Chapter 188: A Mountain Suspended, A River Submerged (2)
When Bai Shuang returned to the program, her eyes welled up with tears at the sight of her familiar companions.
If it weren’t for the camera pointed at her, she would have broken down crying.
It was only after everyone was found by the rescue team and the Taoists that Bai Shuang realized she had actually been through the least traumatic experience among the guests. Just listening to people like Lu Xingxing recount what they had gone through was enough to nearly scare her to death.
Her relatively mild experience turned out to be thanks to the minor concern she had shown earlier for the news about missing persons.
Bai Shuang had never imagined that her offhand comments would be remembered by Lan Ze, who had even gone out of his way to help her. And yet, because of his identity as a vengeful ghost, she had feared him—ultimately rejecting his goodwill and hurting him in the process…
The sharp contrast between her kindness and his response struck Bai Shuang hard. For the first time, she genuinely began to consider the difference between humans and ghosts. She started to understand why Yan Shixun always handled encounters with ghosts so cautiously—seeking the truth instead of blindly eliminating them.
—Even among vengeful spirits, there were still kind and good souls.
They shouldn’t be dragged to hell with sins that weren’t entirely their own. They deserved a chance to be saved.
Bai Shuang was overcome with guilt.
Especially after hearing from the investigation team what Lan Ze had gone through before his death.
Although the production team gave the guests ample time to rest and recover, Bai Shuang never really relaxed like the others. Every time she closed her eyes or found herself alone, she would recall Lan Ze’s injured expression when he had tried to help her and she had reacted with fear.
After several sleepless nights, Bai Shuang finally went to Yan Shixun and sincerely explained her situation, expressing her desire to do something to make up for her past mistake.
She anonymously donated money to Lan Ze’s parents, saying she was someone Lan Ze had helped while alive. She explained that she had heard of what happened to him and hoped the donation would help the elderly couple live a better life.
Lan Ze’s parents even called to thank her, choking back tears as they told her that only after Lan Ze’s death did they learn what kind of pressure he had endured at school. His former mentors and classmates also sent bouquets of flowers one after another.
Binhai University soon issued a strongly worded statement, declaring that every honor Lan Ze had received had been earned through genuine talent and hard work, with no secrecy or impropriety involved. They warned all rumor-mongers to conduct themselves with dignity.
On Binhai University’s campus forum, many students spontaneously started a tribute thread, lighting virtual candles in memory of Lan Ze and wishing him peace in his next life.
Many people who had once doubted or slandered Lan Ze now expressed remorse and offered apologies.
Although there were still a few who stubbornly clung to conspiracy theories, their posts were quickly met with backlash and condemnation, and they soon experienced firsthand the same kind of public outrage that Lan Ze once endured.
But more importantly, many young students matured quickly from this event. They no longer blindly trusted everything they saw online, nor rushed to attack others over a few pieces of hearsay. Instead, they began to develop independent judgment.
With the added busyness of exam week, Binhai University gradually returned to its usual calm. Nearby residents resumed their normal lives. For many, the emergency evacuations to hotels and restaurants had become fond memories—some even found the experience amusing and thought it added richness to life.
Only the Taoists from Haiyun Temple and the university administrators still had headaches to deal with.
The cleanup and reconstruction after the collapse of the chemistry lab building were still ongoing. Fortunately, students would be on break soon, giving the school time to clear the rubble and rebuild, minimizing the impact on teaching as much as possible.
—However, the list of “Top Ten Campus Urban Legends of Binhai University” had gained a new addition: the haunted chemistry lab building.
Rumor had it that the last student to turn off the lights and leave the lab at night would see a ghost inside the lab.
The ghost, they said, was a chemistry student who died accidentally and was now waiting for his lover.
The legend became increasingly popular, eventually standing shoulder to shoulder with the famous “Coffin Lecture Hall” as one of the university’s two great ghost stories.
After being passed down and embellished by generations of students, the story grew even scarier: the last person to turn off the lights and leave the lab would be trapped there forever by the ghost.
