Chapter 172: No Way Back on This Journey (22)
In the silent, soundless laboratory, the dazed young man had been sitting motionless for who knew how long, and Director Zhang Wubing, hiding inside the cabinet, had held his breath and stayed there with him for just as long.
Even though the young man’s mind seemed absent, he kept unconsciously repeating a name in a low murmur.
At first, Zhang Wubing couldn’t hear it clearly, but gradually, he realized the name was “Lan Ze.”
Lan?
Zhang Wubing blinked, and suddenly recalled something he’d heard before while coordinating with the Binhai City officials. One of their staff members had mentioned that name with a troubled expression.
The Lan couple had reported their son missing, but all the clues found so far pointed to him having been murdered.
Back then, the staff member had sighed to Zhang Wubing and said, “Director Zhang, what kind of world is this? Such an outstanding student from Binhai University, just gone like that. When we first found clues, we couldn’t even bring ourselves to confirm it, let alone tell the parents.”
“How could anyone bear it…? Just thinking about it feels awful. Oh right, Director Zhang, aren’t you from Binhai University too? From the directing department?”
At the time, Zhang Wubing hadn’t thought much of it and simply made a few sympathetic comments in return.
But now, as he quietly observed the young man through the gap in the cabinet door, a strange thought suddenly crept into his mind.
Could it be… that the “Lan Ze” this young man was murmuring about was the very same missing and possibly murdered college student?
After all, all the details lined up.
But looking at the young man’s expression…
Zhang Wubing couldn’t help but feel affected by the youth’s sorrowful mood. His own face showed a trace of sympathy.
Still, even though Zhang Wubing was soft-hearted and wanted to go comfort the young man, he knew clearly that the situation was unclear—he didn’t even know if the youth was human or ghost.
Without Yan Shixun around, it was better for him to obediently stay hidden.
And soon enough, Zhang Wubing’s decision proved to be the right one.
“Snap!”
The lights in the laboratory suddenly went out completely.
The entire research building was swallowed in darkness, and a chilling, eerie aura consumed everything.
Zhang Wubing’s heart pounded in unease, and he didn’t dare make a sound.
It took him a long time to get his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He began to rely on the faint silhouettes outside the cabinet to get a rough idea of what was happening.
The young man also looked surprised, his confused expression suggesting he didn’t know why the lights had gone out.
But the darkness continued to spread.
It was as if the entire campus’s power had been cut off. Starting from the lab building, the darkness rapidly extended outward, engulfing the dormitories, lecture halls—everywhere lost its light.
In an instant, the entire Binhai University campus fell into a deathly silence, with a creeping sense of fear spreading in the dark.
Screams and cries from the dormitory area pierced through the treelined paths, faintly carried by the wind to the lab building.
The young Yan Shixun came to a stop. He looked up and stared out the nearby window in the direction of the dorms, his gaze unreadable.
Beside him, Zhang Wubing also noticed the commotion coming from the dorm area and let out a small gasp.
But he quickly realized the situation was not right and immediately covered his mouth.
Even so, he couldn’t help whispering to the fierce and rebellious young man beside him, “Brother Yan… those people in the dorms… they’ll be okay, right?”
The young Yan Shixun didn’t respond, but his hand at his side was clenched into a tight fist.
It wasn’t that he didn’t care about the people in the dorms—on the contrary, he had already realized that this wasn’t reality.
In a world built of ghost energy, injuries or even death might still leave a slim chance of survival.
But if the ghost energy were to leak and seep into the real world, threatening actual lives—then the tens of thousands of people at Binhai University would face true danger and death.
Given the lack of manpower, and the fact that even his “future self” was trapped in this ghost realm, it was very likely that the real world of that future self was already facing this threat…
He had to make a choice.
The faster he could cut off the ghost energy at its source and solve everything, the greater the chance he had of snatching lives back from death.
The young Yan Shixun gritted his teeth, determination hardening his handsome features.
And then, he forced out a single word through clenched teeth: “Go.”
Zhang Wubing, who trusted Yan Shixun completely, didn’t question his decision for even a second.
Zhang Wubing merely glanced worriedly in the direction of the dormitory area. The screams carried by the wind startled him, leaving him anxious and uneasy. With concern weighing on his mind, he followed behind Yan Shixun.
Under the heavy shroud of ghostly energy, the young Yan Shixun felt a strong resistance.
