Chapter 185: No Way Back on This Journey (35)
Haiyun Temple was located in the main district of Binhai City. The surrounding forest and streams were lush and green—a tranquil patch of nature amidst the city’s steel jungle and bustling streets.
Because of this, many tourists visiting Binhai City often included Haiyun Temple in their must-see travel lists. Regardless of whether they believed in Taoism or not, they were happy to visit the centuries-old cultural site and experience the admiration and enthusiasm the local citizens had for the temple.
Today was clearly the weekend—the time when tourists and incense burners were at their peak—but Haiyun Temple had already issued a notice on its official social media account the day before: unless an appointment had been made with one of the Taoist masters, ordinary visitors would not be sold tickets or received at the temple today.
Tourists were confused, but the young Taoist in charge of managing the platform had a cold and aloof personality and paid no mind to the disappointed cries flooding the comment section.
Some speculated, “Could this have something to do with what happened when the Taoists went to Binhai University?”
“My mom’s a nurse. Their hospital received a bunch of Taoists that day, all of them pretty badly injured.”
“It’s true! Gosh…”
Although the official statement from Haiyun Temple had explained that the Taoists merely passed by the university and acted bravely to help, some people remained skeptical. They continued to believe the theory that Binhai University was haunted and tried to piece together clues to disprove the official story.
Still, many people didn’t really care about the matter.
What did a haunted university have to do with them? It wasn’t their house being haunted.
So, the doubts didn’t stir up much trouble under the official account. In fact, others thought the closure was quite normal.
“Don’t you realize what you just said is the reason? The Taoists got hurt doing the right thing. So to not disturb their recovery, they closed the temple.”
“Exactly. That makes sense. Everyone in this city knows how many visitors show up at Haiyun Temple on weekends. Weekdays are one thing, but weekends are noisy and chaotic—definitely not good for someone trying to recover.”
“When you put it that way, it’s actually pretty considerate.”
“Alright, alright. If we can’t go today, we’ll go tomorrow. What’s the big deal? It’s not like the temple’s going to grow legs and walk away.”
“Ah… Hmm… Ever since I saw that short video of the Taoist flying on a sword, I kind of feel like the temple *could* move on its own.”
“??? So other cities are going to randomly gain a flying temple?”
“LMAO, calm down with the imagination, my dear silly internet friends.”
The young Taoist managing the platform sat expressionlessly at the ticket counter. With one hand, he scrolled through the comments on his tablet, occasionally glancing toward the mountain gate.
When he saw someone leave a tearful comment asking if they could “make an appointment with the platform operator to get access to the temple,” he frowned and let out a cold snort.
They had closed the temple to protect *them*, hadn’t they?
Because some people genuinely came for help, Haiyun Temple had remained open year-round. Aside from important rituals and special events, it was almost never closed.
Even though this time over twenty Taoists had been injured to varying degrees, that wasn’t the reason they shut the temple.
The real reason was…
The young Taoist looked up and saw a young man walking steadily up the mountain path in the distance.
His expression was calm and indifferent, his features sharp and defined. His entire presence carried the cold edge of someone who had walked through life and death multiple times—a person who was clearly not to be trifled with. Even seasoned criminals would likely retreat upon seeing him, afraid to provoke someone so dangerous.
And yet, this fierce aura was wrapped in the refined clothing of a collared shirt and coat. Like a beast restrained by civilization, the contrast only added a dangerous charm, giving him the air of a refined but brutal enforcer—someone you couldn’t look away from.
His black shirt outlined his firm chest muscles perfectly. The top two buttons were undone, revealing his beautiful collarbones and Adam’s apple. Since it was early winter and a bit chilly, a camel-colored scarf rested on his shoulders, draping over his dark green coat and swaying slightly with his steps.
As he walked up the mountain path, the tall, ancient trees on either side still held traces of cold morning mist. A fine layer of frost settled on his broad shoulders, yet he didn’t seem to notice. His gaze remained lowered, his expression serene.