This led to a curious phenomenon after the lab was rebuilt—every evening, students would scramble to be the first to leave, terrified of being the last one out.
As for research groups who had to work through the night… they would lock the lab doors from the inside, too scared to even go to the bathroom, worried the ghost might kill them if they left. They would wait until dawn, eyes rolling back from the bladder pain, before finally dashing out to the restroom.
This became a unique aspect of Binhai University’s academic culture and a source of amusement for visiting scholars and tourists alike.
As for Lan Ze, when he heard Cheng Jing mention this story, he was briefly stunned—then burst out laughing.
“How did it turn into something this ridiculous? It’s got almost nothing to do with what really happened.”
Shaking his head with a helpless smile, he added, “Besides Cheng Jing, there’s no one I would’ve wanted to stay behind for.”
Cheng Jing gently lifted his hand and picked a stray osmanthus petal from his lover’s hair.
As for the Taoists from Haiyun Temple, due to the weakening of the suppression at the Coffin Lecture Hall, they had insisted on dragging their wounded and sick bodies to Binhai University to try to reinforce the seal, despite the injuries they sustained during the ghost invasion.
But when they arrived at the lecture hall, the taoists looked at each other in confusion.
Where… had all the yin energy gone???
The Coffin Lecture Hall had always been difficult to handle precisely because beneath it were not only malevolent ghosts, but also heroic spirits—and the souls of senior Haiyun taoists who had died a century ago.
Due to the advanced decomposition of their corpses back then, it was impossible to tell one from another, and all the spirits had become entangled. This made it impossible to separate the malicious from the righteous and send the latter on to reincarnation.
But now, what lay before the taoists was a space filled with upright, solemn energy—completely devoid of the previous chaos and gloom.
A Taoist immediately opened his Yin Eye and saw the spirit of a senior Taoist who had died a hundred years ago. The spirit was sitting cross-legged beside the stone sculpture in front of the lecture hall, meditating with a content and serene expression.
The Taoist: ?…What’s going on?
Thanks to the presence of this senior taoist’s soul, the group of Taoists finally understood what had happened.
Shortly after Yan Shixun left Binhai University, an Yin official had arrived and locked away all the vengeful spirits burdened with sin.
That night, the mournful cries of evil spirits begging for mercy echoed through the campus, overlapping with the clinking sound of the Yin official’s chains. Sensitive students shivered under their blankets until dawn, unsure whether it was truly haunted or just the wind.
As for the heroic souls who had previously been unable to reincarnate due to incomplete remains or confusion, they were respectfully escorted by the Yin official to the underworld to be reborn.
Yet, some of these heroic spirits refused to leave. Once their clarity returned, they gazed gently at Binhai University and expressed their wish to continue guarding the children from malicious spirits.
The senior Taoist’s soul smiled as he spoke, pointing to the lecture hall behind him: “It’s the kids who’ve had it tough. Because of us, the lecture hall has to stay cold all the time. Haha.”
The Taoists were stunned, nearly dropping their jaws in shock.
“Was… that Yin official invited by Junior Brother Yan?”
One of the Taoists, who had previously experienced a highway haunted by Yin officials, questioned doubtfully, “But wasn’t the recent problem with the Yin path caused by those very Yin officials? Junior Brother Yan told me that himself. Why would he invite one now?”
The Taoist beside him was just as baffled.
The senior taoist’s spirit stroked his chin and pondered for a moment before saying, “That Yin official looked like he came from Fengdu.”
He smiled and added, “The divine generals and soldiers of Fengdu truly are different. They strike fear and judgment into the hearts of evil spirits. A hundred years have passed, and yet only this remains unchanged.”
A Taoist from Haiyun Temple hesitantly spoke up, “Senior… Fengdu hasn’t appeared in a hundred years. Could you have been mistaken?”
“Huh?” The senior taoist spirit looked confused.
The two sides stared at each other, completely at a loss.
Only the guardian beast statue in front of the lecture hall blinked its large brass eyes—almost as if it were chuckling.
