Chapter 179: No Way Back on This Journey (29)
When Bai Shuang woke up, her head felt like it was splitting apart.
She let out a low groan and held her head as she sat up. Only then did she realize that there wasn’t a single person around her.
The carriage was in utter chaos, but every person had vanished—she was the only one still sitting in her seat.
The split-screen camera that had originally been clipped to her shoulder seemed to have taken a heavy blow as well. It was completely shattered, its fragments scattered among the folds of her clothing.
A wave of confusion rose in Bai Shuang’s heart, but what was even more unsettling was the strange sense of wrongness in the scene before her—she just couldn’t pinpoint what felt off.
Her mind was still foggy from unconsciousness. The chaotic thoughts couldn’t support a full analysis of what was bothering her, but memories from right before she passed out slowly floated back.
The overturned carriage, the frantic shouting, and Lu Xingxing’s desperate cry—“Bai Shuang!”…
That’s right. The shattered glass.
She remembered watching the glass break with her own eyes, and then a shard of metal flying straight toward her.
Stunned, Bai Shuang lifted the hand she’d been pressing against her temple and brushed her face.
But the skin under her fingers was smooth, completely uninjured.
Then she remembered Lu Xingxing stepping in front of her without hesitation, and the muffled groan of pain that rang in her ears.
Lu Xingxing had been hurt! Then where was he now?
Panic surged through Bai Shuang.
There was no way she could ignore it if a teammate was injured—especially since Lu Xingxing had gotten hurt trying to save her!
She quickly rose from her seat. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the car window beside her, but didn’t give it much thought. She kept walking, anxious to get out of the car and look for Lu Xingxing and the others.
But just as she was about to reach the door, she belatedly realized something—there were shattered glass fragments littered all over the floor, yet the surrounding windows were completely intact?
The moment that thought emerged, everything else that had felt wrong came rushing up from the depths of her mind.
Bai Shuang clearly remembered the vehicle flipping over in a crash, but right now the bus was sitting upright and neatly parked by the roadside. If it weren’t for the strewn debris and broken glass on the floor, there’d be no sign of an accident ever having occurred.
And she had seen with her own eyes that Lu Xingxing’s hands were covered in blood. But now there wasn’t even the faintest trace of a bloody smell—not to mention, no stains near the seat he had been in.
She began to go over every inconsistency between “reality” and memory, and a cold shiver crawled steadily up her spine.
The more she thought, the more terrifying it became.
Her slender body froze. Every muscle in her was trembling with fear. Her shoulders and neck were so tense she couldn’t even turn her head.
Her breathing turned rapid. Her outstretched hand, which had been reaching for the door, was shaking. The cold sweat in her palm made her fingers slip again and again off the door handle.
Bai Shuang instinctively wanted to look for Yan Shixun, but when she peered through the door’s glass window, she couldn’t see anything outside the vehicle at all.
Darkness had devoured the world beyond the bus—no road, no farmland.
It was as if she were inside a film studio, and the only set was this one vehicle. Beyond this area, there was nowhere to go. Every edge was covered in black cloth.
Her heart pounded violently with fear. Blood rushed through her veins, and the desperate instinct to escape made her frantically try to yank open the door.
But then a voice from behind stopped her.
“You’re safe here.”
It was a boy’s voice.
Young and clean, with a calm and refreshing tone.
As a singer, Bai Shuang was especially sensitive to voices. This one reminded her of her student days—the boy in the white school uniform, smiling cleanly under the sunlight… all those beautiful things from back then.
But the voice didn’t soothe her at all.
Because… she was certain that none of the people originally in this vehicle had a voice like that.
So who exactly was speaking to her in the car now? And what was going on with the surroundings that looked nothing like she remembered?
Bai Shuang’s thoughts were in complete disarray, like tangled threads. But she had been one of the show’s long-time guests—starting from the very first season in Gui Mountain until now—so she managed to pull one clear thought from the mess of panic: She had definitely encountered a ghost again!
What could be more terrifying than being in the same space as a ghost?
It was the fact that the ghost was behind you—and you didn’t know its intentions, didn’t know when it would silently creep up on you, didn’t know when it would suddenly reach out with claws to kill you…
The more she thought about it, the tighter fear gripped her heart.
She swallowed hard, gritted her teeth, and trembling, turned her head.