It was as if no matter how heavy the burden, his tall and sturdy frame would always bear it. Nothing could crush the prideful spine that held him up.
Even if the sky were to fall, he would be the first to step forward and hold it up.
His Martin boots landed solidly on the frosty old stone steps, leaving steady, strong footprints behind.
He didn’t walk fast, but the young Taoist immediately grew excited.
With a loud *whoosh*, he jumped up, almost flinging the tablet off his knees. His usual aloof demeanor disappeared without a trace, replaced with eyes full of admiration and joy.
“Grandmaster Yan!”
His voice even cracked from excitement, like a crazed fan spotting their idol at a live concert. Just seeing the man from afar was enough to make him scream inwardly.
Yan Shixun nearly stumbled when he heard the title.
He looked up and saw the young Taoist waiting at the gate of Haiyun Temple, so overwhelmed with emotion he didn’t know what to do.
So the surprise of being called “Grandmaster” quickly turned into amused tolerance.
This kid clearly hadn’t even finished his training. Who knew which of his old acquaintances had taken in such a disciple or disciple’s disciple—calling him “Grandmaster” right off the bat, as if his twenty-something self had suddenly aged into an ancient sage.
Yan Shixun chuckled but didn’t shut down the young Taoist’s enthusiasm. He smiled and walked over at a relaxed pace, asking, “Where’s Taoist Ma? I have an appointment with him.”
The young Taoist was like a fan whose idol had just spoken to him. Meeting his idol up close turned his face red with excitement, and he could barely speak. Stammering, he said, “Y-Yes, I know! Taoist Ma is waiting for you!”
“G-G-Grandmaster, let me lead the way—this way!”
As he turned around, still staring at Yan Shixun, he nearly walked right into the doorframe. Yan Shixun had to react quickly, reaching out and grabbing him just in time to pull him back.
“Alright, keep your eyes on the path,” Yan Shixun said helplessly.
Even though he was willing to tolerate the other’s excessive enthusiasm, he didn’t want to just stand by and watch the guy suffer a bloody misfortune because of him.
With that in mind, Yan Shixun casually pulled a notebook from his robe, tore out a page, and quickly drew a calming talisman on it using his finger as a brush. He handed the paper to the young Taoist.
“I don’t know who your master is, or why you’re calling me Grandmaster, but since you did call me that, it wouldn’t be right if I didn’t give you a meeting gift.”
Yan Shixun lowered his gaze and smiled slightly. “Take it. I wish you success in reaching the Great Dao.”
The young Taoist had just been overwhelmed with embarrassment from making a fool of himself in front of someone he admired, to the point he nearly fainted. But unexpectedly, Yan Shixun didn’t laugh at him at all—he actually gave him a talisman.
He was stunned.
When he finally snapped out of it, his hands trembled as he reached out to take the talisman.
“Th-thank you, Grandmaster!” the young Taoist said excitedly. “I’ll do my best!”
Haiyun Temple had closed its gates that day precisely because of what Yan Shixun had come to do.
Lan Ze and Cheng Jing were determined to stay together. Even if it meant harming Cheng Jing’s human body, even if it would cause Lan Ze’s ghostly soul to scatter and be unable to reincarnate, they still refused to part.
But while Yan Shixun had come to understand Lan Ze thanks to Ye Li’s reminder, he couldn’t just stand by and watch them march toward such a tragic ending.
So he discussed the matter with Haiyun Temple, hoping to borrow the temple’s centuries of righteous spiritual energy to help neutralize the harmful ghost energy affecting Cheng Jing.
Yan Shixun had expected that, as one of the most prestigious Taoist temples, Haiyun Temple would be difficult to approach, with layers of protocol.
Yet, to his surprise, the moment he explained his idea to Taoist Ma, the man immediately and solemnly called the temple’s abbot.
The abbot spoke with Yan Shixun directly, and after hearing only the beginning of his request, gave immediate approval.
This caught Yan Shixun off guard.
After all, based on his past experiences with reclusive Taoist masters, most of them had distinct temperaments and were far from the mild-mannered sages the world imagined.