It had achieved greatness in silence, hidden behind the scenes.
When the production team announced that recording would resume, the online buzz around Binhai University and Lan Ze began to fade. Many people lamented the heavens’ envy of talent, leaving flowers and candles at the university gates, then gently returned peace to Lan Ze by not letting debates disturb his rest any longer.
Meanwhile, the social media platform’s official team, ever since the first episode went viral, was in a constant state of despair every time new filming news was released. Watching the skyrocketing number of followers under the “Yan Mai” hashtag, they felt as if mountains of money were slipping through their fingers.
Why wouldn’t Yan Shixun open an account on social media?!
Even without any management, his followers had grown wildly to fifty million. If he just opened an account and managed it properly, a conservative estimate would place him at around eighty million. And if he signed with a management company, wouldn’t that break a hundred million?
That was an insane amount of traffic—an insane amount of money!
It wasn’t like the social media company hadn’t tried. Even upper-level executives had personally scoured the entertainment industry for a way to contact Yan Shixun, but no one could get in touch with him.
This left the company’s leadership questioning reality itself.
Were they all mad? Sure, Yan Shixun had traffic and could read fortunes, and was a rare talent in the field—but was that really reason enough to guard him like a state secret?
However, the Song family, who were also in the entertainment industry, subtly expressed that their company firmly supported Yan Shixun’s side.
Brother Song Ci: Are you kidding me? Of course Mr. Yan is more important.
As for the Zhang family, there was no need to even ask.
When the live broadcast at Binhai University cut off and Zhang Wubing’s image disappeared, Father Zhang had a brief moment where he thought he had lost his son. He nearly fainted.
Once he found out that Zhang Wubing had stayed safely by Yan Shixun’s side, completely unharmed, only then did he breathe a sigh of relief.
Still, that lingering panic of almost losing him made Father Zhang even more grateful to Yan Shixun.
So when the head of the social media company called Father Zhang, he rolled his eyes and responded with polite but distant words. The main point was simple—“Not a chance. Get lost.”
The social media CEO: …
No one could have imagined that this once-unknown ordinary man had now exploded across the internet.
Even people who never paid attention to variety shows or the entertainment industry felt like Yan Shixun looked familiar.
But what pained the entertainment companies most wasn’t that Yan Shixun didn’t open an account, didn’t debut, or didn’t sign with anyone. It was that all the things they desperately dreamed of meant absolutely nothing to him—so much so that he didn’t even bother to think about them.
He even found them annoying.
“…Forget fifty million—even five hundred million has nothing to do with me.”
When someone from the production crew passed along the message, Yan Shixun replied in exasperation, “Don’t these people have school or jobs? Do they even know me as a person? Do they know what kind of person I really am? Why are they following me?”
The crew member scratched his head, at a complete loss for how to explain.
I mean, fans liking their idols is… normal, right? How did it suddenly sound so strange coming out of Brother Yan’s mouth?
But…
“B-Brother Yan,” the crew member nervously swallowed and pointed at the main livestream camera nearby. “The livestream is already on.”
Although it wasn’t filming them directly, the audio was still on!
Brother Yan, please don’t say stuff like that in front of the fans—they’ll unfollow you!
Yan Shixun: Do I look like I care? :)
Still, the crew member was clearly overthinking it.
Because Zhang Wubing was a total newcomer, utterly clueless about entertainment and variety shows, the production team had brought in experienced professionals from the industry. Their thinking was already locked into typical entertainment patterns, so they instinctively treated Yan Mais like ordinary fans.
But they forgot… Yan Mais were notoriously known in the entertainment industry as a disruptive force.
Many people had rushed over after seeing the livestream announcement, and just when they were feeling disappointed that Yan Shixun didn’t appear on the main screen, they suddenly heard his voice coming from the side.
The Yan Mais became instantly excited:
[Oh oh oh! We can finally see Brother Yan!]
[Hahaha, Brother Yan always acts annoyed with us—Brother Yan: Don’t come near me!]
