Chapter 308: Ritual Money, Old Capital (35)
Flames surged upward from the depths of the abyss, roaring as they rapidly spread across the entire underworld, engulfing it in a blaze within moments.
Yan Shixun’s strike had been exceptionally clever. He understood very well that if the Old Fengdu was driven into a corner, it would, without a doubt, fight back with everything it had, aiming for mutual destruction.
He himself did not fear death—but he had to consider the consequences if the Old Fengdu went all out. The resulting destruction could affect not just the entire southwest, but even shake the Great Dao of Heaven and Earth.
That was why, even as he attacked the Old Fengdu, Yan Shixun had to be careful not to reveal too much of his strength.
He knew that for mortals, just a few dozen days was enough to form a habit. But for the Old Fengdu, a thousand years was more than enough to forget the reverence it once held as the ruler of the land of the dead. Over time, it had grown cautious and cowardly, clinging desperately to life.
As long as the Old Fengdu believed that a sliver of hope remained, it would not risk everything. Instead, it would divert part of its attention to finding a way to escape and continue surviving, even if just barely.
To make this happen, Yan Shixun had only one chance to strike.
The giant beast had two remaining eyes:
One saw life. The other saw death.
After a moment’s thought, Yan Shixun decided to aim all his power at the eye that saw death.
By conventional logic, he should have gone after the eye representing life. After all, the current Lord of Fengdu was Ye Li, someone he had entrusted with his faith.
If the Old Fengdu lost its grip on life, then death would be all that remained. However, death was no longer under the control of the Northern Yin Fengdu Emperor.
A new Fengdu had arisen the moment Ye Li ascended to become a ghost deity. It had taken form as a manifestation of the Dao he upheld, recognized by Heaven and Earth.
If the giant beast lost its grasp on life and fully stepped into the domain of death, it would then be crushed beneath Ye Li’s authority.
The moment the Old Fengdu fell into Ye Li’s hands would be the moment the crisis ended.
But what Yan Shixun and others could foresee, so could the Old Fengdu. It knew exactly where it was most vulnerable and certainly would not sit still and wait for death.
Thus, Yan Shixun patiently gave it time to resist.
The beast was weakened. If the Old Fengdu wanted to survive, its only option was to cause Yan Shixun’s attack to miss. That way, it would deplete Yan Shixun’s strength and reverse the tide of battle.
To achieve that, the Old Fengdu had no choice but to concentrate all its remaining power to protect a single point—
The eye that represented death.
Yan Shixun waited patiently as the Old Fengdu gathered its last reserves of strength. Only once it had fallen into his trap, misjudging his true intent, did his plan come to full fruition.
When he leapt toward the giant beast, he clearly saw the malice and glee in its eyes— as if it already foresaw his failure and death.
But Yan Shixun merely smiled, and in the howling wind, silently told the Old Fengdu: I’ve won.
His sword pierced straight through the eye that represented death, and with that single blow, wiped out the beast’s final reserves of power.
The Old Fengdu… no longer had any strength left to resist.
As Yan Shixun looked into the beast’s remaining eye—the one that saw life—he saw a look of utter disbelief. But he tilted his head slightly and grinned with wild abandon.
And when the Old Fengdu met his triumphant, unrestrained smile, it finally began to understand what Yan Shixun’s true plan had been all along—
The Ghost Dao.
If the Old Fengdu was defeated and lost its power, the ghostly energy it had gathered would dissipate. That would be a fatal blow to the Ghost Dao it carried. Without that support, the Ghost Dao would weaken significantly.
One had to understand—Ghost Dao had not yet fully replaced the Great Dao.
To ensure nothing went wrong, the Great Dao would never easily entrust all living beings to an existence like the Ghost Dao, which disregarded life so casually.
Yan Shixun understood this clearly.
He had once comprehended the order of Heaven and Earth, held the true names of ghost deities in his hands, and carried the weight of the Great Dao on his shoulders. He had witnessed the vastness and majesty of creation.
