Chapter 176: No Way Back on This Journey (26)
A dazzling light erupted from the center, with Yan Shixun at its core, swiftly spreading outward in all directions. In the blink of an eye, it engulfed the entire Binhai University campus.
The campus, once shrouded in oppressive darkness, was now as bright as broad daylight.
All the evil spirits had no place left to hide. The ghostly energy had nowhere to escape or conceal itself.
They screamed in agony and trembled uncontrollably, yet under the intense and overwhelming light, they had no chance of escape. One by one, their grotesque and terrifying forms disintegrated into dust, vanishing into nothingness.
This power was swift and formidable, asserting its dominance with unstoppable force.
It was as if… the very laws of heaven and earth were aligned with it.
Even Yan Shixun, standing right at the center of the radiance, couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the sight. He turned his gaze sideways toward Ye Li.
Ye Li lowered his eyes slightly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. In response, he reached out his cool hand and gently clasped Yan Shixun’s.
At that moment, the golden light completely broke through the darkness. It surged straight into the skies, scattering the dense black clouds above.
The entire ghost realm trembled violently as it began to collapse, piece by piece.
The earth shook, accompanied by thunderous rumbles.
The evil spirits panicked, trying to flee. But debris from collapsing buildings rained down upon them, striking them solidly. Trapped in terror, they could only watch helplessly as the golden light devoured them—ghostly essence and all.
In this crumbling world, Yan Shixun and Ye Li stood hand in hand, calm and immovable like a mountain.
Both Yan Shixun and his younger self knew very well—
This world, frozen in time by ghostly energy and severed from reality, was about to collapse completely.
Across the light, the younger Yan Shixun stood amidst a sea of flames. He tilted his head slightly and curled his lips into a grin.
“Not bad, future me.”
His voice was drowned out by the thunderous roar of heaven and earth collapsing, but Yan Shixun could still read his lips.
“Next time we meet, let’s have another fight.”
“And I’ll be the one who wins.”
Yan Shixun’s expression gradually softened, and he let out a quiet chuckle. “No, you’ve already won.”
“You still have Li Chengyun. But I… have already lost him.”
“Goodbye… my younger self.”
For two versions of the same person from different timelines to meet at the same moment—it was something only possible because the ghost realm had disrupted the order of the heavens.
Now that Yan Shixun had shattered this false world, the younger version of him would be returned to his rightful timeline. From then on, they would go their separate ways, never to meet again.
Yan Shixun was used to partings, to the sorrow of life and death. He smiled as he bid farewell to his past self.
As his voice faded, the power pierced through the darkness, the spell’s force fully unleashed, utterly crushing the ghost energy and extending its might throughout heaven and earth.
The golden radiance blanketed everything, gradually swallowing up even the tall, slender figures of Yan Shixun and Ye Li.
Only the younger Yan Shixun remained standing where he was. The flames at his feet slowly extinguished. The surrounding images blurred and faded, like reflections on water, swaying and breaking apart with the slightest breeze.
The younger Yan Shixun understood this was because, with the destruction of the ghost energy, the fabricated world was vanishing. He and the other souls drawn into this ghostly realm would return to their real worlds.
Everyone would believe they had simply experienced an unusually vivid dream. The memories would only last until the moment just before they awoke. Once their eyes opened to the morning sun streaming into their rooms, its yang energy dispelling the lingering ghostly aura, they would completely forget everything they had dreamed during the night.
Any lingering fear in their hearts would only manifest as a vague unease after waking—one they couldn’t quite place. They would search their minds in vain, unable to recall the dream’s details, and finally dismiss it all with uncertainty, leaving the matter behind and never thinking of it again.
The younger Yan Shixun knew that moment was coming for him too.
So he desperately repeated a silent mantra in his heart, urging himself not to forget—Don’t forget. Don’t forget.
But there was still one thing that left him puzzled.
Just now, the brilliance had obscured the figure of his future self, making it difficult for him to read his lips clearly.
He could only vaguely make out the words “Li Chengyun.”
So… what was his future self trying to tell him?
Did something happen to his master?
The young Yan Shixun lowered his gaze, and a sudden impulse surged within him—an urge to rush into the gradually dimming golden light and confront his future self for answers.
With one long stride, his taut muscles radiated a fierce, untamed power. He charged swiftly toward the spot where his future self had just stood.
But it was as if everything was under the control of heaven and earth. The past, already etched into history, could not be altered. The ghostly aura that disrupted time and space had been cleansed, and so, everything was returning to its rightful order.