[The livestream finally started! We’ve been waiting so long, we were about to turn into “Staring-at-Yan” stones.]
[Other idols are always cultivating their image, trying to seem like they’re spoiling fans just to win their favor. Their agencies are terrified that fans will get upset and leave. But ours? The idol is actively trying to drive the fans away, and we actually find it thrilling.]
[Still, I really hope Brother Yan opens his own account. That way, the Yan Mais could have more of a sense of ritual. Sigh, this is what our fan activities look like—group bonding events turn into tree planting.]
[LOL, last time a girl clicked on the “Yan Mai” tag to get a fan badge, and she excitedly asked, “Where’s Brother Yan?” Then a bunch of Yan Mais gathered around, feeling affectionate for this silly kid.]
[The “Yan Mai” tag is filled with fans—just no actual Brother Yan, hahaha.]
The production crew was momentarily speechless at Yan Shixun’s counter-question, struggling to come up with a reasonable reply. At that moment, Bai Shuang heard the commotion and walked over with a smile.
“Because they become better people because of Brother Yan.”
She said with a cheerful expression. “Even if Brother Yan thinks his help to others is just normal, to many of them, it’s a huge kindness. Of course they’d feel grateful and want to do something for him.”
Yan Shixun slowly lifted his gaze from the phone screen and looked at Bai Shuang.
After a moment, he let out a quiet chuckle.
“If they need a medium to become better people…”
He shrugged and didn’t say more. “Then so be it.”
The Yan Mais, who had all been chatting excitedly, hadn’t expected Yan Shixun to say something like that.
They were stunned for a few seconds. The comments on the screen even fell silent for a moment, before slowly picking up again as they began to process what he meant.
[Ahhhhh!! Did Brother Yan just acknowledge us? Did he?!]
[Wuwuwu, is Brother Yan being too gentle? He doesn’t want us to be obsessed with stanning him, but when he hears that we’ve become better people because of him, he softens.]
[What’s with this man? Damn, he’s too charming!]
The Yan Mais were overwhelmed with emotion. They felt as if all their efforts and personal growth had finally been recognized, and the joy was indescribable.
Many quietly made a vow in their hearts not to let Brother Yan down. They truly wanted to become better people.
And also… thank you, Sister Bai Shuang!! I’m your fan now too!
Bai Shuang, unaware of the gratitude flooding the comment section, simply looked at Yan Shixun for a while before realizing something was off.
“Brother Yan, where’s Xiao Bao?”
She glanced behind Yan Shixun and around the side of the car but didn’t see the small child anywhere.
“Is he home alone? Or did you send him to kindergarten?”
Smiling, Bai Shuang pointed at her assistant not far away. “Last time, Xiao Bao said he especially liked a certain kind of chocolate. I brought some with me today—I wanted to give him a treat.”
Yan Shixun answered calmly, “If that little ghost eats too much sugar, he’ll get cavities.”
Not to mention, there wasn’t a dentist in existence who could treat a vengeful ghost’s teeth.
However, Jing Xiaobao truly wasn’t around.
Due to the weakening of the restraints on the Underworld, some evil spirits had escaped. Though Yan Shixun had pushed all of hell back underground, he couldn’t possibly guard the Underworld every second of the day, doing nothing else. There was no way to guarantee every evil ghost would stay where it belonged forever.
So, finding a new method to keep the Underworld suppressed had become an urgent task.
Coincidentally, Yan Shixun had gotten access to the full livestream playback from an official, and he saw how Jing Xiaobao had been playing tag with evil ghosts in the forest.
The female guest had even come to him afterward to apologize—her eyes filled with terror as she begged him not to let Jing Xiaobao come near her again. She swore she had learned her lesson.
Yan Shixun: “?”
He was at a loss for words. It seemed Jing Xiaobao had really given someone a serious fright.
When the official had shown Yan Shixun the footage, he spoke anxiously, “Mr. Yan, although Jing Xiaobao was a bit mischievous this time, at least he was just playing with ghosts.”