He wanted to raise his hand and form a divination gesture to calculate the exact center of the ghostly aura within the laboratory building.
However, the hexagrams kept shifting unpredictably, like a compass gone haywire due to intense interference.
After several attempts, Yan Shixun finally let his hand drop in frustration, his eyes glinting with a sharp, cold light.
If the culprit appeared before him now, he felt he could tear it apart with his bare hands.
But naïveté and wishful thinking were never Yan Shixun’s strengths.
If one path was blocked, then he would find another.
As he subconsciously walked toward the lab building, the young Yan Shixun forced himself to suppress all distracting emotions, urging his mind to work quickly.
His divination had failed, precisely because the concentration of ghostly energy was shielding the heavens and earth.
But he had long suspected that he wasn’t the only version of himself present here—there was also his “future self.”
Yan Shixun understood his personality well. He was irritable and indifferent, the kind of person most avoided.
Yet there was one trait he had always possessed—a nature that never ran from anything.
Even if he knew the road ahead led to death, he would still set out upon it with determination.
And if his future self had come here…
The young Yan Shixun lowered his gaze slightly. His previously tense expression finally softened into a faint smile, the corners of his lips lifting slightly.
He and his future self were different versions of the same person. Since he knew his future self would actively seek the source of all this, then all he had to do was release all his senses and let his instincts guide him. Through the pull of resonance between counterparts, he would be led straight to his future self… wouldn’t he?
It was like a drowning man who gave up struggling, letting his consciousness sink deeper and deeper in calm surrender.
And the water’s surface would naturally carry him back upward.
The young Yan Shixun stood still for a moment, then reopened his eyes, gaze steady and clear, and began walking forward.
“Eh? Brother Yan, how did you know I wanted to take this path?”
Zhang Wubing exclaimed in surprise, “Is this what they call a telepathic connection? I was just thinking this road felt really familiar and inviting!”
…Huh?
Hearing this, the young Yan Shixun abruptly stopped in his tracks and gave Zhang Wubing a probing, puzzled look.
Since the laboratory building of the chemistry department was a high-risk area, explosion or chemical leak accidents had been taken into account from the initial planning stage. Multiple safety escape routes had been built into the structure, ensuring every floor had quick access to the ground level for evacuation.
In fact, this lab building had more emergency passages than any other building at Binhai University, filled with crisscrossing staircases.
A slight misstep could make one feel like they were stuck in a maze—going up one floor only to end up inexplicably at the front entrance again.
If someone wasn’t a student who frequently did experiments here, they could easily get lost in the building.
The “Lab Building Maze Mystery” was even listed among Binhai University’s top ten campus legends.
—The number one legend was the Coffin Lecture Hall.
Yan Shixun glanced at the path his senses had led him to.
From the layers of dust and the musty smell of long disuse, he could tell this was not a main passage—it was a minor, secluded path.
Even chemistry students probably rarely took this route.
Yet Zhang Wubing, who had never even been inside the lab building before, said this path felt “familiar.”
The young Yan Shixun didn’t believe this was a coincidence.
Beneath the grand order of things, everything happened for a reason.
Though that reason often hid behind the illusion of randomness.
Yan Shixun stared deeply at Zhang Wubing, to the point that it made the latter’s skin crawl.
“B-Brother Yan,” Zhang Wubing swallowed hard, his voice trembling. “Did I say something wrong?”
“You just said… it felt familiar?” Yan Shixun asked in a low voice. “Why?”
Zhang Wubing: “???”
His mind was filled with question marks. He had no idea why Yan Shixun would ask that.
But out of his habitual trust in Yan Shixun, he obediently explained, “I just felt that if it were up to me alone, I would definitely have picked this path.”
“This road looks so nice.”
Zhang Wubing waved his hands toward the staircase, trying to explain the reasoning behind his choice. “All the other paths are pitch black, but this one looks like it’s lit up. It’s much brighter.”
In Zhang Wubing’s eyes, this staircase looked like someone had intentionally lit it. In contrast, the other paths seemed oppressively dark and frightening at a glance—he had no desire to walk down them.
He tried to explain his thinking to Yan Shixun but couldn’t understand why the latter found it hard to grasp.
“…………”
The young Yan Shixun suspiciously raised his head and glanced at the dim stairwell, then fell silent.
Because this staircase was rarely used, the cleaning staff had likely stored some tools and cardboard here for convenience. The windows, untouched for a long time, were coated in layers of dust.
