Chapter 283: Ritual Money, Old Capital (10)
“I’m asking you the truth of where you came from.”
When Yan Shixun focused his gaze on Ye Li, it was as if everything around him had vanished.
Neither the long-lost Old Fengdu that everyone had desperately searched for, nor the other Taoist and mortals nearby, existed in his view at that moment.
Reflected in his eyes was only the figure of Ye Li.
Dots of light shimmered — a breathtaking sight.
Being looked at like that, Ye Li’s Adam’s apple moved unconsciously, and he couldn’t help but smile. His long, sharp eyes were filled with tenderness and affection.
How could he possibly resist such a gaze from Shixun…
If Shixun was willing to look at him like that forever, he’d gladly trade all of Fengdu for it.
Why would Shixun even need to ask?
Ye Li let out a soft sigh and stepped forward.
That small movement made the King of Hell focus even more intently on Ye Li, holding his breath, not daring to miss a single detail.
His hand, hidden in his sleeve, was already prepared. If Ye Li made a sudden move, he would immediately rush forward and pull Yan Shixun away.
To the King of Hell, Yan Shixun was the last hope of saving the Great Dao. If it came down to Shixun’s life or death, he would not hesitate to break completely with Fengdu.
—Even though the underworld behind him was long gone, his divine name had been lost a hundred years ago, and all his power had completely faded. Meanwhile, Fengdu had grown stronger by the day, enough to command the respect of heaven and earth.
The King of Hell saw the situation clearly, but felt no fear at all.
When Ye Li walked toward Yan Shixun, the King of Hell also unconsciously took a step forward.
Ye Li’s gaze brushed past the King of Hell indifferently. He could guess what the man was thinking, and found it laughable.
How could he ever hurt Shixun… This was the exorcist he loved.
The warning in Ye Li’s eyes startled the King of Hell. His gaze darkened. Although he didn’t take another step to stop him, he also didn’t back away.
“Shixun, there is no fixed fate between heaven and earth. Not even ghosts, gods, or the Great Dao are truly unchanging.”
Ye Li smiled faintly. “A thousand years ago, that Fengdu did become the Old Fengdu because of me.”
“I replaced the former Northern Yin Fengdu Emperor. But as the world turned, so did I.”
Ye Li’s eyes dimmed slightly, as if recalling those events: “I merely proved to heaven and earth that in the shift between old and new, what I held onto was what was truly right.”
To Ye Li, he had never cared about the grudges between him and Old Fengdu.
Or perhaps, to him, it wasn’t about grudges at all — only about right and wrong.
—Look, what he defended was the right path.
Or perhaps… Old Fengdu too.
Since both he and the former Fengdu Emperor each held fast to their own beliefs, unwilling to yield, then let it be a test — to see whose truth was stronger, who could continue to bear the name of Fengdu.
Fengdu had always been a uniquely exceptional place.
The Great Dao arose from all living things, and the gods arose from the Great Dao.
No matter how noble or untouchable the immortals seemed to mortals, they were still beneath the Dao. Governed by the Dao, they were forbidden from meddling in the human world and disturbing mortal life.
But from the moment Fengdu was born thousands of years ago, it stood apart from both the human world and the Dao.
Fengdu never sought even the slightest power from the mortal realm. Every brick and tile was built by its own hand. It never had entanglements with living beings and owed no karma to them. As such, the Great Dao could not restrain Fengdu.
Those who once ruled Fengdu were born of heaven and earth — the Northern Yin Fengdu Emperor had governed Fengdu and its ghost officials by his own path for millennia.
And Ye Li, once, had only been a mortal.
He had never practiced cultivation, never sought the Dao, and had never been enlightened by an immortal.
He hadn’t even known about the existence of ghosts or gods before that final battle.
—Why ask anything of ghosts or gods? The living could stand on their own.
Ye Li had once stood on the city wall and on the battlefield. To him, the sword in his hand was his Dao, and the city and people behind him were his Dao.
But in the end, everything he had fought to protect with his life was smashed before his eyes. No matter how he roared, how desperately he reached out to grab them, it was all in vain.
