Chapter 173: No Way Back on This Journey (23)
The voice that echoed firmly through the laboratory was one Lan Ze knew better than anyone.
It was the gentle, magnetic voice of his beloved—the voice that had once steadfastly supported him through campus gossip and rumors, the voice that had accompanied him for a thousand days and nights, patiently encouraging and guiding him.
Every time he thought of it, it felt like a dreamlike moment of happiness.
In those dark, crude rooms, under blades that reeked of blood, Lan Ze couldn’t remember how many times he had passed out from the pain. But each time, it was the memory of that voice calling his name that gave him the strength to endure.
He hadn’t wanted to die.
He knew someone was waiting for him. Someone had promised him a lifetime.
But every time Lan Ze came to, he was greeted by even more brutal torment.
That cycle of pain—hovering constantly between life and death—only deepened the obsession in Lan Ze’s heart, carving resentment and unwillingness deep into his very soul.
So deep, in fact… that it drew in ghostly energy.
But when Lan Ze truly, once again, heard his beloved call his name, it didn’t bring him the happiness he had imagined. Nor did it ease the obsession rooted in his soul.
He froze just outside the laboratory door.
His pale hand trembled uncontrollably, yet no matter what, he couldn’t bring himself to push open the door.
Lan Ze was afraid—afraid that the moment he saw the one he loved, he wouldn’t be able to let go.
He feared that the dark emotions he had worked so hard to suppress, the love that longed for eternal unity with Cheng Jing, would become the heaviest chain, dragging Cheng Jing—who still had a bright future ahead of him—down into the hell Lan Ze now inhabited.
He loved him… so how could he be so selfish?
Outside the door, Lan Ze trembled to the point of breaking.
But inside the laboratory, separated only by that single door, Cheng Jing slowly calmed down, his once frantic mind becoming steady.
Cheng Jing’s hand rested on the door handle, his eyes soft and filled with infinite tenderness.
“Lan Ze, I know it’s you. You came back to see me.”
His voice was gentle as he asked, “Since you’re already here, why won’t you let me see you?”
“Are you… blaming me?”
With guilt in his voice, Cheng Jing sighed. “I’m sorry, Xiao Ze. I didn’t know what happened to you. I was even afraid to disturb your time away, so I never checked on your safety. If only… if only I had realized sooner…”
Would you have never gone missing? Would you have never been murdered?
Cheng Jing couldn’t describe the way his soul shattered when he heard Lan Ze’s parents speak those choking words.
He had gone mad, scouring old news reports, following every lead in the case, and every article only led to darker and darker places.
The vehicle listed in the reward poster. The middle-aged man. The bloodstains and the butcher knife mentioned in the news…
Each clue was like flames from hell, burning Cheng Jing’s soul with relentless guilt and agony.
“No matter how I searched, I couldn’t find you, Xiao Ze.”
Cheng Jing spoke in a low murmur, “I called everyone. I asked anyone who might’ve known your whereabouts. If Binhai University hadn’t suddenly been cut off, I would’ve gone looking for you myself.”
“I couldn’t stop my mind from imagining the worst. But, Xiao Ze… you never came back to see me. Not even once before this.”
Cheng Jing’s eyes were sorrowful, and he sighed. “I finally get to see you, but you won’t even let me have a glimpse. So it’s true, isn’t it—you’re blaming me?”
Blaming me for failing to protect you, for letting you be accused without reason, for not checking on your safety, for not saving you in time.
If only I hadn’t given you that freedom, hadn’t buried myself in experiments and study. If only I had paid closer attention to you—would I have known you were missing?
Would I have gotten to you in time—before something worse happened?
Lan Ze’s face showed a flash of shock. He forgot his chaotic emotions for a moment and hurriedly said, “No, it’s not that!”
It was not your fault! How could I ever resent you?
You are my obsession that I could never let go of, even if I were to die… my Cheng Jing.
The moment the words left his mouth, Lan Ze froze.
Inside the door, Cheng Jing’s eyes softened into a smile. “Xiao Ze.”
His voice was gentle, as if he had never left his lover’s side, as if they had never been apart.
“Open the door, Xiao Ze… let me, see you.”
Cheng Jing sighed with a bitter smile. “Is there anything worse than being so close to you, yet unable to touch you?”
Lan Ze trembled uncontrollably, his eyes shimmering with tears. His throat was so tight that no sound could escape.
