Chapter 278: Ritual Money, Old Capital (5)
At the same time that Xie Jiaojiao died along with Zheng Shumu, the world built upon their resentment began to collapse.
Zheng Shumu had spent his entire life trapped in the Bai family village.
Even though he had traveled far and wide for his studies while growing up, his body may have left, but his heart remained chained to the village, consumed day and night by hatred.
In the end, Zheng Shumu massacred the entire village, then watched with his own eyes as the villagers—both their corpses and their souls—were imprisoned within the wooden figurines, condemned to suffer.
Yet, in truth, he too was imprisoned there, enduring torment in hell alongside those he hated.
Then came the arrival of Li Chengyun and Yan Shixun. The former saved Zheng Shumu’s soul, preventing him from falling further into ruin, and the latter…
He helped Zheng Shumu finally resolve to put an end to the revenge that had started to spiral in the wrong direction.
As a result, the village—symbolizing the accumulation of Zheng Shumu’s life of hatred and pain—was swallowed by the lake.
In the final moment before his death, Zheng Shumu was at last freed. His soul was released from the village.
The village that had imprisoned him no longer needed to exist.
Before Yan Shixun and the others had escaped from the theater in the lake, Lu Xingxing and his group were confronted with the ghostly energy that followed the village’s collapse.
—With the presence of Xie Jiaojiao, the ghost infant, all ghostly energy around Baizhi Lake and even the entire southwest region began to instinctively converge toward her location.
This gloomy energy, imbued with all the resentment and hatred of the ghosts, loathed the Great Dao and the world itself, hated humanity, and naturally sought to gather there to give birth to a ghostly path.
Yan Shixun stood in the remnants of Third Uncle Bai’s courtyard, his gaze sweeping across the lake water held back by the protective barrier, quickly understanding the situation.
There were still corpses in the lake.
It seemed that even after being killed by Zheng Shumu and trapped there for decades, the villagers of the Bai family village had never truly repented for what they had done. They showed no remorse for their actions, instead directing their hatred toward the siblings Zheng Shumu and Xie Jiaojiao who had killed them.
That was why, after the village formed from Zheng Shumu’s resentment collapsed, their corpses naturally merged into the lake created by the converging ghostly energy.
“Brother Yan, Xingxing isn’t doing well.”
Nan Tian had originally wanted to keep Lu Xingxing hidden in his arms, afraid he’d be discovered by the King of Hell. But as Lu Xingxing’s face quickly turned ashen, Nan Tian became anxious. At last, he resolved to speak and informed Yan Shixun of the situation.
Previously wary of this entirely different version of Zhang Wubing, Nan Tian had hidden Lu Xingxing tightly, curled up and obscured behind the crowd. Yan Shixun hadn’t noticed Lu Xingxing’s condition until now.
Hearing Nan Tian’s words, Yan Shixun frowned and strode over, pushing the crowd aside. But the moment he saw Lu Xingxing’s face clearly, his heart sank.
Lu Xingxing’s features were shrouded in thick deathly energy, almost engulfing his entire face.
This was no longer the complexion of a living person. His skin had turned a ghastly green-black, with thin threads of black energy moving beneath his pale, lifeless skin. His flesh bulged and sank, horrifying to behold.
Yan Shixun swept aside his coat and crouched before Lu Xingxing, taking his wrist to examine his meridians.
He immediately felt a familiar, sinister chill and instantly understood the cause of Lu Xingxing’s current state.
—Ye Li’s power.
For centuries, Ye Li had never lent his strength to a living person, with the sole exception of Yan Shixun.
Whether exorcists or spirit mediums, Ye Li had always ignored them coldly.
The ghost deity understood one truth: his power was never something a human could endure.
Those who spent their lives obsessively seeking the power of a ghost deity knew full well the consequences. From the start, they had stood in opposition to the living.
All they wanted was to wield the power of death to bring more death.
As for other Taoists and exorcists, their human bodies simply couldn’t withstand ghostly energy.
Only someone like Yan Shixun, born with the fate of an Evil Spirit Bone Transformation, could bear it. Any other living person who absorbed ghostly energy would have their yang energy suppressed until it dropped to its lowest threshold, inflicting irreversible damage to both body and soul.
The power of the Lord of Fengdu was indeed immense—but it came with terrifying danger. For any living being, it was nothing less than a death sentence.
