Chapter 276: Ritual Money, Old Capital (3)
Yan Shixun remembered the first time he saw Ye Li, back before arriving at Wild Wolf Peak. That very first impression Ye Li had left on him was exactly the same as now.
A cold detachment, as if he stood apart from the world entirely.
No matter who lived or died before his eyes, it had nothing to do with him. Even if someone died right in front of him, his gaze would remain indifferent, as if looking at dust.
And now, Zhang Wubing looked incredibly similar to the Ye Li of that time.
Because they were currently trapped inside the ghost play, even if Ye Li wanted to shield everyone from perceiving the truth about ghost deities, it would be difficult to do so. As a result, the entire group witnessed the full transformation of Zhang Wubing, as well as the conversation between him and Ye Li.
Suspicious and bewildered glances swept back and forth between the two of them. The onlookers were filled with shock, doubt, and all kinds of wild speculations.
An Nanyuan stared at Zhang Wubing in near horror.
He never could’ve imagined that the same Zhang Wubing who used to cling to Brother Yan’s thigh while crying pitifully would actually have this kind of side to him.
And that man who had always been by Yan Shixun’s side—although everyone, following Lu Xingxing’s lead, had jokingly called him “Master Aunt” even before their relationship was confirmed—everyone clearly knew deep down: this was not someone to be trifled with.
Even someone like Lu Xingxing, who was always bold enough to challenge heaven and earth, would shrink like a whimpering husky with its tail tucked between its legs in front of that man.
Yet the always cowardly Zhang Wubing—who was more timid than Lu Xingxing and always ready to throw himself at Brother Yan’s legs for comfort—had actually confronted Yan Shixun’s terrifying partner head-on…
For a moment, An Nanyuan’s mind filled with all kinds of fantastical scenarios.
He even wondered if maybe this area had too many ghosts, and some wandering spirit had possessed Zhang Wubing?
Or could it be that Zhang Wubing had a split personality they hadn’t noticed before?
Song Ci stared at Zhang Wubing and also slowly realized that something was off. His lips pressed tightly together.
Though he had been at odds with Zhang Wubing for years, it was exactly because he disapproved of how Zhang Wubing never cherished his blessings that he paid such close attention to him.
Song Ci knew very well—this wasn’t how Zhang Wubing acted.
So the one standing there now, occupying Zhang Wubing’s body—who was it, really?
Brother Yan had returned. So why wasn’t Xie Lin by his side? Where had he gone?
Song Ci looked up anxiously at the confrontation between the three, his heart filled with unease. But he also knew that this was not the right time to step in and ask questions. All he could do was grit his teeth, suppress his anxiety, and wait silently for Yan Shixun to handle everything and walk toward him.
He trusted Yan Shixun.
An Nanyuan noticed the worry on Song Ci’s face. He paused, realizing that the young master was worried about both Zhang Wubing and Xie Lin.
He wanted to go over and comfort Song Ci, but the surroundings were too quiet. Speaking up now, being the only one talking, made him feel a bit self-conscious. So instead, he kept signaling frantically to Zhao Zhen beside Song Ci with his eyes.
But of course Zhao Zhen had also noticed something was wrong with Song Ci.
He simply remained silent.
From the moment Yan Shixun returned, Zhao Zhen had realized that Xie Lin wasn’t with him.
Given what he knew of Yan Shixun, only one possibility came to mind—something had happened to Xie Lin. Possibly even death. Maybe he had been left behind forever, submerged in the lake outside the village with the surname Bai.
Zhao Zhen didn’t know how to explain this guess to Song Ci.
Only at this moment did he suddenly realize that being more perceptive than most wasn’t always a good thing—it meant experiencing pain far beyond that of ordinary people, and facing far more difficult choices.
And that very pain—was what Yan Shixun must have been enduring every moment. Who knew how many times he had to make decisions that no one understood, carrying the burden all on his own…
Zhao Zhen let out a long, silent sigh. His heart ached for Song Ci, and at the same time, he felt completely drained.
After protecting Xie Lin for so many years, could the young master really accept the truth if it was that cruel? Or should he hide it for Song Ci’s sake…? Zhao Zhen didn’t know.