The enemy sat high on horseback, holding a dripping head and laughing.
Laughing at how useless all his efforts had been.
How could a warrior die willingly?
He rose from a battlefield with no living soul, like a vengeful ghost climbing out from hell, his armor stained with blood, the long ribbons trailing behind him in the wind.
The moment the warrior raised his eyes in hatred, all the fallen soldiers on the battlefield stood again behind him — banners flying, cold iron armor clashing, sweeping forward like a tidal wave.
The soldiers who had followed their commanding general remained loyal and respectful to him even after becoming heroic spirits. They had been summoned back from death by their commander and returned to the mortal world.
Since the Great Dao never looked upon the general, treating him as just one among countless living beings and never once responding to him, then the general sought justice on his own!
He sought justice for the one hundred thousand soldiers who died under his command, for the civilians who perished in the slaughter of cities.
If justice could not be found in the realm of the living, then let it be sought in the realm of the dead.
And if the underworld stood aloof, uncaring for the living, then… he would deliver judgment himself!
As for this Fengdu—if you clung to your position without fulfilling its duties, then what harm was there in dragging you down from that divine pedestal?
The Great Dao had never valued the general.
Death occurred without pause, and tragedy played out daily. The gentlest and most rational thing the Great Dao could do was remain silent.
Neutral and impartial, never interfering with either side.
That was the Great Dao’s version of mercy.
Non-action, yet nothing left undone.
But what the Great Dao failed to foresee was the general’s unwavering pursuit of justice. Even in death, he sought it out.
—And if he could not obtain it, he would establish justice himself and redefine the boundary of death.
The general believed he had never cultivated any Dao, yet his daily, unwavering commitment—how was that any different from cultivation?
He had always walked his own path, though even he hadn’t realized it.
And it was precisely because of this that it was a Dao.
It was enough to shake heaven and earth.
The Great Dao trembled, shocked and attempting to intervene.
But when it came to Fengdu, even the Great Dao could not interfere—it could only watch helplessly as everything unfolded.
The gods took notice, and even the exorcists of the mortal world a thousand years ago sensed a disturbance in the heavens and earth.
Yet no one—no god, no ghost, no mortal—believed the general could win.
—He was only a mere human.
A fleeting century of life, already dead, with no master, no sect, never having stepped into the world of ghosts and deities—where could he possibly gain the power to oppose them?
Moreover, his opponent was the Northern Yin Emperor of Fengdu, born of heaven and earth, a being even the Great Dao respected.
Everyone—gods, ghosts, mortals—laughed. They treated it as idle entertainment to pass the time, paying casual attention to the battle at Fengdu, but already knowing the outcome. They couldn’t even be bothered to feel interested, merely mocking: “The ignorant know no fear.”
Even Fengdu itself thought the same.
No one took the general seriously, as if he were as insignificant as an ant, easily crushed.
Enlightened masters waited on the road he had to pass, angrily rebuking him for disregarding the lives of the common people. With one hundred thousand ghost soldiers on the move, how many mortals would be affected? They told him to leave at once and reincarnate obediently—otherwise, the exorcists of the world would join forces to deal with the army, and not even the honor of his posthumous title would be preserved.
The masters said that if he left now, he could still keep the glory of a warrior who died in battle. But if he persisted, he would become an evil ghost condemned by all.
Yet the general asked them in return: “And what of those I defended—those who died horribly? Were they not part of the common people too?”
“You came to protect the people—why did you not protect those innocent civilians?”
“What fault was theirs, that they had to suffer the horror of a massacre?”
“Has anyone—has anyone sought justice for them?”
The masters were stunned, but only said that although those people were pitiful, they had already died and turned into ghosts. No matter how they lived, they should now move on and reincarnate as they ought to.
The general sneered coldly and said that even in death, this cause and effect must be answered.
He would seek it to the very end.
The exorcists of the human world, upon hearing this, cursed the general for not knowing his place. They picked up their brushes and angrily wrote scrolls accusing him of countless crimes, too many to list, declaring that he had fallen into evil and should be destroyed for the good of the world.