He wanted to explain, to tell his lover to forget him, to continue their shared dreams.
The unfinished reports, the experiments with no conclusions, their three years of hard work…
Though he regretted not being able to finish his dreams with his own hands, to witness the moment when the results were published, his lover could continue in his place, fulfilling the future they had whispered about that sunny afternoon, in the empty laboratory.
He wanted to say that his face had become so disfigured, so terrifying, that he didn’t want his lover to see him now and ruin the beautiful image he held of him.
There were so many things he wanted to remind his lover about, to tell him to wear more clothes in the cold, to take care of himself, to stop staying up late for experiments…
But all the words choked in his throat, and not a single one could escape.
Lan Ze’s tear-filled eyes shattered, his soul rocked violently.
Cheng Jing continued to gently call his lover’s name, over and over.
“As long as I’m with you.”
Suddenly, he smiled, his lowered brows full of resolute tenderness. “I would even go to hell.”
That one sentence struck the final blow to Lan Ze’s already fragile heart.
In an instant, his defenses crumbled, step by step, retreating further.
His soft heart pounded fiercely within his ugly, ghastly skeletal chest.
Lan Ze finally mustered the courage to reach out, his hand resting on the lab door, gently turning the handle.
“Click… creak.”
The door slowly creaked open.
Cheng Jing lifted his head, holding his breath, waiting for his lover to appear before him. A smile broke through, betraying the excitement and joy within.
Outside the door, the young man stood in the same clothes as when they had parted, tall and upright, with the calm, scholarly demeanor of a scholar.
Cheng Jing swallowed, the words he had intended to say suddenly caught in his throat.
He blinked, his eyes brimming with tears.
Lan Ze struggled to curve his lips, attempting to smile at his long-lost lover.
But tears burst from his eyes first.
The blood tears that had accumulated in the corners of Lan Ze’s eyes slowly trickled down his cheeks.
“Cheng…jing.”
Lan Ze choked. “I’m back.”
Cheng Jing opened his arms and stepped forward, gently pulling his lover into his embrace.
But the usually gentle and composed man now acted like a fierce lion, tightly binding his long-lost lover in his arms. The strength was so intense it almost crushed Lan Ze, as though he wanted to rip open his chest and shelter his beloved within, guarding him from all harm, so that no one or nothing could ever hurt him again.
Even a scholar, indifferent to material things, had a fierce side when it came to the one he loved. For his beloved, he would face all dangers.
Lan Ze collapsed into the warmth of Cheng Jing’s chest, the familiar warmth bringing all his past memories rushing back.
The beauty and hope washed away the hatred and resentment of his soul, which had been consumed by death.
He trembled, his long lashes flickering, the blood tears staining his lashes, before he slowly closed his eyes, allowing himself to be warmed again by his lover’s embrace.
“Cheng Jing…”
In the despair of death, you are the only light guiding me.
The ghostly energy surged, the sea of blood roared, and vicious faces of ghosts rose from the ground, their skeletal hands reaching out to drag the mortal world into hell.
The dead bodies wandered through the building, the dark campus of Binhai University becoming a playground for the evil spirits. The students shivered, filled with terror.
Yet, the lovers separated by death finally embraced once again.
No force could interrupt their soft kiss, their breaths mingling. In this moment, life and death lost all meaning.
…..
In the tender, emotionally charged atmosphere of the laboratory, there was still one person hiding inside a cabinet—Zhang Wubing.
He had already shut his eyes and gritted his teeth, mentally preparing himself to rush out and save the young man once he inevitably brought disaster upon himself. But what he didn’t expect was that the scene would take a sudden, dramatic turn—from a chilling horror scene to a tearful reunion filled with love and longing.
Director Zhang Wubing was left dumbfounded.
Director Zhang Wubing’s eyes went blank. Sorry, I have no experience with romantic situations—this is way outside my area of expertise.
He let out a weary sigh and slumped down limply inside the cabinet.
But even that slight rustle of movement was picked up by Lan Ze, who stood near the lab door.
Lan Ze immediately raised his head in alert, scanning the surroundings warily, worried that some unknown presence had come to disturb his reunion with Cheng Jing.
“Who’s there?” Lan Ze asked.
In that instant, the hairs on Zhang Wubing’s body stood on end.
Due to the angle, he couldn’t see Lan Ze on the other side of the cabinet at all. He could only rely on the voice to gauge the situation outside, so naturally, he didn’t realize that the ghost he thought would be hostile was actually the same young man who had saved him in that strange dream.