Yet Ye Li had still chosen to temporarily lend this power to Lu Xingxing. Part of it was because of the karmic bond between Lu Xingxing and Yan Shixun, which offered a degree of protection. Another reason was that Ye Li had actively shouldered the portion of karma that would have otherwise harmed Lu Xingxing.
As long as Lu Xingxing didn’t overuse the power, and kept it within a certain range and timeframe, he would only suffer minor side effects like fatigue and poor fortune. In light of everyone’s safety, Lu Xingxing didn’t mind. This was a cost he had already accepted.
But this time…
Lu Xingxing had crossed the line in using that ghostly power.
When Yan Shixun examined his meridians, he found the ghost energy not only coursing through them but also seeping into his internal organs. It had started flowing along his acupoints and meridian pathways, moving upward toward his crown.
Once the ghost energy completely engulfed his crown chakra, it would corrupt Lu Xingxing’s soul.
At that point, not even a ghost deity could save him.
Yan Shixun lowered his eyes and looked at Lu Xingxing. His Adam’s apple bobbed, but he couldn’t speak for a moment.
This junior nephew of his…
Was far more tenacious and resilient than anyone had imagined.
Yan Shixun knew Ye Li. When he lent his power to Lu Xingxing, he must have clearly explained the taboos that came with it.
Everything hinged on maintaining certain limits.
But once Lu Xingxing forcibly broke through the boundaries Ye Li had built into that power, the overloaded ghost energy would crush his yang energy and take over his body.
When yin and yang clashed, if yang prevailed, one lived—otherwise, death followed.
Lu Xingxing had been fully aware of this truth.
Yet he couldn’t just stand by and watch the people around him die, harmed by the backflowing lake water and the rotting corpses it carried. So, even knowing exactly what would happen, he clenched his teeth and pressed on.
And then—he fell there too.
If not for the King of Hell, hidden in Zhang Wubing’s shadow, appearing at the most critical moment and pulling Lu Xingxing back, keeping his soul within his body—he likely wouldn’t have made it.
Lu Xingxing would never have held on until Yan Shixun returned.
Though the King of Hell was a ghost deity like Fengdu, they were not the same.
Fengdu governed judgment, while the underworld governed reincarnation and rebirth. The King of Hell, in addition to death, also held dominion over life. He was able to draw back the ghostly energy in Lu Xingxing’s body just enough to return it to the realm of the living, giving him a sliver of hope.
“Ye Li, pull the ghostly energy out of Lu Xingxing’s meridians!”
Even as Yan Shixun shouted to Ye Li, he was already taking action. Without waiting for Ye Li to move, he began chanting incantations under his breath, guiding the ghostly energy in Lu Xingxing’s body into his own meridians.
The Evil Spirit Bone Transformation constitution was, by nature, infused with ghostly energy.
The pain Lu Xingxing experienced at that moment—years ago, in his own childhood before meeting Ye Li—Yan Shixun had endured the same thing.
It was like having a thousand needles pierce your veins, watching helplessly as your body withered away.
But those who survived it gained strength far beyond that of ordinary people, thanks to the ghostly energy within them.
That was the balance of yin and yang.
Once Yan Shixun finished drawing the ghostly energy from Lu Xingxing’s meridians, Ye Li also absorbed the side effects caused by the power he had temporarily lent out, redirecting all the consequences onto himself.
Even so, Lu Xingxing remained in a deep coma. Though the heavy aura of death had receded from his brow, his face was still pale and ashen.
The damage from the ghostly energy had begun the moment he resolved to protect everyone.
Yan Shixun formed a seal with both hands and held it above the crown of Lu Xingxing’s head, chanting spell after spell—evil-warding, golden light, fortune-enhancing charms. These were the kinds of powerful incantations that many Taoists would never witness in their entire lives, yet they now flowed fluently from Yan Shixun’s lips, layering one after another over Lu Xingxing.
But he quickly realized something was wrong—no matter what spell he used, their effects were far weaker than they should have been.
In that instant, a realization struck him. His eyes darted in astonishment toward Zhang Wubing not far away.
“You’re hiding in Zhang Wubing’s shadow, so your presence here is only possible because the shadow puppetry controlled by Xie Jiaojiao reversed the roles of humans and ghosts. That allowed you to flip through from the other side. But now that Xie Jiaojiao is dead… you still haven’t disappeared.”
And now, the spell effects were drastically weakened.
Only one possibility came to mind.
—The Ghost Dao had descended, and it had already begun to take effect.
Most likely, even beyond the shadow puppet show, the Ghost Dao had already overtaken the Great Dao. The one who ruled everything was no longer the living—but the dead. Yin and yang had flipped.