Taoists, in particular, often had fiery personalities—Taoist Li, for example, was a typical case. Compared to them, Yan Shixun himself seemed downright easygoing.
Yet the abbot’s reply had been swift and direct, completely unlike the drawn-out process Yan Shixun had anticipated.
Clearly, since Yan Shixun hadn’t paid much attention to internal matters at Haiyun Temple, he had no idea how much respect and trust the people there held for him.
—In several past crises, it had been Yan Shixun who turned the tide. He had even resolved a long-standing issue that had burdened the temple for years. Many Taoists who had once failed to avert disasters and thus stagnated in their spiritual cultivation had suddenly seen new clarity and begun progressing again.
Taoist Ma, for example, who had failed to save the villagers of Wild Wolf Peak twenty years ago.
So even though Yan Shixun had never formally rejoined Haiyun Temple, and even considered himself an outsider, the temple’s members viewed him as a true fellow cultivator worthy of their deep respect.
“Fellow Taoist Yan is the direct disciple of Hermit Chengyun. By seniority, you should actually call me Master Uncle. We’re all one family—no need to stand on ceremony.”
The abbot had said with a chuckle over the phone. “Besides, I trust you and I’m willing to help those two. Isn’t this the very reason we Taoist temples exist? To enter the world and aid all beings—that’s the true path.”
Thanks to the support of the abbot and other Taoists, the arrangement for Lan Ze and Cheng Jing to enter Haiyun Temple was settled quickly.
Since Lan Ze’s ghost energy would harm Cheng Jing, they would suppress it with Haiyun Temple’s righteous energy. Since lingering too long in the human world would cause Lan Ze’s soul to scatter, they would use the temple’s talismans and formations to keep it intact.
With the flow of Taiji and the balance of yin and yang—
As long as the two remained within the temple, Haiyun Temple would act as a buffer zone, filtering out the excess yin and yang energy. That way, the two could stay together without ending up hurting one another.
However, Lan Ze was still a vengeful ghost.
The pain and resentment from his death had turned into a powerful obsession—so powerful, in fact, that it stirred the path of the underworld. That alone spoke to the strength of his spirit.
His past entanglement with the ghostly aura of hell and his plunge into the sea of blood had left him shrouded in sinister ghost energy, which would negatively affect any living person who came near.
For this reason, Haiyun Temple decided to close its gates to all visitors on the day of Lan Ze’s arrival.
This was not only to avoid frightening tourists—who might have their worldview shattered upon seeing a ghost with their own eyes—but also to protect them from being affected by the ghostly aura of Lan Ze.
Even some of the newly initiated young Taoists in the temple had been told not to leave the premises until the formation was fully set up.
The ghostly energy brought back from hell by vengeful spirits was no trivial matter.
Taoist Ma had long since prepared all the necessary talismans and ritual tools for the formation in his room. As soon as Yan Shixun stepped into the backyard, Taoist Ma opened the door and greeted him with a smile.
“Junior Brother Yan,” Taoist Ma glanced curiously behind him, “Where are the other two?”
Yan Shixun answered calmly, “Cheng Jing still has something to explain to Lan Ze’s parents. They’ll be arriving shortly. Let’s go ahead and set up the formation first.”
After all, Haiyun Temple remained concerned that Lan Ze might harm the living. Whenever the ghostly energy and yin aura became too strong, it could cloud a ghost’s consciousness. Even if they had no intention of hurting anyone, instinct might still drive them to do so.
Therefore, Haiyun Temple decided to place the restraining formation for Lan Ze inside the temple itself. As an exception, they set aside a small private room for the two of them, so that Cheng Jing could stay within the temple just like any other Taoist and remain by Lan Ze’s side at all times.
Yan Shixun and Haiyun Temple had done everything they could to offer the gentlest ending possible.
Here, the two could be together like ordinary people, free from the boundaries between life and death, free from worry.
Taoist Ma didn’t mind that the others hadn’t arrived yet. He simply led Yan Shixun to the room they had cleaned out and prepared.