The Great Dao had whispered into his ear and led him to glimpse the mysteries of all things.
Though he had remained within the city of Old Fengdu and knew little of the outside world, Yan Shixun believed firmly that the Great Dao would not easily abandon its domain and allow the Ghost Dao to prevail.
As long as the Ghost Dao had not achieved total victory, then for them—hope still existed.
By striking at the root, the last remnant of power left behind by the Northern Yin Fengdu Emperor vanished. With the withdrawal of ghost energy, the Ghost Dao could no longer rise, nor contend with the Great Dao.
In that moment, the greatest crisis had already been resolved.
Beyond the southwest lands, the mountains and rivers were now safe.
However, the downfall of the Ghost Dao would not be immediate. Its collapse required time. The moment ghost energy was removed did not mark its instant death.
It was precisely this delay—this brief gap—that Yan Shixun sought to exploit.
The Ghost Dao still governed the realm surrounding Baizhi Lake. Here, the boundary between the living and the dead remained reversed.
Living beings and yang energy were still judged as the “ghosts” that needed to be expelled, while death reigned supreme.
Yet in such circumstances, the giant beast held the power of life.
In the Ghost Dao’s judgment, the beast was now the “ghost” that should be destroyed.
And the one bearing the Ghost Dao’s burden was no longer the Old Fengdu.
It was the current ruler of death in this land—
Ye Li.
In that brief interval before the Ghost Dao’s complete fall, Ye Li bore the weight of the Ghost Dao, and before his eyes, he watched as the Ghost Dao executed the giant beast.
Yan Shixun was now using the enemy’s spear to attack the enemy’s shield.
When the old Fengdu finally pieced everything together, it felt a chill settle into its heart.
But no matter what it wanted to do, it was already too late.
That wisp of divine ghostly power left behind by the Northern Yin Fengdu Emperor had already been eradicated under the combined force of Fengdu and the Ghost Dao, surrounded and extinguished by the ghostly energy all around.
As soon as the remnants of the giant beast’s corpse fell into the deepest abyss, the last bit of life force remaining in it was immediately ignited by death itself, and in an instant, a blaze erupted that could not be extinguished.
It was like witnessing an ordinary exorcist using talismans to drive out evil spirits—yellow charms burned, and the evil spirits howled as they perished.
Only now, the world had reversed. The Ghost Dao reigned supreme.
And Yan Shixun had even switched the roles of “human” and “ghost” once more—two negatives made a positive.
Incredibly, it ended up with the old Fengdu being killed by its own hand.
Yan Shixun had cleverly shifted the karmic causality of killing the old Fengdu away from himself. It didn’t fall on him, but instead returned to the old Fengdu itself.
And thus, the cycle of karma was completed.
As the old Fengdu plunged into the raging inferno of the abyss, it still looked up at Yan Shixun in disbelief.
The wails of countless vengeful ghosts seemed to be the old Fengdu’s confused and furious questions—it didn’t understand how things had ended up like this, how it had come to kill itself.
A thousand years of scheming, all ruined in one moment.
What a Great Dao—knowing it intended to replace it, yet still able to restrain itself, only to deal a heavy and decisive blow before the old Fengdu’s final scheme could take form.
Yan Shixun, bearing the Evil Spirit Bone Transformation… the one the Great Dao had pinned all its hopes on, had actually succeeded.
Evil Spirit Bone Transformation… Evil Spirit Bone Transformation…!
With a heart full of unwilling struggle, the old Fengdu’s sentience slowly faded within the sorrowful wails, its vitality weakening as it was consumed by the fire of death.
Then, it fell completely silent.
Yan Shixun didn’t even turn back to glance at the old Fengdu—not a single look was wasted on it.
With his back to the sea of flames, he leapt directly into Ye Li’s arms, who had been waiting for him.