—Sitting quietly in the seat where she had been moments ago was a young man.
His head was lowered, his hair falling over his eyes so his face couldn’t be clearly seen. His thin body was dressed in a white shirt and trousers, exuding a calm, scholarly air.
He shouldn’t have been here. Fate had cruelly thrown him off his destined path.
The laboratory—that was where he should have shone brightly, full of energy and promise.
But now, vivid red veins crawled across his handsome face. Even if broken porcelain was pieced back together, the cracks still remained.
It was a horrifying sight.
Bai Shuang was nearly scared to tears.
She fought back her rising sobs, staring warily at the young man as she desperately tried to pry open the car door—desperate to escape this ghost-infested space.
The young man seemed to notice her fear. He flinched slightly, as if her terror had hurt him. His once-relaxed shoulders drew inward, his entire posture shrinking like someone ashamed of a disfigured face, trying desperately to make himself invisible.
“…I’m sorry.”
The young man pressed his lips together, apologizing to Bai Shuang with guilt in his eyes.
Then, after a short pause, he added, “Thank you… for caring about me before.”
“I’m sorry I can’t tell you I’m safe anymore. I’m no longer safe. But what I *can* do now… is keep *you* safe.”
As soon as he finished speaking—perhaps afraid of scaring her further—his figure quickly faded away, blending into the dim surroundings until he disappeared completely.
But just before vanishing, Bai Shuang saw the young man’s face twitch slightly, likely from trying to smile. The blood-red lines on his face seemed to split open like cracked porcelain, and blood trickled slowly down his cheeks.
It was as terrifying as a ghost claiming a soul.
Bai Shuang nearly had a heart attack.
No matter how hard she struggled with the door or tried to open the windows, nothing worked.
It was as if the entire space was sealed with no way out.
Exhausted, and with the young man gone and no other terrors appearing for now, Bai Shuang slumped into another seat. Cold and worn out, she hugged her arms tightly and trembled.
Before long, she vaguely heard sounds from outside.
Like someone was banging on a gong, and crowds of people were passing by, dragging heavy things along the ground, the weight producing sharp, grating noises.
There were also sounds of crying, sobbing mixed with screams, a horrifying chorus that echoed unnervingly in the silence.
Bai Shuang only had to glance in that direction to feel her blood instantly run cold, nearly freezing in her veins.
The thing that passed by the car—how could that possibly be a person?
It was clearly… a ghost!
A procession of ghosts marched in the night, a gong sounding at the front to clear the way. Heavy chains bound the spirits, the ghost wardens wore tall black hats with white paper masks covering their faces, and the underworld soldiers were clad in armor, their weapons gleaming coldly under the moonlight.
It was terrifying.
Bai Shuang felt her entire body stiffen inch by inch, as if she had suddenly turned into a stone statue.
She wanted to bend down and hide herself beneath the seat, terrified that one of the ghosts might turn its head and see her through the car window.
But her frozen muscles wouldn’t obey. No matter how she screamed at herself in her mind to move, she could only sit there helplessly, eyes wide open, watching the spirits pass by.
Her heart pounded like a drum, “thump, thump, thump,” blood rushing to her head. She was filled with despair, convinced that this would be the end of her.
Several times, she nearly believed that one of the ghosts would turn its head and spot her—but each time, danger passed her by without incident.
She breathed a sigh of relief again and again, only to tense up the next moment, her emotions rising and falling like a rollercoaster.
Strangely enough, even as the long procession of ghosts gradually moved past the car, not a single ghost or Yin official warden turned to look at Bai Shuang.
What she feared most never happened.
It was as if… to them, she was nothing more than air.
Bai Shuang stared blankly into the darkness outside the window, at the road that slowly became visible only after the ghosts had passed. For a moment, she didn’t know what to do.
After such an extreme terror, her body and mind were both overwhelmed by exhaustion. Her eyelids drooped, and she felt so drowsy that she nearly fell asleep on the spot.
Half-dreaming, she remembered what the young man who had disappeared said to her.
—“Thank you… for caring about me.”
Caring about who?
In her blurry consciousness, Bai Shuang struggled to sift through her memories.
Then it came to her—she had indeed been concerned about something recently.
The case of the missing Binhai University student.
Was it… you?
