He slowly looked up, and as expected, one of the humanoid trees was directly in front of him, blocking his path.
Because he had stopped moving, the rest of the humanoid trees also began to shift closer, forming a tighter encirclement.
Zhang Wubing couldn’t hold back a whimper.
He honestly thought it might be better to just pass out… anything would be better than facing this!
He even imagined how he would die.
In his heart, filled with despair, he prayed that this was just a nightmare. Otherwise, by the time Brother Yan found him, there might be nothing left but a vegetative Wubing, sob sob sob…
The humanoid trees slowly bent their branches toward him. The limbs intertwined rapidly, like they were weaving a cage to trap him inside.
From that moment on, he would be imprisoned within the trees, left with nothing but bare bones stripped of flesh, staring coldly and hopelessly at the world of the living.
Then, as time passed, resentment and envy would accumulate within him, slowly fermenting and rotting.
He would start to wonder: Why me? Why must I be trapped here forever, watching the lives of the living go on while I remain in this prison, unable to reincarnate?
He would think: I want to leave here, even if it costs the life of another. I’ll find someone to take my place and trade myself out.
And at that moment, he would fully rot—completely and eternally unable to escape this place.
Bound to coexist with evil spirits in their infernal hell.
Zhang Wubing’s heart went ice-cold. Blood welled up from his eyes and trickled down his cheeks. In his heart, he kept silently chanting Yan Shixun’s name, again and again, hoping it would drive away these demonic things.
Perhaps his voice had reached the ears of something that existed beyond, because the prayer he so desperately made… came true.
Zhang Wubing suddenly heard a loud “Boom!”—and saw that the humanoid tree in front of him had frozen in place.
Even the branches weaving the cage above his head had stopped their growth, halting mid-air.
It felt as if the entire space had paused for a heartbeat.
And then, in the next instant—“Crack!” “Crack!”—came the sounds of shattering wood.
The nearly completed branch-cage broke apart right before Zhang Wubing’s eyes, splintering into pieces.
Light shone down again from above.
The humanoid trees toppled backward with a thunderous crash.
Even though he was still surrounded by endless darkness, Zhang Wubing felt a deep sense of relief wash over his soul—a taste of freedom.
His eyes stung, and he almost wanted to cry.
But Yan Shixun wasn’t there.
Zhang Wubing knew that no matter how miserably he cried now, there wouldn’t be anyone to impatiently yet tenderly pull him up and protect him.
So he sniffled and, trembling, tried to push himself up from the ground.
But just as he lifted his head to look forward, he suddenly froze.
—There was a figure standing silently ahead.
The young man had handsome, youthful features, and carried an air of calm scholarly refinement.
His soft hair fell naturally, with a few messy strands near the crown of his head, making him look gentle and vibrant—completely out of place in this dark, blood-soaked environment.
The young man gazed quietly at Zhang Wubing. His expression was mild, but he made no move to offer help.
Zhang Wubing stared blankly for a moment, and then, like a sudden jolt of intuition, he realized why the young man seemed so familiar.
—It was because this person had suddenly appeared in front of their car. That was what caused the accident!
A surge of anger rose in Zhang Wubing. He wanted to ask this person why he had done such a thing.
But he knew his own limits. He wasn’t like Brother Yan, who always acted with confidence and authority.
This person seemed odd, and those humanoid trees falling just now might have had something to do with him. If Zhang Wubing asked the wrong question and offended him, what if the man decided to do something to him? He had no way to defend himself.
With that thought, the burst of courage Zhang Wubing had just mustered quickly dissolved.
“You…”
Zhang Wubing hesitated several times before weakly asking, “Why did you stop our car?”
As soon as he said it, he regretted it.
This young man didn’t look like the kind who would answer. What if the question angered him?
Zhang Wubing quickly tried to take it back: “I-I was just asking… casually…”
“There is no road ahead.”
To his surprise, the young man actually responded.
His voice was clear and pure, washing away the stench of blood in the darkness.
He sounded like a true idealist with unwavering purpose—someone whose resolve hadn’t yet been worn down by the world, but who had already seen the cruelty in people’s hearts.
Zhang Wubing stared in confusion, unable to grasp what the young man meant. His mind was full of question marks.
Then the young man took a step forward, striding slowly toward him.
Zhang Wubing had been so badly shaken by what just happened that even though this young man looked far more normal—and better—than those humanoid trees, fear still rose in him. Instinctively, he scooted backward along the ground.
