Chapter 294: Ritual Money, Old Capital (21)
Before this moment, the King of Hell had never set foot in the old Fengdu.
Even though the Underworld and Fengdu both presided over the domain of death, a thousand years ago—before Ye Li became the Lord of Fengdu—the relationship between the two was less of equal, opposing institutions, and more akin to a superior-subordinate dynamic.
Back then, it was inconceivable that the King of Hell would have ever entered the residence of the Northern Yin Fengdu Emperor.
Even so, compared to others, the King of Hell had already been considered relatively well-informed about the old Fengdu. He had heard tales of the infamous Fengdu Prison and had listened to accounts from the ghost officials of the old Fengdu.
However, this moment marked the first time he saw it with his own eyes.
During the descent, the King of Hell had speculated on what the lower hell might look like. He had prepared responses in advance for their landing, just in case they were attacked by forces from the old Fengdu upon arrival.
Still, when he finally felt solid ground beneath his feet and opened his eyes, the sight that greeted him caused his brow to twitch in surprise. It was more unexpected than he had anticipated.
What shocked him even more, though, was the fact that no one else was around him.
Neither Yan Shixun, nor Ye Li, nor any other rescue team members—no one.
He had landed alone in a sea of thick, crimson blood.
Everywhere he looked was painted in shades of dark and light red.
He had landed in the Bone Hell, where blood and plasma sprayed across towering caves, trickling down stone walls and pooling into an endless river of blood in the low-lying ground.
Floating on the river was an old man wearing a conical hat, calmly pushing a small boat forward.
The man wasn’t using a regular oar. Instead, he held a long piece of human bone, and each time it dipped into the river, it unerringly struck a struggling soul trying to climb out of the blood, ruthlessly forcing its head back down.
Screams and cries for help rang out endlessly, echoing across the river.
Yet neither the old man in the boat nor the grotesque, terrifying evil spirits on the shore showed any emotion. None of them found the scene unusual. They had clearly grown numb to it.
If any ordinary person had landed here, they would’ve likely fainted in terror on the spot.
That would have been preferable to being awake and surrounded by vengeful spirits, uncertain when one might suddenly turn and notice them. The anxiety and dread would be suffocating, enough to drive someone mad.
After a brief moment of shock, the King of Hell quickly regained his composure. His expression returned to calm, his eyes sweeping the surroundings as he took in his environment with quiet understanding.
He had heard before that beneath the old Fengdu, there were nine layers of hell, each descending layer punishing crimes of greater severity.
In the beginning, the spirits they encountered when entering the city were merely those who resented their own death and refused to accept it. But the deeper one went, the more grievous the sins of the souls became.
From murderers and prisoners, to those who slaughtered entire villages or cities, even destroyed entire nations—the sins only worsened.
This river of blood was the manifestation of the sins committed by the evil spirits trapped here.
However much killing they had committed in life, that much blood now drowned them in death. They were forever barred from reaching the shore.
The King of Hell wasn’t frightened by what he saw. Instead, he raised an intrigued brow.
Although this was his first time seeing the hell of the old Fengdu with his own eyes, he couldn’t help but feel impressed—Fengdu Prison was indeed as terrifying as the stories described.
Unlike the Underworld, where souls endured punishment as a form of sentence, Fengdu inflicted torment upon the spirit itself. It forced the vengeful souls to relive their past over and over again, to become painfully aware of why they were imprisoned and why they could never leave.
The evil spirits themselves were their own prisons.
Although the King of Hell disliked the Northern Yin Fengdu Emperor, he couldn’t help but admire the methods of the old Fengdu.
It was fortunate that he had landed here alone. If any of the living souls had ended up in this place, they would’ve been scared senseless. But if Ye Li had been the one here…
The King of Hell’s ears twitched—he heard a faint noise behind him.
His eyes immediately turned cold. He lightly tapped his folded fan against his arm in a steady rhythm, calm and unhurried.
From the corner of his eye, he saw a figure as red as blood, nearly black, slowly approaching. The stench of rot grew stronger.
Clearly, the evil spirits on the shore had noticed this unfamiliar presence. It was as if a piece of raw meat had been thrown into a pit of crocodiles. The ghosts saw him as a confused soul that had accidentally fallen from an upper level of hell, and they hungrily closed in on his spirit.
The King of Hell’s eyes held a lofty, pitiful gaze, but not a trace of warmth.
The hem of his embroidered, elegant robe fluttered suddenly without any wind.
Centered around the spot where he stood, ghostly energy silently swept outward in all directions, enveloping the approaching evil spirits and even spreading onto the river of blood.
The flow of the small boat came to a sudden halt.
The old man on the boat slowly raised his head. From beneath his conical hat, two entirely black, pupil-less eyes stared up at the shore.
