Chapter 180: No Way Back on This Journey (30)
The eight Taoist priests from Haiyun Temple had originally positioned themselves along different parts of the highway, calculating with their fingers—not only to search for the missing crew of the variety show, but also to determine the current whereabouts of the Yin Path.
Yet suddenly, one Taoist’s compass began to shake violently. The needle spun madly, buzzing with such intensity that the Taoist almost lost his grip on it.
Startled, he lowered his head to look—and could only watch as the sturdy metal compass abruptly shattered in his hand with a loud *“crack!”*
Fragments rained down in all directions.
The taoist stood there, stunned for a moment.
On the other side, another priest suddenly cried out, “The yin energy that had just faded is surging back—what’s going on?!”
“The Yin Path is right on the highway now!”
Taoist Yang Xuhu, his beard fluttering as he leapt across treetops, rushed over with a grave expression and reported his findings to the others.
“Something’s wrong. Although the ghost realm built by the yin energy disappeared, the Yin Path itself did not! I found skeletal remains deep in the forest—they must’ve been left behind by that unit of underworld Soldiers. They’re still nearby.”
A taoist beside him turned pale. “How can this be! The government official and several department personnel are still on the highway!”
The leading priest hesitated, weighing the consequences. Then he gritted his teeth and made a hard decision. “We’re pulling back! Evacuate everyone to safety!”
“Senior brother?”
The taoist beside him looked at him in disbelief. “What about the Yin Path? We’ve been tracking it for years. This is the closest we’ve ever gotten. If we let it go now, we may never get another chance.”
“Besides…”
“This is the ninth time the Yin Path has appeared in the human realm since Taoist Li’s warning. It will soon reach its final form.”
The taoist spoke through clenched teeth. “All these years, we’ve followed the Yin Path across all directions. The eight compass points are complete. If we look at it through the lens of the Gates of Life and Death, Binhai City is its final destination. Once it passes through here…”
The flood dragon becomes a true dragon. Evil spirits ascend to gods.
And mortals will no longer have the power to resist them.
The leading taoist’s expression turned grim and pained.
Of course he knew.
Taoist Li had only glimpsed a sliver of divine insight and nearly died for it. It took him years just to barely recover.
For humans to fight against ghosts and gods—it was no easy feat.
Since decades ago, strange occurrences had broken loose from their seals across various regions, bringing chaos to the world of men.
Zombies in the mountain city maimed and killed. Corpses rose from graves in the ancient capital. Villagers vanished repeatedly in Gui Mountain. Wild Wolf Peak became a desolate ghost town. Skeletons floated along the waters of Nanming Mountain…
That was the reason special departments existed—to combat these horrors and protect the lives of ordinary people.
But all sects and factions had been severely weakened a century ago. Even a major temple like Haiyun suffered near extinction during that catastrophe, losing much of its teachings, scriptures, and sacred tools.
Lesser sects fared even worse.
Many were completely wiped out, leaving no successors.
The Taoists and masters cooperating with special departments didn’t lack the will to eliminate these disasters—they clearly understood that if things continued as they were, it would only lead to even more terrifying catastrophes.
But they lacked the strength.
They hated their own limitations, but could only suppress incidents as best they could. Though unable to completely resolve them, they fought with everything they had, trying to channel life energy from heaven and earth to override the deathly aura in afflicted places.
That was how Ghost Mountain had been pressed beneath Gui Mountain since a hundred years ago. The Taoists of Haiyun Temple then had sacrificed their lives to drive Ghost Mountain to the border between yin and yang—expelling it from the human realm.
Wild Wolf Peak was opened to tourists, in hopes that the living energy of visitors could awaken the land’s vitality. Every year, trees were planted in bulk. Ecological experts were invited to carefully restore the local environment.
…
They had done everything they possibly could.
But it was like treating a festering wound with ointment and gauze—it might look fine on the surface, but the infection underneath kept spreading.
If no cure could be found, the disease would eventually erupt with even more intensity.
And if it ever reached that point… no medicine would help.
While the general public lived joyfully and in peace, others stood silently at the boundary between life and death, using their very bodies to build a protective wall.
The taoists had seen the truth. They were deeply troubled—but powerless.
Even Taoist Li of Haiyun Temple could only sigh, saying that if only his most gifted junior brother were still around, Gou Dan would surely have found a solution. But sadly, ever since they parted years ago, there had been no word from that brother.
