Chapter 272: Shadow Puppets and Lamplight (38)
The moment she vanished, Xie Jiaojiao reappeared before Yan Shixun without him even noticing. He hadn’t seen how she returned—only that she was suddenly there again.
Ye Li’s brow furrowed slightly. The look he gave Xie Jiaojiao was darker than ever before—gloomy and cold.
After the collapse of the Great Dao, the power of Heaven and Earth had gradually weakened. As one waned, the other waxed—humanity slowly gained the upper hand, and ghost deities could no longer be born of Heaven and Earth.
Ye Li knew this truth better than any ghost exorcist.
All the paths to ascending as a ghost deity had been forcefully sealed by the weakened Dao, striving to prevent its already-diminished power from dispersing any further. Otherwise, it would only hasten the collapse of Heaven and Earth.
Only by uniting all forces into one was there a sliver of hope for survival. Faint as it may be, the Dao had never given up.
So, Jing Xiaobao was born. Yan Shixun descended into the world.
The Dao had poured all of its remaining accumulated power into a final act of salvation within a dead-end game.
But even then, with life came shadow—where there was light, darkness followed. The cycle of Yin and Yang never ceased.
Whenever there was a spark of vitality, it would always be met with a crisis beyond what mortals could comprehend—threatening to crush that final hope within death.
Just like Jing Xiaobao, who eventually became a vengeful ghost.
He had failed to survive.
Thus, the one and only remaining Evil Spirit Bone Transformation became the target of all malevolent entities, who watched greedily for the chance to destroy him.
The miracle named Yan Shixun had been the result of Li Chengyun exhausting the very last shred of energy from his meridians to calculate the single thread of hope.
And more than a decade ago, in a noisy, remote market, when the ghost deity and the Evil Spirit Bone Transformation locked eyes, the deity had accepted a candy the Evil Spirit Bone Transformation offered—and their fates had become entwined.
From that moment, the Evil Spirit Bone Transformation fell under the protection of the ghost deity. Ghosts who saw him would retreat and dare not approach.
Even a thousand years ago, Fengdu had remained a mysterious place, hidden beneath layers of legend to all ghost exorcists. Many tried to explore it, and most perished halfway.
No living soul had ever accurately described what Fengdu looked like—much less its ruler.
Let alone… the transition between its old and new masters.
Yet Ye Li, as the ruler of Fengdu, knew better than anyone what kind of blood-soaked path paved the way to becoming a ghost deity.
To ascend as a deity was never a simple matter—especially not now, with the Great Dao crumbling and the ghost infant attempting to replace it through the ghostly path.
Yan Shixun may not have noticed, but the moment Ye Li laid eyes on Xie Jiaojiao again, he sensed something. Despite having the actual power of a ghost deity, she still lacked a true ghost deity name.
Heaven and Earth had yet to recognize her status.
The Great Dao… hadn’t given up on saving itself.
The Dao still watched over Yan Shixun, waiting for the miracle to flourish amid despair.
Like enduring eighty-one tribulations—without the final one, one could never become divine.
And if Xie Jiaojiao wished to force Heaven and Earth to acknowledge her, there was only one way.
—She had to completely sever the last hope of the Dao.
Let the Evil Spirit Bone Transformation, Yan Shixun, perish within the ghost opera.
Only then could Xie Jiaojiao truly claim completion and earn her title as a ghost deity.
The Dao’s Yin and Yang were locked in opposition—but only one could remain.
Ye Li’s icy gaze fell upon Xie Jiaojiao. His sharp brows and eyes were like blades. The more furious he became, the more his rage compressed into a bone-chilling cold. His pale, thin lips pressed into a line, and the overwhelming aura around him was sharp enough to cut through mortals, gods, and ghosts alike.
Xie Jiaojiao noticed the forceful gaze directed at her.
Her rosy lips lifted slightly. When she smiled, she was stunning—like a masterpiece a craftsman had spent a lifetime carving.