Yet when he clearly saw what was happening on land, his eyes widened in shock.
The evil spirits, with their monstrous, twisted forms, were slowly encircling their prey, malice glowing in their eyes.
Trapped in the middle of the crowd stood a young man in long robes, embroidered with vivid images of notorious evil spirits from the past few millennia—famous for their brutality—each one baring fangs and claws as if roaring in fury.
Even among ghosts, few who had seen such spirits lived to tell the tale. Yet this young man had them stitched into his robes as if they were no more significant than flowers or landscapes.
But what startled the old man most wasn’t the embroidery—it was the aura surrounding the youth.
It wasn’t the air of an evil spirit.
On the contrary, he seemed more like… a ghost deity, one who had long held a high position, seen the vastness of the world, and walked the path of the Great Dao.
Even though the young man was clearly trapped in a place teeming with ferocious evil, he didn’t show the slightest hint of fear. Instead, a faint smile played on his lips. His lowered lashes and fair, refined features appeared completely out of place in such surroundings—he looked more like a cultured scholar than someone who belonged here.
However, the ghostly aura swirling around him told a very different story.
The old man on the blood river stood dumbly, leaning on the pole of his boat and looking up.
—Behind the youth, a massive, menacing black shadow loomed over the stone walls of the cave, cast by something behind him. It silently roared, enveloping all the vicious spirits in its darkness.
It was so enormous that it seemed capable of swallowing all of hell whole.
Yet, the malicious ghosts remained fixated on the figure in front of them. None of them noticed that the very being they had deemed their prey had, in fact, surrounded them all by himself.
They were still indulging in their fantasies of devouring a soul, eyes glowing with greed as they crept closer and closer to the young man, who stood motionless as if frightened senseless.
The King of Hell let out a low laugh, pressing his folding fan to his lips to hide his smile.
“When it comes to an ambush, your encirclement has to be wider than your prey’s space. Only then can you say you’ve successfully surrounded them, with no way to escape. But you lot…”
He chuckled softly and asked the evil spirits in a warm, almost tender tone, “Why would you create a tiny encirclement inside the one your prey set up for you?”
He lifted his hand and pinched a small gap between his pale fingers, measuring it disdainfully as he gestured toward them. “To encircle something means to trap it within, doesn’t it?”
“What exactly do you think this is?”
He slowly blinked his eyes and asked, smiling brightly, “Is this a joke prepared just for me? A little welcome gift?”
Having been cut off from the world for thousands of years, the evil spirits had long lost the ability to communicate with speech. They struggled to even understand what the young man was saying.
But the open contempt written plainly on his face was unmistakable. The disdain radiating from him enraged the ghosts.
They shrieked and screamed furiously, lunging at him, determined to rip him to shreds. In their minds, they imagined him breaking down in tears and begging for mercy.
But they were about to be disappointed.
The howling wind their charge stirred up hit an invisible barrier in front of the King of Hell. What had seemed like a ferocious storm was reduced to a soft breeze brushing against his cheek, gently lifting a few strands of hair at his temples.
He watched it all with a light chuckle. His handsome face showed no panic—none of the weeping terror the ghosts had imagined.
On the contrary, he seemed to be laughing at their foolishness, mocking them for picking the wrong target.
One of the ghosts slashed at him with bony, claw-like fingers, only for its attack to freeze midair. It couldn’t move another inch forward.
The ghost stared in disbelief before it realized it had been completely immobilized.
Without it noticing, black mist had begun spreading, like powerful chains rushing in from every direction, crisscrossing through the air and tightly binding it in place.
And it wasn’t alone. Every single evil spirit around received the same treatment. All they could do was stare in helpless rage at the calm, unmoved figure standing nearby, completely unable to break free no matter how violently they struggled.
“Hm?”
The King of Hell let out a curious hum through his nose. Tilting his head with feigned surprise, he asked, “Why do you all look so shocked? Don’t you recognize this?”
He raised his folding fan and casually tapped one of the nearby chains, saying with a smile, “Soul-binding chains. Haven’t seen them before?”
“Don’t the ghost officers of Fengdu use these?”
He blinked innocently, genuinely puzzled. “Or… are they only for the underworld’s Yin officials?”
The ghosts began looking at him with mounting terror.
Some of them seemed to suddenly realize something. Their twisted, grotesque faces were instantly filled with fear and regret. They thrashed in the air, making the overlapping chains clatter loudly with their frantic struggle.
The sounds echoed through the vast, hollow cavern—layer upon layer—eerily empty and deeply unsettling.
“I must admit, I’m impressed,”
The King of Hell said, as if he hadn’t noticed their terrified expressions and desperate pleas. He simply shook his head with a sigh. “I’ve heard of people picking on the weak, but I’ve never seen anyone try it with granite.”