Xie Jiaojiao!
Yan Shixun’s sharp gaze dimmed.
Grinding his molars, he silently recited the little girl’s name in his heart. He hadn’t expected the ghost infant to be this powerful—so strong that even in death, it couldn’t stop the spread of the Ghost Dao.
But where had the ghost infant’s power come from?
That night, many years ago, when a woman had sunk into the lake with her unborn child, the sheer resentment from their deaths should not have been enough to make the Great Dao fear the ghost infant to this extent. So what had supported it back then?
The thought flashed through Yan Shixun’s mind.
Zhang Wubing arched a brow, smoothing the intricately embroidered sleeve bearing a snarling beast. He gave a soft chuckle and nodded, confirming the truth of Yan Shixun’s suspicions.
Yan Shixun hadn’t even needed to say it aloud—Zhang Wubing, with his sharp instincts, already knew. This sensitive Evil Spirit Bone Transformation had guessed the truth.
“You figured it out, didn’t you, Yan Shixun?”
Zhang Wubing said with a smile, “Outside the ghost play, it’s still a ghost play. Unless you find the true origin of the Ghost Dao’s birth, it will keep spreading—until it completely replaces the Great Dao.”
“When that day comes, the disaster that was delayed for a hundred years will still arrive. And obviously, once things reach that point, even if the world’s exorcists have the will, they’ll lack the power. Humanity will be beyond saving.”
The Ghost Dao…
Loose strands of hair fell across his forehead, casting shadows that concealed the sharpness of Yan Shixun’s gaze. His eyes turned dangerously cold.
He silently mouthed the two syllables, then chuckled with contempt: “To harm the living, you should at least know your place. If you’re already dead, then stay in Fengdu like you’re supposed to. Don’t overreach and try to overturn the Great Dao or invade the world of the living.”
“If you can’t understand that yourself—then I’ll…”
Yan Shixun gently lifted Lu Xingxing into his arms and slowly stood, his eyes icy.
“I’ll teach them what it means to be a ghost.”
…Heavenly Warrior of the Northern Dipper, radiance of ten thousand lights.
Heaven above, earth below—cut off the source of evil!
The incantation that Yan Shixun had been silently chanting in his heart finally took effect in that moment.
Normally unusable within the ghost play, the spell worked now—because its power source was the Lord of Fengdu. After being reversed twice, it had once again been set right, regaining its original strength and grandeur.
Wherever Yan Shixun stepped, the ground trembled and collapsed with a thunderous roar, deafening to all who heard.
The last remaining courtyard in the Bai family village began to crumble at last.
None of the guests had expected Yan Shixun to act this way. Not only did he stop defending the courtyard—he actively destroyed it.
Everyone cried out in shock, watching as the invisible protective barrier cracked like glass and shattered in an instant.
An Nanyuan even shut his eyes in fear, too afraid to look.
But just as everyone thought they were doomed, about to drown in the lake water, they suddenly saw a black mist rush in to surround them.
The characters of the spell transformed into black patterns that rippled like water beneath Yan Shixun’s feet. A clear, resonant hum echoed—like a soul-calming bell—causing all who heard it to suddenly feel their souls settle and their bodies relax.
All the mundane worries that usually plagued them seemed to vanish instantly. They could no longer feel their physical forms—as if only their light, weightless souls remained, ready to lift off with a single step.
This strange sensation made everyone’s eyes widen in wonder. They had no idea what was happening.
Yan Shixun carried the unconscious and unfeeling Lu Xingxing in his arms. His posture was upright, like an unyielding pine tree. Each step he took was firm and resolute, as though he was walking the very path of the Great Dao itself.
His path was the Dao.
No one could shake him—not even a little.
His eyes were steady and solemn as he lifted his head, facing the raging lake water head-on with no fear. The black mist rapidly formed a complex and complete formation around him, enveloping everyone within it.
The fierce wind whipped at his robes and hair, yet he stood firm like a needle pinning down the sea, unmoving in the slightest.
He remained unmoved as the icy lake waters surged and roared toward him. In the dim light, rotting corpses opened their decaying mouths at them, exposing pale jaws and teeth.
At that moment, Yan Shixun lowered his eyes slightly, and a smile tugged at his thin, red lips. The final few syllables fell from his mouth with weight.
“Cut evil, erase traces—return death to divinity!”
In that instant, the churning depths of the lake and all the shattered bricks and stones froze in place. The world fell into a brief, absolute stillness.