Just a split second before the young Yan Shixun’s hand could touch the golden light, it vanished completely.
The entire world shattered with a deafening crash.
The ground collapsed. Buildings toppled. Glass shattered with crisp, ringing sounds.
Among the countless shards of glittering glass, the earth beneath the young Yan Shixun’s feet gave way, plunging him into a deep abyss below.
Unwilling to give in, he gritted his teeth and reached toward the sky, his bright eyes gleaming with defiance against fate.
“Li…”
“Cheng, Yun!”
Yan Shixun bit down hard, forcing himself, under immense pressure, to enunciate each syllable of the name. He engraved it deep in his heart, vowing not to forget the confusion of this moment and to continue seeking the truth after he awoke.
Boom—!
The world before him fell into utter darkness.
A sweet, dark dream wrapped around him, gently and warmly drawing him back into reality.
…
At Binhai University, the situation was far from good.
Even though Haiyun Temple had already dispatched three groups of Taoist priests, the thousands upon thousands of vengeful ghosts that had been trapped in the underworld for who knows how many years couldn’t possibly be handled by just a dozen or so Taoists.
What made things worse was the presence of tens of thousands of students scattered throughout the vast campus, each building requiring protection.
The shortage of manpower left the Taoists overwhelmed and stretched thin.
No matter how many rounds they fought off, more waves of vengeful spirits kept coming, as if endless. The Taoists’ spiritual power and physical strength were being steadily drained, leaving them increasingly powerless.
Everyone clenched their teeth and held their ground, for the lives behind them were their unwavering belief and reason to keep fighting.
They knew well that they were the final barrier between these vengeful ghosts and innocent lives. They were the last wall of safety, standing between death and the living.
So, they absolutely could not fall. They absolutely could not allow these ghosts to get past them and harm the students behind them!
“Filthy beast! Get lost!”
A Taoist with a brush-like mustache shouted fiercely. The last yellow talisman in his robe crackled with lightning as he hurled it at the ghost before him with full force.
Boom! The thunder talisman exploded, reducing a whole swath of ghosts nearby to ashes.
The expanding blood sea came to a brief halt.
The mustached Taoist almost collapsed from exhaustion. He quickly grabbed onto a stone sculpture beside him to keep from falling, managing to barely steady himself for a moment to catch his breath.
He took two deep breaths, trying to calm his disordered energy.
Before they had departed, the abbot had specifically reminded them about the Great Lecture Coffin Hall buried beneath Binhai University’s campus. It was made clear that not only were malicious ghosts from the past sealed beneath it, but also the spirits of many righteous souls who had died and now rested there. They must not be disturbed—but they also had to be guarded carefully, to prevent any evil spirits from being released.
So, while most of the Taoists were busy protecting the students, a few had been left behind to guard the Great Lecture Coffin Hall.
The situation was already dire. If those sealed ghosts were to be released as well, they would be facing attacks from both sides—an outcome none of them wanted.
And yet…
A bleak look appeared in the mustached Taoist’s eyes as he swept his gaze over the grove and the open space in front of the lecture hall. A helpless despair began to spread in his heart.
There was no end to the killing. No hope in sight. Every effort they made felt like it was swallowed by the void. Their strength kept draining, while the number of ghosts didn’t seem to diminish in the slightest.
The grove in front of the hall, once symbolizing the unbroken continuation of incense and prayers, had already become a forest of bones.
The grassy area meant to represent a ceremonial incense burner had been devoured by the blood sea.
The incense burner was overturned, the candles extinguished.
The vengeful spirits and heroic souls sleeping in the coffins began to stir—slowly waking from their slumber.
The ghostly energy seeped into the soil, thread by thread, infiltrating the ground beneath the Coffin Lecture Hall. It wrapped around the spirits, attempting to drag them into the bloody sea of hell, to join the horde of demons.
The spirits sluggishly opened their eyes, dazed and unaware.
In the depths of darkness, pairs upon pairs of soulless eyes appeared, densely packed, staring out at the human world beyond the coffin.
The blood sea, which had just paused for a brief moment due to the lightning talisman used by the mustached Taoist, began surging again. It resumed its assault on the land, inch by inch devouring the normal ground, creeping toward the Coffin Lecture Hall.
Withered skeletal hands stretched out from the blood sea only to be dragged back in. The evil spirits trampled over each other’s heads in a desperate scramble to climb out, while even more ghostly energy poured into the coffin.