“Ah… I see now.”
She tilted her head, smiling sweetly at Ye Li. “You like this Evil Spirit Bone Transformation, don’t you? But what to do? We’re both ghost deities. You want to protect him, and I want him too.”
“How about this—why don’t we each take half of him? That sounds fair, doesn’t it?”
The moment Xie Jiaojiao spoke, Ye Li’s ghostly aura surged violently.
The red lanterns hanging high within the opera house swung wildly. The crimson light flickered, casting shadows on Ye Li’s cold features—illuminating him one second, drowning him in darkness the next—making him appear especially eerie and terrifying.
If Yan Shixun hadn’t been nearby—if Ye Li hadn’t been concerned about the production crew that Yan Shixun valued and protected—he might have torn the theater down on the spot. He would’ve struck down this ghost infant, who dared make a move on his beloved exorcist right in front of him, without hesitation—making her regret ever targeting Yan Shixun.
Yan Shixun sensed the abnormal, terrifying pressure emanating from Ye Li. He frowned slightly and turned to look at him, but couldn’t understand why Xie Jiaojiao would say something like that to Ye Li.
Was she trying to sow discord? Or was there another reason?
Just from the implications in her words, Yan Shixun knew—Xie Jiaojiao must be hiding something, some real intention that she hadn’t yet voiced.
He didn’t believe for a second that the ghost infant had genuine feelings for him. He had never let his guard down, and upon hearing her words, his first thought was—
Xie Jiaojiao wanted him to stay in the ghost theater.
And this wasn’t some childish whim.
Even Xie Lin was already dead.
Yan Shixun knew very well that even if he immediately left the ghost theater and returned to the real world, all his powers couldn’t retrieve Xie Lin’s dissipated soul.
From this moment on, neither Heaven nor Earth would hold a person named Xie Lin. His soul would never reincarnate—he could only remain in the ghost theater forever.
Just as he had always wished—to stay by Xie Jiaojiao’s side.
Do not heal one who seeks death. Do not save a soul that cannot be saved.
Yan Shixun wasn’t concerned about Xie Lin. What puzzled him was why Xie Jiaojiao, who could recognize Ye Li’s identity, would still speak to him with such a tone—genuinely wanting to keep him within the ghost theater.
Would his continued existence cause some kind of change?
Countless guesses passed through Yan Shixun’s mind.
But Ye Li didn’t answer his questions.
A violent gale burst forth from beneath Ye Li’s feet, tearing up the ground in an instant. The bricks and stones around him flew with explosive force.
The debris hurled toward Xie Jiaojiao, but before reaching her, it was stopped by an invisible force, suspended in mid-air. Then, it all fell to the ground with a heavy crash.
Xie Jiaojiao’s smile faded. Her gaze turned venomous as she stared at Ye Li. The arms holding the small puppet tightened slowly, clenching harder.
The wooden puppet in her arms lifted its head and looked at Ye Li. As it did, human-shaped figures began to emerge from the shadows surrounding the theater.
Ye Li’s gaze was devoid of warmth—cold as glacial ice.
But when he looked toward the encroaching darkness of the opera house, the wooden puppet figures that gradually revealed themselves didn’t cower like ordinary ghosts. Instead, they walked straight into the howling wind without hesitation.
Their limbs and bodies were quickly shredded by Ye Li’s ghostly aura. Wooden splinters mixed with bloody water and broken limbs flew everywhere.
But in the very next second, new limbs grew out from their wounded stumps—as if reborn.
Ye Li’s long, narrow eyes darkened at the sight.
Though wrapped in ghostly energy, the ghost infant had grasped the essence of vitality—life and death fused together, flowing like the cycles of the sun and moon.
He could kill the ghost infant thousands, even tens of thousands of times—but she would be reborn each time, relying on her comprehension of that life force. And in her own endless cycle of life and death, she would only become stronger.