That missing student?
Unable to resist the weariness spreading through her body, Bai Shuang tilted her head and fell into a deep sleep.
Her brows were furrowed tightly, but the corners of her lips held a faint smile.
What woke Bai Shuang was the blinding light piercing through her closed eyelids—and the loud banging on the door.
Huh? Is the sun already up? Did my agent come looking for me this early?
Still groggy from sleep, Bai Shuang wondered in confusion.
When she opened her eyes, the dazzling light nearly blinded her, making her eyes tear up from the sting.
She quickly raised a hand to shield her eyes from the glare.
As she adjusted, someone had already opened the car door from the outside and rushed in.
Seeing Bai Shuang sitting completely still in her seat, the Taoist who had run up was so startled his heart nearly stopped.
He hurried to her side, and with the front seat no longer blocking his view, he finally saw that Bai Shuang had simply just woken up.
Her fair and lovely face was still flushed, clearly showing she had just slept comfortably and warmly.
The Taoist: Ah…
Bai Shuang also saw the Taoist who had rushed in.
Although it wasn’t Taoist Song or Taoist Ma whom she had met before, the Taoist robes he wore clearly showed his identity.
Because she had developed a favorable impression of Haiyun Temple thanks to Yan Shixun and the other Taoists, Bai Shuang trusted him without hesitation and cheerfully thanked him.
But the Taoist looked at her with a complicated expression—Bai Shuang had no idea what had just happened.
After the trembling of the mountains and highway, as if from an earthquake, the separated space that had existed apart from reality shattered due to the loss of ghostly energy and rejoined the real world.
The Taoists had spread out across the highway and forest, trying to locate those who had been dragged into the Yin path. From afar, he had spotted a perfectly intact car parked by the road.
Though surprised—since the program team’s car had clearly crashed—he saw a motionless participant inside through the window. Urgency left no time for doubts; he rushed over to rescue her.
But this guest named Bai Shuang had no idea anything unusual had occurred. Unlike Lu Xingxing and the others, she hadn’t experienced any strange phenomena and claimed she had never even left the car.
The Taoist didn’t know how to respond.
However, when Bai Shuang mentioned that a young man with blood on his face had been inside the car with her, the Taoist immediately questioned her about his whereabouts and what he had done.
He was one of those assigned to track the Yin path and instantly realized—the young man Bai Shuang described was none other than the newly deceased ghost who had diverted the Yin path.
Bai Shuang shook her head in confusion. “I don’t know…? He said something like thank you for caring about him, and that he wanted to protect me.”
“Protect you?”
The Taoist was stunned.
A spirit filled with resentment and unwillingness, one whose strong obsession had triggered the Yin path and made him a temporary vessel for ghostly energy—was he truly trying to protect someone?
No matter how confused the Taoist was, the facts were undeniable. Bai Shuang hadn’t suffered the slightest harm—unlike the other guests who had appeared battered and panicked during the split-screen footage.
This shook the Taoist’s resolve, and guilt rose in his heart.
Before Yan Shixun proved he could resolve everything, their original plan as eight Taoists had been to kill the newly deceased ghost, seize the ghostly energy bound to him, and work together to draw the Yin path away from Binhai University and resolve it on the main road.
Though the Taoist had once hesitated about the plan, when weighing a possibly dangerous ghost against millions of lives in Binhai City, the scale had never been balanced.
He hadn’t regretted that decision—until he heard Bai Shuang’s words.
If Yan Shixun hadn’t turned the situation around at the last moment, pulling everything back from the brink, they would’ve destroyed a spirit who still held good intentions in his heart.
“Is there danger up there?”
Another Taoist called from outside the car door, growing uneasy from the delay. “Need me to come up and help?”
The Taoist snapped back to reality. “No.”
He steadied himself and briefly explained the current situation to Bai Shuang, saying he would escort her back to the official in charge to ensure her safety.
After hearing everything, Bai Shuang was overwhelmed with fear. She quickly stood up from her seat and followed the Taoist out of the car.
But the moment her foot touched the ground, the entire car made a sharp cracking sound—“crack, crack!”
Startled, both of them turned around just in time to see something invisible gripping the car’s frame, slowly crushing the previously intact vehicle into a ball of scrap metal.