Zhang Wubing’s heart trembled as he silently cursed his own luck. He wished he could slap himself for being so careless.
He hesitated in panic, wondering if he should just come out on his own—maybe there was a slim chance of survival. What if the ghost happened to be in a good mood?
But he quickly rejected that naïve idea.
No, no, no. What kind of ghost is ever in a good mood? He wasn’t like Brother Yan, who could use physical force to make a ghost “feel good,” nor was he like Jing Xiaobao, who had a completely different definition of what “in a good mood” meant.
If he just walked out like this, he’d probably be torn to pieces by the ghost outside.
But if he stayed here, and the ghost decided to look for him…
The lab was only so big. If the ghost knew someone else was in the room, it was only a matter of time before he was found.
Just imagining the slow approach of death was already enough to make Zhang Wubing feel suffocated.
His mind was caught in a desperate inner struggle; he was on the verge of tears, silently screaming Yan Shixun’s name over and over again.
And then, as if Yan Shixun had heard his cries for help
“Well, well. I didn’t expect there’d still be a living person here.”
Yan Shixun’s voice came in from outside the lab. It carried a sharp, youthful edge.
Zhang Wubing, who had just been cowering like a frightened puppy, suddenly lit up, his eyes gleaming. He was so emotional he almost burst into tears.
But he failed to notice that the voice coming from outside—while familiar—sounded slightly different from the Yan Shixun he remembered.
The younger Yan Shixun strode forward with his long legs, casually flinging off chunks of bloody flesh and tissue that clung to the tree branch in his hand as he approached from the far end of the corridor.
“I originally thought the source of the ghostly energy would be some fierce spirit connected to the underworld. But judging by this scene…”
Yan Shixun looked at the two people standing at the lab entrance. The corners of his lips curled into a cold smile as he scoffed, “A newly dead ghost.”
Cheng Jing immediately pulled Lan Ze behind him, shielding him from the approaching figure.
He didn’t know who Yan Shixun was, but he could clearly sense the danger radiating from this man.
The white-gold jacket he wore was stained with blood, and the crude tree branch in his hand seemed as sharp as a sword. Blood dripped steadily from it, leaving a trail all along the corridor.
His presence was intimidating. His fingers formed ritual gestures, as if ready at any moment to exorcise spirits or capture ghosts.
And coupled with the fact that his lover had already become a ghost… Cheng Jing’s heart sank.
But before Cheng Jing could ask anything, the man beat him to it.
“I’m not interested in the newly dead ghost behind you, nor do I intend to interfere with other people’s karma.”
The young Yan Shixun lifted his sharply defined chin and asked Cheng Jing, “What about you—do you need me to get you out of here?”
“No need,” Cheng Jing replied warily. “Just pretend you didn’t see us.”
The younger Yan Shixun nodded nonchalantly.
But next to him, Zhang Wubing was starting to get anxious. “Brother Yan, that guy’s been taken by a vicious ghost. You’re really not going to help him?”
“Didn’t he just say he doesn’t need help?”
Yan Shixun replied casually, “Do I look like the kind of warm-hearted person who insists on helping people even when they don’t want it? That’s called being a nuisance.”
“This is his own choice…”
The young Yan Shixun calmly turned his gaze toward Cheng Jing, meeting his eyes from afar. “So, whatever consequences arise—he’ll bear them alone.”
“However, I do have something to ask you, newly dead ghost.”
Yan Shixun looked past Cheng Jing and fixed his sharp, blade-like gaze on Lan Ze behind him. “What’s going on with the ghostly aura at Binhai University?”
Unlike Cheng Jing, who didn’t recognize Yan Shixun, Lan Ze had seen him before.
He remembered clearly—he had tracked that middle-aged man all the way to the highway. The ghostly aura nourished the man’s ruined body, and the moment it fully fused with him, he rose from the dead. Fueled by resentment, he snapped the man’s neck with his own hands.
The vehicle lost control and crashed by the roadside.
At the same time, the ghostly energy took effect. The moment the man drew his last breath, the aura acted like a nail hammered into place, fixing the passage to the underworld firmly onto that stretch of road.
The man’s corpse, along with the car, was pulled into the underworld—eternally trapped in hell.
Also trapped were the vehicles inexplicably dragged into the passage as well.
Lan Ze, who had no understanding of ghosts or gods before that moment, had no idea how to save them.