The Taoist swiftly sensed something was wrong, but he had already exhausted all the talismans he brought. The remnants of his spiritual power were no longer enough to commune with the heavens or borrow power from the gods of the four directions to subdue spirits and drive out evil.
He gritted his teeth and forced himself to draw the Eight Trigrams Sword from his back. Leaning on the beast-faced, antlered stone statue, he supported his body and stood alone before the lecture hall.
A foul, stinking wind blew, lifting the hem of the Taoist’s robe. Yet his eyes remained resolute, showing no fear on his face.
“One man guards the pass, and ten thousand cannot break through.”¹
Every demon that lunged at him was cut down by his sword. Without talismans, he relied on swordsmanship. If the Eight Trigrams Sword broke, then he would fight barehanded. If he couldn’t lift his arms, then he would use his teeth—any weapon available to him—until the very last breath of life.
But even with a death wish, the Taoist could not halt the ghostly invasion.
The entire heavy structure of the Coffin Lecture Hall began to emit a faint cracking sound from its edges.
“Crack… crack!”
The noise was sharp and unnerving.
Tiny, dense cracks quickly spread across the exterior walls of the Coffin Lecture Hall, like a cracked eggshell just waiting for the final strike to shatter completely.
“No—!”
The Taoist’s eyes widened in desperation. He lunged forward, trying to use his body and blood to fill in the fractures.
But this was no longer something ordinary strength could oppose.
Even though the Taoist was unwilling to witness such a scene, the Coffin Lecture Hall collapsed entirely after a brief moment of stillness.
Chunks of rock and earth flew toward him, one striking his head. A loud buzz rang in his ears, his vision went black, and he instantly lost consciousness.
“Senior Brother!”
The alarmed shout of another Taoist came from a distance.
That deafening crash echoed across the entire campus, prompting every Taoist and student at Binhai University to instinctively raise their heads and look toward the source of the sound.
In the dormitories, countless students clenched their hearts in worry, silently praying that everything was alright.
Many students rushed to the balconies hoping to get a clear look, but distant buildings blocked their view. They could only see faint dust rising in the distance and hear the loud noise, but had no idea what was really happening.
Their anxiety grew even worse.
All signals across the Binhai University campus had been cut. The students couldn’t contact the outside world, nor could they get updates in the notification groups about what was going on elsewhere on campus. Anxiety and panic built up in their hearts like slowly fermenting wine, until the foam of dread reached their lips and noses, making it hard to breathe—yet they couldn’t vent their fears like before by turning to the school forum.
Some dorm rooms still had students who hadn’t yet returned. Their roommates waited in worry, desperately hoping for news of their safety.
They kept refreshing their phone screens over and over, but the red warning messages only made their fears grow stronger.
The last message in the notification group remained stuck on: “Do not go near the library or the Great Lecture Hall.” That made them even more suspicious.
“What the hell happened over by the Great Lecture Hall? I’m so scared.”
“That place has always been creepy. During the summer break, right around Ghost Festival, even walking past the Great Lecture Hall sent chills down your spine.”
“Why would they specifically say not to go to the Great Lecture Hall? Something definitely happened there. Don’t tell me… the evil spirits sealed beneath it have escaped?”
“I heard that what’s buried beneath is a dragon’s skeleton. If the suppression weakens even slightly, it’ll cause complete chaos.”
“The sound just now really did come from the Great Lecture Hall!”
As students from nearby dorms gathered on the balconies and exchanged theories, one student from a corner room suddenly shouted, “I saw it! The Great Lecture Hall collapsed!!”
His voice shook with fear that couldn’t be hidden, and his panic spread quickly among the crowd.
The students who had still been speculating moments ago now felt their scalps go numb.
“Do you remember…”
Someone swallowed hard and said shakily, “On that ‘Heart-Pounding Journey of Ninety-Nine Days livestream, right before Yan Shixun’s split-screen went dark, a student from our university sent a comment saying they saw something weird near the Great Lecture Hall?”
His words sparked a chain reaction in everyone’s memory.
“I think so. A lot of people even tagged him, telling him to let us know he was okay, but he never came back online.”
“No… that can’t be. Aren’t ghosts not supposed to exist? What, did I study philosophy for nothing?”
“It might really be true. My roommate came back tonight absolutely terrified. He said the area around the lecture hall felt especially eerie tonight. And that was right before that comment got posted.”
“So maybe your roommate left just in time and escaped, while the other guy got caught in it?”
“I think that might be it.”
Someone, on the verge of tears, said, “It really seems like there are ghosts. My dorm window faces the tree-lined road, and I swear those trees turned into corpses.”