Then, the waves crashed back with even more ferocity.
Everyone wrapped in black mist suddenly felt a wave of weightlessness sweep over them. Their bodies were suspended for a split second—then plummeted downward violently.
Darkness swallowed their sight.
Only Zhang Wubing, who had been quietly observing Yan Shixun’s actions the whole time, understood what he was trying to do.
With his folding fan half-concealing his lips, he laughed—a laughter filled with a wild, carefree joy he hadn’t felt in a hundred years.
“Yan Shixun, Yan Shixun… hahahahahaha!”
Zhang Wubing raised a hand and slowly tucked back the hair that had fallen over his face. His long, clean fingers threaded through the strands, a stark contrast of black and white.
As all the living, including Yan Shixun, fell toward the other side of the ghost play, Zhang Wubing—out of sight from Yan Shixun—unleashed the sharp edge of himself.
With no hair to obscure his face, his features were fully revealed—clean and defined, his jawline curved sharply like a blade, radiating cold cruelty.
“Ye Li, I spent a hundred years calculating, and in the end, I still failed to predict the will of the heavens and the Dao.”
Zhang Wubing let out a long, intoxicated sigh. “I thought the idea that the Evil Spirit Bone Transformation was just a lie made up by the Dao itself. After Jing Xiaobao’s failure, I never expected Yan Shixun to succeed.”
“But now, it seems he’s unexpectedly sharp.”
He turned his gaze slightly, the corners of his eyes carrying a trace of a smile, and looked toward Ye Li. “What I didn’t expect even more was this—how the Lord of Fengdu, who always detested exorcists in the mortal world, would willingly enter the world of the living and form karmic ties with one.”
Ye Li returned the look coldly. “Still better than some fool who got tricked by the Great Dao, lost even his divine name, almost brought the underworld crashing down, and now has to rely on Shixun to clean up his mess. Tsk.”
“That brutish attitude of yours really brings back memories.”
Zhang Wubing showed no sign of being insulted—instead, he chuckled and said, “A thousand years ago on the battlefield, a certain stubborn commander, after being rejected by the celestial masters he sought help from, said something like… ah, I remember now. He said: from now on, I’ll question the heavens and the Great Dao, and reject all exorcists.”
“Yan Shixun is an exorcist, isn’t he?”
Zhang Wubing winked at Ye Li. It didn’t come off as playful—it was more like the cunning glint of a fox. “Even ghost deities lie, huh?”
Come on, let’s expose each other. I’ve lived longer than you, I know all your secrets—how about it?
Zhang Wubing’s expression remained open and unafraid.
Ye Li, on the other hand, looked like he was about to explode—he very nearly crushed what was left of this guy’s remnant soul.
Still, the fact that the King of Hell’s soul hadn’t completely dissipated a century ago gave Ye Li a bit of comfort.
Though he disliked this guy and had never approved of the King of Hell’s way of doing things, he still respected this long-standing rival.
To be able to govern the underworld for thousands of years, the King of Hell had clearly poured his heart into it.
At the very least, back when the gods ruled high above, as a fellow god of death, the King of Hell was the only one Ye Li could barely tolerate.
He didn’t want this old rival to truly be destroyed by the Great Dao, losing his divine name and powers, unable even to preserve his soul.
Compared to his loathing for the Dao, the King of Hell, perhaps, wasn’t so unbearable.
Ye Li recalled their first meeting—it was on the battlefield a thousand years ago.
A war general, covered in blood and grime, his face unrecognizable, staggered up from a pile of corpses, leaning on a broken sword. He looked around—only to see death and blood.
All the soldiers who had followed him had perished. The people he wanted to protect had been massacred after the city fell.
The city, where children had once run and laughed around the corners, was now filled with corpses whose eyes couldn’t close in peace.
The smoke had faded, and the war flags had fallen.
In that wasteland of death, Ye Li saw a lone figure standing in the middle of a sea of blood not far away.
That person gathered their sleeves and stood with an elegance and dignity that seemed more fitting for a palace hall than a battlefield—someone meant to hold power, wrapped in glory.
But the malevolent spirits and savage beasts circling around him proved he was no ordinary noble.
That person sensed the gaze directed at him, then turned and smiled gently, asking in a soft voice—Are you unwilling?
—Are you unwilling that the Great Dao treats you and your men this way?
Then why not defy the will of heaven?