“I heard Student Cheng is a top student at Binhai University—he’s kind of like your junior, isn’t he? That makes him my junior too.”
Taoist Ma said with a smile. “I picked a room that faces the yin for him. Most people prefer sunlight, but I figure junior brother will be glad to stay somewhere where the influence of the vengeful spirit is weakest.”
“It’s just…”
Taoist Ma hesitated for a moment. “Although Haiyun Temple is more modern than most temples and not some remote, impoverished retreat deep in the mountains, it’s still far less exciting than the colorful lives young people are used to. I don’t know if junior brother will be able to adjust.”
“He will.”
Yan Shixun replied with a confident smile. “What could be more fulfilling for them than being together?”
Before making this decision, Yan Shixun had carefully explained the pros and cons to Cheng Jing.
After all, Cheng Jing had originally planned to enter the postgraduate research program at Capital University. With Lan Ze’s death, the reserved recommendation quota was passed down, and Cheng Jing had become the recipient.
As long as he was willing, Cheng Jing could have continued down the path of scientific research.
But if he were to accept Yan Shixun’s plan—staying at Haiyun Temple to be with Lan Ze, who would be bound in place by the restraining formation—it would mean Cheng Jing could no longer pursue his research.
For once, Yan Shixun even read Cheng Jing’s fate chart and told him that if he continued in scientific research, he would achieve great success in a little over a decade.
But Cheng Jing didn’t hesitate for a second before rejecting it.
“Before I met Lan Ze in sophomore year, when I joined the research group, my world was made up only of symbols and formulas. Every person was just an abstract molecular structure—meaningless to me.”
Cheng Jing had smiled then, his expression full of peace. “From the moment I fell in love with Lan Ze, my dream changed from chemistry to him.”
“He is my whole world. So how could I refuse the chance to stay by his side?”
That was what Cheng Jing had said when he gave up the guaranteed spot at Capital University’s research institute. He requested a leave from Binhai University and went to Lan Ze’s home to formally introduce himself to Lan Ze’s parents. He promised them that from then on, they would be his parents too—and he would take care of everything Lan Ze had left behind.
When Lan Ze’s parents learned the truth behind their son’s death, they passed out from grief several times from crying. But the news Cheng Jing brought, and his presence itself, gave them renewed hope.
Afraid that Lan Ze’s remains would frighten his parents, Cheng Jing handled all of the funeral arrangements himself.
Seeing this young man personally take care of his lover’s final rites, every staff member involved felt a deep sense of sorrow and pity. They all tried to comfort Cheng Jing, worried that he might take his own life in grief and follow Lan Ze in death.
Cheng Jing remained calm throughout, always smiling politely and thanking others for their comfort and encouragement.
His expression was filled with contentment.
—What others couldn’t see was that Lan Ze had always been by his side, staying with him.
Cheng Jing felt he was already the happiest person alive, able to remain with his beloved forever, never to be separated.
Seeing how resolute Yan Shixun’s answer was, Taoist Ma nodded and led him all the way to the new room prepared for Cheng Jing at Haiyun Temple.
The array that would suppress Lan Ze was to be set up there, chosen with Cheng Jing’s needs in mind, so he could always stay with Lan Ze.
After hearing their story, Taoist Ma was deeply moved. He even complained to the other Taoists, “We’re not even from the Quanzhen sect, so how come we’re all still single?”
The other Taoists replied, “…Maybe it’s tradition. Haiyun Temple has always been full of single folks. Hardly any Taoist here has ever gotten married.”
Taoist Ma let out a long sigh and became even more invested in Cheng Jing and Lan Ze’s situation. Every talisman used in the barrier was drawn with sincere care and effort.
Ever since he’d been scolded by Taoist Wang for not being attentive to his junior brother, Taoist Ma had taken a special interest in Yan Shixun’s affairs. As a result, he even extended that care to Cheng Jing, handling everything himself.