For once, he felt a deep, unfamiliar sense of confusion and helplessness. In the end, he looked toward Yan Shixun, gritted his teeth, and decided to wait for him to say it himself rather than rely on speculation.
Maybe—just maybe—Xie Lin hadn’t met with disaster. Maybe he was overthinking things.
That faint thread of hope rose from deep within Zhao Zhen’s heart.
But Yan Shixun wasn’t paying attention to anyone else.
After carefully going over the conversation between Zhang Wubing and Ye Li in his mind, he began to realize where that sense of ghost deity energy around Zhang Wubing was coming from.
This wasn’t the first time he had seen Zhang Wubing like this.
His memories began to awaken. Similar scenes rose to the surface of his mind.
The outskirts of Binhai City. The evil ghost abyss beneath the highway. The underworld that had collapsed into ruins.
Back then, in that dim, murky place, Yan Shixun had seen the faint silhouette of a divine statue.
That statue sat high upon a divine altar, its eyes lowered and closed in solemn authority. Even though the deity had died, the remaining body still carried the oppressive presence that had once struck fear into all ghosts.
Though evil spirits stirred restlessly outside the underworld, attempting to climb out of hell and escape, none of them dared to approach or enter the domain guarded by that place.
It was only when Yan Shixun noticed how the spirits instinctively avoided that area that he discovered the truth and stepped into this forgotten space, one that lay beyond heaven and earth.
And there, he saw the old ghost deity.
The refined outline of that statue had emerged faintly from the shadows, and for some reason, it had looked strangely familiar to Yan Shixun.
Back then, time was of the essence. He didn’t have much of it to dwell on the past. After borrowing power from the statue, he left the place immediately.
Using the remnant power of the King of Hell embedded within the statue, Yan Shixun once again subdued the horde of ghosts, forcing hell to retreat beneath the underworld, firmly guarding the boundary between life and death, not allowing the evil spirits to disturb the mortal world.
When Yan Shixun left that hell of evil spirits, it was as if the ghost deity didn’t want his true form exposed to others, didn’t want a second living soul to uncover the truth of the underworld. So, at that time, Yan Shixun’s memories of his experience in hell gradually faded from his mind.
The King of Hell, who had died after his powers were stripped during the collapse of the underworld, hid himself in shadows and ghostly energy to avoid detection by the forces of heaven and earth.
He had never allowed the Evil Spirit Bone Transformation, who were already under the watchful eye of the Great Dao, to discover his true form.
It wasn’t until now—when the ghostly play screened off the heavens and the earth, and through the shadow puppet show propped up by the ghost infant—that the true form of the ghost deity, hidden within Zhang Wubing’s shadow, could reappear once more.
And just then, Yan Shixun’s memories returned in a rush, making him suddenly realize—
The statue he had seen in the collapsing underworld… looked quite a bit like Zhang Wubing.
Except, it was colder, more ruthless than the Zhang Wubing he knew—carrying the oppressive aura of someone who had held a lofty position for a long time.
So, the person standing before him now was not the living Zhang Wubing, but the King of Hell who had once perished under the Great Dao. The same King of Hell who had lent him power when he descended into the underworld…
Once Yan Shixun pieced it all together, his gaze toward Zhang Wubing became layered with complex and subtle emotions.
He never would have imagined that the ghost deity, believed to be long dead, had been right by his side all this time.
But at the same time, everything began to make sense—why the tension between Zhang Wubing and Ye Li was so palpable and intense.
Ye Li had mentioned to him before that Fengdu had never agreed with the underworld’s methods. Fengdu believed that judging based only on sin and not on causality left many unjustly dead souls to become vengeful ghosts, seeking revenge on their own, suffering with unresolved grievances even in death.
Meanwhile, the underworld had always looked down on Fengdu. The disdain of those in power could be felt even among the lesser underworld Yin officials.
In the past, whenever Yan Shixun encountered these Yin officials or asked for their help in sending souls for reincarnation, he had heard them complain more than once about Fengdu.