All others joined in agreement.
Yet the general—whom no god, ghost, or mortal believed in—truly marched upon Fengdu with his army.
The battle darkened the skies. Ghosts across the southwest wept endlessly. For thousands of miles, no one returned.
When the dust finally settled, it was the Northern Yin Emperor of Fengdu whose head fell first to the ground.
A ghost deity had fallen, shaking heaven and earth.
The ghost officials of Fengdu trembled, prostrating themselves on the ground and not daring to rise.
The exorcists of the mortal world were thrown into utter chaos and shock. Their first reaction upon regaining their senses was to immediately destroy every scroll that had ever criticized the general. They turned instead to praise him, extolling his virtues and righteousness.
Heaven and earth were shaken.
Only the general remained calm, standing amidst the ruins of Fengdu. With lowered eyes, he asked the ghost officials of Fengdu quietly, “Now… can those innocent civilians finally receive justice?”
As his words fell, the path he had walked became a sky full of stars, and a new Fengdu rose from the earth in the distance. The rumbling never ceased.
One hundred thousand ghost soldiers crushed Fengdu beneath their feet, then turned and left without a backward glance.
The general had never intended complete annihilation. But in the struggle between ghost and deity, between yin and yang, there had never been mercy. One side’s victory always meant the other’s death.
The general defeated the Northern Yin Emperor of Fengdu—and thus became the new ruler of Fengdu.
The abandoned old Fengdu became a true ghost town, slowly buried by wind and sand.
Even the ghost officials who remained behind dared not show themselves, afraid the new ruler might notice them and cost them even the lives they had barely managed to preserve.
The old Fengdu quickly fell silent, its gates sealed in desperate survival.
The exorcists of the human world had never imagined such a turnaround from the brink of death. In their shock, they fearfully destroyed all records related to Fengdu, terrified that the former general—now the ruler of Fengdu—would bear a grudge and come after them.
From then on, news of Fengdu in the human world became scarcer and scarcer. Knowing their own guilt, all sects fell silent, shuddering even at the mention of Fengdu’s name.
Only a few sects, hidden deep within the mountains and detached from worldly affairs—or never having been involved in the incident at all and thus bearing no guilt—managed to preserve complete records, which were passed down to disciples in later generations.
The name “Fengdu” gradually became shrouded in mystery.
Only the Ghost Domain of the Southwest seemed to still testify to Fengdu’s ruthlessness and ferocity.
On land where a ghost deity had once died, the lingering power remained, and ordinary ghost officials dared not come close.
For this reason, the Southwest became a place the underworld was unwilling to touch, where hordes of ghosts cried out day and night without end.
During that time, a weary traveler arrived at the foot of the mountain, burdened with dust and a traveler’s bag. In gratitude for being saved by a ghost deity deep within the forests of the Southwest, he chose to settle there, hoping to encounter that benefactor again and personally thank the unknown ghost deity.
At the doorstep of this man’s home, a barely surviving ghost official from the battlefield of Fengdu collapsed, on the verge of death.
The man with the surname Bai offered him food and hospitality; in return, the ghost official gifted him a ghost play.
One evening, as the golden-red sun dipped low on the horizon, the ghost official recalled the memories of the battlefield with a dazed expression. Smiling, he spoke to the man across from him about the past, and… the heroic and gallant figure of the new Lord of Fengdu.
The man surnamed Bai listened intently and carefully recorded every word in a scroll, which he titled — “The Southwest Ghost Plays.”
The ghost play was passed down for a thousand years, and over time evolved into shadow puppetry, becoming a livelihood for villagers.
People clapped and cheered happily at the market while watching the shadow play, unaware that every lyric and line they heard came from the transition era of the old and new Fengdu a thousand years ago.
But eventually, those who inherited the shadow play no longer treated it as a form of folk culture. Nor did they sincerely regard it as joyful entertainment for children or a source of communal laughter. They simply used it perfunctorily as a tool for profit.
Yet even ghost play had a spirit.
It chose to perish on its own.
The ghost play, passed down from the ghost official of old Fengdu a millennium ago, after crossing the ages, eventually reached the eyes of the current Lord of Fengdu.