That was until Zhang Wubing started his show.
This director, whose fate was intertwined with the supernatural, had stumbled into Ghost Mountain—long suppressed beneath Gui Mountain—by sheer accident. Even more incredibly, Yan Shixun, a member of the production crew, had completely unsealed Ghost Mountain.
When this news reached Haiyun Temple, the Abbot was stunned into prolonged silence.
And Taoist Li said he had seen a sliver of a miracle between heaven and earth.
—His long-lost junior brother had indeed left behind a way for the human world to avoid catastrophe.
Yan Shixun.
He was like a cold, ruthless doctor, decisively cutting away the rotting flesh to give the wound a chance to heal, allowing life to continue.
All those dreadfully ominous places that had plagued the taoists—and rotten, forgotten places like Family Tomb Village, neglected due to their remoteness—were all exposed and cleansed, one by one, renewed with life.
In Yan Shixun, the Abbot saw a spark of hope.
And Taoist Li had been right—Yan Shixun was a miracle sent by the heavens.
Just after escorting the rescued crew members to safety, the leading taoist had a detailed conversation with the official in charge and learned more about Yan Shixun. He discovered how this direct disciple of Hermit Chengyun, both directly and indirectly, saved countless lives.
Though he had never worked with Yan Shixun personally, the taoist believed that someone capable of such feats deserved full trust.
“The underworld Soldiers will be left to Fellow Taoist Yan.”
The leading taoist said with determination. “We must return and protect the lives of the others on the highway!”
Taoist Yang Xuhu still tried to persuade him, but the leading priest had already made his decision. “I trust Fellow Taoist Yan.”
“If he was dragged to Binhai University by the Yin Path, then it means he was already entangled with its ghostly energy. Whether he confronts the underworld soldiers directly or seeks them out, it will be far easier for him than for us.”
The leading priest gave a bitter smile. “Look at us—we’ve followed the Yin Path all the way here, and we haven’t even found the Gate of Death that leads into it.”
Though he spoke this way, in truth, it wasn’t because the taoists were too weak.
It was because the power of the underworld soldiers had been steadily growing stronger.
Haiyun Temple placed great importance on the Yin Path. The taoists sent to handle it were among the most outstanding of their generation.
And yet—even they could not withstand the supernatural power that had transcended mortal limits.
Over the years of tracking, the Taoists had discovered that the *Yin Path* did not randomly appear in various places—it had a hidden purpose.
After studying all eight directions, the intent became clearer.
It was obviously aligned with the ancient formation that once separated the human world from the underworld!
Every time the underworld soldiers passed through a location, they absorbed the power of the directional nodes, devouring the strength originally meant to suppress evil spirits. This in turn strengthened the underworld soldiers’ ranks, while simultaneously weakening the suppressive forces of the underworld.
At first, the Taoists didn’t understand. But by the time they realized something was wrong, they could only fight desperately to stop two or three groups of underworld soldiers, hoping that the formation would not be completely consumed.
Even so, they had only managed to preserve a tiny portion.
So this time, when the Taoists tracked the underworld soldiers to the mountains on the outskirts of Binhai City, they were already on high alert, fearing the underworld soldiers would harm people.
Though they hadn’t anticipated Lan Ze’s appearance would change everything, the result was still largely the same.
The evil spirits came out in full force, as if hell had descended upon the mortal world.
The underworld soldiers caused the suppressive power to loosen further and further, until this time, the final screw was undone—unleashing disaster.
When the Taoists saw the state of the highway and Binhai University, they felt a deep, desolate despair in their hearts.
The ninth time… the final time. Now that the formation was complete, how powerful were the underworld soldiers?
That was the full force that once defended the boundary between the living and the dead—and now it had fallen into the wrong, ghostly hands. How could the world of the living possibly fight against gods and spirits?
If not for the knowledge that behind them were the lives of Binhai’s citizens, and that their belief had transformed into strength to support them forward, the Taoists would have already been crushed by despair and suffocation.
At that moment, upon hearing the lead Taoist’s words, the other Taoists looked ashamed and lowered their heads.
They quickly reached an agreement: a few Taoists would remain to continue searching the highways and forests for the missing crew, assisting Yan Shixun as needed.
The rest would rush to where the officials and others were gathered, concerned for everyone’s safety.