Though he had gained strength through the ghostly energy, he was painfully aware that it had also seized him.
He had merged with the darkness, submerged in the abyss of malevolent spirits, with no hope of salvation in sight.
But because of that, Lan Ze came to understand—on the path of the underworld marched an overwhelming tide of vengeful ghosts and Yin officials. They would mercilessly kill any living soul that stood in their way.
In desperation, Lan Ze had no choice but to forcefully stop the convoy.
Even if people were injured in the crash, at least there would be a sliver of hope. But if they collided with the marching underworld soldiers, there would be no escape from death.
As he blocked the cars, Lan Ze glimpsed a figure through the windshield that instantly made him alert.
…No, two figures.
A sharp-featured young man stared at him with astonishment, seemingly wanting to say something.
And beside him stood another tall figure, whose very presence made Lan Ze feel a reverence that reached deep into his soul.
Even though he had merged with the ghostly energy, gaining immense power from it, when faced with that tall silhouette, he still felt unbearably small.
In that moment, Lan Ze felt like a criminal standing below the judgment seat. The oppressive pressure made it impossible to lift his head. He could only wait anxiously for the voice from above to pronounce his verdict—of good or evil, right or wrong.
His soul was laid bare.
That feeling of being seen through in an instant filled Lan Ze with fear. He almost turned and fled.
But amid the panic, his resolve to hurry to his lover’s side only grew stronger.
Still, Lan Ze never expected to see those two figures again on Binhai University’s campus.
He feared they had come to stop him. So he let the ghostly energy surge wildly, using it as cover to sneak off in search of Cheng Jing.
But now…
Lan Ze looked at Yan Shixun, and a thread of despair and anguish slowly rose in his chest.
This man still found him.
Would he be killed? Just like in those movies he’d seen back when he was alive.
Here is the complete and natural-sounding English translation of every paragraph, with all meaning and essence preserved in past tense:
After all, humans and ghosts walked different paths. And now that he had done something like this—posing a threat to lives on the Binhai University campus—
This man surely wouldn’t let him go…
“I initially thought something had gone wrong with the Coffin Lecture Hall, that something suppressed beneath it had broken free. But now the ghost energy here is so thick, it’s no different from the underworld itself.”
The young Yan Shixun stared directly at Lan Ze and asked calmly, enunciating each word, “You brought this ghost energy. Not only has it built a false world, but it’s also starting to seep into reality, endangering the lives and souls of tens of thousands.”
“If these people die because of you, then the karmic debt you’ll have to bear will probably keep you in hell for thousands of years.”
Yan Shixun’s gaze swept up and down Lan Ze, and he could see that Lan Ze’s soul was gradually being tainted by the sins of the ghost energy, turning murky.
Yet originally, this had been a pure, unstained soul—one that should have been led by the Yin official to reincarnation.
“You still had the chance to be reborn. Don’t make a wrong decision now that’ll leave you in endless regret and torment for the next few millennia.”
The young Yan Shixun advised him calmly, “There’s still time to make things right.”
Only the one who tied the bell could untie it.
Since the ghost energy came from this young man, then the way to resolve it must also lie with him.
Moreover, along the way, Yan Shixun had made another discovery.
—Zhang Wubing was practically a living GPS.
The laboratory building had the thickest ghost energy on the entire campus. As soon as Yan Shixun and Zhang Wubing stepped through its doors, they found that the ground felt like a swamp, sticky and spongy. If someone stepped in without protection, they’d be devoured by the ghost energy and dragged into the blood-sea hell beneath.
Had it not been for Yan Shixun constantly holding a hand seal and staying on alert for threats, both he and Zhang Wubing would’ve already become two withered corpses floating in a sea of blood.
As Zhang Wubing led the way, the deeper they went, the thicker the ghost energy became, and the more vengeful ghosts and dead corpses blocked their path.
The young Yan Shixun casually picked up whatever was at hand and used it as a weapon. The fierce ghosts and corpses fell one by one behind them. Blood and bits of flesh splattered all over the walls and ceiling—it looked just like a murder scene, terrifying to behold.
Finally, Zhang Wubing had led him to the door of this very laboratory.
Considering Zhang Wubing’s “outstanding contributions,” and the fact that he could sense his future self approaching this location, the young Yan Shixun was now sure: this newly dead ghost in front of him was the key to everything.