Most of those Yin officials had lived for centuries. Unlike the later corrupted ones who led underworld soldiers to forcibly reenter the human realm, these older Yin officials had seen Fengdu when it still walked among the living and had been awestruck by the might of the ghost deity. Ever since, they had held reverence for the Great Dao and dared not overstep their roles.
To those Yin officials, Fengdu was the epitome of arrogance—never willing to do the dirty or difficult work. Occasionally doing a few things and getting praised to the heavens by mortal ghost exorcists, stealing the credit for what the underworld had planted—Fengdu was reaping the fruits without planting the seeds.
However, it was clear from the indignant expressions on those Yin officials’ faces when they talked about it, that they were emotionally involved, speaking from personal bias.
So Yan Shixun merely raised an eyebrow, listened to it like it was a story, and didn’t take it too seriously.
The stories those Yin officials told might not have been true, but the emotions behind them certainly were.
Even back then, Yan Shixun had begun to vaguely suspect that several hundred years ago, the relationship between Fengdu and the underworld had been particularly bad, with their leaders likely at odds.
Now, that old suspicion had been confirmed. The King of Hell he had long questioned had finally appeared—though in a way he never would have expected.
A folding fan twirled once in a thin, bony hand, then lightly tapped against the chest in a slow rhythm that carried an ancient and mysterious cadence—like the ceremonial music once heard in temple rituals.
As Zhang Wubing spoke with Ye Li, he noticed the change in Yan Shixun’s gaze toward him.
Understanding dawned in his heart. With a faint smile at his lips, he lifted his eyes to meet Yan Shixun’s and asked with a soft laugh, “You figured it out, didn’t you? Evil Spirit Bone Transformation.”
When Zhang Wubing smiled, his clear eyes shimmered with rippling light—breathtakingly beautiful.
The ghost deity who had once thrown himself into death out of fury to resist the Great Dao… had once again stepped into the human world, wishing to personally witness the moment life returned to it.
Yan Shixun’s sharp eyes and brows darkened, but not with the icy rage he had felt earlier when he first sensed something wrong about Zhang Wubing.
After a pause, he finally uttered two syllables slowly: “King of Hell.”
“You were the King of Hell who died and vanished before Jing Xiaobao took the role.”
Yan Shixun stared deeply at Zhang Wubing. “Your power remained in the underworld for over a hundred years, supporting it long after it should have collapsed. You were also the one who lent your power and divine name to me. And it was because of that gift… that Jing Xiaobao was able to become the new King of Hell.”
As his words fell, the others, who had shrunk back to the side, all showed stunned expressions. Their gazes toward Zhang Wubing were filled with shock and uncertainty.
An Nanyuan couldn’t hold back any longer and let out a startled exclamation.
He quickly realized his voice, unusually high-pitched in panic, had stood out awkwardly in the silence. Immediately, he clamped both hands over his mouth and didn’t dare make another sound—only staring at Zhang Wubing in terror, while memories of their past interactions flashed through his mind.
It’s over…
Just thinking about how he used to joke around with Zhang Wubing, slinging arms around each other like old pals, made An Nanyuan feel the world go dark and life lose its color.
Was he insane? How could he have dared to act like that with the legendary King of Hell? Wasn’t there a saying that if the King of Hell wanted you dead at midnight, no one could keep you alive until dawn? D-d-did that mean the King of Hell might actually have him killed now?
But it really wasn’t his fault! Who would’ve thought that your coworker, your friend—was actually the King of Hell?!
An Nanyuan felt utterly hopeless, on the verge of tears. If only he had known this earlier—he wouldn’t have dared to treat Zhang Wubing that way, no matter what!
Please, just give him a chance to make amends. He was begging!
His imagination running wild had left An Nanyuan completely rattled. Although the others weren’t as prone to overthinking as he was, after hearing Yan Shixun’s words, they all became a bit more cautious toward Zhang Wubing. No longer did they see him as just an adorable and unlucky little director.
After all, in an ordinary person’s world, ghosts didn’t even exist. In their minds, King of Hell was something out of distant, strange tales in books—not a being they would ever encounter in real life.