Under such dim lighting, this path actually let through the least light.
What Yan Shixun saw was completely opposite of what Zhang Wubing perceived.
—On this side of the staircase, faint wisps of ghostly energy drifted over, making the entire space even darker.
That was also the reason why, after letting himself be drawn by the “future self,” Yan Shixun had resolutely chosen this path—because of the presence of ghost energy.
And yet, Zhang Wubing had said this was the only path that was lit…?
Yan Shixun stared wordlessly at Zhang Wubing, watching him until Zhang Wubing was full of question marks, completely clueless as to what was going on.
Suddenly, Yan Shixun remembered what had happened when Zhang Wubing entered the building earlier.
Even for him, that ghost gate had been tough to get through—but Zhang Wubing had pushed it open with ease, walking in without a hint of resistance…
Yan Shixun: …I knew this guy’s constitution attracts ghosts, but I didn’t expect he could actually throw himself into a den of ghosts on his own?
After figuring it out, Yan Shixun gave Zhang Wubing a look that was hard to describe. Then he stepped slightly aside and gestured for Zhang Wubing to go ahead.
“You go first.”
He wanted to see just how severe this “ghost-attracting navigation” constitution of Zhang Wubing’s really was.
Zhang Wubing: “???”
Although he didn’t understand what was going on, he obediently took the lead.
After climbing the stairs, Zhang Wubing naturally turned onto a secluded side path.
The young Yan Shixun: …Exactly the same as what I sensed.
He stared at Zhang Wubing’s back with a complicated expression.
Zhang Wubing shivered under his gaze and hesitantly said, “Brother Yan?”
“It’s fine. Just keep going. You lead the way.”
Yan Shixun had already regained his composure and said in a deep voice, “Who knows, maybe because of your presence, I can get there one step ahead of him.”
The young Yan Shixun: Competitive streak.
Even though they hadn’t come face to face yet, he had already won a round against his future self. That lifted the heavy mood brought on by the ghostly energy, and even brought a hint of a smile to his handsome face.
As a result, he also felt more satisfied with Zhang Wubing.
If the poor little jinx ran into any ghosts later on, then—considering that the kid helped him outdo his future self—he owed him a bit of karmic debt.
Next time, he might consider saving his life on the way.
The young Yan Shixun thought about it casually.
Meanwhile, Zhang Wubing, walking ahead, caught a glimpse of the smile on Yan Shixun’s face out of the corner of his eye—but had no idea that he had just accidentally caused it.
At the same moment, on the other side, the talisman in Yan Shixun’s hand failed. The golden symbols fizzled out like flames doused by water, quickly fading into darkness.
His expression darkened just as much.
Unlike the usual yellow talismans used by ordinary Taoists, the one he used didn’t have a physical medium. It was created purely by his own power in one continuous breath, manifesting directly in the air.
It shouldn’t have failed.
Unless… the ghostly energy around him was so dense it completely smothered the light.
In the realm invisible to ordinary people, ghost energy and the power of the talisman had clashed early on—but the talisman had lost, and the light had gone out.
Yan Shixun could sense that the moment all the lights went out, the ghost energy inside the lab building had grown even thicker.
The air felt like sticky glue, and taking even a single step forward required all his strength. It was as hard as trudging through a foggy swamp.
Every step was a struggle.
But the worst part was that the ghost energy was now so overwhelming it blocked out the sky. Yan Shixun had completely lost the ability to connect with the heavens and the earth.
He could no longer calculate where Cheng Jing was.
Under the oppressive weight of ghostly energy, Yan Shixun’s striking face darkened to the point it seemed like water could drip from it.
Tendrils of ghost aura slowly seeped into his meridians, as if pressured by the overwhelmingly dense spiritual force around him, forcefully injecting his body with a power not meant for the living.
If it had been any ordinary person standing here, they would’ve already lost all ability to move—perhaps even died—from the invasion of this ghostly energy.
But instead, Yan Shixun actually felt somewhat more at ease.
He raised his slender fingers and deftly resumed forming a hand seal.
Just then, another pale, bony yet graceful hand gently laid over the back of his. That larger hand shielded his own.
“Shixun, are you trying to divine the whereabouts of someone named Cheng Jing?”
Ye Li’s deep, magnetic voice, calm and steady said: “If the heavens won’t respond, then I will.”
A flicker of confusion crossed Yan Shixun’s face. He couldn’t quite grasp what Ye Li meant by that.