Before turning to leave, the lead Taoist looked deeply toward the other end of the highway where the fog was gradually thickening. With a solemn heart, he entrusted Yan Shixun.
Fellow Taoist Yan, the *Yin Path*… we leave it to you. Please, make sure it ends before it reaches the ninth point.
At that same moment, Yan Shixun seemed to sense something. He turned his head, coldly gazing across to the other side of the highway.
“Shixun?” Ye Li asked softly, following his gaze.
Across the empty, silent road, Ye Li saw Taoists in the distance leaping and landing swiftly, running toward where the officials and others were.
“Are you worried about the others?”
Ye Li smiled gently and said in a low voice, “Don’t worry. The Taoists from Haiyun Temple are nearby. Among exorcists, they’re considered quite capable.”
“The lives you care about will be well protected by them.”
Ye Li reached out and grasped Yan Shixun’s wrist, locking eyes with him. “The people you want to protect… I’ll protect them too.”
The tension in Yan Shixun’s long, furrowed brows gradually eased. He nodded to Ye Li. “I trust Haiyun Temple.”
Ye Li raised an eyebrow. “And what about me?”
Yan Shixun: “?”
Ye Li: “Don’t you trust me?”
Yan Shixun: “…………”
He looked at Ye Li wordlessly, as if to ask: What are you even talking about?
Nearby, Lu Xingxing watched nervously.
On one hand, he was thrilled that his master aunt had acknowledged Haiyun Temple—even though he didn’t know why it made him so happy. It felt like a student being praised by a teacher. But on the other hand, he was worried. Were these two about to fight?
When gods clashed, bystanders suffered.
An Nanyuan, however, didn’t find anything wrong. In fact, when he felt Lu Xingxing trembling against him, he turned to look at him, puzzled.
What’s wrong? You need to pee?
Lu Xingxing: You need to pee! Get lost! I’m doing this for our lives. You wouldn’t understand.
If his master aunt wanted to beat him up, he could run to his master uncle for help. If his master uncle beat him up, he could call for his master aunt.
But if these two fought each other and it affected those around them…
Lu Xingxing recalled scenes of Yan Shixun slaying evil beings in the past and couldn’t help but shiver again.
An Nanyuan was speechless.
Unlike Lu Xingxing, who focused solely on music and worked in a relatively simple independent music studio, An Nanyuan had fought his way up as a trainee from the bottom of a big company. He’d seen too much of this world—and had naturally witnessed all kinds of relationships.
Though he had always focused on his career and never been interested in romance, he had still seen it all. He had an exceptionally sharp eye for these things.
From the moment he saw the way Ye Li looked at Yan Shixun, he knew—this person really liked Brother Yan.
It wasn’t a brief few months or years of infatuation. There were no ulterior motives involved.
This person… was deeply, truly captivated by Yan Shixun. The look in his eyes said he wished he could merge into one with Yan Shixun, unwilling to lose him for even a second.
It shocked An Nanyuan.
When he accidentally caught a glimpse of that volcanic, burning gaze Ye Li gave Yan Shixun, he felt stunned.
He had never seen such intense and pure emotion.
Fortunately, Brother Yan’s oblivious reply shattered that moment of awe, yanking An Nanyuan back to reality.
That’s why he dismissed Lu Xingxing’s worries.
There was nothing to be afraid of. As long as Brother Yan was here, as long as he still wanted to protect them, they’d be fine.
Yan Shixun scanned the area, then waved at Lu Xingxing. “Take care of An Nanyuan and Cheng Jing for now. Wait for me here.”
Lu Xingxing blinked. Still worried about something else, his brain lagged behind, and he blurted out reflexively, “…Are you going to buy some oranges?”
Yan Shixun: ……
Do I look like your dad?!
A vein popped on his forehead.
Then Yan Shixun decisively turned to Lan Ze. “Lan Ze, I’m going to bring the other two back. In the meantime, I’m leaving everyone’s safety in your hands.”
Lan Ze hadn’t expected Yan Shixun to entrust him with something so important. He was momentarily stunned.
Just as Lu Xingxing snapped back to his senses, he choked on his own saliva after hearing Yan Shixun’s words.
“Huh?”
Lu Xingxing looked incredulously at Lan Ze, then at Yan Shixun. “But he’s…”
Yan Shixun ignored him and simply raised an eyebrow at Lan Ze. “What, you can’t do it?”