But now, the truth told them—King of Hell was real.
And he was right beside them.
…He had even tearfully clung to Yan Shixun’s leg right in front of them.
The stark contrast between the two images left everyone feeling an unreal sense of dissonance.
Yet no one questioned what Yan Shixun had said.
From the beginning, everyone had treated Yan Shixun as the stabilizing force of the entire show. As long as he was there, they felt grounded and secure—and they completely trusted what he said.
Nan Tian shrank his body even smaller, clutching Lu Xingxing’s unresponsive form tightly. The look he gave Zhang Wubing was filled with wariness.
Lu Xingxing’s condition was very poor, and Nan Tian even feared whether he could make it through.
Although before Yan Shixun returned, Zhang Wubing had acted in time and saved them all—which left Nan Tian shocked but grateful—
When it came to Lu Xingxing…
Nan Tian didn’t dare to take the risk. If this King of Hell discovered Lu Xingxing’s condition, who knew if he would take his soul right then and there?
All he could do was try his best to make himself invisible.
Zhang Wubing’s smiling gaze swept across the group, who each wore different expressions. His eyes lingered imperceptibly when they landed on Nan Tian, clearly aware of Lu Xingxing’s state in his arms. But he said nothing, merely shifting his gaze indifferently and looking deeply at Yan Shixun.
“I once worried whether you could slay the ghost infant before it fully formed, and whether you could carry this heavy burden.”
“For a hundred years before you, many exorcists from the mortal world came here full of ambition, only to die for the Dao. The number of those who followed in their footsteps was countless—yet not one succeeded.”
Zhang Wubing’s voice was magnetic and clear, like it had traveled across a century of time: “I personally witnessed their deaths. I even buried their corpses with my own hands. What’s more—one of the bodies I had once used also died among them, its remains left to rot in the wilderness.”
“I hesitated, too—whether I should choose you…”
Zhang Wubing gently lowered his long lashes, half-shielding the emotion in his eyes.
No one could have believed that the King of Hell—who once held dominion over life, death, and reincarnation—would one day be forced to hide his own soul, stripped of all authority, reduced to a pathetic state like a rat scorned by all.
But this was Zhang Wubing’s own choice.
A hundred years ago, the Great Dao began to collapse. Heaven and earth were on the verge of crumbling.
The legacy and protection built over countless millennia on this vast land were falling apart. Life wept; ghosts howled day and night; hatred surged to the sky.
Whether gods, ghosts, or mortals, even the Great Dao itself, all were desperately seeking salvation—amidst a chorus of despair, searching for a path to survival.
At that time, the judgment made by the Great Dao was this: if change came, the balance of yin and yang would shatter, and the Dao would collapse completely.
Heaven and earth could see the future.
No matter how humans calculated or predicted, they could never surpass the grand game played by the heavens.
The Great Dao understood one thing clearly—ghost deities would eventually be eliminated by time, fade into relics of old sciences. New science and new beliefs would replace them.
Life needed the protection of ghost deities—to shield it from the invasions of monsters and spirits.
But it did not need ghost deities themselves.
Heaven and earth were heartless, treating all things as straw dogs.
In this desperate moment, the Great Dao made the most rational—but also the cruelest—judgment for all the gods.
—Let the gods fall. Gather their strength to support the Dao.
Though this wasn’t the perfect cure for the Dao’s decline, it was, at that time, the best path forward after weighing all sides.
As long as they could survive the most difficult period—as long as they were still alive—new hope could be found.
The most important thing was to survive first.
The gods fell, and the Great Dao was able to catch its breath, continuing its search for new life.
But the Evil Spirit Bone Transformation—a creation meant to fulfill the Dao’s hope—failed to do so. It ended up turning on itself and died as a child.
Even though the Evil Spirit Bone Transformation still possessed terrifying, overwhelming power, it was no longer truly alive.
Its time, its vitality, had ended the moment it died. It could no longer shape the future of the living.
The Great Dao’s plan had failed.
But the King of Hell, who had always watched the human world with a cold eye, had already foreseen this future.
King of Hell did not believe in heaven’s judgment.