This situation was far more difficult than usual—beyond all reason.
But what made Ye Li even more vigilant was the sense of familiarity he felt emanating from Xie Jiaojiao.
He had sensed it the moment he and Yan Shixun fell into the theater. But when Xie Jiaojiao used her power, that feeling became much clearer.
In his thousand-year existence, he had encountered this type of power before.
That familiarity was…
The former Lord of Fengdu.
In that instant, Ye Li understood the reason behind the ghost infant’s birth—and more than that, the reason it had been able to grow.
—The source of Xie Jiaojiao’s power was the old Fengdu.
That power had supported the ghost infant through its early stages of vengeance and slaughter. Like the core of a snowball, it rolled larger and larger through cycles of death and rebirth, until it became the unstoppable force it was now—something even the heavens and earth could not contain.
Ye Li slowly lifted his gaze. His cold, indifferent eyes pierced through the sky filled with blood rain and flying limbs, landing on Xie Jiaojiao standing not far away.
The little girl wore a pretty dress. Her fair, slender legs were straight, and she held a small wooden puppet in her arms. She looked well-behaved and adorable—just like any child you might see in real life.
But when the smile vanished from her face, it was as if the last trace of human warmth disappeared from her, leaving her lifeless and cold—like an exquisite porcelain doll devoid of soul.
When Xie Jiaojiao saw the expression on Ye Li’s face, she raised her eyebrows in mild surprise. She hadn’t expected this ghost deity to see through her origins.
But soon, she smiled again.
“What a bad person,” she said cheerfully. “Trying to bully Jiao Jiao. But that’s okay.”
Xie Jiaojiao beamed, “I have my brother to protect me. As long as he’s here, he’ll never let me get hurt again… Right, brother?”
The little wooden puppet in her arms let out a creaky “clack-clack” sound, as if echoing her words.
At the same time, the attacks from the wooden puppets around them suddenly became much more intense.
Ye Li’s eyes narrowed sharply. With swift reflexes, he grabbed Yan Shixun beside him and leapt into the air.
At that same moment, there was a loud “BOOM!” where they had just stood. Something seemed to be trying to emerge from beneath the shattered bricks and stone.
Instinctively, Yan Shixun grabbed Ye Li’s arm and quickly turned to look at the source of the sound. But when he saw what lay beneath the rubble, his pupils shrank in shock.
—Underneath the solid bricks, there was a dense layer of rotting corpses and scattered fragments of wooden puppets.
Among them were not only the villagers from the Bai family village, but many unfamiliar faces too.
Although their clothes had long been soaked with blood and dampness, they still showed distinct differences from the villagers. They bore clear signs of belonging to different time periods.
They were not villagers.
Most likely, they were passersby, tourists, or others who had traveled near Baizhi Lake.
Judging from their clothing and the extent of decomposition, these people had died only recently.
In a flash of insight, as Yan Shixun watched the corpses slowly sit up from the soil, he suddenly understood what kind of place this theater really was.
Previously, when Zhang Wubing dragged him into the submerged theater, the female puppet sitting behind the curtain had been Xie Jiaojiao’s mother.
Because of the grudge in her heart, she had become trapped there—unable to leave, unwilling to go. She remained only to guard her two children, determined to personally witness the suffering of the murderers who had caused her and her daughter’s deaths, trapping them in endless torment.
Xie Jiaojiao’s mother’s resentment had built this theater, where her life’s tragedy played on repeat.
And Xie Jiaojiao’s own hatred and fury had built a new theater within this ghostly drama.
When Yan Shixun had failed to attack the ghost infant, he and the surrounding village and mountains had all been swallowed into the infant’s belly. But this had brought them to the very core of Xie Jiaojiao’s soul.
The ghost infant’s growth was rooted in resentment.
She had died before she was even born, and that resentment had been fed by the drowning at Baizhi Lake. Because of this, her core—like her mother’s—had taken root in Baizhi Lake.