Even though the cleanup work on the highway kept him so busy his feet barely touched the ground, he still stubbornly carved out time to help, determined not to give Taoist Wang another chance to scold him.
Taoist Ma cast a sidelong glance at Taoist Wang: Hmph, who doesn’t have a little temper now and then?
Taoist Wang glanced enviously at Taoist Ma, then immediately turned around and yelled at his own disciple: “Why don’t you have a partner? Do you think just because your master’s an old relic, I don’t support you falling in love?”
The disciple was caught off guard, utterly baffled: “Master, what are you saying? Isn’t our temple known for being single? I haven’t heard of a single Taoist here getting married in over a hundred years!”
Taoist Wang erupted in anger: “Go find yourself a partner! If you don’t find one, don’t even think about coming home for the New Year! Look at Junior Brother Yan, and look at Cheng Jing—why can they find someone but not you?”
The disciple: Uh… I didn’t expect that even after becoming a Taoist, I’d still be under pressure to get married???
Was this a case of catching strays from someone else’s situation??
Before the sun reached its zenith, Cheng Jing held Lan Ze’s hand in one of his own, and in the other, he cradled Lan Ze’s urn. Step by step, they ascended the mountain path to Haiyun Temple.
A young Taoist looked at Lan Ze in amazement, then glanced at the urn in Cheng Jing’s hands.
Very few ghosts ever came willingly to a place like Haiyun Temple—this was the first one he’d seen.
Lan Ze gave the young Taoist a gentle smile and nodded in greeting. He had already come to terms with the reality of his death.
As long as he could remain with Cheng Jing, life or death no longer made a difference to him.
Outside the room Taoist Ma had chosen for Cheng Jing, there stood a centuries-old sweet osmanthus tree. Every autumn, its golden blossoms would perfume the air, carpeting the ground in a beautiful yellow.
At first, Lan Ze had feared that the other Taoists might dislike his identity as a vengeful ghost or even try to drive him away. But after seeing how warmly Taoist Ma treated them, his anxious heart gradually settled.
Because of Yan Shixun, Taoist Ma enthusiastically introduced Haiyun Temple and everything within it to the couple, reminding them that if they ever needed anything, they could come to him anytime, without hesitation.
“If Junior Brother Cheng is willing, you could also help out in the scripture library. There are many old texts and handwritten notes there that need regular organizing, airing, pest control, and rebinding.”
Taoist Ma offered kindly, “Or you could take a look at the work over at the ticket booth. The pay isn’t high, but meals and lodging are all provided within the temple, and honestly, there aren’t many expenses here anyway.”
Although Haiyun Temple was located in the urban area of Binhai and had access to internet and modern amenities, it was still a far cry from the flashy lifestyle most young people led these days. Taoist Ma didn’t know much about Cheng Jing’s previous life and worried he might find temple life dull, so he offered various suggestions.
Cheng Jing could hear the good intentions behind his words and smiled in gratitude.
“I used to be in a lab. Now I’m in a Taoist temple. There’s no real difference to me.”
His eyes shimmered with a soft, watery warmth. He turned to look at Lan Ze standing beneath the osmanthus tree. “As long as he’s here, it’s enough.”
Lan Ze’s urn was placed within the formation, right beneath the tree outside their window. Cheng Jing only needed to lift his eyes to see it.
And with his soul near his remains, Lan Ze could maintain stability.
Although the experience of watching one’s own ashes was definitely a unique one, both of them were content.
If it hadn’t been for Yan Shixun, Lan Ze would have lost himself in the thick ghostly aura, losing his sanity and eventually turning into a vengeful spirit.
And Cheng Jing, having lost his beloved, would have ended his life in grief and despair, following him into death, without ever knowing that his lover’s soul had already become entangled and bound by the ghostly energy of the underworld—never to be found again.
Or perhaps, if Yan Shixun hadn’t proposed the current solution, in the end, Cheng Jing would have simply succumbed to the invading ghostly aura and died in weakness, while Lan Ze knelt by his lover’s corpse, crying in guilt and sorrow.