“But if next time, he wants to play with people…”
Yan Shixun heard the unspoken concern in the man’s tone.
Jing Xiaobao had experienced death again and again. He had already surpassed the limits of an ordinary vengeful ghost and was only a step away from becoming a full-fledged ghost god.
If not for the current weakness of the cosmic order, Jing Xiaobao would already be a terrifying existence no mortal could contend with.
Because of that immense and uncontrollable power, the official was wary of him—afraid that this powerful but childlike ghost might harm the living. He wanted Yan Shixun to keep a strict watch over him or, better yet, eliminate the potential danger altogether.
Yan Shixun knew that Jing Xiaobao was innocent in intent. But most other masters didn’t see it that way. One day, if Jing Xiaobao played a little too rough and crossed paths with the wrong person, it might prompt that master to try and exorcise him.
And with Jing Xiaobao’s strength, whoever provoked him would be the one to suffer.
So Yan Shixun calmly reassured the official, defending Jing Xiaobao’s dignity in front of outsiders.
Then he went home, shut the door, and smacked Jing Xiaobao on the butt. He even made him recite the Three Character Classic, trying to get him to align more closely with human values.
Jing Xiaobao, having the Evil Spirit Bone Transformation, was currently the best candidate to suppress the Underworld.
But Yan Shixun worried that the child’s immaturity and playfulness made him unfit for such responsibility.
That was until the day Yan Shixun saw Jing Xiaobao’s shy joy when an old lady thanked him.
After all, Jing Xiaobao was Mr. Lin Ting’s child, born with the Evil Spirit Bone Transformation.
If Chi Yan hadn’t tried to raise a ghost child and dragged him into unjust disaster after death, Jing Xiaobao would’ve remained a pure soul who had never done any harm. Deep inside, he still held some tenderness toward the living world.
The faith and persistence of Jing Bin and Lin Ting had once ignited a spark in Jing Xiaobao’s young heart.
Although he had passed through darkness, through long death and torment that nearly extinguished that flame, a tiny ember still lingered.
Now, with the example set by Yan Shixun and the kindness of the living, that ember had begun to burn again.
Yan Shixun noticed this change in Jing Xiaobao. After some thought, he decided to throw the child into the Underworld.
—For evil spirits, no complicated training was needed. In that world, power was everything. It was the most brutal survival-of-the-fittest environment, and the strongest reigned supreme.
Yan Shixun believed that with Jing Xiaobao’s strength, all he had to do was throw him into hell—he’d handle the rest on his own.
Besides, Yan Shixun still possessed the power and divine name that had once been lent to him by the figure who seemed to be the King of Hell, deep within the abyss.
With Jing Xiaobao’s own abilities, combined with these two forces, Yan Shixun had absolutely no doubt he’d be more than capable.
And if things really went wrong… well, Yan Shixun could always descend into the Underworld again—and beat the evil spirits one more time.
Yan Shixun thought indifferently, It’s not like I haven’t beaten him before.
At first, Jing Xiaobao didn’t want to go to the underworld. He wrapped his two little claws around Yan Shixun’s calf, looked up with teary eyes, and asked pitifully, “Is it because I’m not cute anymore? Is that why Yan Yan doesn’t want me?”
Seeing that Yan Shixun remained unmoved, Jing Xiaobao thought for a moment, then forced himself to make a painful promise: “Th-then I won’t sneak out at night to play ball with the ghost kids anymore. Please don’t kick me out, okay? I’ll be good, I won’t be naughty anymore.”
Yan Shixun: …
So you sneak out to play while I’m asleep?
Jing Xiaobao saw that he still wasn’t getting a response, so he hesitated before cautiously continuing, “I won’t go to the mass graves anymore either.”
“I won’t sneak into prisoners’ dreams in jail to play games with them.”
“I won’t beat up Brother Dabing after he falls asleep.”
“I won’t…”
Yan Shixun’s expression remained blank. Jing Xiaobao, like a spilled basket of beans, began confessing all his misdeeds one by one, listing everything he had done behind Yan Shixun’s back.