The theater was the manifestation of Xie Jiaojiao’s soul. The resentment became the lake water, protecting the theater but also preventing any ghost, including Xie Jiaojiao herself, from escaping.
Death and anger, the corpses of her enemies, the lives she had slaughtered… the tragedy and hatred of Xie Jiaojiao’s entire life were concentrated here.
And because she had wanted to place Xie Lin somewhere safe, those who had been with Xie Lin at the time did not fall into the lake—instead, they woke up inside the theater.
Yan Shixun now understood the reason the ghost infant had been able to grow.
It was the love from Xie Lin.
And Xie Jiaojiao’s own slaughter of life.
Because Xie Lin had sincerely treated her as an ordinary child, the Xie Jiaojiao who grew up in that love had forgotten all the past death and rage. She responded to Xie Lin’s hopes, growing up naive and cheerful.
But the pain of her kidnapping had brought all her memories flooding back—everything before she met Xie Lin. And so, she reverted to the ghost infant of years ago, traveling from Binhai City westward, back to the place in the southwest where she had died.
Ghosts, in the place where they die and are buried, gain power far beyond the ordinary. Anger turns them into even more terrifying beings.
The corpses of the entire Bai family village—killed by Zheng Shumu—had become the nutrients that raised his sister.
His guilt and remorse made him overindulgent toward the sister he had lost and found again. Just as he had once said, no matter what his sister said, he would always say yes.
The ghost infant had continued to grow.
But soon, the deaths in the Bai family village were no longer enough to feed her. So, she turned her attention to passersby.
Because the southwest was vast, with rugged and treacherous terrain, many cyclists and backpackers drawn by the region’s beauty eventually went missing—or were found dead.
Those stories made it into the news, but barely made a ripple. A few sympathetic or critical comments, and they were soon forgotten.
Yan Shixun had seen those reports. He knew that some families of the missing had turned to exorcists, hoping to find out what had happened to their loved ones.
But because the cases were in the southwest, few exorcists were willing to take them on.
Yan Shixun had even heard fellow exorcists complain during casual conversations, saying it wasn’t worth risking their lives for a bit of money in the southwest.
But he had never imagined that the travelers who disappeared in the southwest would be connected to Xie Jiaojiao.
Of the many missing persons cases, many around Baizhi Lake had been the result of Xie Jiaojiao’s killings.
Yan Shixun guessed that back then, Li Chengyun had either heard about or discovered the secret behind Xie Jiaojiao from Zheng Shumu.
One of the functions of the ebony statue had been to keep Xie Jiaojiao trapped, preventing her power from spreading and harming others.
Li Chengyun hadn’t been able to kill her outright, and he still needed to search for a true ghost deity capable of supporting the heavens and earth—not a ghost infant who harbored selfish intent. So, he had chosen to suppress her.
Unfortunately, the only path out of that deadly situation collapsed when the ebony statue was taken.
Once a group of young tourists took the statue, the disappearances around Baizhi Lake resumed.
And within the theater that belonged to Xie Jiaojiao, corpses paved the floor and formed the walls.
The ghost infant was powerful—but forever trapped in the pain of her childhood.
She was afraid of being hurt. She feared the people around her would leave, giving bad people a chance.
She just wanted to protect herself.
For ordinary people, that desire was nothing out of the ordinary.
But now, it belonged to a ghost infant with terrifying, unnatural strength—someone who could turn all her thoughts into reality.
And the way she carried out those thoughts was far more cruel and malicious than any ordinary person.
Whether or not it hurt others… whether or not it defied the laws of heaven and earth…
As long as she killed first—before anyone had the chance to harm her—then no one could ever bully her again.
As long as she turned the person she loved into a puppet, wouldn’t that mean they could never leave her side again?
That was what the ghost infant thought—and that was exactly what she did.
The heaps of corpses that made up the structure of the theater were the best proof of that.