“Even as a ghost deity, having ruled reincarnation for thousands of years, sometimes I can’t help but sigh—how fickle the heavens and the Dao truly are.”
Zhang Wubing’s voice pulled Ye Li back from his memories.
“When I died as a ghost deity, I never would’ve imagined there’d be a day when the Lord of Fengdu would fall in love with someone, and under the watchful gaze of the heavens, willingly form a marriage bond with a living being.”
Zhang Wubing raised his folding fan and gently tapped it against his own head. Then, turning to Ye Li, he pouted and said, “Especially since a certain ghost deity seems to have no emotional strings in that brain of his—he treats the mortal world like dust.”
“Though I guessed the Dao would come to you. Among all the ghost deities, you’re just… too unusual. But I thought, even if the heavens collapsed, you’d still refuse the Dao’s plea for help. Besides.”
Zhang Wubing paused briefly, then continued with a smile in his eyes, “I thought you would die alone, even until your Dao vanished. I never expected you to end up with an Evil Spirit Bone Transformation”
“To be precise, it’s Shixun. My lover is Yan Shixun.”
Ye Li emphasized the name pointedly, like a warning to Zhang Wubing—don’t trespass into a beast’s territory or covet the precious thing it holds tight.
Zhang Wubing raised an eyebrow in mild surprise, then his eyes sparkled as if stardust shimmered within them.
With a light laugh, he said, “The way you’re acting makes me curious about Yan Shixun in an entirely new way…”
“Don’t even think about it.”
Ye Li didn’t bother dignifying Zhang Wubing’s taunt. He let out a cold snort and said flatly, “Once a father, always a father. In Shixun’s eyes, you’re his son.”
Zhang Wubing: “…”
You damn ghost deity—do you have to poke at every sore spot?
But Ye Li wasn’t finished. Sensing victory, he pushed further, lips curling into a stiff smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You used to go around with Lu Xingxing and Jing Xiaobao calling me that, remember? Go on, call me Mom.”
Zhang Wubing: “…………”
Tsk, that little idiot was nothing but trouble.
But technically speaking, they were the same person, so scolding that little idiot felt like scolding himself… Ugh, how annoying.
A gloomy shadow clouded Zhang Wubing’s face. He puffed out his cheeks in frustration but couldn’t say anything. He didn’t want to undermine his other self in front of Ye Li, so he could only sulk in silence, so stifled it felt like it would cause internal injury.
Could it be that he’d reincarnated too many times, and his soul had deteriorated? Maybe that little idiot hit his head somewhere along the way during the cycle of reincarnation?
In his heart, Zhang Wubing was nearly cursing his other self to death, while conveniently ignoring the fact that he himself had once happily clung to Yan Shixun’s thigh back then.
Zhang Wubing: I lost!!!
Ye Li nodded with satisfaction, finally relaxing his expression. He took the lead, striding in the direction Yan Shixun had gone. “Come on, my good eldest son.”
He suddenly felt that the living Zhang Wubing wasn’t so much of an eyesore anymore.
—At the very least, this person had raised his seniority by a generation and eliminated a potential romantic rival at the source. That made Ye Li feel quite pleased.
Ye Li: I officially approve of this good eldest son of Shixun’s.
Zhang Wubing: “…………”
The King of Hell wore a dark face, grinding his teeth in frustration, but still followed with his folding fan in hand.
What else could he do! The Great Dao still depended on this pair—he didn’t even have the freedom to turn and leave with a dramatic sleeve flick.
However, even the King of Hell hadn’t expected that Yan Shixun was not only highly perceptive but also so resolute in his decisions.
For a long time, the King of Hell had been dormant in the shadow of Zhang Wubing and wasn’t like the living Zhang Wubing who stuck to Yan Shixun all day long. So he wasn’t entirely familiar with Yan Shixun’s personality.
When Yan Shixun decisively shattered the protective barrier in the lake and separated from the ghost play, the King of Hell was momentarily stunned by his remarkable bearing.
This was… someone chosen by the Great Dao.
For a few fleeting moments, the King of Hell even forgot to breathe, his vision filled with the figure of Yan Shixun.
Ordinary people preferred to stay in safe zones, rejecting the unknown and resisting decisive change.
They would be blinded by their current comfort and safety, unable to see the lurking dangers beneath the surface.
But Yan Shixun had seen through the illusion of temporary peace and resolutely chose the uncertain path ahead—because it was more likely the right one.
As a former ghost deity, the King of Hell saw clearly that the safety of Third Uncle Bai’s courtyard was only temporary. Even with his support, staying there would eventually lead to death.