Right now, the only person he could trust was Yan Shixun.
But as Zhang Wubing moved, chunks of flesh began to peel away from his legs again, falling piece by piece onto the ground.
First the skin, then the muscle, then the organs…
It was like the seams of a ragdoll being unstitched, tearing apart a body that had barely been held together.
Zhang Wubing trembled all over at the sight of his body’s horrifying condition.
Even though he knew this body wasn’t really his, the feeling of watching his own flesh fall away while still conscious was a kind of psychological torture beyond anything he could bear.
What could be more terrifying than watching yourself die in excruciating pain, fully awake?
The young man came to a stop beside him, then slowly bent down, extending a pale hand toward Zhang Wubing.
He showed no sign of aggression. Instead, he looked like a gentle scholar who, upon seeing someone in need, gladly reached out to offer help.
He seemed as if he simply wanted to pull Zhang Wubing up, to help him to his feet.
“That road—leads nowhere.”
The young man said, lowering his long lashes. His calm eyes were like still water. “Go any farther, and all that awaits is death.”
Zhang Wubing tilted his head back, staring dazedly at the young man. Swayed by the warmth he projected, a strange feeling blossomed in Zhang Wubing’s heart—like maybe… this person could be trusted.
He reached out instinctively, hand trembling, trying to grasp the one being offered to him.
Just as their hands were about to touch, Zhang Wubing froze.
He had noticed that the young man’s hand was fair and clean, and on one of his fingers was a plain ring.
…It was exactly the same as the one Zhang Wubing had seen on his own hand.
His heart suddenly pounded wildly, as if all the blood in his body had rushed straight to his brain.
“You—you, I…” Zhang Wubing stammered, but couldn’t figure out how to put his confusion into words.
The young man seemed to understand his thoughts and took the initiative to speak. “Sorry, I couldn’t do more.”
“I too… was trapped here by those ghosts.”
There was an apologetic look on his gentle and handsome face. “Stopping your car put you all in danger. But if I hadn’t stopped you… you would’ve died.”
Delaying death meant there was still a sliver of hope.
But what puzzled the young man was why this person in front of him was different from the others who had mistakenly entered the Yin path.
The others were all stuck in the Yin path. Two of them, who were somewhere between humans and ghosts, had strangely followed him to the realm of the departed.
Only this one—Zhang Wubing—had fallen straight into the abyss, into the hell of vengeful spirits.
The young man had no choice but to follow.
“Looks like I frightened you,” he said gently, reversing his hand to hold Zhang Wubing’s and helping him up from the ground.
He pressed his lips together slightly and said, “This body… is mine.”
Zhang Wubing was stunned.
But the moment their hands met, he felt a strong repelling force ejecting him from the body, as if his soul had been pushed out and was now drifting like a kite, swaying farther and farther away with the wind.
The young man remained in place, still holding the same posture.
But his flesh and blood began to peel away.
In the blink of an eye, the once warm and handsome young man had turned into a bloody skeleton, stripped of all skin, flesh, and facial features.
The skeleton slowly lifted its head in the darkness and looked toward Zhang Wubing.
Meanwhile, the humanoid trees—seemingly immune to pain and death—began to reassemble. Their shattered limbs and branches reformed into tree shapes again, shaking the viscera- and skull-covered branches as they moved once more toward the bloody skeleton.
From all directions, they closed in like towering walls.
Zhang Wubing felt a scream lodged in his throat.
The skeleton’s jaw moved slightly, as if saying: I’m sorry.
Sorry… I had my own selfish reasons. I had somewhere I wanted to return to, and someone I couldn’t let go of—no matter what.
So even though I knew that returning to him might endanger others… I couldn’t hold back any longer.
The only thing I could do for you all… was to buy this tiny sliver of hope.
As for what comes next—life or death… I’m sorry.
I love him.
I just want… to see him one more time.
Even if it means rotting away in hell forever.
…
Zhang Wubing reached out, trying hopelessly to grab at the bloodied skeleton—but all he caught was air.
He wanted to shout at the skeleton—run! Don’t let those strange branches trap you.
He wanted to ask the skeleton what had happened, why it had changed so drastically in an instant.
But his consciousness was rising like a bubble to the surface of the deep sea. The darkness of the abyss faded rapidly. From behind his trembling eyelids, faint strands of light began to seep through.