And behind Yan Shixun, the ancient Fengdu—responsible for the deaths of countless people and the unavenged grievances of countless spirits—finally met the ending it had deserved since a thousand years ago. Within that blazing sea of fire, it turned to ashes.
The last trace of power left here by the Northern Yin Fengdu Emperor dispersed completely.
The core of the old Fengdu city was destroyed, and the entire city began to crumble and shake.
Many people began to feel the tremors beneath their feet.
“Is it… really over?”
One of the rescue team members asked in a daze, unable to grasp the reality.
The Taoist beside him smiled and looked into the distance at Taoist Li and the other man, nodding with joy. “Yes! The Ghost Dao is truly gone. It will never rise from the ashes again!”
The rescue team member instantly lit up with delight, too excited to know what to do with himself, just clapping over and over until his palms turned red.
The official in charge stood silently where he was, watching everything unfold without speaking for a long time.
It wasn’t until the other team members were high-fiving and cheering that they noticed how quiet the official had been the whole time.
They quickly stopped their overenthusiastic celebration, realizing that the official lived up to his title—so composed, that even in the face of such a surprising and overwhelmingly positive outcome, he didn’t show even a hint of joy. Truly a leader with the demeanor of a great general.
But what the team members standing behind the official couldn’t see was that his face was still dazed, as if he hadn’t yet recovered from the shock.
It took a long moment before the official finally came back to his senses, his voice still floating in the air as if he couldn’t quite grasp the feeling of reality.
“At last… at last…”
His lips trembled, and before he could finish the sentence, tears had already begun streaming down his cheeks.
The Taoist gave the official a knowing look, smiling as he patted his shoulder. “With Taoist Li, Hermit Chengyun, and Fellow Taoist Yan here—and even the Lord of Fengdu and the King of Hell himself—this was the Great Dao placing all its trust on the line. It had to let Fellow Taoist Yan win.”
Upon hearing himself mentioned, the King of Hell’s eyes shimmered with light. He smiled as he glanced at the Taoist, then turned his gaze back to Yan Shixun.
But in the next moment, the King of Hell raised his eyebrows, a hint of surprise flashing across his handsome, refined face.
Then, he smoothly opened his folding fan and held it in front of his eyes.
Oh dear, oh dear… those two, tsk tsk…
He couldn’t help smiling when he recalled the scene he had just glimpsed—Ye Li and Yan Shixun embracing in the middle of the sea of fire.
The smile tugged uncontrollably at the corners of his lips. He shook his head with a grin, turned gracefully on his heel, his robe fluttering behind him, and strolled away with his fan in hand, clearly not intending to interrupt the two.
King of Hell: Disturbing lovers while they’re alone? Even vengeful ghosts wouldn’t do that. I’m certainly not going to give that brute an excuse to hit me.
The Taoist and the others had originally wanted to thank Yan Shixun and check on his injuries. After all, during the earlier battle, that beast had been no easy opponent, and Yan Shixun had taken quite a few wounds himself.
But when they looked around with smiles, hoping to find him, they discovered that the one who had completely vanquished the old Fengdu… was currently “hiding” off to the side, privately celebrating his victory with a certain someone.
The Taoist, who had been single all his life, took just one glance in that direction before hurriedly turning his head away, exclaiming “Oh no, oh no!” as he dramatically looked away, refusing to spare even another glance.
His face turned crimson with embarrassment—not just his face, but even his neck and the parts of his hands exposed to the air were thoroughly red.
The Taoist still had the presence of mind to try to stop the others from looking that way, but it was no use. Everyone was curious. One after another, they craned their necks, trying their best to get a clear view of what was happening.
The next moment, the official in charge pressed a fist to his lips and gave a forced cough, looking up at the sky, down at the ground—anywhere but over there.
The rescue team members, however, saw it all clearly.
“See? I told you Mr. Yan was in love with someone.”
“The official kept saying we were the ones gossiping, but look at him now. Turns out he just doesn’t understand love and didn’t want anyone else to either!”