This was a ghost play. Without Xie Jiaojiao—the ghost infant who once controlled it—the ghosts were now leaderless. Anyone who remained would be trapped in endless battles as the spirits fought for dominance over this realm.
Even if Yan Shixun could overpower all the ghosts, he would still be stuck within the ghost play.
Once Master Bai—the medium linking the ghost play to reality—died, all the souls, including Yan Shixun’s, would be forever trapped here, just like the villagers of the Bai family once were.
The King of Hell had already prepared to guide everyone out of the ghost play himself.
He hadn’t expected Yan Shixun to act first—severing everyone’s souls from their false bodies and decisively shattering the ghost play, letting all the souls fall toward the edge of the ghost play and return to reality.
In that moment, the King of Hell suddenly understood why the Great Dao had chosen Yan Shixun.
A person like this… even without a deep connection to evil, could still find the lone sliver of hope in a dead-end situation, and with all his strength, ignite it anew.
Yan Shixun never despaired. He didn’t fear failure or death. He only asked: how can the best outcome be achieved? Every effort he made was in pursuit of success.
That kind of resilience also affected everyone around him.
With him there, it felt like the sun would never set.
A smile spread in the King of Hell’s eyes. As the souls transitioned from the ghost realm back to reality, he let out a soft laugh, the sound vibrating in his chest.
Yan Shixun… The Great Dao truly missed nothing in its planning.
And then, both the King of Hell and Ye Li were completely swallowed by darkness.
All their souls felt as if they’d plunged to the bottom of a deep, shadowy sea. The sensation of weightlessness followed—and then suddenly, they surged upward toward the surface. When they opened their eyes, it felt as if sunlight was piercing through the water, casting golden, broken scales of light in all directions—so beautiful it took their breath away.
“Bang!”
A loud explosion echoed by their ears. In that instant, everyone felt as if they had burst through the water’s surface, returning to the reality above the sea.
When they opened their eyes, they suddenly realized—they were no longer in Third Uncle Bai’s courtyard, nor were they at the bottom of the lake.
They were in… a dim, desolate village.
The dilapidated village houses had long been abandoned, overrun with thick moss, the paths covered in weeds. Only the dark, gaping windows peeked out from under the green growth, pitch-black within, impossible to see what lay inside.
The stench of rot, mixed with the dampness of blood, filled their nostrils. The group snapped out of their daze, realizing they had finally escaped the ghost play.
But then… where were they now?
Yan Shixun looked around. Though the village was now in ruins, its familiar outlines stirred his memories—he remembered walking through it with Zheng Shumu in the past.
This was the real Bai family village.
Decades ago, after Zheng Shumu had slaughtered the village, the villagers’ souls and bodies were thrown into the ghost play. The leftover village was left to decay.
Logically, only Master Bai should still be living here.
So now… they had completely left the ghost play and returned to the real world.
But before Yan Shixun could let out a breath of relief, he suddenly tensed—something was wrong with this place.
He could once again sense the natural energies of the world, but oddly, it felt like power was surging toward him from all directions.
That was…
Ghost energy.
Around this abandoned village, it wasn’t humans who held power—it was ghosts.
Yin and yang had already been reversed.
Yan Shixun had already noticed something was wrong back when Zhang Wubing kept behaving abnormally in the ghost play. But seeing it with his own eyes still shocked him.
After Xie Jiaojiao’s death, the ghost path didn’t die with her. Instead, it broke free like a wild horse, violently sweeping outward.
Right now it had reached Baizhi Lake. But if they didn’t immediately find the source of Xie Jiaojiao’s original creation, the ghost path would continue spreading until it devoured the entire world.
And Xie Jiaojiao’s tragic origin…
Yan Shixun lifted his eyes. Beyond the low, moss-covered village houses, he gazed at the shimmering surface of a nearby lake.
It was Baizhi Lake.
When Xie Jiaojiao was still in her mother’s womb, she had already died at Baizhi Lake.
Perhaps there was something wrong with the lake water?
Before Yan Shixun could figure it out, beams of light suddenly began to flicker and sway, cutting through the darkness with eye-catching intensity, instantly drawing everyone’s attention.
Yan Shixun quickly identified them—it must be high-beam flashlights held by someone.
The rescue team!
A jolt of realization hit Yan Shixun.
And in the next moment, figures came running from around the corner of a village house, confirming Yan Shixun’s guess.
It was the official in charge and members of the rescue team.