Zhang Wubing suddenly opened his eyes wide.
“You—!”
The last fragments of memory in his brain surged forward the moment his eyes opened, and he instinctively blurted out a question.
But the next second, Zhang Wubing realized where he was.
It was no longer a foul-smelling, eerie place like a graveyard, but a brightly lit school building with windows and desks.
Zhang Wubing lay under the cold wall along the corridor.
Because his eyes hadn’t fully opened when he suddenly got up, he hadn’t clearly seen his surroundings—and ended up slamming his head into the fire sprinkler system above. His forehead met the metal pipe with a loud thud!
Stars danced in his vision.
He clutched his forehead and grimaced in pain. But the pain also reassured him: he was truly awake now.
Everything that had just happened… had only been a dream.
And yet the young man’s face—identical to the one he’d seen in the car crash—still lingered in Zhang Wubing’s mind, making him question who that person really was. Had he been in danger again, and had the young man saved him?
His head throbbed so intensely he curled up in the corner, shivering from the late-autumn chill seeping through the corridor. He sat there dazed for a long while before remembering to stand.
But the moment he stood up, he heard a snap!
Zhang Wubing froze mid-motion, still leaning on the fire equipment for support.
He was certain that sound didn’t come from him. So then… where did it come from?
Stiff-necked, he slowly, jerkily turned his head to look to the side.
In the corridor, the brightly lit glass of a nearby lab reflected the other end of the L-shaped hallway.
A corpse, covered in blood, mottled with livor mortis, and dressed in tattered clothing, was stumbling down the hallway with lifeless, vacant eyes—its reflection clearly visible in the glass.
Zhang Wubing: “!!!”
In a panic, he looked to both sides. The environment was somewhat familiar. Not only was there that corpse shuffling down the corridor, but there were other bodies lying elsewhere too.
They looked like people who had lost their way home—wandering aimlessly, unaware of where they belonged.
But right now, Zhang Wubing had no time to worry about what kind of past those corpses might’ve had.
If Brother Yan were by his side, maybe he’d spare a thought. But at this moment, survival was clearly the top priority!
Seeing the nearest corpse about to turn toward his direction, Zhang Wubing bolted into the nearest classroom in a panic.
Clutching his shoes in hand, he sprinted inside, quietly locked the classroom door, and didn’t dare to make a sound.
He only dared to let out a long breath when the corpse staggered past the classroom door with vacant eyes—he almost suffocated from holding it in.
But just as he thought he could hide out in the classroom until Yan Shixun found him, he turned around—and his mind went completely blank.
It was like someone had dumped a bucket of icy water over his head, chilling him to the bone.
—It was a chemistry lab. Half-finished experiments sat all around, and glass containers filled with crimson liquid reflected an ominous glow under the dim light.
And on the lab’s outward-facing window, a corpse was quietly pressed up against the glass.
The corpse was highly decayed, with barely any flesh left on its face—just bare, ghastly bone.
Its entire face was squished flat against the window, distorting its already horrifying features into something truly grotesque.
Who knew how long it had been staring silently into the classroom.
When Zhang Wubing accidentally locked eyes with it, his heart turned cold. The words “I’m screwed” slammed into his brain, making him dizzy and nearly bringing him to tears.
The corpse outside the window grinned. Its face, distorted and malevolent, stretched into a terrifying smile full of malice.
Zhang Wubing’s hair stood on end.
Driven by pure survival instinct, he turned and unlocked the classroom door he had just secured—and bolted out without hesitation.
Moments after Zhang Wubing fled, he heard a loud crash of shattering glass behind him, followed by the wet, sticky squelching of something heavy crawling inside.
Zhang Wubing: !!!
BROTHEEER!!YAAAN!!! AHH—!!! HELP ME, WAHHH! YOUR XIAO BING’S GONNA GET EATEN BY A GHOST!!!
Tears streamed down his face as he ran for his life, his speed not the least bit affected by his crying.
Then, as he passed a laboratory with the door slightly ajar, he darted in without thinking.
Slammed the door shut. Turned. Dived into the equipment cabinet. Closed the cabinet door.
All in one swift motion.
The cramped space offered a bit of comfort, and so did the tightly shut doors.
Many people often believed that two locks were safer than one. In times of danger, each additional lock gave them a greater sense of psychological security.
So Zhang Wubing’s brain instinctively made a decision.