But in the very next moment, at the exact point where Ye Li’s hand touched his, a faint glow of blood-red light began to bloom.
Immediately, the surrounding ghost energy reacted as if encountering something absolutely terrifying—chaotically scattering and fleeing from Yan Shixun’s vicinity.
In the blink of an eye, the area around them emptied, devoid of even a single wisp of ghost aura.
It was like a vacuum.
And the Great Dao cast its gaze down upon them.
Yan Shixun’s eyes slowly widened.
“Call my name, and I will be your god.”
Ye Li murmured, his eyes lowered, voice gentle yet laced with lingering emotion. “No matter what kind of power you seek, as long as you ask—I will give it to you.”
“I promise you that.”
Ye Li’s long black hair slid off his shoulder as he leaned in slightly, bringing his face closer to Yan Shixun’s.
Their breaths mingled.
In that closeness, they could see the emotions in each other’s eyes with perfect clarity.
“So… call out to me, Yan Shixun.”
Ye Li said softly. “Through me, you shall obtain heaven and earth.”
In that instant, Yan Shixun, usually sharp and clear-headed, experienced a rare moment of blankness.
His ever-turning thoughts stalled—as if the gears in a machine had suddenly jammed, bringing everything to a halt.
The only thing that held his focus was that face, just inches away.
And the solemn, sincere look in Ye Li’s eyes.
Yan Shixun parted his lips, but the words didn’t come.
Ye Li didn’t rush him. He simply looked at him quietly, patiently waiting for him to unravel the threads in his mind.
This was his one-of-a-kind exorcist—the only light in the deep, shadowy realm of Fengdu across centuries.
He had watched this person radiate brilliance like sun and moon, walking the narrow edge between life and death with perfect precision, never taking a wrong step.
He saved those who deserved saving. He protected innocent ghosts.
To him, humans, gods, and spirits were all equal.
Even if a god erred, he would not hesitate to pass judgment.
This… was his exorcist.
Even just whispering Yan Shixun’s name made Ye Li’s heart tremble slightly—with reverence, with tenderness.
He had once been disillusioned with the mortal world, weary of offering it even the slimmest thread of salvation.
Fengdu had turned its back. The Ghost Gate had sealed shut.
In the great dark hall, his declaration of “There is no saving the mortal world” became the decree for countless underworld gods and spirits.
They watched coldly as the mortal realm teetered toward ruin.
Even when a devout mortal once found the old site of Fengdu and broke into the Ghost King’s hall, they couldn’t shake the underworld’s resolve.
But now, Ye Li finally understood—
It was because the world he had once seen had no one like Yan Shixun.
If it was a world that did have Yan Shixun, then he was willing to stand against the Dao itself—to protect that world.
Ye Li quietly lowered his gaze to Yan Shixun, waiting for his answer.
Meanwhile, after that brief wave of panic and confusion, Yan Shixun quickly regained his composure. From the tangle of chaotic information, he worked through the threads and grasped the truth.
Scenes of Ye Li’s past actions flashed through his mind. Every word he had spoken replayed in his ears.
Piece by piece, the fragmented information came together. The disjointed thoughts clicked into place, forming a complete picture.
He had said, Call my name, and I will be your god.
He had said, I exist with the heavens and the Great Dao.
…He wasn’t some ancestral founder of a sect that worshiped deities.
He was the deity himself.
When the Great Dao had collapsed, the gods had fallen with it.
Yan Shixun had long believed that deities no longer existed—especially the high-ranking ones. They had already fused with the Great Dao, leaving behind only traces of power to uphold the order of the world.
Even when cultivators now tried to invoke divine power, all they could do was borrow fragments of energy from the old divine thrones, drawing from the remnants left behind.
That was why the number of successful cultivators had dwindled over the past century, and why the old Taoist of Haiyun Temple constantly entered deep meditations.
A few deities may have escaped complete annihilation through the unwavering faith of their followers—like the Mountain God of Wild Wolf Peak—but those cases were exceedingly rare.
Besides, beneath the Great Dao, there was no such thing as luck.
Even though the Mountain God of Wild Wolf Peak had escaped the catastrophe, she still perished in the end due to the karmic burden of protecting her people.
There were no exceptions.
The Great Dao would never spare any true god alone.
Because of this, Yan Shixun had never once questioned Ye Li’s true identity, never suspected that he might be one of those gods.
Not until now—until Ye Li himself had spoken the truth aloud.