The ancestor of the Bai family, who had long waited for the ghost deity, finally saw him return to the Southwest—led there by the beloved exorcist and guided in secret by the King of Hell—arriving once again at the place where the ancestor had once made his home.
Karma had finally come full circle.
The ancestor’s lingering obsession was released. The ghost official had fulfilled his mission of repaying kindness. And the ghost play, which carried the truth of a thousand years past, no longer had children waiting in the markets to watch it performed.
It seemed the ghost play no longer had any reason to exist. So it chose to follow the flow of time and naturally fade away.
As for the ghostly energy left behind from old Fengdu, it led Yan Shixun and the new Lord of Fengdu to this place—
—The ruins of old Fengdu, which no one had ever been able to find.
“It wasn’t that I did anything to old Fengdu, but under the Great Dao, there cannot be two Fengdus.”
Ye Li said calmly: “Since the Northern Yin Fengdu Emperor is already dead, then the old Fengdu has no reason to exist anymore.”
“Shixun, what you see here—this desolate ghost city—is only what remains because old Fengdu refused to vanish entirely beneath the Great Dao. It struggled to cling to life. And that very obsession drew all the ghostly energy and spirits from the surrounding Southwest.”
What is most yin and most gentle is water.
Old Fengdu had sunk into Baizhi Lake, also in part to conceal itself from the Great Dao’s scrutiny through the shroud of ghostly energy.
As someone who had once participated in that battle, Ye Li naturally understood all of this clearly.
But the one thing he did not understand was why his image from a thousand years ago had been carved in wood and even used to suppress the malevolence beneath Baizhi Lake.
Whoever had done this must have known about that ancient battle and understood that for an entity like old Fengdu—even in decline, still far more powerful than anything in the mortal realm—the one thing it feared most was the very war general who had brought about its ruin.
The ebony statue had been imbued with power from the moment it was carved, using wood that held strength within it. There were traces of Taoist talismans applied to it, and it carried an innate ghostly deity force—making it naturally the perfect object of suppression.
Not just the malevolence in Baizhi Lake or the ruins of old Fengdu—this ebony statue could even suppress a fallen Great Dao.
But beyond those powers, Ye Li knew: even without such mystical strength, merely carving the image of a war general was enough to make the spirits within old Fengdu too terrified to act rashly.
—Those ghost officials and evil spirits had already been scared out of their wits a thousand years ago during that battle. How could they dare test an object shaped like the very war general who had once destroyed them?
Even the once lofty Northern Yin Fengdu Emperor had been beheaded in a single strike by that general—what chance would the lesser ones have?
Ye Li knew many truths that had been eroded by time. He also understood why the ghost energy of old Fengdu had willingly helped a ghost infant. Yet he still didn’t know who it was that had the courage and foresight to place the ebony statue here as a seal.
When Ye Li spoke, Yan Shixun slowly furrowed his brows and fell into deep thought.
Unnoticed by Yan Shixun, Ye Li had been casually walking toward him as he spoke, closing the distance step by step with a completely natural demeanor until he stood just a few centimeters away.
Then, under the guise of brushing dust from Yan Shixun’s hair, Ye Li’s hand subtly slipped downward. His long fingers gently kneaded Yan Shixun’s soft earlobe in a light and tender motion.
While doing all of this, Ye Li’s expression remained calm and justified, as if these small gestures were simply a natural part of the conversation.
Even when Yan Shixun sensed something odd midway and looked up at him in confusion, Ye Li met his gaze openly, allowing himself to be examined without a hint of shame or guilt.
He appeared pure and innocent, as if there wasn’t a single improper thought in his mind, like he had no intentions at all.
It was as though everything was just Yan Shixun overthinking.
Though suspicious, Yan Shixun had little experience with matters of the heart. He didn’t know what counted as normal or intimate behavior. Faced with Ye Li’s confident demeanor, he could only chalk up his discomfort to having been alone for too long, making him overly sensitive and unaccustomed to someone getting so close.