“Who would’ve thought someone like Mr. Yan, who always seemed so cold, could be so passionate?”
“I knew it! I’ve always thought there was something strange about the vibe between Mr. Yan and his assistant. I said they were lovers and you all told me I was overthinking. Now what? Am I right or am I right?!”
“Unbelievable… So what Taoist Wang said earlier turned out to be completely true.”
On the other hand, the Taoist, seeing how embarrassed the official looked, chuckled and tugged him to the side.
“All right, let’s not stand here and get in the way. Fellow Taoist Yan must be dying to have some alone time with the Lord of Fengdu. Let’s head over there—we still have work to finish.”
The Taoist smiled as he added, “Old single guys like us shouldn’t be interrupting the lovers. Otherwise, we might get kicked by a donkey.”
Unexpectedly, upon hearing this, the official, who had instinctively followed the Taoist a few steps, suddenly stopped and looked at him in surprise.
“I’m not single.”
The Taoist: “…Huh?”
The official seemed puzzled as well. “Didn’t I mention that before?”
The Taoist: ………
Well then, so it turns out that among all of us, only Haiyun Temple is a temple of singles?! You all have partners and families, and we’re the only ones without?
In that moment, the Taoist suddenly felt deep empathy for Taoist Wang.
He resolved that when he returned to Haiyun Temple, he would absolutely push his disciples to fall in love actively, speed up their blind dates—they must not lose out to these people!
It’s not like we’re the Quanzhen Sect. Why stay single?!
He had to crush these people’s arrogant attitude!
The Taoist: Hmph!
The official blinked and quickly ran after the Taoist, smiling and grabbing his arm to make peace.
Everyone gradually relaxed, pulling out of the tense, high-strung atmosphere from earlier. Smiles began to spread.
And just as the old Fengdu weakened, the power of the new Fengdu immediately surged, devouring the entire old Fengdu and replacing its consciousness, taking control of the city.
The southwest region was officially incorporated under Fengdu’s jurisdiction.
The Great Dao bore witness.
Ghost Dao was fading. The space it once occupied rapidly shrank, and the fierce ghosts who had been controlled by ghost energy were quickly freed.
It was foreseeable that once the power sustaining the Ghost Dao completely vanished, the land would begin returning to the proper order.
When that day came, exorcists in the southwest would no longer need to worry about ghosts lingering without reincarnation, or suffer the guilt of destroying souls.
Everything was turning for the better.
One hundred thousand underworld soldiers from Fengdu swiftly took over the entire city, carefully sweeping every corner and purging all remnants of the old Fengdu’s power, leaving no room for resurgence.
Fengdu’s ghost officials traveled a thousand miles a day and quickly arrived at the old Fengdu, taking over the massive number of souls that had been trapped in the city for over a millennium.
The Nine Hells.
Fengdu’s ghost officials began from the first level, not missing a single ghost. They crouched beside each soul collapsed in the alleys, listening intently as the ghosts recounted the deeds, sins, and grievances of their lives and deaths, recording everything meticulously in their ledgers.
These ghosts, long driven mad and utterly hopeless, never imagined a day like this would come.
The ghost officials of Fengdu, dragging chains of soul-binding in one hand and holding registration books in the other, recorded everything carefully. Their attitude was nothing like the domineering officials the ghosts had remembered. Many of the ghosts were stunned, unable to react.
And when they finally realized that the ghost officials were recording their past to prepare for a proper reevaluation of their karmic balance—to give them justice—every ghost went wild with emotion.
They squeezed and pushed eagerly toward the nearest ghost official, desperate to spill out their entire life story.
The ghost officials showed no signs of impatience. They listened attentively, recorded carefully, and gently reminded the ghosts that the final judgment would come from the Lord of Fengdu—he, the ghost deity who presided over all judgment.
In other words, if they lied, it would be seen through.