Cries of panic rang out.
Chaos broke out across the dorms, students terrified and completely unsure of what to do next.
Some dorms even started seriously discussing how to defend themselves with toilet plungers, mops, brooms, and badminton rackets.
Just then, the counselor knocked on doors.
“Everyone, don’t worry! The school has already sent people to handle the situation!”
The counselor’s voice was hoarse from shouting: “All of you are safe! There is no danger! Please remain calm!”
“Have you all finished studying for your exams? Freshmen and sophomores have English tests tomorrow, juniors have general studies internships, and seniors need to submit reports and prepare for their defenses!”
She added, “The school won’t accept any excuse to delay exams. So are you going to waste time gossiping or are you going to review? If you fail, you’ll lose your scholarship next year!”
“That’s several thousand yuan—think it through, everyone!”
As soon as she said that, the earlier panic vanished completely.
The looming pressure of exams instantly overrode everyone’s fear of ghosts. Students who had been craning their necks on balconies to catch a glimpse of the Great Lecture Hall immediately dashed back inside, jumped into chairs, and pulled out their textbooks.
Those huddled in bed also trembled as they pulled printed study materials from under their pillows, choking back sobs while they began memorizing review questions.
In that moment, the once frantic and chaotic dormitory building became completely quiet again, returning to order.
Even the Taoist priest who had rushed over from the other side of campus due to the Great Lecture Hall’s collapse—just to make sure the dorm area was safe—stood in awe at the sight.
“You’re very good at your job.”
The Taoist beside the counselor praised her in admiration: “If it had been me, I absolutely wouldn’t have been able to calm this large-scale panic alone.”
The counselor looked a bit shy at the compliment. “I’ve worked here since graduation and have been dealing with these students ever since. Honestly, I know them better than I know myself.”
“But…” She pressed her lips together, concern in her eyes. “Are we really going to be okay?”
The Taoist’s gaze was firm. “If anyone must die first, let it be me.”
“Besides,” he added with a hopeful smile, “Fellow Taoist Yan is also here. I believe everything will turn out fine.”
A direct disciple of Hermit Chengyun, junior nephew of Taoist Li, someone born with a Evil Spirit Bone Transformation, possessing rare and exceptional talent.
He believed that Fellow Taoist Yan would be the miracle walking beneath the Dao—the last fortune that no divination could ever fully reveal.
“Yan?”
The counselor murmured the name, a long-forgotten memory slowly surfacing.
She remembered—back then, in the dormitories at Binhai University, there had also been a student completely unlike the others. His surname had been Yan.
It had been so many years…
The counselor’s gaze grew dazed, but when she looked again toward the lecture hall, her eyes no longer carried the panic from just moments ago.
The Taoist priest’s resolute stance brought her a sense of reassurance. She knew, just as she had stood to protect her students, there would also be someone standing in front of her—someone brave and unwavering, building a human wall with their body to shield others and defend their lives.
And in front of the Great Lecture Hall—
When the mustached Taoist priest regained consciousness, he found that the world before him had completely changed.
Another Taoist was supporting him by the shoulder, keeping him from collapsing to the ground.
Looking down, he saw the earth covered in corpses. A boundless sea of blood stretched as far as the eye could see, the dead piled high with hideous expressions.
Above the blood sea, the mountain of bodies nearly blotted out the sky.
The corpses’ eyes were wide open in death, as though unwilling to accept their fate.
Many of the bodies were already so decomposed they couldn’t be recognized. Some were even missing chunks of flesh, looking as though they’d been torn apart by wild dogs—grotesque and horrifying.
Hundreds upon thousands of unseeing eyes stared straight at the mustached Taoist. The moment he opened his eyes, he was struck by this horrific scene and gasped involuntarily. He nearly lost his breath again and fainted.
“Senior Brother!”
The Taoist beside him noticed he was awake and said urgently, “The Soul Suppression Formation has failed! All the spirits that were sealed beneath the coffin have escaped!”
He had originally wanted to cast a spell to drive the malicious spirits away, but many of the ghosts among them were pure, innocent souls. He had feared that in driving out the evil, he might harm those virtuous heroic spirits, so he hesitated—and with hesitation, came constraint.
In just those few minutes while the mustached Taoist had fallen unconscious from exhaustion, the Soul Suppression Formation buried beneath the lecture hall completely collapsed. The overwhelming ghostly aura dragged the century-old souls into a blood-drenched hell. The scene from a hundred years ago—the piling of corpses—reappeared. Spirits, their minds clouded by ghostly energy, began to stir and rise one by one from the sea of blood.