“No need for last words, you won’t be getting another chance to speak anyway.”
He added with a smile: “Like that.”
He began lightly tapping his folding fan against his arm, as leisurely as a nobleman enjoying a performance in an old teahouse.
But what followed was not the elegant sound of music, but the roar of black mist responding to his command. It surged forward with a vengeance, howling as it devoured the suspended ghosts one by one, swallowing them whole.
In the chaotic darkness, it became impossible to tell what was ghost and what was merely empty air.
“Farewell.”
With those parting words from the King of Hell, the black mist dispersed.
The massive, flickering shadow cast on the stone wall vanished with it.
Everything returned to normal, as if nothing had happened.
The vicious spirits in the air were all gone, not even a trace of smoke left behind.
Only the wide clearing around the King of Hell, eerily clean in contrast to the rest of the underworld, hinted at what had just occurred.
In hell, where malevolent spirits were everywhere, not a single place was ever truly clean.
Except around the King of Hell.
He stood tall at the riverbank, sleeves gathered neatly, looking perfectly relaxed—like a tourist visiting hell’s scenic sights—smiling up at the cavernous ceiling.
But the old boatman who had witnessed the whole scene only felt chills down his spine.
To clear out a swarm of evil spirits in the blink of an eye, and to project such an immense ghostly shadow that it could devour hell itself… Just who was this man?
No.
The real question was—when had such a person appeared in Fengdu’s hell?
The old boatman felt the pole in his hand loosen, as if the restrictions on it had been lifted, allowing him to row once more. Without hesitation, he pushed off with the pole, eager to steer his small boat away from this place of turmoil, far from the unfathomable presence on the shore.
But just as he moved, a soft, amused voice called out from the bank.
“In such a rush—where are you off to?”
The King of Hell lifted a hand, gathering the hem of his long robe. As he looked down at the blood and mangled flesh beneath his feet, his brows furrowed with mild disgust.
He stepped closer to the riverbank. Instantly, the blood river, which had been lapping against boulders and skeletal remains along the shore, retreated several inches at a time, as if terrified of staining the soles of his shoes.
Yet even that was not enough to satisfy his distaste. He cast a side glance at the blood, clicked his tongue in displeasure.
Standing atop a massive rock, he casually released the hem of his robe and pointed his folded fan through the air at the old boatman. With a smile in his voice, he asked, “I have a question for you—come here.”
The old boatman froze. The leisurely demeanor he had while drifting down the blood river vanished in an instant, replaced by trembling fear.
Obediently, he paddled over, removed his conical hat, and bowed deeply to the figure on the shore, not daring to meet his eyes.
“Have you seen others come this way?”
The King of Hell paid no mind to the old man’s sudden show of deference. He casually described the appearances of Ye Li and the rescue team members, asking if the boatman had seen any trace of them.
To him, it made no difference whether ghosts were respectful or hostile—he could handle them all with ease.
The old boatman, seeing this, grew even more terrified. He bowed his head low—so low it nearly sank into his chest cavity. No matter what the King of Hell asked, he answered truthfully and without hesitation, terrified that a single misstep would earn him the same fate as those vicious spirits.
After countless years in Hell, it was the first time the old man had seen anyone who could absolutely suppress such a vast number of fierce ghosts—and so effortlessly, as if he were merely strolling through a garden, plucking a flower at his leisure.
Usually, it was the fierce ghosts who devoured other spirits. But today, because of this man, the tides had turned. Not even ashes remained of the ghosts—everything had been obliterated.
With utmost respect, the old boatman reported everything he knew.
Yet the King of Hell frowned upon hearing it.
So… it really was just him who ended up here?
At the very least, Yan Shixun should have been with him. They had entered the lower levels of Hell together, their powers and fates entangled. What had gone wrong?
“What level of Hell is this? And what was its purpose in the old Fengdu?”
A suspicion arose in the King of Hell’s mind, so he asked the boatman.
According to the old man, this level was already near the bottom, imprisoning the most brutal and blood-soaked ghosts—those who had slaughtered thousands, even tens of thousands, in their lifetimes.
Every drop of blood in the river had belonged to the victims of these fierce spirits. Only by crossing the river could one reach the shore and escape further torment.
After the death of the Northern Yin Fengdu Emperor, even the ghost officials of the old Fengdu had all fled. Nothing remained in Hell but vengeful ghosts enduring endless torture.
They competed and devoured one another, struggling to gain more power and reach the shore—to escape the suffering of the blood river.
Those who had attacked the King of Hell from the shore were already the most powerful beings in this level of Hell.
Yet they had all vanished without a trace in an instant.