A ghost, eyes filled with tears, choked out, “Sir, I wouldn’t dare lie. I’ve waited a thousand years for this chance!”
That single cry, full of pain and sorrow, stirred the long-buried suffering in many others. In an instant, the entire hell resounded with weeping.
The ghost officials exchanged glances and sighed, slowly shaking their heads.
Only after seeing the old Fengdu with their own eyes did they realize that the old rules of death had been so “pure”—they didn’t allow any act of revenge to “taint” death.
This way of doing things was entirely different from Fengdu’s. The ghost officials were not only shocked, but also deeply sympathetic toward the ghosts. They had truly suffered over the past thousand years.
So, the ghost officials closed their ledgers. These fearsome beings, who usually showed terrifying faces, now sat quietly among the ghosts, silently listening to the sounds of weeping, giving them time to cry out all the pain of the past millennium.
—The gentleness of the ghost deity was always hidden beneath his cold exterior, never easily seen.
But when a soul fell into an abyss it could not climb out of, that quiet, enduring gentleness became incredibly precious.
Far more valuable than any kindness shown on the surface.
Countless ghosts sincerely gave thanks to the Lord of Fengdu.
But Ye Li had no time to care about any of this.
With Yan Shixun in his arms, he couldn’t spare a single glance elsewhere. His heart and eyes were entirely consumed by his beloved exorcist.
Meanwhile, when Li Chengyun looked up, he saw the flower he had painstakingly nurtured—being carried off, pot and all.
He raised his brows, a little surprised.
He hadn’t expected Xiao Xun, who in his memory had always been cold and distant, to show such a passionate and assertive side.
He couldn’t tell if it was the Lord of Fengdu who had influenced him, or if this had been part of Xiao Xun’s nature all along—something Li Chengyun had simply never noticed.
Li Chengyun shook his head with a smile. He flicked his long robe and rose gracefully from his cross-legged position, exuding elegance and poise.
Taoist Li had just experienced death once at Baizhi Lake and had exhausted all his strength. Even though he had just joined Li Chengyun in creating the formation that transformed death into life, it was still somewhat taxing for him.
He paused for a moment where he stood, letting his deathly pale complexion recover slightly before he slowly rose to his feet.
But he was still somewhat weak.
However, Taoist Li didn’t seem to mind.
He stood beside Li Chengyun, his junior disciple whom he hadn’t seen in years—whom, when they finally met again, they were both already dead—and together they gazed into the abyss where the blazing fire raged.
“Gou Dan’er, I never thought I’d get to see you again.”
Taoist Li’s voice was calm, but beneath it, trembled with choked emotion. “I haven’t dared visit Master, because I was afraid he’d ask about you, and I wouldn’t know how to answer.”
“If Master asked me, ‘How’s the youngest disciple doing?’ How could I say—I didn’t even know my junior brother had died, let alone done anything for him.”
Warm tears moistened the corners of Taoist Li’s eyes. He blinked and tried hard to force them back.
“Yan Shixun is a good child. Gou Dan’er, you were better than me. You taught this world… the best disciple it could ever have.”
Taoist Li couldn’t begin to describe the shock he felt when he heard from Yan Shixun that Li Chengyun had long since passed away—and the guilt that came rushing in afterward.
When Li Chengyun sacrificed himself for the Dao, Yan Shixun had only been a freshman at Binhai University. Though Yan Shixun had always been far more mature than his peers—whether it was his fellow students at Binhai or the disciples of various sects—none matched his calm and rational mind.
Yet in Taoist Li’s eyes, Yan Shixun had still been an untrained child at that time.
This world should have been upheld by people like them—the elders. But instead, it fell far too early onto the still-fragile shoulders of that young boy.
Even though Yan Shixun’s terrifying strength of will helped him grow rapidly and face challenges with composure, Taoist Li couldn’t erase the guilt in his heart.
When they retrieved Li Chengyun’s remains, not a single elder stepped up to help. It was Yan Shixun alone, with the help of his friend Zhang Wubing, who took care of all of Li Chengyun’s final arrangements.