“It’s not that…”
Lan Ze bit his lip. A strand of hair fell from behind his ear, shading his pale, handsome face with a faint shadow.
He still remembered how, when he was alive, the once-friendly classmates on Binhai University’s campus turned on him over some irrelevant gain and misunderstanding. No matter how he explained, they refused to believe him.
After he died, he heard someone in the production crew’s van sincerely praying for his safety, worried about him because of the news.
He had wanted to help that girl—to repay that bit of kindness.
But ghosts and humans ultimately belonged to different realms. Humans feared the unknown, afraid the unnatural might harm them, always on guard.
That girl’s fearful gaze toward him had pierced Lan Ze’s heart.
It was the first time he truly felt the weight of death.
He began to realize he really was no longer human.
People wouldn’t trust him.
Yet Yan Shixun hadn’t attacked him like some Taoist in a movie, blasting him into oblivion. Instead, he had removed the ghostly energy that had been haunting and eroding him, to the greatest extent possible.
And now, Yan Shixun was looking at him with complete trust, asking him to protect the living…
Lan Ze hesitated, afraid that if he accepted this trust and failed, someone would get hurt.
He didn’t even dare turn around, terrified of seeing doubt in the eyes of the other Taoists nearby.
Just like that girl in the car.
Every glance reminded him—he was no longer among the living.
He and the one he deeply loved were now separated by life and death, with no possibility of continuing their love. The rest of the world feared him, seeing him as a vengeful ghost that harmed people…
“That settles it, then.”
Yan Shixun no longer gave Lan Ze any time to hesitate or think. He nodded calmly and said, “Leaving them in your hands puts me at ease.”
Yan Shixun had seen through Lan Ze’s hesitation. He was just waiting for someone to give him a push, someone to help him find direction in his confusion.
So, Yan Shixun was willing to be that person.
“Mr. Yan!”
Lan Ze looked up in shock.
“Cheng Jing is the same as the others—he’s still human. You don’t need to be afraid. Just treat them as ordinary living people.”
Yan Shixun scoffed. “Relax, that Taoist next to you is nowhere near as clever as Cheng Jing. He doesn’t have the brains to deal with you. You’ll be fine.”
Lu Xingxing: “???”
Master Uncle! I suspect you just insulted me—but I don’t dare say anything!
“Your obsession with Cheng Jing was so strong that it crossed the boundary of life and death, even stirring the Yin ath. The ghostly energy on you shares the same origin as the path to the underworld. Though you must be cautious not to be taken away by it, that same energy is the best tool to protect others.”
Yan Shixun pointed in the air at the wisps of black energy coiling around Lan Ze’s soul and said, “It’s like camouflage—something that can confuse the underworld soldiers so they can’t detect the people hidden within ghostly energy.”
“Lan Ze, right now, only you can save them—including Cheng Jing.”
Yan Shixun looked steadily at Lan Ze. “So, I believe in you.”
Lan Ze was stunned.
But at the same time, a warm feeling flowed into his heart, warming even his already ice-cold and broken body.
In front of Yan Shixun, he wasn’t a monster. He was still Lan Ze.
Just Lan Ze.
A trustworthy comrade, someone who could be counted on, someone who could be entrusted with one’s back.
He wasn’t a man-eating ghost.
Lan Ze still wanted to say something, but when he looked up, all that was left for him was the sight of Yan Shixun’s back as he turned and walked away.
Yan Shixun slightly bent his long legs, pushed off the ground, gripped the highway guardrail with his palm, and leapt upward. He nimbly cleared the railing and landed steadily on the road. Within the mist slowly spreading, he walked forward with unwavering determination.
The power Ye Li had lent him was still surging through his meridians, like a vast deep sea, never running dry.
That power also supported Yan Shixun at this moment—when ghostly energy blanketed the sky and earth—allowing him to cast divinations and connect with the heavens.
Yan Shixun strode forward steadily, constantly calculating the current positions of Zhao Zhen and Song Ci with his hands.
Southeast, lower, belongs to wood.
As if he couldn’t see the underworld soldiers walking directly toward him in the distance, Yan Shixun walked straight down the highway, neither dodging nor flinching.
Following the guidance given by the divination, he silently counted to ninety-nine, then stopped and calmly looked to the side of the road.
In the early morning of late autumn, cold wind swept the outskirts, and frost clung to the already withered vegetation.
After the crops were harvested, the remaining weeds and stalks had been piled into mounds and stood at the field’s edge.