But now, Yan Shixun had prevented such possibilities right from the source and given the two of them a peaceful life.
They would spend every spring, summer, autumn, and winter together at Haiyun Temple, surrounded by the faint fragrance of blooming osmanthus, until Cheng Jing grew old—until the day when his hair turned white, and under the tear-filled gaze of his beloved, he smiled and took his final breath.
Then, Cheng Jing’s soul would return to its youthful form, smiling gently as he took Lan Ze’s hand, and together, the two would be guided by the Yin officials of the underworld to reincarnate.
When the young Taoist came to knock on Hermit Cheng’s door the next morning, he would discover the old man lying peacefully in his room, the wide-open windows letting in the autumn wind, his body covered with osmanthus petals, his face adorned with a serene smile, as he slept forever.
On the table, a piece of rice paper still damp with ink fluttered lightly in the breeze, carrying a trace of fragrance.
On it were the final words Cheng Jing left in the world—“Only love remains unforgettable.”
In old age, one forgets many things, but not longing for love.
A life spent beside Lan Ze… was a miracle Cheng Jing had cherished and protected.
Yan Shixun stood watching the two of them beneath the osmanthus tree, and vague fragments of visions flashed through his mind, as if the heavens and earth were showing him the entire future the two would share—up to the moment of death.
Yan Shixun couldn’t return to his senses for a long time.
“Mr. Yan,” Lan Ze said with a smile, expressing his gratitude. Then, curiously, he asked, “That gentleman who’s always by your side—he didn’t come today?”
Yan Shixun blinked and finally snapped out of it.
“He’s not suited to come to Haiyun Temple.”
Yan Shixun replied vaguely, offering a general explanation.
The workings of fate could not be pried into—nor could the true forms of gods or spirits.
For ordinary people, seeing a deity or spirit’s true form could be fatal: in severe cases, they might die instantly; in milder ones, their souls could suffer permanent damage.
That was why, when Ye Li walked among humans, he always cloaked himself with power to blur his appearance—so others couldn’t clearly see or even remember him.
It was the final mercy gods could offer the human world.
However, Haiyun Temple had accumulated spiritual power over hundreds of years, and traces of divine energy still lingered in the statues of the gods within the main hall. If Ye Li had come here, and his energy clashed with those of opposing natures, Yan Shixun didn’t know what unpredictable consequences might follow—consequences ordinary people might not be able to withstand. So, he chose not to bring Ye Li along.
—After all, to the gods who governed vitality and exorcised evil, a death-related spirit like Ye Li showing up at their temple was practically a direct provocation.
Yan Shixun thought it over and decided to forget it.
He had no grudges with Haiyun Temple—why bother tearing down someone else’s temple?
Renovation and medical bills were expensive, after all.
Lan Ze had no idea what Yan Shixun was thinking. He hesitated for a moment before finally asking, “Mr. Yan… have you ever thought about being with that gentleman?”
“…???”
Yan Shixun tilted his head, frowning in confusion.
What did he mean? Wasn’t he already with Ye Li? That guy kept saying he had no money and insisted on staying at his house, and he never kicked him out.
“Why do you ask that?”
Yan Shixun pondered a bit before adding, “If we weren’t at Haiyun Temple, I’d be traveling with him.”
“That’s not what I meant…”
Lan Ze stared at Yan Shixun, visibly startled.
He stood stunned for a good while, facing Yan Shixun with a baffled expression, before he finally began to piece things together.
Ah… no wonder.
So that was why that gentleman always looked at Mr. Yan with such deep affection, clearly head over heels in love, while Mr. Yan remained completely calm and unmoved.
These two… one saw the other as a lover, while the other treated him only as a friend.
Realizing this, Lan Ze didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Still, wanting to repay Yan Shixun for his help, Lan Ze made up his mind to give them a little push.
“Mr. Yan, I think… that gentleman probably likes you.”
Lan Ze said, carefully choosing his words, doing his best to put it in terms even a kindergartener could understand. “The way he feels about you isn’t just friendship or familial affection—it’s romantic love.”