He curled up, hugging his knees and shivering, desperately holding his breath to avoid making even the slightest sound.
But when he heard the faint sounds outside gradually approaching and then drifting away, it gave him the illusion that he was safe.
Just as he was hesitating about what to do next, he heard a soft “click-clack!” from the laboratory.
The door was slowly pushed open.
Then came the sound of footsteps.
They were unsteady and uneven, like someone who was mentally lost and paying no attention to where they stepped.
Zhang Wubing: “???”
He shrank further into the cabinet, his face full of fear.
Had he just escaped one ghost nest only to dive straight into another?
But through the narrow gap in the cabinet door, what he vaguely saw was not the horrifying face of a ghost he imagined.
It was the figure of a real person.
That person looked utterly dejected, his handsome face dazed and lost. Even his once-upright posture had crumbled, and his shoulders drooped in defeat.
He looked like someone who had lost a priceless treasure—unable to find what he cherished most, unable to find his way home.
His only place of belonging… no longer existed.
Zhang Wubing sat dumbfounded in the cabinet.
…
“Bang!”
Yan Shixun’s expression was icy cold as he slammed his long staff fiercely into the attacking ghost.
Golden script wrapped around the staff flared brightly, and the ghost howled as it disintegrated into ash.
The sweeping motion of his coat hem traced a sharp arc through the air before settling down again. The heavy dark green coat added to his overwhelming aura.
The staff he had casually grabbed along the way became a divine weapon in his hands—no ghost or malevolent spirit dared come near.
The staff, covered in talismans, cleared all the ghosts in Yan Shixun’s path. Wherever he passed, the sinister ghostly air scattered. The corridor behind him looked so clean and empty it was as if nothing had ever happened there.
Only the drifting flakes of ash falling gently to the ground still gave faint proof of what had just occurred.
“If Cheng Jing and Lan Ze often hung out together in the lab building, then Cheng Jing—who hasn’t been found and who doesn’t know what happened to Lan Ze—would most likely come here.”
“Because of Cheng Jing, Lan Ze was able to briefly break free from the grip of ghostly energy on the highway outside the city and make his way back to Binhai University.”
Yan Shixun frowned and added, “Then he will definitely come looking for Cheng Jing.”
So all they needed to do was find the laboratory that Cheng Jing and Lan Ze frequented in this building.
Yan Shixun instinctively raised his hand to perform a divination, but the ghost energy accumulated inside the lab building far exceeded that in the rest of the campus. It interfered with his reading, leaving the signs in complete disarray.
Like a compass caught in a magnetic storm, unable to point in the right direction.
Yan Shixun clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and let out a quiet “tsk,” feeling a heavy weight in his chest.
The building’s entrance felt like a ritual—a passage between “entry” and “barrier.” Pushing open the door and walking inside was like completing a rite, crossing the threshold between life and death, stepping into the very heart of ghostly energy—into hell itself.
Here, because of the powerful will of Lan Ze’s soul, the ghost energy that should have acted as his prison temporarily became his ally, granting him strength to break free of the divide between life and death, merging two realms that were never meant to meet.
He had crossed the boundary of life and death to see Cheng Jing.
Even if the price was disrupting the balance of life and death, time and space—endangering the lives of others.
Yan Shixun sighed inwardly and said to Ye Li beside him, “Lan Ze was supposed to reincarnate directly. Now, this is going to be troublesome.”
If Lan Ze’s revenge had stopped on the highway and not extended to Binhai University, then everything that had happened on the road—so long as it didn’t harm innocent passersby—would have fallen within the bounds of his karma due to the murderer’s existence.
Heaven and Earth would have allowed it.
But because Lan Ze had insisted on returning to Binhai University, it was as if he had forcibly dragged the lives of tens of thousands into danger. To the will of Heaven and Earth, the balance of karma had begun to tilt.
As long as even one person within or outside the campus got hurt or died, all the karma would be placed on Lan Ze’s shoulders.
By then, not even Yan Shixun would be able to save him.
However…
Yan Shixun’s gaze fell upon Ye Li.
He still remembered the moment Ye Li had grasped his hand and passed power into his meridians—an aura that was unmistakably ghostly.
Originally, Yan Shixun had thought Ye Li might be the founder of a sect that once worshipped deities, capable of communicating with them or even borrowing divine power. But that strong ghostly aura completely shattered his prior assumptions.