Taoist Li had never spoken of this, but it remained an unhealable pain buried deep within him.
Hearing this, Li Chengyun turned slightly to look at his senior brother, who was no longer young. His eyes softened into warm, gentle waves of emotion.
Long ago, when many senior brothers still trained under their master, this senior had once been a mischievous and lively youth—playing with cats and dogs, getting scolded endlessly by their master for his antics. But after each wailing plea for mercy, he’d go right back to his reckless ways, laughing all the while, never really changing.
But that once bright and spirited young man had gradually become silent and steady as their fellow disciples passed away one by one.
This senior, whom their master had once furiously condemned as hopeless and unreliable, had, after the master’s death, taken up the heavy burden of Haiyun Temple. He became as dependable as a mountain, bringing peace to everyone’s heart.
He had held the temple together through the darkest period, when disciples dwindled and scriptures were lost. Gritting his teeth, he carried Haiyun Temple through the storm, restoring its hundred-year-old glory.
He achieved success and quietly stepped back—never claiming credit.
Li Chengyun looked at the Taoist with his now white hair and beard, recalling what he had just said about nearly dying while glimpsing the future. A sour wave surged in his heart.
This man, too…had once been full of youthful pride.
But now, he had grown old.
Li Chengyun, having passed several years earlier, still maintained his graceful and handsome appearance. Yet Taoist Li had borne all the burdens alone, shouldering the expectations of every exorcist, acting as a beacon for all practitioners of the Dao. The things that demanded his effort and attention were too many.
Not to mention, on the night he glimpsed the truth of the world, Taoist Li’s hair turned white overnight, and his life force nearly extinguished.
But he never spoke a word of it.
Nor did he need others to know.
As Li Chengyun quietly watched him, Taoist Li continued to speak of Yan Shixun, with a sigh in his tone, and mentioned his own disciple as well.
“I’ve had quite a few disciples, but only one, a young one named Song Yi, always manages to make me angry.”
Taoist Li chuckled softly, his eyes filled with fondness. “He’s too well-behaved—he shouldn’t have been the youngest. The youngest child at home should be like you—bright, lively, not so proper and meticulous… He could’ve pouted, played, and done all the things you used to do.”
“But I have a grand-disciple, named Lu Xingxing.”
Taoist Li slowly turned, looked at his junior brother, and smiled as he said, “He’s quite mischievous. The moment I saw him, I knew this child not only had talent but was destined to belong to our lineage, to carry on our path.”
“He’s young, playful, and can’t stay still.”
Taoist Li sighed, “But he has the most steadfast heart, willing to protect life. He always knows the path his feet should follow…”
“That sounds very much like how you were when you were young. You probably took him in because he reminded you so much of yourself.”
Li Chengyun interjected with a smiling tone: “When I was little, the cook aunties all said that the most mischievous and restless young Taoist was the one nobody could rely on. But.”
“The one everyone thought was unreliable—the most playful and impulsive—turned out to be the most steady and dependable, the one who held up the skies for every disciple in the temple.”
“Senior Brother.”
Li Chengyun called softly, “The disciples in the temple have not yet grown up. That boy Lu Xingxing is still too young. The skies—still need you to hold them up.”
Taoist Li fell silent for a moment before he smiled and slowly shook his head. “It was because I was playful, unreliable, and the worst among us that I never completed my training. Master kept me close to guide me personally. But all the other senior brothers—each one gifted from a young age—went down the mountain early to make their way in the world.”
He hadn’t expected that once they left, they would die on the battlefield and never return.
Not a single one came back.
In those chaotic times, ten out of ten Haiyun Temple Taoists who descended the mountain never made it back.
Among those who never returned… were all his senior brothers.
Later, even his master didn’t come back.
Only he and his youngest junior brother were left to rely on each other for survival. And he gritted his teeth and bore the heavy burden all the way to the present.