“It’s the kind of love like what I have with Cheng Jing—the kind that makes you want to spend your whole life together, never being apart.”
Lan Ze smiled and said, “That gentleman holds an extraordinary identity. Even though I’m a fierce ghost, I still feel an overwhelming fear and the urge to flee whenever I’m in his presence.”
“But strangely, whenever you’re around him, Mr. Yan, that terrifying feeling weakens to its lowest point.”
Lan Ze continued sincerely, “Mr. Yan, you’re the only one who can influence him. His feelings for you have long surpassed the boundaries of heaven and earth, yin and yang. They’re far deeper and heavier than what exists between Cheng Jing and me.”
“If you’re willing, Mr. Yan, perhaps you could consider that gentleman too.”
Cheng Jing walked over and embraced Lan Ze, speaking earnestly, “I can tell—he has something in him that’s similar to me, but far beyond. If anything were to happen to Xiao Ze, I would lose my mind. If something happened to you… he would be the same.”
It was precisely because Cheng Jing had been through it that he could recognize it in someone else.
But that was as far as they could go.
They didn’t know Ye Li’s true identity. All they could do was rely on a vague sense of intuition to try to persuade Yan Shixun. But when Yan Shixun heard these words, he thought far more deeply than they could imagine.
His eyes slowly widened, disbelief written all over his handsome face.
So… when Ye Li said he didn’t want incense offerings and worship… what he truly wanted—was it *him*?
How could that be possible?!
Yan Shixun felt like his brain had turned into a complete mess. He couldn’t think at all, and the world around him seemed to fade into nothing but the sound of static.
Maintaining a calm façade, he politely said his goodbyes to Cheng Jing, Lan Ze, Taoist Ma, and the others, then turned to leave Haiyun Temple.
But unlike the calm and composed manner in which he had arrived, Yan Shixun’s mind was now consumed with chaotic thoughts. Distracted, he didn’t watch his step and nearly tripped.
Just then, a cold, ghostly wind blew in from outside the mountain. It gently supported him, keeping him from stumbling over Haiyun Temple’s high threshold. He swayed slightly but regained his balance.
Lost in his own thoughts, Yan Shixun didn’t even notice.
He stood outside the mountain gate, looking out from the hillside toward the bustling cityscape of Binhai, a dazed look in his eyes.
What Lan Ze said… was it really true?
Or was it just his misunderstanding?
After all, Ye Li was a ghost deity, and Lan Ze’s guess about him might have been skewed.
Yet another voice echoed loudly in Yan Shixun’s mind, asking: If you say that everyone gives materially or emotionally in order to receive something, then what is it that *Ye Li* wants?
Stumbling and drifting in his thoughts, Yan Shixun made his way down the mountain path, one step deep, one step shallow.
Fortunately, Haiyun Temple was closed to the public that day, so no tourists were climbing the mountain. Otherwise, with the narrow and steep stairs, he definitely would have bumped into someone.
Lan Ze watched Yan Shixun’s figure disappear into the distance, worry evident in his eyes.
“Mr. Yan looks like he can do anything, but when it comes to matters of the heart… he’s unexpectedly like a kindergartener.”
Cheng Jing smiled and tightened his embrace around Lan Ze, saying, “Then all we can do is send our best wishes to that gentleman and hope that Mr. Yan comes to terms with his feelings soon.”
Lan Ze looked up with a gentle smile, meeting his lover’s eyes.
The lingering scent of osmanthus floated faintly in the air—sweet and thick, yet tinged with the crisp clarity of early winter.
After leaving Haiyun Temple, Yan Shixun headed toward the Binhai University campus.
Previously, he had borrowed a tablet from Cheng Jing’s roommate and promised to return it.
However, both the tablet and the split-screen lens had been damaged by Lan Ze during the pursuit.
Because of this, Yan Shixun decided to make a trip to Binhai University to offer compensation to Cheng Jing’s roommate.