Then with a loud *boom*, it burst apart, scattering into a cloud of black smoke.
Bai Shuang felt a chill of fear in her heart. She said they had gotten out just in time—if not, they would’ve been crushed along with it.
But the Taoist slowly furrowed his brow. “No.”
“It’s because… Miss Bai, the moment you stepped out of the car, the protective barrier it held lost its function. Since it no longer needed to shield you, it had no reason to continue existing.”
The Taoist turned to look at her. “Just now, you said those ghosts couldn’t see you?”
Bai Shuang nodded.
“But I saw you from outside the car window. That’s why I came up to save you.”
The Taoist let out a sigh. “That ghost… he really was protecting you.”
He had shielded her from the ghost army with a barrier made of ghostly energy. And when someone capable of rescuing her arrived, he lifted the barrier and delivered her into safety.
That also explained why, despite the program’s car being in a wreck, Bai Shuang had remained in one that appeared completely unharmed.
The ghost named Lan Ze had expressed his gratitude to Bai Shuang for the worry and concern she once showed him through her news reporting.
He was filled with deep resentment toward the person who had killed him, and his unwillingness to let go was so intense that it could shake even malevolent spirits and underworld soldiers.
The thing he clung to so obsessively drove him to the point of harming the students of Binhai University. Yet, toward those who had shown him even the slightest kindness—toward those who had cared—he still held a spark of goodness in his heart. Amidst the crowd of vengeful ghosts, he had protected Bai Shuang from suffering even the slightest harm.
The Taoist escorted Bai Shuang along the highway on the way back, calmly explaining all of this to her.
Bai Shuang’s mind was in turmoil. Waves of fear and emotion crashed within her, leaving her momentarily speechless.
It wasn’t until she had been safely brought to where the officials were stationed and the rescue team members came rushing over in concern to check her injuries and condition, that she slowly began to regain her senses.
“Wait! Wait, please!”
Seeing the Taoist turn around, ready to head back to the highway, Bai Shuang hurriedly grabbed onto the hem of his robe in a panic. “Taoist, please… about that college student…”
Her eyes welled up with tears. As she blinked, drops ran down her cheeks.
“He… he’s dead, isn’t he?”
Her voice trembled.
It was only at this moment—when her brain began functioning again—that she suddenly understood what that young man had meant when he spoke to her earlier:
“I’m already dead, so there is no such thing as safety for me.”
“But at the very least, I hope that those who showed kindness to me—those who were good—can be safe. Someone… is waiting for you to return.”
Bai Shuang stared at the Taoist, eyes filled with a plea she couldn’t quite voice.
She wanted him to tell her that the student was still alive.
He had been so young! His bright future hadn’t even begun—how could he die just like that?
She, she would have rather gone unprotected, faced danger herself—just to let that student live.
The Taoist looked straight at her. After a pause, he let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry…”
“When we tracked it down, he had already turned into a fierce ghost due to the obsession he clung to in death. We had no chance to save him.”
Even though he had known the truth of the situation, facing Bai Shuang’s sincere and hopeful eyes made it hard for the Taoist—someone long accustomed to life and death—to bear.
Even though she had already known the answer deep down, Bai Shuang still felt everything go black before her eyes.
At first, Bai Shuang, as a conscientious and normal person, only had the most basic concern for the college student, hoping that he could be saved. She was initially just paying attention to and worrying about the social news.
But that small, flickering concern had been cherished by the deceased student, treasured like a rare gem, and repaid with all his heart…
The unequal exchange made Bai Shuang feel unbearable sorrow.
They had been complete strangers, never once met in life. Yet that fragile thread of connection had now made it impossible for her to accept his tragic fate.
The missing persons team, who had not yet left the scene, watched this unfold and felt deeply saddened as well.
They had seen the student’s corpse with their own eyes. They knew the inhumane torment he had suffered before death—pain that rivaled torture. They had already been burning with anger.
Now, faced with the undying kindness of someone who should have long passed on…
The stark contrast between goodness and evil made their fury nearly erupt from their chests.
The rescue workers, aware of the full story, could only sigh. One of them draped a blanket over Bai Shuang’s thin, trembling frame.
“Don’t be sad, Sister Bai.”