Not to mention, the ghost energy surrounding this new ghost was far too powerful and concentrated—completely beyond what a newly dead soul should possess. It was strange and glaringly obvious.
Yan Shixun wanted to resolve all of this before his future self arrived. That way, he would still have time to spare—for a conversation with his future self.
And most importantly… the desire to win!
Just imagining that he might outdo his future self was enough to put the young Yan Shixun in a great mood.
But that good mood didn’t last even two seconds—because he suddenly noticed the expression on the new ghost’s face and realized—“You know me.”
Yan Shixun frowned slightly. “You’ve seen this face before. No… you know what I’m capable of. That’s why you’re afraid I’ll exorcise you.”
“But I’m certain—I’ve never met you.”
His mind turned quickly. Almost the moment he spoke, he reached a conclusion and said firmly, “What you saw was the future ‘me.’”
“You died not in my current time, but in a time where the future ‘me’ exists.”
Yan Shixun suddenly understood everything: “That’s why the ghost energy hasn’t affected my present timeline, but it poses a greater threat to the future. And the reason the future ‘me’ returned to this point in time… is also because of you.”
Though he didn’t know all the details, the young Yan Shixun was quick to deduce the whole truth.
The newly dead ghost had perished in the future. Because of lingering attachment, he had returned to Binhai University. Yet, due to a subconscious desire to see a loved one while still alive, time and reality had been split into two parts. The ghost energy constructed a world that sealed off non-real time.
But the future “him,” while tracking this ghost, had also been pulled into that ghost-formed world.
Although it remained unclear why the newly dead ghost could wield ghost energy as thick as the underworld’s, this ghost-created world shifted based on his will. It rewound time and froze a specific point in the past.
And as it happened, h had been a student at Binhai University, with memories of that time still intact.
So this point in time had been anchored because the future version of himself had entered the ghost energy world and ended up influencing it, settling on the time that left the deepest impression in his memory.
Which was… his present self.
Young Yan Shixun’s thoughts raced, rapidly piecing together scattered fragments that brought him closer to the truth.
That also explained why all the other students, except for him and Zhang Wubing, had been pulled into the ghost energy world in spirit form only—while he and Zhang Wubing were there physically, alive and breathing.
Because his future self was already here.
…Wait a minute.
If this deduction was accurate, then the future Zhang Wubing must’ve also been dragged into the ghost energy world, following the newly deceased ghost.
Why would his future self be with Zhang Wubing? They were nothing more than ordinary dormmates. Once they switched rooms or graduated, he didn’t see any reason why they’d still be together.
So what else could explain their continued connection? Could it really be this uncanny talent for navigation that Zhang Wubing had?
Puzzled, young Yan Shixun turned to glance at Zhang Wubing beside him.
Zhang Wubing blinked cluelessly and tilted his head: “???”
On the other side, Lan Ze looked stunned.
He hadn’t expected that without him saying a single word, Yan Shixun would already deduce the entire truth.
But…
Lan Ze pressed his lips together and spoke softly, “I can’t do it.”
“…I’m sorry.”
Soft strands of hair slipped over Lan Ze’s eyes as his expression faltered with a hint of defeat. “I’ve already fallen into hell. I can’t save myself.”
“How could I….possibly save anyone else?”
“I don’t know how to get rid of this ghost energy.”
Lan Ze’s eyes grew clouded. “When I died, I ran into an entire troop of fierce ghosts and Yin officials. By the time I realized what was happening, I had already fused with the ghost energy. I became one with those fierce ghosts and Yin officials—we all shared the same destination.”
“But… there’s still someone I wanted to see. I couldn’t just leave with them like that.”
As Lan Ze spoke, he clasped hands tighter with Cheng Jing, their fingers interlocked even more firmly.
“I was selfish. I brought this danger here. If you want to punish me for it, I won’t resist.”
A ghost who died with hatred in his heart and lingering obsessions had crossed all of Binhai City to find the one he loved. His longing ran so deep, his feelings so intense, that even the grim Underworld stirred because of it. The Yin path shifted with his footsteps—from the outskirts to the highway, from the highway to Binhai University.
But when the ghost finally saw the one he loved, his heart was fulfilled, and his obsession naturally faded.
The power that once commanded the Yin path dissipated with it.
The immense force that had carried Lan Ze this far vanished the moment he reunited with Cheng Jing.
Now, he was merely a soul trapped in ghost energy, unable to save himself—much less help Yan Shixun lead the Yin path out of Binhai University.