The more Yan Shixun listened, the more his expression turned to stone.
He recalled a piece of news from a while back—something about all the inmates in Binhai City Prison waking up in the morning screaming and crying, repenting their sins, claiming that they had been forced to play ball and hide-and-seek in their dreams with a little child… and ended up being torn limb from limb in the dream.
At the time, people online had said those prisoners must’ve done wicked things and were now haunted by guilty consciences, fearing ghosts knocking at their doors.
Yan Shixun had heard about it, too.
He just hadn’t expected—it had actually been Jing Xiaobao’s doing.
And also… a few days ago, Zhang Wubing had indeed complained about feeling exhausted after sleep, like he’d been beaten up all night and hadn’t gotten any rest at all.
Turns out, that was Jing Xiaobao’s doing too.
After Jing Xiaobao finished rattling off all his “games” with a pattering of words, he saw that not only had Yan Shixun not softened, but his expression had turned even darker.
Jing Xiaobao: “?”
Then, Yan Shixun picked him up and gave him another spanking.
The tiny ghost child sobbed uncontrollably, his soft, snow-white cheeks flushed pink from crying, even the tip of his nose had turned red—he looked both pitiful and adorable.
The little fierce ghost didn’t know… if he had just kept quiet, he might have avoided the beating.
In the end, Jing Xiaobao still agreed to go to the underworld for suppression duty.
—Because Zhang Wubing had been busy preparing for the next program shoot and hadn’t been able to visit Yan Shixun’s home for several days in a row. As a result, the only one left for Ye Li to drag off for taste-testing was Jing Xiaobao, the ghost.
Zhang Wubing was human. Ye Li was mindful that he was Yan Shixun’s friend, so he held back during the testing process, afraid that if Zhang Wubing got sick from the food, Yan Shixun would get angry.
But when it came to Jing Xiaobao, Ye Li had no such concerns.
After all, he was already a fierce ghost—not as fragile as a living person, and much sturdier.
Jing Xiaobao ate until he was in tears. In the end, he bolted out the door as if fleeing for his life, desperately rushing into the underworld.
—He didn’t even have time to grab his beloved little ball.
“He’s only trying to kill me because he sees Yan Yan likes me!”
Jing Xiaobao cried out indignantly, “He’s so evil!”
Even going to hell is better than taste-testing!
So, when Yan Shixun returned home that night, all he saw was Ye Li.
Ye Li calmly told him, “Jing Xiaobao said he doesn’t like you anymore. He said going to hell is better than being with you, so he ran away.”
Yan Shixun: “…………”
Bro, can you at least try to lie with a bit of sincerity? Who do you think you’re fooling?
Yan Shixun gave Ye Li a half-smile, his expression unreadable. “You made Xiao Bao taste-test again, didn’t you?”
Ye Li gave a dry cough, trying to salvage his image. “Let’s go camping in the spring. We can catch rabbits, hunt, and roast meat. I’m really good at that.”
Yan Shixun replied, “Hunting is illegal now. What era was your camping trip from?”
Ye Li: “…………”
But out of fear of Ye Li, Jing Xiaobao tearfully declared that he had to conquer hell and turn it into a new home for Yan Yan, just to escape Ye Li!
Even Yan Shixun started to feel a bit of sympathy for Jing Xiaobao.
Based on what he’d previously seen of Ye Li’s influence in the underworld, even if Jing Xiaobao did conquer hell, Ye Li could still come and go as he pleased. Jing Xiaobao’s plan had failed before it even began.
Still, Yan Shixun thought it over and decided not to dampen Jing Xiaobao’s enthusiasm.
After all, from what he knew of Jing Xiaobao, once the kid started having fun in hell, he’d likely forget all about this plan anyway.
At that moment, faced with Bai Shuang’s confusion, Yan Shixun simply said that Jing Xiaobao had gone to an amusement park.
He thanked Bai Shuang and said he’d give the chocolate to Jing Xiaobao once he came home.