“Where’s Taoist Song?” the mustached Taoist grabbed the other’s robe in a panic. “He must have a way—where is he?”
“Taoist Song is guarding the students in the library. But he entered the campus earlier than we did, and even he has nearly exhausted his strength.”
The Taoist’s face was full of urgency and worry.
The mustached Taoist slowly loosened his grip on the robe.
“Is this… the Great Dao calling us to perish here?”
To die for the Dao—he feared it not.
But what truly troubled him was this: once they fell, would the students—and the ordinary citizens of Binhai—still be safe?
Taoist Song Yi was troubled by the same question.
The rumbling from the great lecture hall deeply unsettled him, but he had no choice but to deal with wave after wave of malicious spirits surging up the library steps, unable to spare himself to help elsewhere.
His brow furrowed tightly as he looked toward the building where the ghostly aura was thickest, unsure how the Taoist who had gone there to investigate was faring.
Taoist Song placed his hopes on that Taoist—but the man standing before the entrance of the laboratory building could only force a bitter smile.
When he had first been informed that this was the area with the densest ghost energy, he had already anticipated that the mission would not be simple.
Even with mental preparation, he had still underestimated the place.
A spring that could continuously supply ghostly energy to the entire campus could not possibly be resolved so easily.
He trudged through the muddy marsh, each step unsteady. His Taoist robe was torn to shreds, covered in gashes, bloodstains, and fragments of flesh.
Fresh blood seeped from beneath the robe, staining the deep blue fabric so dark it was almost black. The stench of blood was overwhelming.
His arms were crisscrossed with cuts from skeletal ghost claws. Sticky blood coated his hands, making it nearly impossible to hold the Eight Trigram Sword; he had nearly dropped it several times.
His expression was dazed, but he kept moving forward purely by the force of a will that refused to retreat, clenching his teeth until he reached the doors of the laboratory building.
But… perhaps this was as far as he could go.
The Taoist staggered a step forward and quickly planted his longsword into the ground to brace himself, barely managing to keep from collapsing completely.
The resistance he had faced along the way was hundreds, even thousands of times greater than in any other place.
Every single step had drained all his strength. After an exhausting battle, he had only just managed to carve out a path soaked in blood through the mass of malevolent spirits.
But the experimental building—the origin point of the ghostly energy—was far more difficult to enter than the road he had just traversed outside.
It was like standing at the gates of hell, while outside was still the world of the living.
How could someone still alive cross the boundary between life and death and enter the realm of the dead?
That place was entirely cloaked in ghostly energy. All spiritual techniques failed there. Even the heavens and earth would not cast their gaze upon it.
In a daze, the Taoist looked up at the experimental building in front of him, despair flashing in his eyes.
Was it fate, then, that the Great Dao would end here for him? Were the millions of lives in Binhai City truly destined to fall into danger?
Was there truly no miracle to be found?
The heavens were merciless—but where was his hope for survival?
His heart was filled with sorrow. The cold wind of late autumn pierced his bloodied chest, nearly freezing his heart still.
But just as he angrily questioned the heavens, the entire experimental building suddenly began to tremble.
At first, the tremor was faint, but it quickly escalated into a violent quake. The entire building let out terrifying rumbling sounds, and the glass facade cracked with sharp, repeated crack! sounds.
The Taoist lifted his head in confusion, watching everything unfold before his eyes.
Then, a single point of light slowly emerged from the very center of the building.
It looked like someone had flipped on the brightest lightbulb inside the all-glass laboratory tower.
But very quickly, the Taoist realized—it wasn’t simply a light turning on.
That glow seeped out through every crack, like tenacious little blades of grass forcing their way through rock crevices, vibrant with life and unwilling to give up.
It felt as though… the light itself was the collective glow of countless lives, lit by their shared hope for the future.
The glow grew brighter and brighter until it spilled outward from the building. The glass structure looked like a massive lightbulb, dispelling the darkness from the entire surrounding world.
This brilliant light caught the attention of everyone both inside and outside the campus.
All the Taoists instinctively paused their actions and turned to look toward the experimental building. They quickly formed divinations with their hands, trying to read the ghostly energy.
Even the students who had just been calmed noticed the glow filtering through the windows. Someone asked, puzzled, if the lights had been turned on outside.
A wave of warmth radiated from the experimental building—gentle yet unstoppable—spreading across the entire blood-red sea.