Yan Shixun, cradled in Ye Li’s arms, lowered his head and looked at the rotting corpses lunging at them. For a moment, the truth he had just realized left him stunned.
Then, cold fury crept into his expression.
His guilt toward Xie Jiaojiao had entangled the fates of three people across their lives.
Master Bai and Zheng Shumu were forever left at Baizhi Lake, and Xie Lin had died.
But Xie Jiaojiao was still not satisfied.
She was like a child lacking any sense of security, constantly needing to prove she was safe. Anyone who got close to her—or to Baizhi Lake—would be immediately deemed a threat and killed preemptively.
Xie. Jiao. Jiao—!
Yan Shixun’s gaze turned sharp as lightning. He turned his head and stared directly at Xie Jiaojiao.
“You want me to stay in this ghost play?”
His voice was icy. “But what can I do? I don’t want to stay. Every time I see your ghost wrapped in murderous resentment, I feel nothing but disgust.”
“How about this instead?”
Yan Shixun slowly pushed away Ye Li, who was shielding him, and stepped firmly onto the ground, walking toward Xie Jiaojiao with unwavering steps.
“I won’t stay in this ghost play. And more than that, I will take away all the souls that never belonged here.”
A shadow spread from under Ye Li’s feet and wrapped around Yan Shixun’s own shadow.
Black mist swirled around him, with countless ferocious ghosts looming within, roaring and howling toward Xie Jiaojiao, their cries shaking the heavens and earth.
They were like soldiers responding to the call of their commander, vowing to obey and protect him with their lives.
The rotting corpses rushing toward him were flung away by the black mist before they could even get close.
His black coat was whipped into the air by a violent wind, fluttering furiously, his presence imposing and unstoppable.
Amidst the blood-red gloom, only Yan Shixun’s eyes shone like unsheathed blades—blindingly sharp and unstoppable.
Xie Jiaojiao stared at Yan Shixun in disbelief. Her beautiful face was soon overtaken by jealousy and hatred. The ghostly aura twisted her once delicate features into something terrifying.
“Exorcists from the mortal world are so naïve and full of fantasies. You think the world is really as beautiful as your scriptures describe… I don’t understand why the Dao chose you. Just because you had a privileged birth? Because you were born as someone favored by the Dao?”
Her voice was cold and venomous, like a snake spitting out its tongue.
“People like you, born into good families, probably spent your whole lives surrounded by praise and admiration, didn’t you?”
“You never saw what I saw. So what right do you have to look down on me and pass judgment?”
Xie Jiaojiao stared hard at Yan Shixun, her eyes gradually turning blood-red. “When my mother and I drowned in that icy lake, where were you? When I was kidnapped and saw someone who was like a mother to me get killed right before my eyes… where were you then?”
“No one ever helped me! So why can’t I take revenge myself?!”
Her chest heaved violently, her thin shoulders trembling. Those two past traumas were her deepest scars. Rage made her lose control.
Her hysterical screams were deafening: “They all deserve to die! Everyone deserves to die!”
Every perpetrator, every bystander, every person who allowed the harm to continue… they all deserved to die!!!
Out of that rage, the ghost infant’s path was forged.
Xie Jiaojiao’s fury and destructive power surged, stirring the lake water outside the theater. Violent waves slammed against the theater’s walls, the noise deafening, and the tremors beneath their feet made it seem like everything might be swallowed by the lake.
But with Ye Li’s power supporting him, Yan Shixun walked steadily forward. The ghost infant’s rage didn’t affect him at all.
Even though he stood inside the ghost play, cut off from heaven, earth, and all deities—
Just as Ye Li had once said to him:
“Call my name, and I will be your god.”
Ye Li slowly raised his arm. Beneath his slender, defined fingers, an ancient and mysterious seal of Fengdu began to take shape, glowing in midair.
As he gazed at Yan Shixun’s back, for once, a rare warmth surfaced in his otherwise cold eyes.