And beside one of the mounds, on the edge of a rice paddy, there were still scattered, messy footprints. The dead grass had been trampled, and the originally bundled straw had been scattered in disorder.
It looked like someone had been here.
A smile appeared in Yan Shixun’s eyes.
He had found them.
Just as the divination said—Zhao Zhen and Song Ci were hiding right here.
At the same time that Yan Shixun paused to observe, behind the haystack, Song Ci—like a vigilant cat with ears pricked—had widened his eyes and was peeking nervously through the gaps in the straw, terrified that something might discover their hiding spot.
At the moment the ghostly world collapsed, the two of them, who were walking along the road, felt it most clearly.
They had supported each other to stay upright. Song Ci, already exhausted, would have collapsed to the ground if Zhao Zhen hadn’t caught him in time.
Once the quake-like tremors stopped, they were shocked to find that the abyss that had previously separated them from Lu Xingxing and the others… had vanished!
In its place stood the familiar highway railing.
In their excitement, they quickly realized something was wrong—Lu Xingxing and the others weren’t in the spot they remembered.
Zhao Zhen calmly analyzed the situation, suggesting that when they were released from the ghost wall, their previously overlapping positions had shifted, causing them to land in a completely different place.
They couldn’t see any road signs on the highway, couldn’t determine their exact location, and had no phones for help or navigation. So, they had no choice but to rely on roadside signposts, slowly trying to make their way back to where the program crew’s car crash had originally happened.
But before they could go far, a thick fog suddenly rolled in over the highway.
The underworld soldiers who had been chasing them before reappeared in the distance.
Song Ci and Zhao Zhen exchanged a look, roughly estimated the distance and their speed, and immediately climbed over the guardrail and ran toward the side.
The young master, already out of energy, couldn’t get over the railing, nor could he climb down. He flushed red in embarrassment and anger, looking like he was about to explode.
Zhao Zhen, both amused and helpless, reached out and directly lifted the little master by his armpits, easily carrying him over the guardrail.
They looked around—most of the trees had shed their leaves in the late autumn. The young master worried they’d be discovered hiding behind a tree, so he dragged Zhao Zhen into one of the mounds of piled straw.
Zhao Zhen, who had been tense, couldn’t help but find Song Ci’s cat-like manner funny. He actually relaxed a little.
If he had been escaping on his own, he honestly wasn’t sure how long he could have lasted.
But with a companion by his side, supporting each other—especially one who would scratch him with a paw or two when annoyed to keep him alert—it was impossible to fall into despair or thoughts of giving up.
Zhao Zhen suddenly felt that, amid all their bad luck, finding Song Ci to escape with might have been a stroke of fortune.
Song Ci rolled his eyes. He thought Zhao Zhen’s heartfelt sentiment, clearly aimed at him, made the guy sound like he had a screw loose.
Ragdoll cat with a cold face: My servant’s lost his mind again. But I must tolerate it—he is, after all, my servant.
Protective? Hmph!
Just as he was thinking that, Song Ci suddenly noticed a figure appearing in the thin fog over the road.
That person stood quietly behind the highway railing, gazing silently in their direction. Their calm demeanor, in such a spooky environment, was downright terrifying.
Song Ci’s heart skipped a beat in fright. Ignoring the pain from his twisted ankle, he grabbed Zhao Zhen and pulled him back, ready to flee.
But Zhao Zhen quickly recognized the figure as Yan Shixun.
“Wait, wait.”
Zhao Zhen, both amused and exasperated, tried to calm the startled cat. “That’s Brother Yan—not a ghost.”
At that moment, Yan Shixun also raised his slender hand and tapped the metal railing, making a sound to get their attention.
“Run farther—go as far as you can. Don’t look back.”
Yan Shixun said calmly, “From this moment on, no matter what sounds you hear, don’t turn around, don’t look, don’t respond to anyone calling your name, and don’t call each other by your full names.”
“I’ll be on the road, making sure no real danger threatens you.”
The increasingly thick fog and the bone-chilling air made Yan Shixun’s eyes as sharp as blades. Even his voice carried a piercing edge, capable of cutting deep.
But to Zhao Zhen and Song Ci, it was a source of reassurance.
The anxiety they’d been holding onto suddenly lifted from their chests. It felt like they had finally found someone to rely on.