The old man’s gaze flickered. Thinking of this, he rasped, “However, if the soul you seek once committed the sin of slaughtering a city, you might have better luck searching further below.”
His withered hand pointed toward the blood river. “Once every ghost in the river is obliterated, not a single drop of blood remains, and all sins have been purged—you’ll be able to reach the very bottom of Hell.”
The King of Hell raised an eyebrow, casting a meaningful glance at the old man.
A ferryman—yet not ferrying the living, but the dead.
Reaching the shore means escaping punishment? What nonsense—lies meant for ghosts.
If one stayed in the blood river, they could still atone for their sins and eventually find peace. Even if that meant enduring thousands of years of agony, the soul could one day be released.
But those who devoured other ghosts in the river to gain enough power to reach the shore lost the chance to ever leave.
They would remain forever trapped, foolishly believing they had escaped the sea of suffering—unaware they had made the wrong choice, doomed to coexist with Hell for eternity, with no hope of freedom.
Tch.
Deceitful ferryman.
Ghosts’ words were always half-truths. Believe them too much or not at all, and you’d still end up dead.
Fortunately, the King of Hell had long grown accustomed to such tricks.
Back in the underworld, he had coldly watched countless souls struggle to “escape,” only to fall into deeper levels of Hell, begging in pain but never permitted to leave.
The evil done in life, the sins committed—all weighed heavily on the soul as karmic debt.
Only when that debt was paid could one leave.
Whether it took a hundred years or several millennia, the ghost deities judged karma with impartial, unflinching eyes. Even the smallest seeds of evil would grow into bitter fruit—and none escaped divine judgment.
The King of Hell let his gaze drift idly across the blood river. He ignored the wailing, struggling spirits as if they were invisible, mulling over the old man’s words.
Slaughtering a city… Among all the people he knew, there was only one who had ever experienced something like that.
But that person hadn’t done the slaughtering—they had been the one whose city and people were wiped out.
Would Ye Li really be in the deepest layer of Hell?
According to the old man’s explanation, it all sounded rather troublesome. The King of Hell didn’t particularly feel like going to all that effort just to find that guy.
Besides, as the Lord of Fengdu, Ye Li wouldn’t be in any real danger. He could take care of himself.
More importantly, those fragile living souls from the rescue team were still waiting for him to help them. Ye Li certainly couldn’t blame him for prioritizing them.
A ripple of amusement flickered in the King of Hell’s eyes. With a soft chuckle, he murmured, “I’m sure Yan Shixun would want me to do the same, wouldn’t he, Ye Li?”
Having made up his mind, the King of Hell lifted his head, gave the old boatman a slight nod, and stepped into the blood river.
Under the stunned gazes of the old man and the many ghosts within the river, he walked across the surface as if it were solid ground. Not even the hem of his robe was stained by blood.
The river, which had just moments ago surged with violent undercurrents, suddenly stilled.
Like a cat being scruffed by the neck, it became utterly obedient.
When the King of Hell walked across the River of Blood, the crowd of ghosts finally came face-to-face with the terror sensed earlier from the wrathful spirits on the shore. They immediately scrambled to sink to the bottom of the river, terrified that if they moved even a moment too slow, the King of Hell would notice and wipe them away as effortlessly as brushing off dust.
The old man stared in stunned disbelief as the King of Hell crossed the River of Blood. A chill settled deep into his soul.
He realized that the half-truth he had kept to himself had actually been seen through by this young man before him!
To reach the lower levels of hell, one had to completely purge the vast River of Blood, allowing the ghosts to fully repay the sins they had committed in life.
But how could the endless sins of so many ghosts ever be cleansed?
Kṣitigarbha Bodhisattva once vowed that he would not become a Buddha until hell was empty. Yet, thousands of years had passed—had he ever succeeded?
The old man had not lied.
He had simply proposed a method that was impossible to accomplish.
Then, how was one supposed to reach the upper levels of hell? Was it… by ascending to the heavens?
Again, the old man had not lied.
He had just chosen not to say.
Little did he expect, the trap he believed he had cunningly set was as clear as day in the King of Hell’s eyes—utterly powerless.
The King of Hell smiled: When it comes to hell, perhaps I know more than you?
With a light laugh, he walked across the River of Blood, never once looking back at the scene behind him. He didn’t show off to the old man like an ordinary person might.
As the King of Hell stepped onto the opposite bank, the scene before him was momentarily plunged into darkness.
When his vision cleared again, the sight was no longer the same one he had seen from across the river.
He was now in another level of hell.
A smile gradually rose in the King of Hell’s eyes.
Downward lay sin. Upward, naturally, was the path of forgiven karma.
To move toward the upper levels of hell, one had to cross the River of Sin. If one’s soul was lighter than their sins, it meant they had repaid them in full and could move on.