Lan Ze looked at Yan Shixun, guilt tightening in his chest.
Cheng Jing gripped his beloved’s hand tightly, trying to lend him a sliver of strength.
A steady warmth flowed from one palm to the other, gradually calming Lan Ze’s unsettled heart.
He turned to his lover and offered a gentle smile.
Young Yan Shixun watched the interaction unfold right in front of him, and his brows furrowed.
Were they sworn brothers? The karma entangled between them certainly ran deep.
But that was someone else’s private matter—Yan Shixun had no interest in meddling.
Besides, what had happened had already happened. Rather than wasting time blaming what was already set in stone, it was more important to deal with the crisis at hand.
The young Yan Shixun turned his head to look out the window.
The campus of Binhai University, now plunged into darkness, had been completely overtaken by ghostly energy.
Everywhere he looked, malevolent spirits roamed.
The once solid ground had transformed into a blood-soaked swamp, and corpses clawed their way out of the sea of blood, dragging themselves from the roads toward the campus buildings.
Screams of terror echoed from all directions.
Even from a distance, the cries carried on the wind told him just how frightened those people were, praying desperately for someone to save them.
Even though the young Yan Shixun knew this wasn’t the real world—that even if those souls perished here, they might not suffer fatal harm in reality—the constant wails of agony still gnawed at him. He couldn’t ignore them.
Now that the newly dead ghost had lost its role as the leader of the ghostly energy, what method remained to stop this corrupt force from continuing to invade and consume the Binhai campus?
Yan Shixun’s mind raced. The vast scrolls of history and scriptures he had once read, the countless sights he had seen while traveling across the land, every word Li Chengyun had ever said to him… all of it surged through his mind in a rapid flood, as he tried to find a method that could match the current crisis.
Then in the next second, the young Yan Shixun’s eyes sharpened. As though realizing something, he abruptly turned to look down the corridor on the other side.
Before anyone—human or ghost—could react, he sprang forward with swift agility. While chanting under his breath, golden characters shimmered in rings around the tree branch in his hand, turning what was once a fragile twig into a deadly weapon.
He pointed the branch toward the bend in the corridor. His eyes gleamed with a blade-like intensity.
The whistling of wind splitting filled the air, its force enough to make one’s heart tremble.
But—
Clang—!
Golden ripples spread out like waves, but the forceful blow from his enchanted branch was blocked by something from the other side.
The once sturdy branch, strengthened by spells, began to splinter inch by inch, turning to dust before the young Yan Shixun’s eyes.
Grinding his teeth, he looked to the side in frustration.
Yan Shixun—his future self—arched an eyebrow slightly and smiled at him.
His face was calm.
As if he had already foreseen this moment.
“Didn’t expect to see my past self, under the great Dao, nothing is impossible.”
The hem of his dark coat fluttered in the air as he raised his hand to block, swirling with force, giving off an overwhelming presence.
His gaze slowly swept over the youthful version of his own face, and he said with quiet admiration, “Just as I suspected. Even though the ghostly energy has clouded your divination, you still managed to find your way here by other means.”
“Did you use the connection between us? Or was it—”
His eyes turned toward Zhang Wubing, who had come running down the corridor from the other side, and he said knowingly, “That unique constitution of Xiao Bing’s.”
The younger Yan Shixun, seeing that his strike had missed, didn’t attempt to attack again.
He casually tossed away the remaining bits of the branch and snorted coldly, “Can’t believe the future me actually got close to that idiot Zhang Wubing. ‘Xiao Bing’—what kind of stupid nickname is that?”
“Brother Yan!”
Zhang Wubing came running up in a panic. From afar, he saw the familiar back of Yan Shixun standing at the corner of the hallway, seemingly speaking to someone on the other side.
As he got closer, and his view gradually widened, he saw—another Yan Shixun face appear!
Though that Yan Shixun seemed far more composed, like the calm that followed a storm. His clothing was also more mature—black shirt and dark overcoat, exuding a powerful and unapproachable aura.
But it was exactly the same face.
The sword might have been sheathed, but its sharpness was all the more terrifying.
Before Zhang Wubing could even process what was happening, his feet reacted first, skidding to a screeching halt on the floor with a sharp squeal.
The sound made everyone look his way.
Zhang Wubing stood frozen in place: Who am I, where am I, what am I doing, why are there two Brother Yans—is this the set of “The True and False Monkey King” or something…
His mind had gone dull—he couldn’t think anymore.