He mulled over it briefly, then dismissed the incident entirely, tossing it aside in his mind to focus wholly on the matter of the old Fengdu.
Meanwhile, the King of Hell: “……”
He silently took two steps back, rolled his eyes with elegant disdain, and let out a cold snort. To think he had actually been worried about Yan Shixun, only for this little ghost-seducing menace to subdue Fengdu all on his own.
The King of Hell recalled how, long ago, he had once heard someone—maybe in a memory fragment of the living man Zhang Wubing—mention that Li Chengyun had read Yan Shixun’s fortune. Supposedly, Yan Shixun was fated to become a bridge between the world of the living and the dead, a guardian against evil spirits.
Only now did the King of Hell feel a mix of surprise and admiration for Li Chengyun. Yet he couldn’t help but wonder: was this really what Li Chengyun foresaw? This kind of method to guard against evil spirits?
Yan Shixun hadn’t even done anything—he just looked at the Lord of Fengdu a few times, and suddenly the man spilled secrets that everyone had long searched for in vain. He even shared the tragic story of his own death.
The King of Hell turned away with a blank expression, feeling that all his previous concern had been a waste.
Modern-day exorcists were clearly not to be underestimated—who would’ve thought this was also a way to subdue evil ghosts?
Tsk.
The King of Hell thought the romantic tension between those two was completely out of place in this gloomy, ghost-ridden atmosphere. They had practically turned this haunted dead zone into a blooming love garden—it was just too much for him to bear.
“Mr. Yan!”
The Taoist who had gone ahead to inspect the area now came running back in high spirits. Gone was his usual composure, replaced with an unstoppable grin.
“Mr. Yan, I’ve checked the surroundings. It’s dangerous, yes, but it’s almost certain—this really is a place inhabited by ghost deities!”
He said excitedly, “You mentioned before that Ghost Dao originated from the ghostly aura supplied by the old Fengdu. Looking at it now, we really did come to the right place. Once we enter the old Fengdu, the rest will be much easier.”
Being a fellow cultivator, the Taoist was no stranger to matters concerning ghosts and spirits.
Though not as attuned to the natural world as Yan Shixun, he had decades of experience as an exorcist, enough to grasp the feasibility of Yan Shixun’s plans just from the way he spoke.
At first, when he heard Yan Shixun talk about destroying Ghost Dao by collapsing its foundation—cutting it off at the source—he had been stunned, finding it hard to believe.
In his world, there had never been such a method for dealing with ghosts.
Besides the usual rituals, talismans, and peachwood swords, when faced with powerful spirits, all that remained was to plead for divine intervention.
But Ghost Dao had even severed that last resort.
—When evil ghosts ruled, even the “gods” turned into “ghosts.” How could one borrow divine power then?
The Taoist had felt like he was hitting a dead end no matter how he thought about it, on the verge of despair—until Yan Shixun boldly suggested something no one had ever thought of or dared to think:
He wanted to strike directly at the old Fengdu!
If anyone else had said it, people would’ve scoffed and called it delusional.
But when Yan Shixun said it, it carried weight—he made it sound entirely convincing.
At the time, the Taoist had been skeptical. But now that he’d discovered this place was very likely the old Fengdu, he couldn’t help but feel deep admiration. He realized he’d been trapped in his own web without even knowing it.
He had thought he understood the full scope of the world, but in reality, his years of experience had built a wall around him, confining his vision to a tiny patch of sky.
But Yan Shixun—he had truly seen the world and grasped the Great Dao.
Just mentioning the idea of entering the old Fengdu sent a surge of emotion through the Taoist. His face flushed red with excitement, heart pounding with inspiration.
The Taoist felt as if he had returned to his younger days.
Though he lacked experience and stability back then, he had possessed the fearless drive to charge ahead, undeterred by anything in his path.
Yan Shixun’s thoughts were interrupted by the Taoist. He looked up and smiled at him, nodding in understanding at the Taoist’s excitement.
After all, the Great Dao had declined, the underworld had collapsed a century ago, and Fengdu had kept its main gates tightly shut for decades.