A female team member sighed, giving Bai Shuang a gentle hug, trying to lend her a little strength and comfort her pain. “There’s still Mr. Yan. When Mr. Yan comes back, maybe you can ask him. Maybe… he’ll know a way.”
“At the very least, if he can help that college student, Lan Ze, find some peace in death—that would be something.”
Tears streamed down Bai Shuang’s face as she hugged the female team member tightly.
…
At that moment, Yan Shixun had no time to worry about Lan Ze.
Borrowing power from the underworld beneath the Sea of Blood, Yan Shixun had forcefully uprooted the entire abyss that had broken through into the human world, dragging it back down and re-sealing it in the underworld. The malicious ghosts that had escaped due to the weakened divine suppression were all thrown back into hell.
The abyss that had once spread beneath the highway through the path of darkness was now completely severed from the human realm.
The ghosts no longer had any path to disturb the world of the living.
Just as Yan Shixun climbed out of the abyss and stepped back onto the highway, a strong arm pulled him forward, drawing him into a firm, cool chest.
*Thump… thump…*
Yan Shixun heard the slow yet steady rhythm of a heartbeat against his ear, coming from within that chest.
He blinked, and the motion he had been about to make—to push Ye Li away—froze in place.
A god associated with death… why would he have a heartbeat?
Ever since their first meeting, whenever Yan Shixun had paid close attention to Ye Li, he had always noticed his normal heartbeat and breathing. That was why, despite having doubts about his identity, Yan Shixun had never once thought to associate him with spirits or deities.
Because of the power Ye Li had revealed, Yan Shixun had assumed he was some hidden reclusive grandmaster of a sect.
—Otherwise, how could a ghost possibly have a heartbeat, just like the living?
“You…”
Yan Shixun paused for a moment, then asked Ye Li, “Are you a ghost deity?”
Ye Li slightly lowered his eyes, quietly gazing at the ghost exorcist in his arms.
His heart brimmed with peaceful contentment.
The brightest light had fallen into his embrace, and even the emptiness in his chest that had lasted for centuries was finally filled. From then on, the human world held warmth for him again; the mountains, rivers, and grass all regained meaning.
Ye Li had thought he had lost all hope in the human world.
But only after meeting Yan Shixun did he realize—it was because, in all the mountains and rivers he had seen before, Yan Shixun hadn’t been there.
“Yes.”
Ye Li gave a calm and definitive answer.
A ghost deity who never responded to the living’s requests for power had not let a single word of Yan Shixun’s question go unanswered.
He had always stood just where Yan Shixun could see him whenever he looked back. As long as Yan Shixun turned his gaze toward him at any time, he would meet it with a smile.
He had always been listening to Yan Shixun’s words—every sentence, every word was his most precious treasure.
“I am… a ghost deity who presides over judgment and death.”
Ye Li smiled softly. His long, narrow eyes were filled with joy, like snow melting into spring waters.
“When you call upon me, I am your god and yours alone. So, Shixun…”
Ye Li took Yan Shixun’s hand, holding it gently: “Call my name…”
Every time you call me, I feel a little more of this world’s warmth.
Yan Shixun looked at Ye Li in stunned confusion. His usually sharp mind failed to grasp Ye Li’s meaning at once.
“You mean…”
Yan Shixun hesitated and asked, “You want me to worship you?”
But under the great Dao, even deities fell. If Ye Li also needed incense and offerings, it actually made some sense.
And thinking back, that occasional feeling of discomfort when interacting with Ye Li could be explained.
—Ye Li had wanted him or Haiyun Temple to worship him, and that’s why he had helped him multiple times and shown his power.
The more Yan Shixun thought about it, the more sense it made.
It was just like the fox spirits who were worshipped by mediums. The spirits receiving incense didn’t get offerings for nothing—they had to demonstrate their power first, like a sample tasting. If it tasted good, then you’d buy it, right?
But Yan Shixun was the only one who thought it made sense.
The moment he said it, Ye Li’s expression froze in disbelief.
Even Lu Xingxing, who had been trying hard to shrink into a ball beside them, couldn’t hold it in and let out a snort, choking on her own spit and coughing nonstop.
“Shixun…” Ye Li sounded a little helpless.
He seemed to want to say more but stopped halfway, eventually giving up on explaining and letting out a soft sigh.