The gods had perished—but humans still had to face death, and ghosts and monsters still remained in the world. At that time, who would protect the living from those beings?
How could human exocirsts possibly stand against the overwhelming forces of the heavens?
As the King of Hell, who had presided over life, death, and reincarnation for millennia—who guarded the underworld and its countless malevolent spirits—he understood the evil nature of ghosts all too well. He knew that ghost energy was not something ordinary people could endure.
The Evil Spirit Bone Transformation drew ghost energy into a human body, merging life and death, yin and yang, in imitation of the Dao’s balance—thus gaining immense power. Yet King of Hell never believed in it.
He did not believe this Evil Spirit Bone Transformation could bear the burden of heaven and earth’s final hope.
It was simply too heavy a weight. Even the gods could not bear it—how could a mere mortal carry the Dao?
But heaven had already made its decision. The Dao, in its impartial and emotionless fairness, was ultimately the gentlest force toward the mortal world.
Though King of Hell was a ghost deity, he held authority granted by heaven and earth—he could not change the Dao.
In the death of the gods, the King of Hell tore away his divine name and power from his own soul, giving up everything that once made him a ghost deity. He even stripped away all sense and identity from his soul. Once he entered the cycle of reincarnation, there would be no turning back.
By then, he might not even remember who he had once been.
But the King of Hell’s resolve remained unwavering. Even knowing the hardships ahead, he never hesitated.
He endured the excruciating pain that pierced his soul. Instead of returning all his power to the Great Dao, he secretly withheld a large portion of it and left it in the Underworld to maintain its normal operations.
Even if he died, he wanted the Underworld to continue functioning—so that the souls of the dead could still reincarnate, and the guilty ghosts could still be judged.
After completing all of this, the King of Hell looked up at the heavens and earth one final time, then turned away without regret. Cruelly, he hid his now-frail soul—so weak it was inferior to that of a normal person—among the multitude of ghosts.
Zhang Wubing remembered it clearly. Over the span of a hundred years, he had reincarnated dozens of times, trying to stay in the mortal world to find the one who could truly avert the collapse of the Great Dao.
Men, women, young and old—they had all once been his faces.
He had been born into noble families, and he had also been power and privilege itself.
He had even been the child of diplomat Jing Bin—an ordinary person with no memories of the past. Yet through the guidance that came from the depths of his soul, he instinctively drew near to those who might save the world.
Like Jing Bin and Lin Ting.
That was also the closest—and most perilous—he had come to success in all his lifetimes.
What he hadn’t foreseen was that the heavens had also reincarnated the Evil Spirit Bone Transformation into Jing Bin’s family. Because of this, their attention fell on Jing Bin and Lin Ting, and he was nearly discovered.
Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—he brushed past theEvil Spirit Bone Transformation without being noticed by the heavens.
But he died young, never getting the chance to grow up.
He had been the child of Jing Bin and Jing Wanxiu, a girl once full of ambition and passion under Lin Ting’s careful guidance. She had been one of his incarnations.
But in the end, he was just a gradually cooling corpse lying in the Jing estate. His once-bright eyes lost their light, staring blankly at the sunlight coming through the window, listening to the sounds of life drifting in from the street. And at that boundary between life and death, he finally remembered who he was, and the responsibility he carried.
—He had to find, in his own way, someone who could break free from the world and truly save the Great Dao.
Unfortunately…
He slowly drew his soul from the body, sighed with regret, and headed toward his next life.
Because he had been King of Hell for thousands of years, even his soul carried remnants of divine vitality and death. In the eyes of the Great Dao and the Underworld, he simultaneously held immense merit and overwhelming sin.
So, in every life, he was either born into the most powerful families or, even if born humble, he possessed a fate akin to that of an emperor.
While others envied him for being “blessed,” he constantly had to face the danger that followed—always dying under the weight of his “sins.”
Just like the death at the Jing estate.
And the current crisis as Zhang Wubing.
He was born into an extremely wealthy and noble family. His parents were loving, his relatives kind. Life seemed smooth and carefree, with nothing to worry about.