Torrents of power surged from where Ye Li stood, pouring endlessly into Yan Shixun, infusing his meridians.
The chilling ghost energy flowed into his body, yet Yan Shixun took to it as if it were his own. He felt no discomfort at all.
With every step he took, power layered upon power. The ghost energy from Fengdu blended seamlessly with his own, forming a terrifying force.
In Xie Jiaojiao’s eyes, Yan Shixun was no longer a mortal. His form overlapped with that of a ghost deity, vast as a mountain. Even in her madness, she stared wide-eyed in shock, dumbfounded, as she looked up at the colossal black shadow behind him that stretched into the sky.
That was… the Lord of Fengdu, the true form of a ghost deity.
“Xie Jiaojiao.”
Yan Shixun called her by the name she once had as a living person. “I don’t see myself as some uptight moralist. I don’t easily interfere in others’ karma, nor do I stop victims from taking revenge.”
“In fact, I support ghosts seeking revenge. I’m an exorcist who defies the norm.”
As he spoke, a faint smile curved his lips. “You probably wouldn’t believe it, but I used to be ostracized by my peers—an imperfect exorcist full of flaws.”
“Bad temper, poor customer service, no bootlicking for the rich, not exterminating ghosts completely, not helping people change their fates or reading fortunes, and never offering gentle words to comfort grieving clients. Even the way I exorcised ghosts wasn’t flashy enough.”
His smile carried no warmth. “See? I have so many shortcomings. I’ve never had the experience of being praised or idolized. In fact…”
Yan Shixun paused.
Memories from his childhood surged forth, playing before his eyes like a painful film.
Little Yan Shixun had once naively told his teacher about the old ghost clinging to his back, only to be dismissed as a troublemaker.
He tried to explain to other children the scenes of ghosts he saw, only to be laughed at, pelted with stones, and mocked with cruel rhymes that called him a shameless liar.
Isolated and bullied, little Yan Shixun gradually fell silent. He tried hard to appear normal, but still couldn’t escape the weeping and cursing of his parents.
They pointed at the tiny boy and screamed hysterically, asking why they had birthed such a monster.
They asked, “Why don’t you just die?”
The innocence in his young eyes slowly faded, replaced by cold indifference.
No teacher ever defended him. Even when the neighborhood kids shoved and hurt him, he could only crawl back into the cramped corners of his home and tend to his wounds alone.
Then the next day, he’d go out again, silent and expressionless.
The harm from the outside world never broke him. He never gave in to despair or darkness. He fought to live.
Even when everyone wanted him dead.
He had been young then, yet had already seen the ugliness of the world through cold eyes.
The exorcist that Xie Jiaojiao described with lavish clothes, fine food, and endless glory… had never been him.
Yan Shixun was the kind of exorcist who roamed alleys and streets, extending a helping hand in people’s most desperate and helpless moments. He helped people—and also helped ghosts.
His combat boots stepped over the pebbled alley road. The young man stood tall, his gaze cold and distant.
Yet he had never once turned away someone pleading for help in despair.
Even when caught in a deadly trap, he could carve out a path with bloodied wounds, gritting his teeth and forging ahead.
Xie Jiaojiao didn’t understand Yan Shixun. Every word she said failed to stir his soul—
Or the heart, soft and buried deeply under his cold exterior.
But the opposite was also true—
Having long dealt with all walks of life, Yan Shixun had seen the most intense emotions of the world. He understood the human heart.
And he had seen through Xie Jiaojiao’s weakness.
Yan Shixun lowered his lashes slightly. The smile at the corners of his lips slowly widened.
“Xie Jiaojiao, whether in the human world or the underworld, there’s no such thing as a perfect exorcist—or a perfect victim.”
“You want revenge? Fine. I’m willing to turn a blind eye. If the living won’t give you justice, then let the ghost kill the enemy, and let Fengdu pass the judgment.”