—More than a decade ago, that little boy had been abandoned by his parents at a marketplace. Yet he hadn’t cried or made a fuss, only watched the world’s joys and sorrows with cold eyes.
All of young Yan Shixun’s rich emotions had been buried at that moment of abandonment.
In the years that followed, the misunderstandings and mockery of the ordinary people toward his extraordinary talent, the bullying and ridicule from his peers—all of it had gradually worn away his once soft heart. The smile on his face had grown rarer, until finally, it turned into a detached, clear-eyed view of the world.
The calmness and rationality he developed helped him survive, so much so that he felt no panic over being abandoned. He had even been willing to trust a suspicious man covered in blood and knife wounds at the marketplace, offering him a piece of candy with sincere kindness, hoping the man would cherish life and find hope.
But that same rationality had also robbed Yan Shixun of the ability to perceive warmth and love like ordinary people.
Li Chengyun had never married nor loved in his lifetime, and he had never taught Yan Shixun what love was.
How could a man teach something he himself didn’t understand?
So, Yan Shixun never learned that emotion.
Ye Li understood that. That’s why he was willing to wait patiently—for Yan Shixun to slowly come to understand.
Warm water could melt even the hardest ice.
But…
For the first time ever, Ye Li, who had never once regretted anything, felt a rare pang of regret.
—Had he known he would fall in love with Yan Shixun one day, he should have taken him away more than a decade ago!
Li Chengyun had been a good teacher. Ye Li couldn’t find a more qualified master in the human world. But… Li Chengyun had died single!
Ye Li’s expression darkened with frustration.
Yan Shixun: “???”
His head was full of question marks.
Just then, An Nanyuan, who had just recovered from being thrown and seeing stars, came to his senses and saw the two embracing in the glowing light. He overheard their conversation.
An Nanyuan: “…………”
WTF!!!
So this person who had always been following Brother Yan… had *that* kind of feelings for him?
No wonder, back at the Jing Estate, Jing Xiaobao had emphasized that every identity was mirrored by a corresponding reality.
So, although Jing Xiaobao hadn’t experienced love himself and didn’t understand why Ye Li and Yan Shixun were acting like a married couple, as a powerful ghost attuned to the world’s rhythms, his subconscious had picked up on it?
This guy liked Brother Yan!
But the viewers watching through An Nanyuan’s split-screen feed hadn’t heard a thing. Not only did they not reach the same realization, they were more confused than ever.
[My eyes! I was hiding under my blanket watching out of fear, and suddenly the screen brightness shot up!]
[I was watching on my tablet with the sound on, and it got so bright the old man down the street thought it was morning and got up to work. Even my neighbor said he doesn’t need a lamp anymore. Did the sun crash to Earth or what??? This brightness is insane, bro!]
[Um… what were Brother Yan and that guy saying? Did anyone catch it?]
[Nope, only a bunch of static noises. I was wearing headphones to avoid scaring my roommate and nearly got electrocuted by the sound. Emotionless.jpg]
[LOL, forget about hearing it—we couldn’t even see what the guy looked like. He was just a blob of pixels.]
[This isn’t the first time. That guy who’s always by Brother Yan’s side—no one’s ever managed to get a clear shot of his face.]
[Exactly! And weirdly enough, I *know* I’ve seen him before, but I just can’t remember.]
[I’m shook! I just went to get a glass of water, and by the time I came back, I’d completely forgotten about the guy. I had to rewatch the feed to remember he was even there.]
[This is seriously creepy… It’s like the guy doesn’t *want* us to see, hear, or remember him—and so we just don’t.]
[They hugged! Wahhhh! I’m crying into my Yan Mais—Brother Yan’s gonna fall in love, isn’t he?]
[Hmm… I can’t hear what the other guy is saying, but from Brother Yan’s side, it sounds like they’re just colleagues?]
[Bro, that’s normal, right? I hug my bros when I’m excited after a game. What’s the big deal?]
[Ah… r-right?]
But before An Nanyuan could even recover from the shock, Yan Shixun issued a righteous and solemn declaration.
“I won’t take on a disciple. My master’s legacy ends with me. If you’re hoping I’ll worship you with incense, that’s too much of a loss for me.”
After a few seconds of consideration, Yan Shixun added, “Once we’re back in Binhai City, I’ll talk to Taoist Li at Haiyun Temple.”