Even though he had traveled far and wide with Li Chengyun and encountered many hidden hermits deep in the mountains, he had rarely heard of a sect that worshipped gods of the underworld.
Unless… Ye Li himself was connected to death.
There was a probing look in Yan Shixun’s eyes.
But Ye Li showed no unease or intention to hide anything. His cold yet handsome face remained calm and open, completely unguarded under Yan Shixun’s scrutiny.
He even curved his lips into a slight smile. “Do you want to ask me something?”
It was as though all his secrets were laid bare before Yan Shixun—nothing he couldn’t share with a loved one.
Just like he had once promised:
—Come explore me, come understand me, and then fall into the web of karma that binds us.
Let me catch you.
Yan Shixun didn’t quite grasp the deeper meaning behind Ye Li’s deep gaze, but Ye Li’s attitude had quietly restored the trust that had begun to waver.
No matter what Ye Li’s true identity was, for now, he didn’t pose any threat.
As long as Ye Li didn’t stab him in the back during battle, this lingering doubt could be set aside until after the current crisis was resolved.
Yan Shixun calmly averted his gaze, no longer meeting Ye Li’s eyes.
“Lan Ze…”
Yan Shixun sighed softly. “I never expected that the story of finding a soulmate through music would actually happen again in our time.”
Many years ago, a young Yan Shixun would stand on tiptoe and wordlessly pull ancient books from Li Chengyun’s towering bookshelf, flipping through those overly simplistic talismans as the scent of old paper filled the air. He would listen to Li Chengyun lounging comfortably in a wicker chair, rocking back and forth while telling him stories.
Li Chengyun once told him a tale—long ago, someone had committed suicide and turned into a soul just to keep a promise to a friend, traveling a thousand miles in a day to meet them.
Young Yan Shixun remembered that story.
But he hadn’t understood it.
In his world, there had only ever been Li Chengyun.
As a teacher, a father, and a friend.
Li Chengyun had told him that when he grew up, he would find his own lifelong friend. For that friend, he would be willing to go to Heaven or Hell.
After Li Chengyun’s death, that role of “friend” had been filled by Zhang Wubing.
But what Yan Shixun knew was the dynamic he shared with Zhang Wubing—not this kind of friendship…
One that involved throwing everything away, even life itself.
Even though over the years he had traveled far and wide, walked through alleyways and mountain passes, experienced the full range of human emotions and society’s intricacies—those were never his own experiences.
He could calmly analyze others’ minds, but when it came to himself, he was the one lost in the game.
The friendship between Cheng Jing and Lan Ze only made him even more confused.
Why… would someone value friendship more than life itself or the laws of Heaven and Earth?
After all, the road between life and death would always meet again.
Even if death temporarily separated friends, as long as their bond wasn’t severed, in the next life, they would still find each other in the human world.
Why fight so desperately for this single glance?
Yan Shixun pitied Lan Ze, but Ye Li looked at him with a strange and meaningful expression.
“Shixun,” Ye Li called softly. “Have you ever thought that there’s a kind of emotion, even more profound and penetrating than friendship, that can achieve what friendship cannot?”
Yan Shixun looked at Ye Li, dazed.
Under that gaze, Ye Li lasted only a second before giving up.
“…Forget it.”
“It’s fine. We have time. We can take it slowly.”
Ye Li leaned down slightly. His long black hair fell smoothly from his squared shoulders and brushed against Yan Shixun’s ear.
“Let me teach you this kind of emotion, Shixun.”
Ye Li’s deep voice carried a magnetic hum. “All your questions—I will answer them.”
“Whether it’s about Heaven and Earth, life and death, or… all forms of emotion.”
At such close proximity, Yan Shixun could even see the depths of his ink-black pupils.
They seemed to hold the deepest darkness, concealing all the unspeakable secrets of the human world, a mystery that coexisted with the laws of the universe.
Yan Shixun nearly lost himself in those eyes.
But soon, he blinked and regained his composure.
He placed his hand on Ye Li’s firm chest and pushed him slightly away.
“You’re too close. There’s no need for that.” He quickly turned his head, refusing to meet Ye Li’s gaze again.
The unfamiliar emotions stirred within him made him unusually flustered.
Ye Li’s eyes lit up with a smile, and he obediently took a step back.
For a moment, he felt oddly grateful for the soul named Lan Ze.
An exorcist who knew nothing about love would naturally seek the truth.
But at the end of truth—was love.
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