But the two Yan Shixun standing face to face had already seen through everything.
The younger Yan Shixun lazily withdrew his gaze from Zhang Wubing, his eyes now fixed on his future self with a critical glint, sharp and piercing.
Like an unsheathed blade—cold and impossible to approach.
“What a disappointment, I didn’t think the future me would become such a failure. You couldn’t even handle this kind of thing properly? You let the ghost energy leak over to my side and affect the whole campus.”
The young Yan Shixun scoffed, mercilessly spitting out two syllables: “Incompetent.”
Yan Shixun knew his past self well. He stared at the face in the mirror—one he had seen countless times—but it now looked even more sharp-edged and arrogant. He let out a light laugh.
“Well then, oh so impressive past me—did you come up with a solution?”
He raised an eyebrow, acting like he was about to walk away. “If you’ve got this under control, then I’ll take my leave. I’ll leave it all to you.”
“Oh, right. You probably don’t know yet.”
Yan Shixun smiled, but it never reached his eyes. “The underworld has collapsed. Evil spirits have escaped. All the ghosts and ghost energy from hell are here now. If you can’t contain it in time, that stuff will soon rise up from underground. And when that happens, it won’t just be Binhai University that’s affected—it’ll be the entire city of Binhai.”
“Good luck.”
Yan Shixun offered his “encouragement” to his younger self—devoid of emotion, devoid of warmth.
—But whether in tone or in content, it felt more like sarcasm and a direct counterattack to that earlier “incompetent” jab.
Yan Shixun: *’m not the type to hold grudges—because I usually take care of them on the spot. :)
Young Yan Shixun: “………”
“F*ck!”
He cursed viciously, gritting his teeth. His glare toward Yan Shixun was as sharp as a blade. “You did that on purpose.”
Yan Shixun gave a fake smile. “Nope. I’m just incompetent.”
Young Yan Shixun: “………”
Ye Li, standing beside Yan Shixun: “………”
Ye Li looked completely stunned.
His gaze darted between the two nearly identical faces. Several times, he seemed like he wanted to say something, but held back, his expression complicated.
In the end, he forced himself to remain where he was and did nothing.
If it had been anyone else insulting the exorcist, he absolutely would’ve made them regret it.
But… the issue now was that “Yan Shixun” was insulting Yan Shixun.
What was he supposed to do with that?
Ye Li slowly blinked and quietly took a step back, retreating from the tense standoff between the two Yan Shixun, leaving the battlefield to them.
The younger Yan Shixun genuinely looked pissed off. He never imagined that his future “self” would have this kind of personality.
He wanted to say more, but quickly forced himself to calm down, switching from fury to composure in a single second.
Yan Shixun raised an eyebrow, still composed and at ease.
This was exactly why he hadn’t worried about the consequences of saying what he did—and also why he didn’t meet his past self right away.
The younger version of him was too sharp. If he mistook him for an enemy, the resulting resistance would be far from trivial.
But like this—letting the younger him discover the truth on his own—would actually turn him into an ally.
Because Yan Shixun knew one thing for sure.
—One thing that had never changed about him was his sense of responsibility toward ordinary people.
Not fortune-telling or feng shui, but hunting ghosts and driving away evil in times of crisis—pulling desperate lives back from the brink.
Once his past self realized how serious the situation was, solving the problem and saving lives would become his top priority—above everything else.
He would cooperate with him.
Yan Shixun smiled, looking at his younger self, completely certain in his heart.
“What do you know? Tell me.”
The young Yan Shixun said, his gaze dark and focused.
“Right now, the ghost energy only exists within the ghost-constructed realm, but if we don’t find a way to either force it back into the underworld or redirect it to an uninhabited place, then the ghost energy will start leaking into reality from here.”
And Binhai University sat right in the center of Binhai City.
When that happened, the ghost energy would invade the entire city of millions. People would be consumed by fear and screams as evil spirits dragged them into hell—alive.
The line between the human world and the underworld would disappear entirely.
In this catastrophe, countless lives would be lost. Countless families would be torn apart.
Yan Shixun would never allow such a thing to happen.
Before it could begin… he would intercept every ghost and all ghost energy!
He locked eyes with his past self, his gaze deep. “I am, in fact, the best solution.”
“And so are you.”
Evil Spirit Bone Transformation.
A human body… bearing the weight of ghostly power.
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