Even Taoists in other parts of the campus felt a surge of life and warmth. It flowed through their previously depleted meridians, restoring strength to their exhausted bodies.
They stared in astonishment toward that direction, unable to comprehend what had happened
.
“This was the place with the densest ghost energy, a place of absolute death—so how could there be…”
One Taoist voiced the question in everyone’s heart.
But the Taoist with the eight-character mustache, after a brief daze, murmured in wonder, “When things reach their extreme, they reverse. When decline reaches its peak, prosperity must follow.”
Precisely because everything had fallen into utter death, it was in that deepest despair that the most vibrant life and hope could be born.
And the only one who could have done something like this…
“Was it Fellow Taoist Yan? Junior Brother Yan… ha!” The mustached Taoist murmured, then suddenly burst into laughter.
“The Great Dao! The Great Dao! The heavens and earth are but a single chessboard—you had already planned everything long ago!”
The Taoist standing in front of the experimental building had to raise his arm to shield his eyes, barely managing to keep them open against the blinding light, watching everything unfold.
The golden crow fell from the sky, shining as bright as broad daylight.
The sun plunged into the depths of the darkest night, illuminating every corner of the abyss filled with ghostly energy.
All the spirits who had thought they could escape the grasp of hell screamed in terror, trampling over each other in a frantic rush to flee back to the underworld.
Those who were even a step too slow were instantly reduced to ashes under the light.
The entire experimental building trembled violently, then collapsed with a thunderous crash. Dust filled the air, bricks shattered.
Chunks of masonry tumbled down, and the shards of glass sparkled with a crystalline glow as they plummeted toward the ground.
The Taoist stared helplessly at the falling glass heading straight for him. He tried to lift his hand to shield himself, but his muscles were severely strained, his body badly injured, and his limbs refused to respond.
Just as he let out a bitter smile in his heart, a dark figure suddenly streaked past his field of vision.
The next second, all the falling bricks and debris froze midair, defying the laws of physics.
The Taoist was stunned. He blinked against the backlight and looked up.
A young man hovered midair, his dark green coat billowing around him. The black shirt underneath outlined his firm, athletic build.
There was a sharpness etched into his handsome features, yet a faint smile played on his lips.
He looked like a deity descending from the heavens to save the mortal world.
The young man brought the fingers of one hand together in a mystical gesture in front of his chest, golden characters spiraling around his slender palm — unmistakably the source of the brilliant light.
“Taoist, can you still stand?” the young man asked, lowering his gaze as he extended a hand toward the Taoist, whose body trembled and swayed, ready to collapse at any moment.
The Taoist stood dazed for a long moment before he finally realized why that face looked so familiar.
“You…” he hesitated, then asked in disbelief, “Fellow Taoist Yan??”
Yan Shixun raised an eyebrow but gave no clear answer.
Right after, another tall figure leapt down from a high place behind Yan Shixun.
The tall man had a cold expression and a faint trace of disdain in his eyes. With his long arms, he carried a limp young man like a noodle in one arm, and held two other youths by the collar with the other.
As soon as he landed, he dropped all three of them unceremoniously to the ground.
One of the youths immediately reached out to cradle the limp one tightly in his arms, shielding him from being hurt by the impact.
The other, less fortunate and without anyone to care for him, hit the ground face-first — only to come eye-to-eye with a scorched, half-burned skull.
The youth let out a loud sobbing cry on the spot.
The Taoist stared at the scene in a daze for a long time before he finally recognized him. “Zhang… Director Zhang Wubing?”
Zhang Wubing whimpered as he rubbed his sore, soft cheek. Shivering slightly, he picked himself up from the ground, clenched his fist with teary eyes, and tried to encourage himself. “Directors don’t cry!”
Then he looked at the Taoist with tear-filled eyes.
“Hello Taoist, I’m Zhang Wubing.”
Sniffling, Zhang Wubing tried to hold on to the “dignity” of being a director as he introduced himself.
The Taoist: “…………”
Uh… maybe… wipe your nose first?
There was no time for Yan Shixun and the Taoist to catch up — the situation remained urgent. Yan Shixun quickly scanned the surroundings and confirmed that they were indeed standing on the actual Binhai University campus.
—Even Lan Ze, the guiding path of the underworld, had been pulled from the depths of the ghostly abyss by him. The ghostly world constructed from that energy had been shattered under a force as powerful as divine wrath. The source of ghost energy that had been corrupting Binhai University no longer existed.
The ghost energy that once spread rampantly through the campus had come to a halt.