He had once been very familiar with the route to Binhai University. He had spent all four years of college there. Since he had no parents, his counselor had worried he lacked care at home, and so had paid special attention to him, allowing him to study safely at Binhai until graduation. It was only after that he became an exorand began wandering from place to place.
Not having walked this road in years made Yan Shixun feel nostalgic.
The young students walking by were full of life, their faces shining with vitality and unspoiled purity—untouched by the harsh polish of society. Their bright, intense emotions made people smile unconsciously and feel uplifted.
As he passed by people near Binhai, he overheard them talking about the recent emergency evacuation, though none of them showed the slightest sign of worry.
“The five-star hotel was so nice, and the white diamond restaurant was delicious. That wasn’t an evacuation—it was a vacation.”
“Sigh, the authorities just care about us too much. Even the slightest danger, and they rush to protect us, afraid we might get hurt.”
“With the authorities around, I’m not worried at all, haha.”
The voices of conversation drifted into Yan Shixun’s ears, gradually pulling his attention away from everything that had been weighing on his mind. His gaze cleared, and he smiled as he looked toward the people walking by on the other side.
Just then, his eyes caught sight of a nearby snack shop.
A sweet, sugary scent wafted over from a bouncing child—it was a smell Yan Shixun used to know well.
Cheap, overly sweet candy, the kind that came from a simple industrial assembly line.
It must have been more than a decade ago…
A look of nostalgia surfaced in Yan Shixun’s eyes.
Back then, even the cheapest candies were luxuries he couldn’t bring himself to eat. He’d stash them carefully in his pockets like strategic supplies, saving them for a day when, perhaps, his parents abandoned him. If that day ever came, a few candies in his pocket might be the only food he had to keep himself going.
And yet, he had still shared one with a stranger.
Sometimes, in the years that followed, Yan Shixun would recall that person he met at the marketplace. He often wondered—did that person, who had taken half of his precious candy, manage to survive?
That person had been covered in blood, eyes full of hopelessness, looking like he had already given up on life.
The young Yan Shixun had wanted that stranger to keep living. He wanted to tell him: don’t give up. There’s always hope. There’s always a chance.
—Just as that stranger had met him, he had shared a piece of candy. So please… live. Hold on, and survive. There’s still hope in this world.
But fate is fleeting. They had only passed each other like ships in the night. Not long after, Yan Shixun had left the market with Li Chengyun. Even when he revisited the place years later, he never saw that person again.
Now, the memory of that man’s face had faded so much it was barely there, yet Yan Shixun still cared about whether he had lived or died.
If he thought about it seriously… that might have been the first person he ever saved.
Back when he couldn’t even protect himself.
Two candies, divided in half, had kept two people alive.
As he thought about it, a gentle smile softened Yan Shixun’s expression. He stretched his long legs and calmly walked toward the snack shop.
The shop owner welcomed him warmly and swiftly packed colorful candies into a bag and handed them over.
Yan Shixun casually picked one up. On the red wrapper was a cartoonish picture of an apple.
Apple-flavored.
His eyes were smiling as he suddenly remembered—that candy he hadn’t gotten to eat back then… was also apple-flavored.
Even after he had begun living with Li Chengyun, with no more worries about food or shelter, Yan Shixun had never eaten candy again.
He no longer desired worldly pleasures or emotional attachments, so even sweetness no longer tempted him. The meals Li Chengyun personally prepared were enough to meet his needs. He had found a home again.
But then…
Li Chengyun had died in a place he could never reach. What was returned to him was a cold, lifeless body.
That small courtyard never had someone waiting for him again. No light was left on for his return.
Every time he came home, he would quietly turn on the light by himself, then silently go to bed, lying sideways under cold blankets, closing his eyes until dawn.
Like a lone wolf, walking alone.
But now…
Yan Shixun blinked slowly and suddenly remembered—there were still two ghosts and one person waiting for him at home.
That courtyard, once deathly silent, was now filled with the sound of Xiao Bao’s crying and Zhang Wubing’s silly chatter—lively and full of light.
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