Their faces were filled with grief, their jaws clenched tightly as they sprinted forward. Other than the sound of running, they made no noise at all, doing everything they could to lower their presence.
The flashlights in their hands pointed in the opposite direction, pretending as if they were running that way, trying to confuse whatever was chasing behind them.
But the scent of living flesh and blood couldn’t be masked.
Unless every single one of them truly died, the incongruous body heat and the scent of flesh and blood would make them stand out like marked targets, even in total darkness.
The wooden puppet figures behind them continued their relentless pursuit.
And as the rescue team was blocked and forced deeper into the village, more and more puppet figures began converging from all sides, encircling them.
Pairs of lifeless wooden eyes lit up with a faint crimson glow, unable to hide their greed and savagery in the darkness, their hunger for flesh palpable.
The rescue team ran for their lives.
But in a place ruled by ghosts and demons, all of their defensive tools had become useless. Worse still, they had to carry an unconscious Master Bai, which only slowed them down further.
Despair began to creep into many of their hearts. With bitter smiles, they questioned themselves—were they truly going to die here today? Would they become nourishment for these ghostly monsters?
Yet the rescue team didn’t expect that after rounding a corner, they would suddenly see a group of figures standing just ahead, blocking their path.
At first, they thought it was more puppet figures. In grief and rage, they clenched their teeth, prepared to charge through and use their bodies as shields to open up a path for the others.
But as the flashlight beams swept over the figures, something shifted in their overstretched nerves—they began to feel like those silhouettes looked oddly familiar.
Were the wooden puppets really this powerful now? Could they even create illusions?
The rescuers were alarmed by the thought.
Before they could react further, the official in charge suddenly cried out in astonishment, “Mr. Yan!”
Yan… Yan Shixun?
Was he really here?
The rescuers were stunned, then quickly looked forward with a flicker of hope.
They saw Yan Shixun, dressed in a black overcoat, which made his already broad and straight shoulders appear even more sturdy, as if he could bear the weight of the world.
He was carrying a limp figure in his arms.
His features were sharp and cold, radiating a powerful and imposing aura.
Yet the rescuers weren’t intimidated. On the contrary, upon clearly seeing his face, a wave of reassurance suddenly washed over their hearts.
“Is that really Mr. Yan? Are we not imagining things?”
“Oh God, it’s Mr. Yan!”
“But didn’t Mr. Yan and the others disappear in the shadow puppet museum? How could he be here?”
Hearing the voices across from him, Yan Shixun also confirmed that they were members of the rescue team searching for the show crew.
At the same time, he noticed the wooden puppet figures chasing closely behind them.
As expected, even in death, those villagers hadn’t repented.
Back when they were imprisoned in the ghost plays by the Zheng siblings, they had desperately tried to reincarnate, to escape. Now that they had broken free of the ghost plays, they weren’t satisfied. They still craved flesh and power.
Yan Shixun let out a cold snort. As he took a step forward, a clear incantation spilled from his lips.
“Heaven and earth, sever the source of evil—!”
An invisible force burst outward from his body in all directions, sweeping up clouds of dust.
Before the wooden puppets could even feel fear and retreat, a black mist transformed into fierce beasts and pounced straight at them, slamming them to the ground with a heavy thud.
The black beasts opened their bloodthirsty jaws. With terrifyingly sharp fangs, they tore the puppet figures apart in just a few bites. Before the puppets could even let out a scream, they were swallowed whole.
All that remained were the cracking sounds of shattered wooden joints clashing together—echoing chillingly through the deathly silence of the deserted village.
The wooden puppet figures still lagging far behind and hadn’t caught up yet witnessed the scene. Terrified to their very souls, they began to tremble.
Their fear of the underworld finally overwhelmed their greed. The chaotic souls, stirred by their hunger for human flesh, suddenly remembered the terror of the ghost deities.
They immediately turned and fled.
In an instant, the roles of prey and hunter were reversed.
Yan Shixun lifted his eyes, looking past the figures of the rescue team members, his gaze deep and heavy as it followed the wooden puppet rapidly fleeing into the distance.
Before he could give chase, a few soft chuckles drifted from the side.
Yan Shixun turned his head and saw Zhang Wubing with his eyes slightly lowered, his delicate and handsome features now fully released after long-suppressed restraint.
Zhang Wubing slowly moved the folding fan from his lips, casually tapping it against his own arm.
In that moment, the ferocious beast embroidered on his robe came to life, roaring as it charged into the darkness.