But due to the countless reincarnations gradually draining his soul of power, the King of Hell’s soul could no longer withstand another cycle. This was likely to be his final lifetime—after death, he would disperse into the heavens and earth.
And when that happened, the divine name and power once imbued in his soul would return to the heavens.
At that moment, the Great Dao would realize what the King of Hell had been doing in secret for the past century.
So, before entering the mortal world, he made the most rational—and cruel—arrangement for himself.
—He would hide among the ghosts, using ghostly energy to block the heavens from sensing him.
And when he died, he would die at the hands of a vengeful ghost, to prevent the heavens from discovering his existence after his death. If any of his strength remained at that moment, it would return to the Underworld, continuing to sustain its normal operation.
Zhang Wubing was originally supposed to die at nineteen.
This was his final reincarnation. He had spent nineteen years and still hadn’t found a mortal who could support the Great Dao. Hidden in the shadows, the true body of the ghost deity began to fall into despair.
The King of Hell began to understand the judgment made by the Great Dao back then. He even questioned whether he had been wrong—perhaps he should have given up his power and merged with the Dao.
Sometimes, on the verge of death while facing evil spirits, he looked upon the human world through Zhang Wubing’s eyes, but all he felt was sorrow and hopelessness.
He foresaw that ghosts would soon invade the human world, disasters would break out, and the mortal realm would become a living hell, with corpses lying everywhere.
But as someone who was no longer the King of Hell, he had no power left to stop any of it.
All he could do, it seemed, was to bear witness to this tragedy with his own eyes.
However, it was during that nineteenth year that Zhang Wubing enrolled at Binhai University.
The early autumn sun blazed brightly, and the sky stretched high and cloudless.
Among the bustling crowd of students beaming with joy, Zhang Wubing immediately spotted a young Yan Shixun.
The young man stood beneath a tree with one hand in his pocket, impatiently furrowing his sharp eyebrows. He seemed out of place in the noisy crowd, and his expression was particularly cold and distant—like he was rejecting the world.
He stood in the crowd, so strikingly noticeable.
But the older man beside the young man exuded a mature and gentle aura, looking at everything with an almost childlike curiosity, responding to everyone who spoke to him with a cheerful smile.
At that time, as a living human, Zhang Wubing only felt as if a voice deep within was urging him to talk to Li Chengyun, to get closer to Yan Shixun.
Zhang Wubing believed it was his own thought, so he followed the voice in his head, walked toward Li Chengyun, and with a harmless and well-behaved face, gained Li Chengyun’s trust and affection.
Zhang Wubing’s greatest talent was flattering and clinging to powerful figures—skills he had honed through years of escaping from Ghost Gate situations. What he didn’t know was that everything had been leading up to his encounter with Yan Shixun.
Late at night, in an empty office, a computer turned on by itself. The freshmen list on the screen scrolled on its own, eventually settling on the names Yan Shixun and Zhang Wubing.
When the list was released the next day, it turned out Yan Shixun and Zhang Wubing had been assigned as roommates in the same dorm.
Zhang Wubing thus gained the opportunity to stay close to Yan Shixun. The King of Hell also hid in Zhang Wubing’s shadow, using his eyes to quietly observe Yan Shixun.
Because of Yan Shixun, Zhang Wubing lived past nineteen and survived his destined calamity.
And because of the Evil Spirit Bone Transformation, a glimmer of life returned to the once-dead gaze of the King of Hell.
—For in Yan Shixun, he had seen a new spark of vitality in the world.
But after glimpsing too much of the future and exhausting his energy on divinations, the part of the soul that belonged to the King of Hell quickly depleted, falling into a drowsy slumber.
Zhang Wubing, as a living man, knew nothing of this. He continued happily idolizing the famous director Li Xuetang, always looking pitiful, and survived one crisis after another by clinging tightly to Yan Shixun’s leg.
Though Yan Shixun constantly acted annoyed by this silly guy, it was because of Li Chengyun’s repeated instructions that he kept saving Zhang Wubing from life-and-death situations. Gradually, he accepted the reality that he had gained a “leg-hanging” sidekick.