Song Ci looked up at Yan Shixun and gave him a solemn nod.
Then, he tugged Zhao Zhen along and started running toward the other end of the field. As the fierce wind swept past him, his eyes sparkled like those of a cat.
Zhao Zhen asked, confused, “You’re that happy?”
“Yeah!”
Song Ci was elated, his smile so wide it couldn’t be hidden. “This is exactly what I’ve been chasing after—of course I’m happy!”
The kind of joy that only Zhang Wubing used to understand was finally his to feel too.
The rich second- and third-generation kids around him had nothing to do but flash luxury cars and expensive watches. At most, they climbed snowy mountains or skydived. Even extreme sports had their limits. It was so dull that it often made him question whether he was even alive.
But this—this!
A game that wagered life itself, where losing meant being devoured by evil spirits—wasn’t that the most thrilling, heart-pounding form of fun?
Yan Shixun, Yan Shixun!
The best decision he made all year was trading the broadcast rights of the show with Zhang Wubing for a guest slot—just so he could join this program!
Song Ci was as happy as a cat chasing butterflies.
Zhao Zhen, however, had a complicated look in his eyes.
It seemed… he had underestimated the young master.
As he watched the two figures fade into the distance, Yan Shixun finally looked away and coldly turned his gaze toward the road ahead.
The fog was so thick he couldn’t see a thing.
The faint road lights couldn’t pierce the dense mist, illuminating only a small area and blurring the boundary between light and dark. It made it impossible to tell where the world of the living ended.
Ghostly figures flickered in and out of view.
Chains dragged along the pavement, and a chorus of wails overlapped into something terrifying and mind-numbing.
But Yan Shixun stood his ground, showing no intention of avoiding it.
On the contrary, he lowered his eyes, waiting.
The life that once held him back had been properly arranged. Now… this was their battlefield.
Yan Shixun stood there in silence for a while, then a faint smile appeared on his lips.
*CLANG—!*
The sound of a gong rang out not far in front of him.
At such close range, the ghostly figures emerged from the thick fog and appeared before Yan Shixun.
He lifted his gaze, calm and unafraid, staring straight ahead. As a mere mortal, he faced the vengeful ghosts and underworld soldiers head-on.
Yan Shixun saw that leading the procession was a petty officer wrapped in heavy chains. His eyes glowed blood-red, his face a mixture of dark green and black, his skin charred and cracked so badly it obscured his original appearance. His uniform was from a long-gone dynasty.
His dried, stiff hands resembled carbonized chicken claws, holding the gong that he used to lead the way for the underworld soldiers behind him.
Following him were over a hundred Yin officials, all dressed in rough white garments with tall white hats. Their faces were covered with sheets of white paper.
From their wide sleeves dangled chains that stretched out to the sides and behind them.
There were countless evil spirits bound to those chains.
Each one had died in a different way. Their corpses and souls were in various stages of decay. The only consistent thing was the chains tightly wrapped around them, stained with mottled blood and fragments of flesh, revealing what they were.
Every step the evil spirits took felt like walking on blades. The pain forced them to scream in agony, their terrifying faces twisting even more grotesquely, striking fear into anyone who saw them.
But just as they opened their mouths to scream, burning red coals were shoved into their throats by an unseen force, searing through their narrow windpipes and lodging deep inside.
The flames burned fiercely in their bellies, visible even through their broken bodies, constantly scorching their souls.
With each wave of pain, they remembered the sins that led them to this torment. Regret and suffering piled up inside their ghostly forms.
They had escaped Hell, but Hell had never truly left them.
The Yin officials said nothing, only raised their chains and lashed the evil spirits hard.
Their screams of agony echoed through the empty mountain fields, chilling and eerie.
In the distance stood underworld soldiers clad in armor.
They wore heavy iron gear that gleamed coldly. Armed with weapons, they exuded an aura of menace.
But beneath their thick armor, there were no visible faces—only dark masses, as if black mist alone animated the armor.
The clatter of hooves hit the ground, and the clashing of long spears rang out in the silence, metallic and cold, shrouded in ghostly energy.
This was not a scene any ordinary person could endure.
Even a single glance could cause a living soul to shatter and die, overwhelmed by the aura of death.
But Yan Shixun, born with an Evil Spirit Bone Transformation, felt no discomfort. In fact, the ghostly aura seeping into his meridians stirred his otherwise calm heart. His eyes sharpened, bright as drawn blades.