Why… would the Great Dao leave behind a god?
And why would that god appear in the mortal world—by his side?
Yan Shixun’s expression flickered, his mind caught in a brief daze.
But Ye Li’s tightening grip on his hand pulled him back to clarity.
Steadying his thoughts, Yan Shixun looked into Ye Li’s calm yet expectant eyes.
As if they were saying—you already know.
His name…
A god’s name, was no different than the god himself.
Yan Shixun parted his lips and finally let the two familiar syllables pass from between them.
“…Ye…Li.”
In an instant, the frost melted, spring waters bubbled, and ten thousand lotus blossoms bloomed in radiant splendor.
Ye Li’s sharp, cold features softened. With a faint smile in his eyes, he responded gently to Yan Shixun.
“I’m here.”
“I’m here, Shixun.”
He lowered his head slightly, his tall frame leaning in. His cool forehead rested gently against Yan Shixun’s, their breaths mingling, skin brushing against skin.
At that moment, Yan Shixun’s entire field of vision was filled by Ye Li. He could even feel the bridge of Ye Li’s nose brushing across his own cheek.
But he no longer cared about creating any distance between them.
The revelation that a deity had survived—and had remained by his side all along—consumed all his thoughts.
Without realizing it, his heart and soul had already been entirely filled with Ye Li.
“With every step and every action, I transcend past karma and future fate. My body is unbound, eternal and undying. Through countless trials, I attain divine power. Among all realms and creation, only I am supreme…”*
Ye Li’s voice was low and calm, clearly enunciating every syllable.
As the words fell into the air, they transformed into dark red light, coiling upward from the hands they clasped tightly together, winding along Yan Shixun’s meridians.
Yan Shixun could feel a vast and commanding force surging through his veins like a roaring tide.
In that moment, it felt as if his soul had left his body, abandoned the tangible world, and soared into the sky, looking down upon the earth from above.
The Great Dao has no form, yet it gives birth to heaven and earth.
The Great Dao has no name, yet it nurtures all things.*
In a fleeting instant, Yan Shixun felt himself merge with the Dao itself. Vengeful spirits and wicked beings wailed beneath his feet, the deep abyss of the underworld lay within his grasp, and life and death moved by his will.
As he stood momentarily stunned, Ye Li’s eyes gleamed with amusement. He tilted his head slightly, and his pale lips brushed a light kiss at the corner of Yan Shixun’s eye.
It was featherlight—and fleeting.
“Shixun… I give you my name.”
As his voice faded, heaven lowered its gaze.
The Great Dao bore witness to Ye Li’s promise.
This was… everything a god or ghost could offer.
A god of ghosts and spirits who had once even defied the Dao itself, had descended from Fengdu and stepped into the human world—because of one brilliant soul.
He had stepped down from the altar, fallen from the pedestal of divine worship, and become a flesh-and-blood human once more. His heart, silent for centuries, began to beat again. The time that had frozen on him began to flow once more.
On a battlefield littered with corpses a thousand years ago, the banners lay in tatters, bodies piled high, and rivers of blood flowed like tides.
The glint of a general’s iron armor had been dyed scarlet.
He had pushed himself up from the corpses with a broken sword. Everywhere he looked, he saw lifeless faces, and sorrow and rage surged in his heart.
He had refused to submit to the Dao.
So he broke his sword and pointed it to the heavens and earth, swearing an oath—
He would win justice for himself, with his own hands!
Banners flying fiercely, an army of a hundred thousand in armor.
The Underworld trembled.
Of the Dao’s forty-nine paths, there was only one variable it could not control.
By the time the Dao scrambled to set things right, Fengdu had already crowned a new ruler.
Fengdu emerged from the soil, facing the Dao with silent defiance.
On a high platform, a tall man stood upright. His sharp gaze swept across the void, devoid of all warmth…
All those chaotic scenes from the past flashed quickly before Yan Shixun’s eyes.
In a daze, he saw a face strikingly similar to Ye Li’s. But unlike the Ye Li he knew, that face was bone-chillingly cold, without a hint of a smile.
But the Ye Li he was familiar with had always been by his side. Just a slight turn of his head and Ye Li would notice his movements and offer a gentle smile.
Was that… Ye Li?
Yan Shixun suddenly felt as if none of this were real.