In other words, the soul must not fall back into the river.
That was why the ghosts in the River of Blood were always submerged, never able to rise.
But aside from that, there was another easily overlooked rule.
—You must not look back.
The moment one looked back, it signified to hell that the soul still lingered on past sins and might commit them again. Even if forgiveness had been granted, it would no longer be valid.
They could only remain in that level of hell, forever losing the chance to leave.
The underworld had long stood above the Eighteen Levels of Hell. Even without deep contact with the old Fengdu, no being understood ghosts better than the King of Hell.
He saw through the old man entirely. He knew that even though the old man, under pressure, had been forced to explain a way out, he would never tell the whole truth.
After all, who would be foolish enough to fully trust an evil spirit?
The old man had not lied—he had simply hidden traps within his words.
The King of Hell chuckled softly and continued forward.
His long robe fluttered behind him, its embroidery vivid and lifelike, as though it were roaring in midair.
However, the old man’s words had not been completely useless.
At the very least, he had helped the King of Hell use a process of elimination to determine where to look for the rescue team members.
Those team members were all living souls. The only reason they could enter the old Fengdu was because of Ghost Dao and Yan Shixun.
Their souls were wrapped in golden light of virtue, making it impossible for them to fall into hell on their own.
So, when they fell into hell alongside the King of Hell and Yan Shixun, the only place they could have gone was the level of hell corresponding to the “sins” they acquired by being stained with the King of Hell’s karmic weight.
As the source of contamination, the King of Hell carried the heaviest burden of “sin,” and thus fell into the level closest to the bottom of hell.
As for the rescue team members and the official in charge…
Just as the King of Hell set foot in this level of hell, he heard the heart-wrenching screams of terror echoing from afar.
“Aaaaahhhhhhh!!! Don’t come any closer!!!”
“Holy shit, holy shit!!! Did we fall into some evil spirit’s lair?!”
Their cries were raw and sincere. The King of Hell nodded in satisfaction.
Yes, once again, he had found the right place.
He walked just a short distance, rounded a mountainside, and, as expected, saw the rescue team members he had been searching for.
They looked utterly terrified, like kittens dropped into a flock of chickens—helpless and panicked—huddled in a corner, desperately trying to break through the encirclement.
But the evil spirits, drawn by the scent of living souls, slowly advanced toward them. The spirits surrounded the team in several tight layers. The closer they came, the harder the team members struggled to escape, only to be blocked again and again by the malicious ghosts.
One team member screamed, “Let me out! Ahhhh!!”
Another shouted, “Mom! Mom, I saw a ghost!”
Fortunately, despite the chaos, they hadn’t scattered. They had stayed close together, which saved the King of Hell a lot of trouble.
The King of Hell: …pfft.
He didn’t rush to save anyone. Instead, he strolled leisurely, slowly fanning himself as he walked in that direction. He even nodded politely and greeted an evil spirit that passed by him.
The evil spirit: Huh? Who is this guy? He’s so polite…
A second later, that very spirit’s soul was shattered and scattered into nothingness.
While the evil spirits surrounding the rescue team members were still completely focused on the living souls, they failed to notice that, just a short distance behind them, a massacre targeting evil spirits had already begun.
And the one doing the slaughtering—was just a single man.
He even smiled, eyes crinkled in amusement, without a trace of malice.
Yet it was precisely this refined and noble-looking man who, as he walked forward, left no chance for the spirits to react, much less resist. They simply crumbled into a flurry of black ash, which drifted down softly behind him.
But not even a single speck of dust dared to land on the corner of the King of Hell’s robe.
As if afraid of staining his long robe.
The first ones to notice something was off were the trapped rescue team members.
They happened to be facing the direction the King of Hell was coming from. While trying to climb upward to escape the spirits, they inadvertently looked past the crowd of ghosts—only to see a face that looked oddly familiar.
One team member spoke in confusion and disbelief, “Director Zhang Wubing? No, wait, it looks more like…”
The words “King of Hell” got stuck in his throat. He didn’t dare to say them out loud.
Because the man before them now looked nothing like the person they thought they knew.
The face might have been similar, and he was even smiling.
But the aura around him was nothing like the cheerful and goofy director Zhang Wubing that they were familiar with.
When Zhang Wubing smiled, it was with an honest, silly sincerity that was infectious. Anyone who saw it couldn’t help but smile with him, instinctively trusting him.
Even though Zhang Wubing had the kind of handsome looks that were rare even among celebrities, his weepy or goofy expressions always covered up that beauty, making people forget how good-looking he really was.
But the man walking toward them now, though smiling as well, sent chills down their spines. The team members felt a cold sweat along their backs, a pressure that far surpassed the one brought on by the surrounding evil spirits.