In the past, they could still rely on summoning techniques or call on Yin officials for assistance. But in recent years, sightings of Yin officials walking the human world had become increasingly rare—let alone Taoists being able to summon or even glimpse their true forms.
To see something that had only existed in rumors and longed for over the years—anyone would be just as moved.
“Let’s go, Taoist,”
Yan Shixun gestured invitingly to him with a soft smile. “Let’s take a stroll through Fengdu and pay a visit to the ghost city that should have crumbled a thousand years ago.”
The Taoist nodded repeatedly in excitement and followed closely beside Yan Shixun, so thrilled that his hands were trembling.
However, for the official in charge and a few rescue team members, this whole situation felt downright horrifying.
Even though the official had worked in the field for decades and believed he had seen it all, he truly had never witnessed anything like this before!
What kind of ordinary living person would willingly walk into the underworld? Wasn’t this basically courting death?
Though the official had no intention of retreating, he still had to take a deep breath and mentally prepare himself for quite some time before gritting his teeth and stepping forward to follow Yan Shixun.
So be it. With Mr. Yan leading the way and so many lives behind him waiting to be protected, even if death lay ahead, this was a path he had no choice but to walk!
Live or die—he’d only know once he stepped across.
The rescue team members had originally planned to reassure the official not to be afraid, but to their surprise, he stepped forward first, leaving them behind, staring at each other in confusion.
Rescue Team Member: I thought the official didn’t know any techniques or self-defense skills?
Rescue Team Member: Now we look even more cowardly… Let’s hurry and catch up!
With Yan Shixun and the Taoist leading the way, the group moved forward toward the ghost city faintly shrouded in black mist.
Only Ye Li lagged behind by a step. As he lengthened his stride to catch up with Yan Shixun, he happened to brush shoulders with the King of Hell. At the King’s cold snort, he briefly paused in his steps.
“I had thought you were going to make a move against Yan Shixun,”
The King of Hell said with a light chuckle. “I didn’t expect that the once-feared Lord of Fengdu, dreaded by all ghost deities, would show this side of himself—letting a living person question you about the truth of death without anger, without reaction.”
Ye Li’s eyelashes, dark like crow feathers, fluttered slightly. His voice was icy. “If it were you asking, I wouldn’t be sure what I’d do.”
“Still trying to compare yourself to Shixun?”
The coldness in Ye Li’s gaze slid past the King of Hell, mocking his overconfidence.
The King of Hell merely shrugged, unfazed by Ye Li’s words.
They had known each other for a thousand years, and the King had personally witnessed Ye Li ascend to godhood. Naturally, he knew what kind of being Ye Li was—both before and after crossing the threshold into deityhood.
Strictly speaking, the King of Hell and the former Northern Yin Fengdu Emperor were more alike in nature. Even the years they ruled over their respective domains were about the same.
He had once disregarded Fengdu entirely. No matter how unique Fengdu was, even the Great Dao had kept a distance. The King had deliberately kept it out of his sight.
A thousand years ago, the underworld and Fengdu had not coexisted the way they did now.
Back then, the underworld treated Fengdu with indifference. No matter how outsiders debated or speculated, inside the underworld, the King of Hell had responded with nothing more than a cold scoff when asked for an opinion.
Until Fengdu changed hands—Ye Li, through his own power, overthrew the former Northern Yin Fengdu Emperor, dragged him from his divine pedestal, and even shattered that very pedestal into ruins. The shock of that event reverberated through all ghost deities and knowledgeable exorcists.
Only then did the King of Hell finally acknowledge the new master of Fengdu, and from that moment began a millennium-long feud between the two.
It was ironic, really—both were supreme ghost deities ruling their own territories, yet in each other’s eyes, only the other truly mattered.
They each held fast to their own principles, disapproving of the other’s ways, believing the other’s methods unjust for either evil spirits or living humans.
Yet, deep down, they fully recognized and respected each other.
In the King of Hell’s view, the old Fengdu, though revered, wasn’t even qualified to be his rival.
And in the end, that proved true.
The incompetent was cast down, and the true ruler of ghosts took the throne.