He remembered—back when he was a child, more than a decade ago, when his parents had abandoned him at the marketplace, there had been a man who shared his candy with him. That man, too, had been covered in blood, like a lonely soul just stepped off an ancient battlefield, with sharp features still exuding a lingering murderous aura.
Yan Shixun slowly blinked.
In the next moment, his vision returned to normal.
Those fleeting, surreal images all vanished.
He saw that he was still in the experimental building. In the surrounding darkness, Ye Li was tightly holding his hand, quietly waiting for him to come back to his senses.
His other hand trembled instinctively. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he tried to speak the questions in his heart.
But Yan Shixun still remembered the task he hadn’t yet completed—Cheng Jing.
He quickly steadied himself and schooled his expression. After an awkward cough, he tried to pull his hand away from Ye Li’s grip.
Ye Li, without resistance, let go, his demeanor full of patience, waiting for his ghost exorcist to gradually uncover the emotions buried at the end of truth.
“Weren’t you going to divine Cheng Jing’s location?” Ye Li said with a slight smile in his eyes. “Now, there’s nothing that can stand in your way.”
Hearing this, Yan Shixun gave Ye Li a complex look.
But with more urgent matters at hand, he suppressed the doubts in his heart and raised his hand to begin the divination.
Unlike before, when he had felt blocked and disturbed, now—just as Ye Li had said—nothing stood in his way.
The hexagram immediately revealed Cheng Jing’s location.
Yan Shixun silently recited the coordinates in his heart and swiftly pinpointed the floor and lab where Cheng Jing was.
His expression turned solemn. He immediately took long strides in that direction.
“Ye Li.”
Yan Shixun softly called Ye Li’s name. He turned his head slightly and calmly looked at the tall man beside him. “After we deal with Cheng Jing, tell me everything about yourself.”
Ye Li smiled. “You’re free to explore.”
Be it soul… or body.
I offer it all to you.
…
Director Zhang Wubing’s heart pounded like a drum as he cowered and trembled inside the cramped cabinet.
From the pitch-black hallway came the slow, steady, and rhythmic sound of footsteps.
That sound kept getting closer, like someone calmly walking toward the laboratory.
Zhang Wubing, who had just barely escaped from being chased by a ghost, was so terrified he nearly passed out.
In his mind, he frantically repeated Yan Shixun’s name, praying that Brother Yan would find this place quickly and rescue both him and the person inside the lab.
He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should pull that person into the cabinet with him, but after glancing down at his own scrawny frame, he sheepishly decided that a weakling like him shouldn’t make things worse.
Besides, even if he worried about the person in the lab, that person was clearly connected to “Lan Ze.”
And Lan Ze was already dead—he had become a ghost.
What if Lan Ze came back for that person?
Zhang Wubing knew his limits well. If he got close to where ghosts were, the ghost would definitely come for him.
He could barely protect himself, so it was better not to cause trouble for Brother Yan.
Zhang Wubing believed his Brother Yan must be out there, trying to find a way to fix this whole situation.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap…
The crisp footsteps echoed eerily through the silent corridor, each step striking against Zhang Wubing’s heart like a drumbeat.
But just as the sound reached the entrance of the laboratory—it stopped.
Zhang Wubing immediately clamped a hand over his mouth, his entire body trembling as he silently screamed inside: AAAAAAHHHHHH!!!
He finally realized what was even scarier than hearing footsteps approaching.
It was not hearing them at all!
When the sound was there, he could at least judge where that thing—whatever it was, human or ghost—was headed, and whether it was getting closer to him.
But once the sound disappeared, Zhang Wubing completely lost all sense of what was happening outside.
He had no idea where that thing had gone, or even whether it was right now watching the place where he was hiding.
Zhang Wubing remembered that the lab had windows facing the corridor. For ventilation purposes, the labs in this section were fitted with large floor-to-ceiling glass panels—anyone standing in the hallway could see right into the labs.
And the cabinet he was hiding in was positioned just behind the wall beside one of those windows.
If someone happened to stand at just the right angle, they would be able to see this cabinet from the corridor.
The fear of the unknown and the overwhelming tension gripped Zhang Wubing’s heart tightly, sending his imagination spiraling. He couldn’t stop thinking—what if that thing was standing right outside the glass right now, silently watching him?
What if the ghost was just waiting outside the window, its lifeless eyes staring coldly and silently at the hiding place of the living, only to grin with malice the moment the human thought the danger had passed and climbed out—then pounce?
Just imagining that scene nearly made Zhang Wubing faint from fright.