His back was as straight as a pine tree, and his slim shoulders bore an exquisite embroidered design that looked as vivid as life—ferocious ghostly beasts entwined upon him, glaring forward with hungry eyes, ready to pounce at any moment.
Though he walked through a battlefield of corpses and rivers of blood, he looked as calm and at ease as if he were strolling through a garden path.
There was a gentleness in his expression—but it was cold.
The team members stared at this “Zhang Wubing,” completely stunned.
Even though they had already been told by Yan Shixun before entering the old Fengdu that the King of Hell existed, and that he had a connection to Zhang Wubing…
They had never understood it so clearly and viscerally until now. This man truly wasn’t the director Zhang Wubing they knew, but rather—
A being who had once ruled the Underworld for thousands of years, who had suppressed countless evil spirits in hell, and who, even upon death and dissolution, had still managed to tear his soul away by sheer willpower and escape the death trap laid by the Great Dao.
The King of Hell.
The team members stared at the King of Hell, who walked toward them with calm composure, and instinctively held their breath. Their minds blanked for a moment.
“What’s wrong? Why are you spacing out?”
The team member supporting him from below, helping him climb, quickly noticed something was off and asked in concern.
They looked anxiously at the surrounding evil spirits, trying to figure out what had shocked their companion so much.
But the layers upon layers of spirits completely blocked their view of the outside. All they could see were terrifying ghost faces and dead, empty eyes close at hand. They couldn’t see what was happening beyond.
And then, a smooth, magnetic voice with a hint of laughter drifted in from the outside.
“I think… he’s probably looking at me.”
The team froze for a second, confused as to why there would be anyone else here besides them.
But then they slowly recalled—this voice…
It kind of sounded like Director Zhang Wubing?
Before they could figure out what was going on, the evil spirits surrounding them suddenly grew agitated.
The once brazen and savage spirits now acted as though they had seen something even more terrifying than themselves.
A scream of fear got stuck in their throats as an overwhelming force swept through them, scattering the snarling ghosts in all directions.
The team remained frozen in their previous positions, stunned by the unexpected turn of events, eyes wide as they watched everything unfold before them.
As the evil spirits dispersed, the figure that had been blocked from view finally emerged in full.
The first thing they saw was the fluttering hem of his long robe and the fierce embroidery of vengeful spirits.
Their gazes moved upward, slowly.
He held a folded fan in his hand and wore a soft, amused smile as he pressed it to his lips—finally appearing before them in full.
“Though I’m a bit late, it’s not too late… right?”
The King of Hell smiled warmly at the team. He blinked slowly and lifted a slender, pale finger to his lips. “Don’t tell Yan Shixun.”
“If anyone tattles to Yan Shixun or Ye Li…”
He tilted his head slightly, giving them a meaningful look.
The team: “…”
They were certainly relieved to be rescued—but why did it feel like they’d just been threatened?
But… even the King of Hell was afraid of Mr. Yan?
The current King of Hell, Jing Xiaobao, was routinely picked up by his suspenders and spanked by Mr. Yan. The former King of Hell, Zhang Wubing, even after saving people, felt the need to give them a scare—just in case they reported him…
Was this how one was supposed to understand exorcists? So exorcists were this powerful?
One of the team members even made a silent vow: once they got back, they would make sure to express their respect to Mr. Yan and the other masters. He had no idea exorcists were capable of suppressing even the King of Hell. It was truly awe-inspiring!
At that moment, in the Bai family village, a Taoist suddenly sneezed hard. “Who’s talking about me?”
The team members stared dazedly at the King of Hell, then slowly nodded their heads in a fog.
The King of Hell smiled in satisfaction, convinced he had handled everything perfectly—an outstanding performance that surely outshone the Lord of Fengdu.
No one paid any further attention to the evil spirits that had been swept aside.
Many of them had been struck directly by the King of Hell’s power and were instantly annihilated, their souls disintegrating before the others’ eyes into ashes.
The remaining evil spirits, terrified by such an end, immediately choked back their cries. Their wide eyes brimmed with fear, as if even a sound would draw the attention of that god of death—and get them obliterated next.
The few that had narrowly escaped death hit the ground hard, then scrambled to kneel, trembling, doing everything they could to reduce their presence.
But since the King of Hell had already completed his mission of rescuing the trapped team members, he no longer spared a glance at the evil spirits. He didn’t even give them the grace of a second look, acting as though he hadn’t seen them at all.
With one hand behind his back and the other gesturing politely, he smiled and said to the team, “Let’s go. What are you waiting for?”
“Ah—oh, oh, okay!”
Only then did the team members snap out of their daze and jog over from where they’d frozen in place.
“But… we didn’t see the official in charge or the Taoist…”
The King of Hell swept his gaze across them and asked, “You got separated from the two of them?”