He sounded utterly sincere, like he genuinely didn’t want his friend to miss out: “Haiyun Temple is prosperous, with a strong line of succession. It’s definitely the best choice.”
Ye Li: “…”
An Nanyuan quietly shut the jaw that had just dropped open.
Lu Xingxing was holding his mouth so tightly trying not to laugh that tears were running down his face.
Yan Shixun: “?”
Huh? Was that answer not satisfactory? Why wasn’t there any reaction at all?
Ye Li’s response was to expressionlessly reach out and cover Yan Shixun’s questioning eyes with his hand.
“I don’t want to be worshipped.”
Ye Li practically ground the words out through clenched teeth.
It was both his success and his downfall.
He loved deeply the resolute spirit and vitality of his exorcist companion, who pressed forward no matter the cost—yet he hadn’t expected that very resolve to become an obstacle between them. At this moment, it made him want to grind his teeth, to bite into the throat that was so close at hand.
Ye Li swiftly calmed himself within a few breaths, regaining his usual demeanor just before Yan Shixun could sense something was off.
“Forget it.”
There was a touch of frustration in Ye Li’s tone, and even a trace of grievance. “Let’s talk about this some other time.”
Yan Shixun: Tsk, this personality is way too hard to read. I don’t get it at all.
The fear that had gripped Lu Xingxing and An Nanyuan due to the fierce ghost dissipated the moment Yan Shixun appeared. Their hearts finally settled, and they let out sighs of relief.
The ground had sealed completely, and the blinding light gradually faded away.
The highway returned to its original state before everyone’s eyes.
An Nanyuan was so overwhelmed that tears welled up in his eyes.
“We’re finally, finally back.”
His voice trembled. “I almost thought I wouldn’t live to see tomorrow’s sun.”
Lu Xingxing: “…Are you implying you doubt my strength?”
However, once all the light had vanished, a creeping sense of wrongness began to dawn on everyone.
“Where’s Song Ci? What about Zhao Zhen?”
An Nanyuan hesitated. “Weren’t they just here on the highway? Why don’t I see them now?”
Yan Shixun didn’t answer.
His gaze toward the highway was solemn and alert.
The hell beneath the abyss, the lair of vengeful ghosts, had been dealt with—but the Yin Path still existed. The things that walked upon that path… were still out there.
And unlike the illusory world built by ghostly energy before, everything now had returned to reality.
This meant that the Yin Path, which had overlapped with the highway’s path, was now actually present—here and now.
Based on his understanding of how the official authorities operated, Yan Shixun knew that the moment they saw his message about the accident, they would be on their way.
They would broadcast the incident live, and the special departments would surely take action.
Back when he’d met the Taoist from Haiyun Temple at Binhai University’s campus, Yan Shixun had already asked about the real-world countermeasures. He knew that both the highway and the campus had been fully manned and prepared for the worst-case scenario.
That could only mean one thing…
There were now many people gathered on this highway in the real world.
Among them were Taoists from Haiyun Temple—but also rescue teams and others.
Yan Shixun now regarded all those people’s lives as his responsibility.
He would not allow those lives to be put in danger.
As the brilliant light filled with vitality disappeared, the cold, pale light of the highway’s streetlamps lit up the narrow stretch of road. It felt desolate, lifeless, and utterly devoid of warmth.
An Nanyuan’s heart was filled with dread. Looking at Yan Shixun’s back in front of him, he didn’t dare make a sound.
Lan Ze’s face showed signs of panic. He looked frantically at Yan Shixun. “Mr. Yan, I… I don’t want to leave.”
Yan Shixun’s eyes were sharp, his voice stern. “I’m here. Don’t worry.”
As everyone watched in silence, thick fog slowly began to rise from the far end of the highway.
It was the hour of the Ox—the time when Yang energy fell to its lowest, and Yin energy surged.
The deepest darkness before dawn brought with it Yin energy that bared its fangs and claws, spreading wildly and unrestrained.
From the ghostly, dim white mist, one shadow after another began to take shape.
Their silhouettes overlapped, flickering and swaying.
“Clang——!”
A crisp gong rang out. Its lingering echo trembled in the air, reverberating through the empty highway and the surrounding wilderness.
Underworld soldiers take the path—living people, make way!
Those who see them…
Die!
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