Brighter than snow.
The petty officer in front hadn’t expected a living person to block the path. Its long-dead brain struggled to comprehend why this human showed no fear—he even seemed to be looking forward to it.
But a ghost’s survival instinct kicked in, and it halted. Its charred hand, which had been striking the gong, suddenly couldn’t move.
That one glance from Yan Shixun filled the petty officer with dread.
And as it came to a stop, the Yin officials behind it, who had been marching silently with bowed heads, also halted one by one. Slowly, they raised their heads and stared forward with cold, paper-covered faces.
Yan Shixun grinned. “Friends, you’ve taken a wrong turn.”
“This road leads to the human world. You lot… should be heading back to the underworld.”
The Yin officials didn’t respond, but deathly chill and cold energy seeped through the white paper.
From their oversized white sleeves, the chains clattered to the ground with a crisp sound.
In the next second, without warning, all the chains shot toward Yan Shixun like lightning.
Yan Shixun was ready. He swiftly ducked to avoid the spot where he had just been standing, then activated the talisman clasped in his hand.
Golden light rippled outward from him in expanding circles, like waves moving through air.
He seized the tangible golden talisman and drew another symbol in midair. With a flick of his finger, he struck it toward the underworld worker in front.
The white paper mask instantly ignited, revealing the rotting, monstrous face beneath.
The moment Yan Shixun saw the face, his expression sharpened.
Something wasn’t right… That wasn’t the face an Yin official should have.
Unlike the exorcists and Taoists of this weakened era who struggled even to summon a spirit, Li Chengyun had traveled across the entire country, appearing wherever ghosts caused trouble. He was one of the few who had truly seen Yin officials—and even summoned them for aid.
Because of this, he had told Yan Shixun about the origins of Yin officials.
They were spirits of the dead bound by karma. Unlike evil ghosts, Yin officials, while burdened by sin, also carried a trace of merit.
So, the King of Hell had sentenced them to serve in the underworld until the weight of their sins fell below that of their accumulated merit. Only then could they reincarnate as humans—or remain in the underworld to take up true official posts.
It was much like an internship in the human world that could eventually turn into a permanent position.
Because of this, the Yin officials were allowed to keep their original appearance. At first glance, they looked no different from the corpses in a funeral home, rather than the grotesque and terrifying faces of evil spirits.
However, what now stood before Yan Shixun was a face that had decayed to a horrifying degree. One of its eyeballs hung out of the socket, the lips had rotted away completely, and one could even see the blackened tongue and the eroded jawbone inside.
It looked just like the countless evil spirits Yan Shixun had encountered before.
Yan Shixun was startled, and the way he looked at the Yin official took on a more probing, cautious light.
The underworld had long since collapsed, yet this Yin official was not guarding souls there. Instead, he had appeared in the realm of the living.
According to the Taoist from Haiyun Temple, this wasn’t even the first time the Yin path had opened. It had happened several times over the years—and each time had been more dangerous than the last.
Had something happened during this period that no one knew about?
Had the King of Hell died, and his power gradually dissipated, taking with it the strength and order of the underworld’s Yin officials and soldiers?
Yan Shixun’s mind raced, but his hands never stopped moving.
Those golden talismans struck the chains held by the Yin official and severed them in midair, rendering the chains unable to attack him.
The evil spirits and Yin officials shrouded in golden light began to howl in agony, as if they were being set on fire, their bodies consumed by searing pain.
Beyond the mist, the Yin official stared coldly at Yan Shixun, unmoved by the wailing of the evil spirits behind him.
The entire ghost army, stretching far into the thick fog without an end in sight, gradually came to a halt.
Horses’ hooves landed heavily, long spears struck the ground, and the clinking of armor rang out sharply.
Out of the mist, pale figures began to take shape.
Yan Shixun couldn’t help but catch his breath.
Thousands upon thousands of Yin officials gradually appeared before his eyes, the swirling mist trailing behind them, cold and ethereal.
Pairs of eyes stared at him from beneath their paper masks—cold, piercing, as if he were already a dead man.
The next moment, the sound of countless chains clashing filled the air.
Chains stained with blood and rust shot toward Yan Shixun from every direction, weaving into a massive net that left no space for escape.
“Looks like you’ve all lost your way… In that case, let me send you—to hell!”
Yan Shixun’s eyes turned sharp, and he charged forward.
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