One of the members nodded anxiously. “We woke up here, surrounded by ghosts. But we don’t know where the official and the Taoist went.”
When they had regained consciousness in the darkness, they found themselves lying on ground soaked in blood and fire. The jagged rocks beneath them stabbed painfully into their backs.
But what horrified them even more were the grotesque, rotting corpses lying right beside them.
Besides their own teammates, evil spirits were there too.
Some corpses had skin that was pale green, white, gray, or even black. Their cloudy, dead eyes stared blankly at the sky.
Others were severely decayed. Maggots squirmed through open wounds, and bones peeked through the rotting flesh.
Yet every corpse shared one detail: their hands were folded over their abdomens, lying straight and aligned.
Above each corpse stood a stone slab.
When a team member took a closer look, they realized—it wasn’t just a slab. It was a gravestone.
And they hadn’t been randomly lying on the ground either. It was more like they’d been *buried*—in graves with no mounds.
No coffins. No dirt piles.
Only a tombstone inscribed with the sins committed during one’s lifetime.
Their souls and remains were left to rot in the open wilderness, never to know peace.
One observant team member noticed that these corpses weren’t entirely like typical dead bodies. If you looked closely, their muscles still twitched. When maggots crawled in and out of their eye sockets and mouths, the eyeballs themselves shifted slightly.
…Which meant, if they disturbed these corpses, they could very well rise and attack.
Because their deaths had been disturbed.
The team members immediately held their breath. They didn’t dare make a sound, lying stiffly on the ground, not even daring to breathe.
They carefully turned their heads side to side, exchanging glances and silently sharing information with each other.
They all knew—they couldn’t stay here long. Remaining motionless was no solution. Any slightly louder breath could provoke the nearby corpses. And with the official and the Taoist still missing, they were desperate to search for them.
One of the team members stopped breathing altogether and used every ounce of control to silently rise from the ground. Their muscles trembled from the effort.
The others watched their teammate with worried eyes, then followed suit—silently standing up, hoping to slip away before the corpses noticed.
But of course, the worst thing always happened at the worst time.
A metal zipper on one teammate’s clothing made a faint clicking sound.
Just that tiny sound instantly stirred the nearest corpse.
Its pale, cloudy eyes—entirely covered by whites—rolled over to stare directly at the teammate.
One corpse woke up. Then a second. Then a third…
The teammates who had hoped to leave quietly were now caught in a tide of corpses. Evil spirits surged forward in pursuit, relentless, until they were backed into a corner—about to become food for the ghosts.
That was when the King of Hell appeared just in time.
“We didn’t see the official or the Taoist since we opened our eyes.”
A team member smiled bitterly and shook his head. “We’re really worried about them too, but as for where they are now… we’ll have to trouble you, King of Hell, to help us find them.”
The King of Hell fell silent for a moment, finally realizing that something didn’t feel quite right.
“Based on what you’ve said, that means I was… late in rescuing you…”
He slowly turned his head, smiling with zero warmth. “So, are you planning to say the same thing to Yan Shixun? Let that Evil Spirit Bone Transformation think I’m someone unworthy of his trust?”
Team Member: “!!!”
“I didn’t think of it that way… Wait, no, would Mr. Yan really think that?”
A nearby team member muttered, “You seem to care a lot about Mr. Yan’s opinion of you…”
King of Hell: “No.”
He replied expressionlessly, “You guessed wrong.”
The team member looked puzzled. “Huh? Really…”
“Yes.”
The King of Hell nodded decisively. “In short, that incorrect assumption just now—don’t tell Yan Shixun.”
The team member looked at the King of Hell with a complicated expression, feeling something was off, but unsure what it was.
Still, the safety of the official in charge and the Taoist was more important. The team member quickly stopped overthinking and shared everything he knew with the King of Hell, hoping to find the two of them as soon as possible.
The King of Hell also smoothly changed the subject, showing no sign of what had just occurred.
“I don’t know much about the old Fengdu prison, but I am very familiar with the underworld.”
He pondered. “If I were the city of old Fengdu…”
Where would I throw those two?
The King of Hell gradually realized that apart from Yan Shixun—who had genuinely ended up in the layer of hell connected to Li Chengyun due to his sins and karmic entanglement—everyone else had likely been manipulated by old Fengdu. It had bypassed the remaining judgment rules left behind by the Northern Yin Fengdu Emperor and arbitrarily sent several living souls to places it wanted, in accordance with its own will.
…No, if Ye Li had ended up in the lowest level of hell, that meant old Fengdu hadn’t successfully manipulated him.
After all, according to old Fengdu’s judgment, the one who replaced the Northern Yin Fengdu Emperor as the new Lord of Fengdu was the true unforgivable sinner, destined to be cast into the deepest hell to suffer eternal torment and pain.