Zhang Wubing’s teary-eyed clinging to Yan Shixun’s leg eventually became well-known to everyone around them.
People slowly, unconsciously grew used to their close relationship.
Later, after Li Chengyun’s death, Zhang Wubing gave his all—heart and soul—to care for Yan Shixun, doing everything in his power to support him through the most difficult time, and also ensured that Li Chengyun’s body was properly buried.
Yan Shixun disliked owing anyone karma.
But the karmic bond between him and Zhang Wubing grew deeper and deeper, until it became impossible to count—entirely intertwined.
Half a year ago, the King of Hell sensed that chaos was approaching. After years of rest, his soul had finally begun to recover, and he awakened.
As a living man, Zhang Wubing also began to feel, around that time, as though his soul was telling him that it was time to summon his courage and chase his dreams.
After all, success didn’t come overnight. Becoming a famous director couldn’t happen in a day, so he decided to start with something simple.
—For example, launching a variety show.
The name of this travel variety show was “Heart-Pounding Journey of Ninety-Nine Days”
By some supernatural instinct, Zhang Wubing chose filming locations that the King of Hell had painstakingly divined—places where calamity would soon arise, all while avoiding the Great Dao’s scrutiny.
Not only that, but the Great Dao was secretly guiding Zhang Wubing too, leading him and Yan Shixun step by step toward the sites that would trigger deadly crises.
The exorcists of the mortal world had no idea that these seemingly insignificant locations, some of which most people had never even heard of, would later give birth to fearsome vengeful spirits and dark deities—ones that would threaten both heaven and earth.
To cure a disease, one must act before it manifests.
Whether it was Ghost Mountain, Wild Wolf Peak, or Family Tomb Village, all these places, though seemingly unrelated, were critical nodes that, according to divination, would eventually lead to a catastrophic deadlock for heaven and earth.
Like a nine-link chain, each ring connected to the next—if even one was left unchecked, events would inevitably spiral into ruin.
By that point, salvation would no longer be possible.
Zhang Wubing guided the way, while Yan Shixun broke the deadlocks. Before anyone else had even realized the danger, they were already confronting it head-on within the midst of death, dissolving threats before they could take shape.
The danger fell on Zhang Wubing and was shared by all the variety show’s guests. The multitude of guests symbolized the many living people of the mortal realm, and by concentrating the danger on them, they prevented it from spreading to threaten ordinary people.
Everyone in the production team bore the burden of what should have been a disaster for all of humanity.
—But not all disasters could be resolved. A brief moment of safety only brewed even greater crises.
When the backlash came, it would be far beyond what any ordinary person could handle.
Better to release than to suppress.
As the King of Hell, Zhang Wubing understood this very well.
By using the show’s crew to bear the weight, the danger would be contained, preventing it from triggering even more terrifying disasters—ones that could eventually ignite the irreversible deadlock.
It was also to protect all the ordinary people beyond the show.
Matters of ghosts and gods need not be explained to mortals.
This was not out of arrogance—quite the opposite, it was the true gentleness of ghost deities.
—As long as ghost gods existed, mortals would be protected.
Until the day the ghosts and gods disappeared, until there were no more monsters or demons in this world.
Even though Zhang Wubing, as a human, never understood why he was always so unlucky, or why he felt certain roads just seemed “right” only to end up being ghost paths, or why every place he liked seemed to be haunted—
The King of Hell only smiled faintly from the shadows, hiding his contributions and reputation.
No one knew what the King of Hell had done, and he had no interest in telling anyone.
As long as the result was good, everything else no longer mattered.
But even Zhang Wubing had things he failed to foresee.
—He never expected that the Evil Spirit Bone Transformation, once burdened with the hopes of heaven and earth but ultimately perished, would end up being raised like a ghost child by a mere mortal, and eventually become a vengeful ghost—dragging him into the Jing Estate along the way.
Even more unexpectedly, it was inhabiting the very body he had once used.
He hadn’t thought that Jing Xiaobao’s power would become so formidable, even capable of seeing through his past identity.
For a moment, the King of Hell almost believed he had been exposed before heaven and earth. It felt like a warning from the cosmos.