While they were chatting, the other guests began arriving one after another, brought in by the production team’s vans.
The guests, who hadn’t seen each other in days, greeted each other with laughter and warmth. The atmosphere was harmonious, like old friends reuniting after many years, asking how everyone had been.
Even though many of them had been frightened to some degree last time, once they received the confirmation letter from Zhang Wubing, everyone still signed the hazard acknowledgment form and happily returned to continue filming the show.
Guests like An Nanyuan and Bai Shuang, who had been part of the show from the very beginning, had gradually grown used to the show’s frequent brushes with danger—or rather, by now, if the show didn’t involve some danger, they would feel something was missing, like it just wasn’t exciting enough.
An Nanyuan had used the show’s popularity to boost his career and finally turn things around. Not only had he earned some respect and dignity, but he had also made friends like Lu Xingxing and Zhao Zhen. He felt deeply grateful.
To him, participating in the show was no longer work—it felt like going on an outing with friends, tackling difficulties together.
He wasn’t the only one who felt this way—Song Ci did too.
Originally proud and temperamental like a spoiled ragdoll cat, Song Ci would never admit it out loud, but in his heart, he had already accepted the other guests as friends. Even though he was complaining that Zhao Zhen arrived late and made everyone wait, there was a smile playing at the corners of his eyes and lips.
In a way, this had fulfilled Zhang Wubing’s original intention for the show: a relaxing and joyful trip with friends.
And in front of the main livestream screen, the viewers—seeing the guests’ genuine smiles and relaxed expressions—couldn’t help but be moved by the heartwarming atmosphere.
[This is so wonderful… Watching this show feels like I’m traveling with my friends. It’s like a dream vacation.]
[Office politics have been draining me lately. When I saw this scene, I just started crying. All the tension in me suddenly melted away. This is so good. Really so good.]
[Haven’t contacted my friends in a long time. Ugh, I’m calling her right now.]
[Why does this feel so healing? They’re not doing anything special—just sincerely caring about each other’s lives—and yet… my eyes are burning.]
[It’s so good to have friends around.]
[Director Zhang probably didn’t expect that, after all the twists and turns, the show would end up becoming a heartwarming travel documentary.]
[Huh? What? Travel show? Isn’t this supposed to be a horror reality show? Are we watching the same thing? I’m confused.]
[Longtime viewers just quietly chuckle.]
[Pfft hahahaha, Director Zhang’s probably crying if he hears this.]
Yan Shixun had arrived early and was already seated in the car, making small talk with the crew while messaging with the official in charge on his phone.
Because of the accident that happened last time on the highway, the official in charge had even stationed themselves at the expressway entrance, saying they wouldn’t be at ease until they personally saw the group off.
Yan Shixun replied with a short “Okay,” then looked up—only to be met with the sight of Lu Xingxing stepping onto the vehicle with an enormous backpack.
Usually dressed in the trendiest, most eye-catching outfits, Lu Xingxing now looked like life had weighed down his spine. With that huge pack on his back, he resembled a little turtle, sighing with every step and wearing a look of deep suffering.
Yan Shixun: “?”
His gaze landed on the oversized, unusually heavy backpack, and he began to suspect that Lu Xingxing might’ve mistaken the show for an actual camping trip and brought everything with him.
Otherwise, how could it be so heavy?
When Yan Shixun asked, Lu Xingxing just let out a weary sigh and didn’t want to talk about it.
Instead, it was the official in charge who gave the explanation.
[The Taoists at Haiyun Temple were seriously injured, right? So when Lu Xingxing went back, he happened to see Taoist Song Yi lying nearby with his eyes closed, completely exhausted. And Lu Xingxing misunderstood the situation…]
The official continued telling the story to Yan Shixun, recalling the incident.
Taoist Song Yi had been severely injured but still insisted on pushing forward. In the end, he collapsed from exhaustion and had to be supported by a fellow Taoist just to move. He had been lying on a stretcher in the medical van to regain his strength.