The sea of blood churned, but the evil spirits within it whimpered and trembled as they fled deeper into the abyss, unwilling to resurface and face the power of that light.
“What’s the current situation at Binhai University? How far did the ghost energy spread?”
Yan Shixun frowned and quickly asked the Taoist, “How are the students? Any casualties?”
“Rest assured, Fellow Taoist Yan,” the Taoist replied firmly. “We blocked all the harm. The students are safe and sound.”
Yan Shixun looked up into the distance and saw, not far away, the direction of the Coffin Lecture Hall — where corpses were stacked high like a mountain.
His heart sank slightly.
What he feared most had already happened.
The soul-suppressing array at the Coffin Lecture Hall had failed, and the evil spirits had broken free. What troubled him even more was that ghost energy could now corrode even the innocent, wrapping their once-untainted souls in karmic sin.
“No need to worry.”
Ye Li’s deep, magnetic voice came from the side.
He had been watching Yan Shixun the whole time and had seen the worry hidden in his heart.
Yan Shixun turned his eyes to look at him, only to see Ye Li smiling faintly.
“A soul free of sin will not be corroded by any ghostly aura. But those burdened with karmic debt will fall into hell for eternity.”
As his words fell, black mist rose beneath Ye Li, transforming into two dark shadows that shot swiftly toward the great lecture hall.
The two stone statues with beastly faces and deer antlers at the entrance of the hall suddenly came to life, their once rigid stone bodies now moving with the agility of real beasts.
They opened their sharp, fanged mouths and let out a roar as they lunged at the mountain of corpses ahead. With a swipe of their claws, they pinned the evil spirits beneath them, and their whip-like tails—hard as iron—flung the ghosts straight into the nearby sea of blood that had not yet receded.
These ghosts, freshly awakened after being sealed beneath coffins, were no match for the vengeful and tormented spirits of hell who had suffered endless agony.
Flailing helplessly in terror, the weaker ghosts were quickly dragged under the surface of the blood sea.
Meanwhile, the previously dazed and confused souls seemed to have the fog around them cleared away. Their eyes regained clarity and firmness.
The heroic spirits who had perished a century ago suddenly remembered everything.
They looked around the battlefield—and joined the fight against the evil spirits.
A hundred years ago, they had sacrificed their lives for the sake of progress. Now, how could they allow these evil spirits to harm the children of their descendants?
Thinking of hurting their descendants? Had these demons asked their elders for permission first? The glorious era they had died to protect was not something these monsters could be allowed to defile!
With righteousness surging through them, the heroic souls were a force no ghost could withstand.
Against the stone beasts and the righteous spirits, the evil ghosts retreated again and again.
Some of the heroic spirits had notoriously bad tempers even while alive. Now, faced with the evil ghosts, they went wild with rage—beating the creatures mercilessly. The howls of the ghosts were absolutely blood-curdling.
On another side, a heroic soul grabbed a ghost by its braid and smacked its head repeatedly—*smack, smack, smack!*—until the ghost was dizzy and tumbled into the blood sea, where it was swiftly swallowed up.
A sharp-eyed Taoist even spotted a familiar face—the spirit of the Taoist from Haiyun Temple who had died here a century ago. That Taoist grabbed a ghost by the head and began slamming it violently into the ground—*bang, bang, bang!*—all the while cursing it viciously. The ghost cried and wailed, full of regret for ever crawling out of its coffin.
The observing Taoists: “…”
Ah… So *this* was the style of their esteemed predecessors from a century ago?
Several Taoists stood in stunned silence, having watched the whole thing unfold.
The Taoist with the mustache stared blankly at the now-moving stone beast, then looked down at the empty stone pedestal beside him. Shocked beyond belief, he could only utter, “Blessings from the Heavenly Lord!”
A tomb-guarding beast!
The stone beast that had once been treated merely as a symbolic grave guardian had been activated?!
But how? Who had done it? Unlike other sacred objects, these tomb-guarding beasts could only be controlled by death energy. Yet everyone present was from Haiyun Temple—none of them should have had such a power.
While the Taoists were still reeling from the revelation, Yan Shixun stood calmly in front of the laboratory building and raised an eyebrow slightly as he looked at Ye Li.
“So… you’re the founder of the sect?” Yan Shixun asked with a fake smile, one devoid of warmth.
Ye Li, unbothered, returned the smile. “I never admitted to that.”
“Shixun, you guessed wrong.” He smiled sweetly at him. “But you have the chance to guess again.”