Perhaps remembering all of this, the King of Hell chuckled quietly. He said casually, “Don’t worry—I’m fully aware of how I appear in your eyes.”
“I won’t ask you about what happened back then either,”
He added with a smile, tilting his gaze toward Ye Li. “I witnessed the rise of the new Fengdu with my own eyes. Why would I need to ask? On the contrary, it should be you asking me about the truth behind your death. That would make more sense.”
“What do you think Yan Shixun will find in the old Fengdu?”
The King of Hell’s tone grew low and serious. “The fact that ghostly energy leaked out of the old Fengdu is strange enough—and that it gathered around the ghost infant even more so. Aren’t you worried that something else still lingers in the old Fengdu, something that could harm Yan Shixun?”
To the King of Hell, Yan Shixun had to survive. Only then could a new vitality be brought forth for all of heaven and earth.
Until every single threat to the Great Dao was eradicated, and the Dao was once again stabilized—until there were no more disasters in the world—the King of Hell could not rest easy.
Before that goal was achieved, the King of Hell would not allow anything to endanger Yan Shixun’s life.
For this, the King of Hell was even willing to give up his own life without hesitation.
Whether it was the Old Fengdu or Ye Li…
The King of Hell calmly withdrew his gaze from Ye Li and looked once more at the figure of Yan Shixun walking ahead.
Beneath his smiling expression was a hidden, unwavering determination.
Ye Li sensed the shift in the King of Hell’s aura, but he made no unnecessary reaction. He simply kept his eyes fixed on Yan Shixun, his gaze filled with tenderness.
To think the King of Hell believed he would harm his beloved exorcist… How laughable.
Ye Li scoffed inwardly. As expected, the King of Hell had reincarnated too many times—his soul must have sustained some damage. Judging by the way he acted, it was probably his brain that had suffered. After dozens of lifetimes, the King of Hell’s brain might not be much bigger than a walnut. Tsk.
The King of Hell: “Achoo!!!”
Who—who just cursed me!?
The King of Hell looked suspiciously toward Ye Li, but Ye Li didn’t even spare him a glance. With large strides, he walked directly to Yan Shixun’s side and began walking shoulder-to-shoulder with his beloved exorcist.
The King of Hell: “…………”
Was it my imagination? Why does it feel like I just got looked down on by that guy Ye Li?
While the King of Hell remained confused, Yan Shixun had already led the Taoist to begin inspecting the ghost city ahead.
No living person had ever entered Fengdu and left alive. Even souls who drifted out of their bodies rarely managed to step foot in Fengdu. Add to that the extremely scarce records about the place, and people in the mortal realm had always imagined Fengdu based on the concept of the underworld. Yet no one had ever truly seen it with their own eyes.
Until now. As Yan Shixun and the others passed through the swirling black mist in the air, an imposing city suddenly emerged before them.
The city walls towered into the clouds, seemingly cutting off the entire world outside. But these walls weren’t made of bricks or stones—they were made of skulls.
Millions of skulls. It was as if all the corpses of those who had ever died had been gathered here.
The hollow, pitch-black eye sockets of the skulls silently stared at the newcomers. And yet, it felt as if they were still alive—as if they had minds of their own. Even the way they stared didn’t seem like a figment of imagination, but rather the greedy hunger of malevolent spirits yearning to devour flesh.
Millions of hollow black eye sockets stared silently from all directions. Though not a single word was spoken, the pressure was overwhelming, so heavy it seemed to thin the very air.
A member of the rescue team involuntarily shivered. Just one glance from a skull made him feel cold all over, as though someone had struck him squarely on the crown of his head, leaving him dizzy and dazed, with a chilling sensation rushing up from his spine to his skull and out the top of his head.
Instinctively, he ducked behind Yan Shixun, hoping to shield himself from the gaze of the skulls.
It wasn’t until Ye Li turned his gaze over, the pressure around him dropping like a heavy fog, his eyes colder than those tens of millions of skulls, that the rescue team member suddenly realized what he had just done.