Because the daylight was too harsh and he had lost a lot of blood, making him feel cold, Taoist Song Yi had simply pulled a blanket over himself and tried to get some sleep.
As a result, Lu Xingxing, worried about his master, rushed back from the outskirts of the city in a hurry. He asked someone where Taoist Song Yi was, and the person, busy, casually pointed. Lu Xingxing, from a distance, saw Taoist Song Yi covered in blood, with even his head wrapped in a white blanket, lying motionless.
Lu Xingxing immediately burst into tears and rushed to the medical vehicle. Clutching the stretcher, he screamed, calling out, “Master, I’m too late!”
He thought his master had died.
The overwhelming grief nearly shattered Lu Xingxing. The once proud and mischievous genius musician clung to Taoist Song Yi’s “corpse,” crying uncontrollably, apologizing and promising to study hard and never skip classes again, asking if his master could get up just to beat him once more.
Taoist Song Yi, disturbed by his disciple’s shaking and wailing: “…..”
He slowly opened his eyes. Lu Xingxing froze for two seconds before, with a loud sob, he threw his arms around him, saying, “Master, don’t worry, I won’t let anyone find out you’re pretending to be dead. Let’s sneak away. I’ll go find a corpse and take care of you.”
Then, everyone present witnessed the sight of the once weak Taoist Song Yi, furious at Lu Xingxing, springing up from the stretcher and energetically chasing him around the area, full of life.
Taoist Song Yi: I’ve spent my whole life cultivating, how could I have such a disciple? Is this a test from heaven?
Meanwhile, Lu Xingxing was forced to carry a heavy load of books, with Taoist Song Yi telling him, “If you don’t finish memorizing these, don’t come back.”
This led to the image Yan Shixun saw: Lu Xingxing, carrying a gigantic backpack, looking like a little turtle, sighing with every step.
Upon learning the story, Yan Shixun couldn’t hold back and chuckled.
Lu Xingxing looked at him resentfully:”Master~~uncle… Why didn’t you say something good for me?”
Yan Shixun, leaning casually with one hand on his cheek, replied leisurely, “I don’t see anything wrong with what Taoist Song Yi did. Lu Xingxing, if you can’t even memorize the scriptures, what are you expecting?”
Lu Xingxing was taken aback. He wanted to argue but caught sight of Ye Li, who was sitting next to Yan Shixun with a tense atmosphere around him.
Ever since he realized that Yan Shixun had been avoiding him, Ye Li had been in a bad mood.
Now, seeing that Lu Xingxing, a junior, was able to talk normally with Yan Shixun, Ye Li naturally grew irritated.
Lu Xingxing’s survival instincts kicked in, and he shrank back, not daring to say a word. He grimaced and quietly moved to the back of the vehicle.
The viewers were confused: [Huh???]
[Who is that person? He made even the hot-tempered Lu Xingxing too scared to say anything?]
An Nanyuan, seeing Lu Xingxing’s expression, was somewhat relieved.
Since the last time he realized that Lu Xingxing didn’t seem to care about his own safety, he had been worried that one day Lu Xingxing might die while saving someone. He feared losing this friend.
Now, seeing that someone could control Lu Xingxing and teach him, An Nanyuan no longer worried that Lu Xingxing would go astray.
An Nanyuan cheerfully got into the car, excitedly chatting with Song Ci about his recent decision to leave the boy band and start a studio. The conversation annoyed Song Ci, who felt like punching him.
Once everyone had arrived, Zhang Wubing counted the numbers and happily announced, “Let’s set off!”
“Longevity Village is located in the southern region. It’s beautiful, with incredible mountains and waters, and most importantly, the people there live long lives, with many elders living past a hundred years.”
With a smile, Zhang Wubing introduced the destination: “Since everyone was so scared last time, this time, we’re going to relax. It’s a wellness trip.”
The guests teased: “We don’t expect to live forever, but we hope we can keep our hair intact.”
Zhang Wubing gave them a thumbs up: “No problem!”
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