“As many times as you like, until you’ve uncovered all of me.”
Yan Shixun snorted coldly and turned his head toward Binhai University.
Golden light radiated outward from him, illuminating the entire campus as if it were broad daylight, with not a single trace of darkness remaining.
The ghostly aura began to recede, and the sea of blood on the ground shrank away in fear. The evil spirits began fleeing in panic, heading back the way they came.
The remnants—just a few shattered pieces—could be handled by the Taoists from Haiyun Temple.
Yan Shixun casually flexed his fingers, emitting a crisp cracking sound—*crack!*
The sound made the Taoist next to him shiver involuntarily, sensing an inexplicable wave of danger wash over him.
“Since those evil spirits have already fled the densely populated areas…”
Yan Shixun’s eyes turned cold, and a chilling smile spread across his lips. “Then it’s time for us to finally have some fun and fight freely.”
The students of Binhai University and the ten million residents of Binhai City had essentially been hostages to the ghostly aura. Because of that, Yan Shixun and the Taoists had been forced to restrain themselves—unable to fight with full force.
But now that the evil spirits had grown fearful of the vitality around them, they had already retreated toward the original path of darkness, heading for the deserted highway. With that, Yan Shixun no longer had any concerns holding him back.
“Let’s go, Ye Li—who’s supposedly the founder of a sect, but whose true identity remains unknown.”
Yan Shixun cast a sidelong glance at him, his smile half mocking, half serious. “It’s time we head to the real battlefield.”
Ye Li smiled in return. “So, Zhang Wubing and the other two…”
“I’m leaving them to you.”
He glanced disdainfully at the tearful Zhang Wubing and shifted slightly to the side. “I don’t want Zhang Dabing wiping his snot on me. It’s disgusting.”
Ye Li’s face darkened.
Coincidentally, he didn’t want that either.
Zhang Wubing whimpered even more and asked, “Can you carry me in a different way? I’m not asking much—just don’t haul me around like a sack of flour. Even carrying me in your arms would be better.”
Ye Li gave him a cold glance.
Zhang Wubing immediately cowered and backed off again.
One of the Taoists, seeing this, couldn’t help but offer a suggestion. “We can take care of Director Zhang for now. Fellow Taoist Yan, don’t worry—not a hair on his head will be harmed.”
He also felt that Zhang Wubing, dangling in someone’s arms like that, looked truly pitiful. It tugged at his conscience a little.
“No need, I just realized Zhang Dabing might actually be a bit useful.”
Yan Shixun shot Zhang Wubing a glance and said, “He’s not bad as a walking GPS.”
Earlier, in the ghostly realm filled with evil energy, Yan Shixun had been able to efficiently incinerate all the evil spirits. Part of that success was due to Zhang Wubing being present in the experimental building.
—Every single evil spirit had instinctively gravitated toward Zhang Wubing.
With them all gathered tightly together, the talismans had worked faster and more effectively.
Yan Shixun was quite pleased.
Yan Shixun: I’ve raised this boy all this time, he’s finally useful for once.
Zhang Wubing: QAQ.
“Well then, Taoist, I’ll leave the Binhai University campus in your care.”
Yan Shixun turned toward the Taoist with sincerity. “Thank you for protecting the lives within Binhai University when I couldn’t.”
The Taoist immediately returned a respectful bow. “If Fellow Taoist Yan hadn’t dealt with the root of the ghostly energy in time, Binhai would’ve faced a true disaster. No matter how we tried to handle the surface-level threats, it would’ve all been futile.”
“Please rest assured—we’ll take care of any remaining evil spirits here.”
Just then, Lan Ze, seeing that Yan Shixun seemed ready to leave, stepped forward hesitantly. “Mr. Yan, I…”
The Taoist also noticed this soul and his eyes widened slightly.
Cheng Jing quickly stepped in front of Lan Ze, guarding him protectively, afraid the Taoist might say something about dispersing his soul.
“You’re coming with me.”
Yan Shixun said calmly, yet his words were like a stabilizing force in the air: “The cause and effect that began with you must naturally end with you. The ghostly energy entangling and trapping you hasn’t completely disappeared yet.”
“This matter isn’t over. And what comes next…”
A smile curled at Yan Shixun’s lips, his eyes gleaming with clarity and sharpness.
If you love what Ciacia is doing, then consider showing your support by supporting a cup of tea for her at Kofi. If you can’t wait for the next release chapter, subscribe to advanced chapters membership on her Kofi to get access to up to 10 chapters!