“But to protect yourself, you hurt everyone else. Including… those who loved you.”
Yan Shixun let out a long sigh. When he lifted his head again, he didn’t look at Xie Jiaojiao, but directly into the deep darkness behind her.
“Zheng Shumu, when you saw Xie Lin die, did it not stir anything in you?”
“Oh right, I forgot to mention—”
His smile never reached his eyes. “You want me to save Master Bai? Sorry. I refuse.”
As his words fell, something in the darkness stirred.
Yan Shixun grinned and continued, “The one you want to save—go save him yourself. The one you want to protect—protect him yourself. You’re not dead yet, Zheng Shumu. You’re still alive. There’s still so much you can change.”
“So.”
He shrugged toward a direction deep in the shadows. “Don’t worry. I’ll just stand here and watch Master Bai remain trapped in this place, suffering eternally in his own personal hell.”
“Zheng Shumu.”
He asked softly, “What’s the difference between Xie Lin and the you from back then?”
“From this moment on, there will be countless versions of you, countless Xie Lins, suffering the exact same fate. And the root of it all—comes from your choice to stand by and do nothing today.”
“Zheng Shumu, you hate the villagers who refused to help you and your mother back then. But now—whether it’s Xie Lin, or those who came here with me—how are they any different from the you of that time? And you—how are you any different from those villagers you loathe?”
From Yan Shixun’s lips came clear, firm words—short but resonant: “Accomplice.”
The figure in the dark trembled, shoulders slumping in defeat. As if tormented by pain, he lifted a hand and covered his head.
And as Yan Shixun uttered every word, Xie Jiaojiao’s eyes slowly widened.
She suddenly realized something. Whipping around, she looked into the darkness behind her, her gaze filled with disbelief as she turned toward where Yan Shixun had been staring.
“Brother…”
Xie Jiaojiao’s voice faltered, soft like a spoiled whisper. Laden with disbelief and confusion, it was enough to shatter the heart of anyone who loved her.
Zheng Shumu had intended to respond, but the moment he opened his mouth, warm tears fell first, slipping into his mouth.
Salty—and bitter.
His throat tightened. He barely managed to collect himself before slowly stepping out of the darkness. His figure was bathed in the dim, bloody glow of a red lantern.
Zheng Shumu looked worn and aged. Compared to how he appeared when Yan Shixun first met him, he was like a completely different person.
He gazed blankly at the sister staring back at him, reluctant and greedy all at once, trying to capture every contour of her face with his eyes—wishing he could reach out and wipe away all her pain and sorrow.
Oh heavens… Why must she be the one to bear it all? Why not him?
Why hadn’t he been the one to die back then? Why hadn’t he been the one hurt? Why couldn’t he suffer in her place?
Zheng Shumu’s eyes were filled with tenderness and anguish.
Xie Jiaojiao had never imagined that Zheng Shumu had followed her into the theater in the lake.
This place was the very core of her soul. It was where she planned to kill Yan Shixun in order to repel the Dao path. How had Zheng Shumu ended up here?
“Sister…”
Zheng Shumu closed his eyes. Tears rolled down his cheeks. His voice was hoarse and weary. “That’s enough, sister… it’s all enough now.”
“The hatred over our parents’ deaths—I already slaughtered everyone in the village. And whether it’s me who failed to protect you, or Xie Lin—we’re both here now.”
His voice trembled. When he opened his eyes again and looked at Xie Jiaojiao, his gaze was thick with pleading. “Let’s just stay here together… all of us, just us. No one else. Let’s live a quiet, happy life and forget everything beyond this place. We won’t let anyone hurt us again.”
“Tian Tian, okay?”
Zheng Shumu’s body trembled uncontrollably.
Every word Yan Shixun said had slammed into Zheng Shumu’s heart.
He couldn’t help but think of Li Chengyun, who had come here many years ago, and of the life memories of Yan Shixun he had witnessed through the ghost plays.