But strangely, the person inside the lab didn’t seem scared at all.
The young man abruptly stood up from his chair in a panic, his long legs almost tripping over it.
He stumbled forward a few steps, completely ignoring his awkward state, and rushed toward the lab door.
His steps grew quicker and quicker, his heart pounding, and his previously ice-cold body was now flushed with warmth from the surge of blood—so much so that the hand he reached out with trembled uncontrollably.
“Lan… Lan Ze.”
The young man shakily called out the name he had long held dearly in his heart, his voice trembling with unease and hope: “Is that you?”
There was no sound outside the laboratory.
Zhang Wubing, who couldn’t see what was happening and could only rely on sound to judge, widened his eyes in fear. In his heart, he was shouting like mad, wanting that young man to quickly find a place to hide.
This place was crawling with ghosts! What if the one outside the door wasn’t Lan Ze at all, but a vicious ghost here to kill?
Brother Yan wasn’t around. If something happened to that young man, he wouldn’t be able to save him.
Zhang Wubing was so anxious he could barely sit still.
But the young man had no idea there was another person inside the laboratory, nor could he possibly know what Zhang Wubing was thinking.
…No.
To him, even if the one outside the door was a deadly ghost, as long as there was even the slightest chance it was the person he had dreamed of day and night, he would open the door without hesitation.
Cheng Jing’s hand trembled as he reached for the doorknob, but then he gritted his teeth and firmly, without a trace of hesitation, tried to twist it open.
Yet the door didn’t budge.
As if the person outside had suddenly been gripped by fear and backed away.
Afraid to face the one he had cherished his entire life.
Unwilling… to let him see what a broken shell he had become.
Outside the laboratory, the young man’s thin shoulders trembled uncontrollably.
He lowered his head, and his loose strands of hair fell over his pale, bloodless but handsome face. His brows were furrowed in pain, and a single bloody tear hung at the corner of his eye.
Because the one he loved was here, even if he had died in the remote wilderness, he had clung to that obsession and found his way back.
That unwillingness had fueled his journey across mountains, seas, life, and death—only to have all his courage suddenly abandon him right before he could see that familiar face. A surge of fear rose within him, and he wanted to turn around and flee.
If they met again, what could he possibly say?
He was already dead, but his lover was still alive—living in a world of the living, with a bright and dazzling future ahead.
His own life had stopped in the past. He shouldn’t let the shadows of that past entangle the person he loved.
He should let go.
Lan Ze knew he ought to release his beloved Cheng Jing.
But the mere thought of that scenario weighed on him with unbearable pain, a pain that far surpassed even the torment of death.
Lan Ze’s whole body hurt intensely, almost as if he had returned to that moment when his heart had been torn apart, his soul trembling on the edge of shattering.
The obsession that had kept him lingering as a ghost began to waver.
Taking advantage of that crack, the suppressed ghostly energy surged back with a vengeance, trying to devour Lan Ze’s soul—pulling him into the abyss of ghostly darkness, to merge with countless malevolent spirits.
Lan Ze’s gaze fractured, and his thin back trembled uncontrollably.
Behind him, thick ghostly energy opened its gaping maw, ready to consume him.
A sea of blood churned, skeletal remains stretched out from its depths, clawing toward the sky with malicious intent—eager to drag a pure soul into hell for eternal torment.
But Lan Ze continued to stare fixedly at the door in front of him.
For a ghost like him, fused with malevolent energy, that door was paper-thin. If he pushed just a little, he could see the one he loved standing right behind it.
And yet, that fragile paper door felt heavier than a thousand pounds.
He should let go… let Cheng Jing walk toward his own future. After all, the living and the dead were divided by an uncrossable boundary.
Lan Ze kept repeating that to himself, trying to convince himself to turn away.
But he couldn’t bear to do it.
Not even a single glance.
He remembered clearly how, in the empty lab when everyone else in the research team was gone, Cheng Jing had smiled and lowered his head to plant a soft kiss on his forehead.
And when he looked up through the backlight, his lover stood bathed in sunlight—radiant and dazzling, warm like the sun.
That one glance… had meant a lifetime.
How could he bear to give it up?
But how could he selfishly ruin Cheng Jing’s future?
Lan Ze’s pale fingers, which had been resting on the door, slowly curled inward and withdrew.
But just then—
“Lan Ze.”
“I love you—more than I love my life and everything else.”
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