He scratched his face in embarrassment and quickly stepped aside. “Sorry about that. It’s my first time dying, I’m not really familiar with the procedures or customs here. Please forgive me…”
How was he supposed to know that after death, he’d be facing this kind of stuff?
Who could possibly handle it?!
As a member of the rescue team, even though his job was usually to snatch people back from the jaws of death, that work still took place in the world of the living! Who could’ve imagined they’d be sent on a business trip to the underworld?
The rescue team member was screaming internally.
But then he noticed… it seemed like he wasn’t the only one trying to move aside?
He looked up in confusion and discovered he truly wasn’t alone.
Several other team members were also huddling behind Yan Shixun, each one trying to tug at the hem of his coat.
The last time he’d seen something like this was back in kindergarten playing “Eagle Catching the Chicks.”
Even the official in charge was trembling as he clung to Yan Shixun’s sleeve, looking like his legs had gone weak from fright.
Rescue team member: … No wonder Mr. Yan’s lover was upset. This really did look like someone was trying to snatch away the groom.
When Yan Shixun heard the noise behind him and turned around, he saw Ye Li coldly turning his head forward again, as if absolutely nothing had happened.
Yan Shixun: “?”
He felt like something had definitely happened… but he had somehow missed it.
He didn’t dwell on it for long. Soon, he pressed forward, enduring the pressure coming from the direction of the city walls.
Thanks to that richly stocked study of Li Chengyun’s, Yan Shixun had learned quite a bit about matters concerning ghosts and deities.
For instance, the dwelling of a ghost deity was deeply tied to the ghost deity itself.
Just like the sacred Taoist sites of Kunlun Mountain and Changbai Snow Mountain—when Taoists spoke of blessed lands and spiritual caverns, they also needed to match one’s birth chart and fate. Only then could the environment truly complement the person.
Otherwise, no matter how auspicious the feng shui, if a mortal’s fate couldn’t suppress it, they’d suffer the backlash.
The residence of a ghost deity was built upon its own power, so to some extent, it reflected its inner world.
Just like what Yan Shixun had seen before—Ye Li’s Fengdu.
That place was filled with wailing, suffering evil spirits, howling day and night, as if reflecting Ye Li’s loathing and disappointment toward the sins of the human world.
Yan Shixun had originally thought Fengdu must always look like that.
But now, it seemed… not quite.
This old Fengdu, a city built on death—what kind of being must the previous Fengdu Emperor have been to leave behind such a style? What could have provoked Ye Li, a thousand years ago, to destroy the original Fengdu in a fit of rage?
A mortal’s wrath could shake the heavens and earth, enough to move even ghosts and deities.
Thinking of what Ye Li had just said to him, a trace of pain flickered across Yan Shixun’s eyes, almost imperceptibly. But he merely let out a near-silent sigh, then stepped forward, walking onto the bridge that led to the city.
As Yan Shixun lowered his gaze, he saw the moat beneath the bridge—filled with boiling, putrid blood. Evil spirits wailed within it.
Those ghosts raised their heads, scrambling to rise from the river of blood, reaching up frantically. Their eyes, locked onto Yan Shixun, gleamed with greed, as if waiting for him to slip, to fall into their mouths, to become their next meal—his flesh and blood nourishing them.
Yan Shixun frowned, visibly repulsed.
Tsk. How was he supposed to eat duck blood ever again after this?
This bridge was very narrow—nothing like the wide expanse he had imagined. It was more like a single-plank bridge.
Before stepping onto it, it had appeared broad and safe, as if the ghost city posed no danger at all, and the ghost deity’s domain could be entered and exited at will.
But once he stepped onto it, he realized the bridge was merely a narrow strip of rounded wooden planks—one careless step and he could easily slip and fall.
—In the end, death was a journey walked alone.
Just then, a slender, well-defined hand reached over and gently took hold of Yan Shixun’s.
“Let’s go, Shixun.”
Ye Li, who had somehow ended up beside him, smiled softly and said, “I’ll go with you.”
No matter this world or the next, I walk this path with you.
Yan Shixun’s expression shifted subtly. Then, his formerly stern face softened into a smile. He slowly blinked and replied, “Alright.”
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