Although it turned out to be a false alarm, the King of Hell still found Jing Xiaobao particularly unpleasant to look at.
Had Jing Xiaobao not died back then as an Evil Spirit Bone Transformation, he himself might not have fallen so close to despair.
He wouldn’t have been startled at the Jing Estate, nearly resorting to replacing Zhang Wubing and launching a desperate, all-out battle.
No one knew that if Yan Shixun hadn’t shown up at the Jing Estate in time, the entire place would have fallen into hell. The King of Hell would have appeared there, using the last of his strength to force as many wandering ghosts as he could into the underworld.
—Even later, upon discovering that Yan Shixun had been pretending to be Jing Bin, the King of Hell remained emotionally conflicted for a long time, unable to collect his thoughts.
He couldn’t understand why Zhang Wubing, that little fool, would call Yan Shixun “dad”—and worse, how Yan Shixun actually ended up playing the role of his father from several lifetimes ago.
The King of Hell nearly had a mental breakdown. Since then, he jotted down a note in his little black book about that annoying Evil Spirit Bone Transformation, Jing Xiaobao, and quarreled with him every time they crossed paths.
Zhang Wubing assumed he was afraid that Jing Xiaobao would steal Yan Shixun from him. Little did he know, far deeper and more complex reasons lay hidden in his soul.
Another thing the King of Hell didn’t foresee was the fall of the underworld’s Yin officials—those who defected and turned wicked.
The power that should’ve sustained the underworld for several more decades was gradually drained by these corrupted Yin officials, who gave in to temptation and betrayed their duties, weakening the realm and even making it difficult to suppress hell itself.
At that point, the King of Hell had no choice but to appear in the underworld personally and hand over his divine name and authority to Yan Shixun.
—If it was this Evil Spirit Bone Transformation… the King of Hell believed he could save everything.
And time proved that Yan Shixun truly lived up to that trust.
The only thing that displeased the King of Hell was Jing Xiaobao becoming the new King of Hell.
Though reason told him this was the most logical outcome.
If a deceased Evil Spirit Bone Transformation wasn’t bound by divine duty, it might one day turn against humanity.
Still, emotionally, the King of Hell couldn’t let go of the grudge—after all, this little ghost had scared him twice.
But now…
Zhang Wubing gently lifted his eyes and smiled at Yan Shixun.
“I never imagined there would come a day when we’d see a return like this to the world of the living.”
“Evil Spirit Bone Transformation, Yan Shixun… thank you.”
“What I failed to accomplish back then, you’ve achieved.”
Before Yan Shixun could respond, Ye Li beside him reached out with a long arm and pulled him into his embrace, watching Zhang Wubing warily.
“This is my exorcist.”
That look in his eyes—what are you staring at my exorcist for? Planning to steal him? Go find your own!
He knew it!
His own exorcist was too exceptional, always attracting strange things—like a ghost deity who should have perished long ago.
Tch.
Ye Li’s expression grew even darker and more dangerous, his gaze toward Zhang Wubing sharp as blades.
Yan Shixun looked up at Ye Li in surprise, and when he noticed the jealousy simmering beneath Ye Li’s cold anger, he couldn’t help but laugh bitterly.
Even if Zhang Wubing’s soul differed from ordinary people, being the reincarnation of the King of Hell, the Zhang Wubing he knew and cared for would always be that messy, tear-streaked little fool.
To Yan Shixun, Ye Li was just overthinking.
But Ye Li couldn’t shake the feeling that his precious treasure had been seen in all its brilliance, and was now in danger of being snatched away.
Zhang Wubing raised an eyebrow, spun the folding fan in his palm, and pressed it lightly to his lips with a chuckle. “Haven’t seen you in a hundred years, and the Lord of Fengdu is still as wild as ever. Let’s hope this Evil Spirit Bone Transformation doesn’t get scared off by you. But then again, it doesn’t matter.”
“Jing Xiaobao is now the new King of Hell. Yan Shixun, aren’t you going to pay a visit to the underworld sometime?”
Ye Li ground his teeth and snarled, “Get lost—!”
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