This made the King of Hell once again aware of the intense tension between the old and new Fengdu, and confirmed the extent of old Fengdu’s current power expansion.
Since old Fengdu still couldn’t control Ye Li, that meant the Ghost Dao had not yet completely replaced the Great Dao—there was still time left.
As for Ye Li…
The King of Hell chuckled softly and casually tossed Ye Li from his thoughts.
He believed that with the power of the Lord of Fengdu, even the lowest hell could be left behind effortlessly.
There was no need for him, the former King of Hell who should’ve already perished, to worry.
As for the official and the Taoist… for them, the cruelest torture wasn’t physical pain, but being forced to watch the lives they were supposed to protect die in front of them.
In other words, those two were still here.
Just in another layer of space, wearing another identity.
Like… evil spirits.
The King of Hell stopped walking. The folding fan spun once in his hand as he turned to look at the dense, endless rows of tombstones beside him. His eyes turned cold.
That number… Old Fengdu was truly devious!
The King of Hell had guessed that old Fengdu might force the official and rescue team members into killing each other, but he hadn’t expected its malice toward these living souls to be this intense, nor its actions so meticulous.
Even if someone figured it out, they wouldn’t be able to identify the official and the Taoist—now disguised as evil spirits—among this massive number of tombs.
Every second wasted now meant death creeping closer for those two.
The King of Hell roughly estimated that there were at least hundreds of thousands of graves here.
Finding them immediately was almost impossible.
But just then, he suddenly recalled something Yan Shixun had said to him before—that he could act as a “navigator.”
Though the King of Hell didn’t particularly like the wording, he thought about it again and realized… there wasn’t a better option.
He sighed and finally compromised, closing his eyes. Trusting his intuition, he walked into the sea of graves, letting himself wander among the endless tombstones.
Then, in front of one particular grave, he stopped.
When the King of Hell opened his eyes and looked down, clinging to a thread of hope that he wouldn’t be right, he saw—lying at his feet—the official in charge.
And beside him, the Taoist.
King of Hell: ………
He had never, in his entire existence, hoped more than this moment that Yan Shixun had been wrong.
But once again, Yan Shixun had proven himself right.
King of Hell: I’ve sacrificed too much for Yan Shixun…
After finding the official and the Taoist, things no longer felt difficult for the King of Hell.
Although he had forcibly stripped his divine name and soul apart to escape the Great Dao—leaving most of his power behind in the underworld—he was still a deity governing death.
In this old Fengdu, now lacking the Northern Yin Fengdu Emperor, there were very few things that could hinder his movements. He moved with ease, as if returning home.
Restoring a living soul stripped of consciousness to its original state was extremely difficult for mortal exorcists, but for the King of Hell, it was practically second nature—effortless.
The only thing that felt off to him was the strange look on the official’s face after waking up.
“You’re basically an autopilot system, aren’t you?”
Clearly, the official had also remembered what Yan Shixun had said earlier.
He hesitated for a moment, then cautiously suggested, “When we get back to Binhai City, maybe you could consider visiting the autopilot system research lab? Maybe offer them some inspiration or guidance?”
King of Hell: I went through all this trouble to save you, and now you want to hand me over???
He was stunned.
And he deeply experienced the terrifying nature of the living.
The Taoist originally wanted to say something to ease the tension—after all, standing before them was the King of Hell. Even if he looked like Zhang Wubing, he didn’t share his good temper.
If they angered the King of Hell, who knew what consequences might follow?
But after the Taoist heard the whole story from the rescue team members, he too fell silent.
He looked at the King of Hell with a conflicted gaze, feeling that his path of cultivation forbade him from lying—even a white lie—to deceive the King of Hell.
King of Hell: No need to say it. The looks on your faces say it all.
No matter the storm inside him, the King of Hell understood priorities. He knew the urgent task now was to find Yan Shixun and stop the Ghost Dao from expanding further under old Fengdu’s influence.
Relying on his intuition once more, the King of Hell successfully located the layer of hell where Yan Shixun was, and at this point, he no longer wanted to look back at the expressions of the people behind him.
—He didn’t need to look to know what they were thinking.
But just as he was about to enjoy the satisfaction of reuniting with Yan Shixun, before even hearing any affirmation from him, he first saw Ye Li.
No—more precisely, the figure of that war general from a thousand years ago.
King of Hell’s cold face: I get it now. Old Fengdu exists just to mess with me.
“How are you here?”
He was shocked. “I thought…”
Ye Li should’ve been in the lowest hell. Wasn’t the ebony statue supposed to be there?
What was going on?
Author’s Note:
King of Hell: Has anyone considered the possibility that I’m the King of Hell, not a GPS system???”
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