“Besides, with that child you trained, what do you have to fear? Give the sky to Yan Shixun—he won’t let it fall.”
Taoist Li said with a smile, pointing into the distance where Yan Shixun and the others stood: “He can even keep Fengdu in check. What else is there to fear?”
Li Chengyun pretended to be displeased and said, “If that’s the case, my Xiao Xun will be too exhausted. Senior brother, you really are cunning—working my boy to the bone while letting your own disciples relax.”
“Senior brother, your time to die hasn’t come yet—not just yet.”
The smile slowly faded from Li Chengyun’s lips. He looked at Taoist Li seriously. “The children are still young. You have to go back and hold up the sky for Haiyun Temple a little longer.”
Taoist Li burst out laughing. “I’ve never heard of anyone coming back to life after death.”
Li Chengyun raised a brow and smiled slightly. “Then it seems today you’ll witness something new.”
Before Taoist Li could react, Li Chengyun raised a hand and gave him a firm slap on the back.
In that instant, Taoist Li felt his soul tremble. His entire being became light and weightless, as though he was drifting forward.
Startled, he turned to look at his junior brother—only to see a calm, serene smile on his face.
“Senior brother, go back. There’s still someone waiting for you.”
Li Chengyun smiled lightly, smoothed down his sleeves, and stood tall and graceful. With calm elegance, he said with a smile, “A trip through hell is more than enough—no need to stay long.”
Instinctively, Taoist Li reached out, trying to grab Li Chengyun, but caught only a handful of air.
“Gou… Dan’er…”
His voice, stunned and disbelieving, still lingered in the air. But beside Li Chengyun, the space rippled softly—Taoist Li’s figure had vanished.
In his place stood the King of Hell, who had appeared silently at some unknown moment.
The King of Hell watched the entire scene unfold with cold eyes. Only after Taoist Li’s soul completely departed Fengdu and returned to the mortal world did he speak to Li Chengyun: “Was it worth it?”
“Was it worth trading your remnant soul for Taoist Li’s resurrection?”
Li Chengyun was someone the Great Dao itself could not bear to see vanish completely. It had left him a remnant of his soul, allowing him to stay in the old Fengdu and witness his plan succeed with his own eyes.
But he had never been one to passively wait. Even trapped in the dark prison of old Fengdu, without light or hope, he continued to absorb strength and quietly waited for a chance to strike back.
—The world rarely recognized those with truly peerless talent—so brilliant that even the Great Dao was moved. They had never witnessed such unmatched elegance.
And he alone had become the sliver of life in a dead-end situation.
Over many years in old Fengdu, the power Li Chengyun had secretly accumulated had grown so vast that he could contend with hell itself.
Or, it could have been enough for him to return to the mortal world and be reborn.
He would not have been scattered into dust by the heavy consequences of glimpsing the Great Dao.
That was the sliver of hope the Great Dao had “leaked” to Li Chengyun.
Yet now, Li Chengyun gave up that miracle-like chance—and passed it to Taoist Li instead.
As the ghost deity overseeing reincarnation, the King of Hell saw this clearly.
In fact, if he hadn’t turned a blind eye, Li Chengyun wouldn’t have been able to so smoothly return Taoist Li’s newly-deceased soul to the mortal world.
Even so, the King of Hell remained puzzled as to why Li Chengyun had done it.
Li Chengyun simply raised his eyes with a gentle smile and looked toward Yan Shixun in the distance. He nodded lightly.
“Many years ago, at a market, I saw a young boy. The resolve in his eyes could shake the heavens and earth.”
“I knew then, he would become my pride—he would be the last miracle, the final hope of the Great Dao.”
“I have no regrets.”
If you love what Ciacia is doing, then consider showing your support by supporting a cup of tea for her at Kofi. If you can’t wait for the next release chapter, subscribe to advanced chapters membership on her Kofi to get access to up to 10 chapters!