Everyone felt their vision blur, as though something had rushed past them, the sudden gust of wind tossing their hair into disarray.
By the time they recovered their senses and looked again, they saw the wooden puppets in the distance shattering into fragments mixed with decayed flesh and brittle bones, falling lifeless to the ground.
Everyone, rescue team included, stood stunned. For a moment, not a single word was spoken.
All that could be heard was someone swallowing in fear and shock—the sound unnervingly loud in the silence.
Many of the rescue team members, who were already acquainted with Zhang Wubing, stood frozen for a long while.
Eventually, they finally turned their heads with trembling hesitation, staring at Zhang Wubing with expressions of complex fear and disbelief.
Was… was this really the same unlucky little director they knew?
No—this wasn’t something a human could do! Was this a split-off personality of Mr. Yan?
Under the varied and unsettled gazes, Zhang Wubing unhurriedly tapped his folding fan again, then raised his long lashes with a smile, slowly turning his eyes to look at Yan Shixun beside him.
“Even if I’ve lost the identity of a ghost deity, I was once the lord of countless ghosts, reigning above billions. This kind of thing… isn’t it only natural?”
Zhang Wubing laughed softly, his voice clear with a magnetic undertone, yet it made every uninformed person shudder in terror: “If the King of Hell decrees you die at midnight… then you die on the spot.”
Yan Shixun glanced at the rescue team, all frozen like statues, then frowned and looked at Zhang Wubing. “You’ve scared them.”
Zhang Wubing shrugged. Though he said “sorry,” there was no sincerity in his tone, and a smile still played on his face.
He raised his folding fan and pointed vaguely upward and downward. “Since the ghost path rules here, isn’t it the ghost infant who voluntarily prepared this stage for me?”
“If I don’t strike now, wouldn’t that be failing the ghost infant’s enthusiasm?”
Though Zhang Wubing was smiling, every rescue team member, including the official in charge, felt a cold chill rise from their feet and spread upward, freezing their limbs stiff.
But the guests standing behind Yan Shixun and Zhang Wubing all kept their eyes lowered and faces still. Even Song Ci, known for his bad temper, remained silent. No one spoke to explain anything to their stunned teammates across from them.
…Could you believe me if I said that this unlucky little director who runs into ghosts every day is actually the King of Hell?
Zhang Wubing let out a low chuckle, his eyes shimmering like ripples on a lake. It was the kind of carefree relief one feels after being suppressed so long they couldn’t move—finally able to stretch their body again.
Ever since the fall of the ghost deity a hundred years ago, he had been hiding from the Great Dao for too long, reincarnating far too many times, to the point he had nearly forgotten who he was.
But now—finally!
The Great Dao had weakened, ghosts ruled the land, and divine perception was obscured.
Wasn’t this the perfect place for him to stretch his limbs?
For a moment, the King of Hell even felt that maybe the ghost infant wasn’t so terrible after all.
He lazily twisted his neck from side to side, the joints cracking with crisp “ka-pop” sounds.
In the dead silence, that sound made everyone feel even more uneasy.
The official in charge stared at Zhang Wubing, full of suspicion and confusion. What was happening to Director Zhang? Had he been possessed?
Yan Shixun caught the expression on the official’s face and immediately understood what he was thinking.
He frowned slightly, but still spoke calmly: “Don’t worry about him. There’s no ghost born yet who could possess the King of Hell.”
King of Hell?
What did that mean? A nickname? Some kind of joke?
Surely… surely he didn’t mean the real King of Hell?
The official in charge felt his mind go fuzzy, his thoughts collapsing into chaos.
He tried to speak, but as soon as he opened his mouth, no words came. It felt like the world he once knew had completely shattered.
Zhang Wubing chuckled lightly and looked up at Yan Shixun. “Then I’ll be going.”
Yan Shixun nodded expressionlessly.
Then, under everyone’s watchful eyes, Zhang Wubing, with a calm and pleasant smile on his handsome face, slowly walked toward the depths of the deserted village.
The folding fan in his hand tapped rhythmically against his palm, producing an ancient, mysterious beat. Each strike seemed to have a profound origin, though the meaning had long been lost to the mortal world.
Darkness soon swallowed Zhang Wubing’s figure.
In the next moment, screams echoed from the depths of the village.
Then came the sound of running, of wood crashing—like the wooden puppets were fleeing in terror.
The rescue team stood there in stunned disbelief.
Yan Shixun’s expression was as deadpan as ever.
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