Zheng Shumu had never imagined that someone could be so cold—yet so tender.
The scenes of Yan Shixun’s past had projected onto the screen, flashing vividly before Zheng Shumu’s eyes. He was shaken by everything beyond comprehension.
Why… why hadn’t Yan Shixun killed those who had hurt him as a child? Why hadn’t he destroyed those who looked down on him? Why didn’t he make everyone fear him so they wouldn’t dare offend him again?
Even—if you were just a little more like everyone else, I wouldn’t have been shaken like this… Why go so far? What did those in danger have to do with you? You could’ve just ignored them!
Zheng Shumu’s heart howled in conflict and turmoil.
Originally, he had followed Xie Jiaojiao only because he saw her kill Xie Lin and was worried.
But he hadn’t expected to witness her attempt to replace a real person with a wooden puppet—extracting Yan Shixun’s soul memories and implanting them into the doll.
He had seen everything.
And it all brought back memories of Li Chengyun, who had come here back then.
That hermit had changed his life from that moment onward.
Zheng Shumu had to admit that he and his sister had once shared identical souls—full of hatred, wanting to pour it onto every living being they saw.
But Li Chengyun had stopped him. He said that karma had come full circle. The balance had been restored. It was time to stop.
Zheng Shumu didn’t know why, but everything Li Chengyun said carried an innate force that compelled belief. Even just seeing his figure made one feel at peace, wanting to merge into the misty mountains and become one with nature.
When Li Chengyun left, Zheng Shumu had tried to make him stay. He’d asked why, knowing death awaited him, he still pressed forward.
Li Chengyun’s smile was like a breeze under a clear moon, bright over rivers and mountains. Yet he was also like a wild crane riding the clouds, soaring into the blue sky—untouchable by mortals.
“Because that is my Dao.”
Zheng Shumu had watched with his own eyes as Li Chengyun laughed and strode toward death.
At the very moment Li Chengyun died, spring snow fell, flower buds bloomed then scattered, fell then bloomed again.
The cycle of life and death repeated endlessly, as flower petals drifted down one after another, blanketing every trace of Li Chengyun and covering his entire body.
He, dressed in white, died with a faint smile amidst the vast, empty snow.
Only the Great Dao bore witness to his death.
In the very instant that Li Chengyun passed away, the heavens and the earth recognized his Dao through the cycle of life and death.
It also made Zheng Shumu, who saw it all happen with his own eyes, feel a shudder and deep dread from the depths of his soul.
From that day on, Zheng Shumu never harmed another living being.
And now, Zheng Shumu once again witnessed the entirety of Yan Shixun’s life.
Though master and disciple had walked different paths in their growth, they both held to an unwavering and resolute Dao.
A Dao that reached up to the azure sky.
Hot tears slid down from Zheng Shumu’s eyes. He choked with emotion as he reached out his hand to his sister.
“That’s enough… It’s time to stop, little sister.”
Xie Jiaojiao’s expression shifted from shock to fury as she looked at Zheng Shumu. She questioned him in disbelief, “Brother, are you… going to betray me too?”
“Someone is hurting me, and you choose to stand with them?”
Zheng Shumu shook his head as tears continued to fall. He walked slowly toward his sister.
He opened his arms and pulled her into a hug. “No… little sister, I will always stand by your side.”
Xie Jiaojiao’s heart just began to settle when she heard Zheng Shumu continue, “But, just like Mr. Yan said—we can’t, we mustn’t allow another person like me, or another Xie Lin, to be born.”
“Our original goal was only revenge. We said we’d live happily together. But, little sister, I don’t think either of us is happy now—not you, and not me.”
Zheng Shumu’s arms tightened around her, to the point where the little wooden puppet in her arms pierced his skin, drawing blood.
But it was as if he couldn’t feel the pain at all. He only whispered softly in her ear, “I’ll be a good brother.”
“…If there’s a next life.”
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