Chapter 310: Ritual Money, Old Capital (37)
Lu Xingxing had thought about it many times before—if one day, no one was by his side, what should he do to protect lives like Brother Yan did?
For this very question, he had once been so anxious that he tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep. He would repeatedly rehearse scenarios in his mind, calling it “preparation.” He believed that as long as he did this, he wouldn’t embarrass himself when the crucial moment came.
This young man who had once feared neither heaven nor earth had now begun to revere both life and the universe.
But the situation before him now was something Lu Xingxing had never imagined.
In the darkness, everyone had chosen to place their trust in Lu Xingxing at the most nerve-racking moment, silently praying that the passing evil spirits would ignore them and simply walk by.
But reality rarely aligns with people’s hopes. The more one fears something, the more likely it is to arrive.
The endless stream of evil spirits marching through the dark had somehow sensed the presence of the living. After many of the spirits had passed by, one of them suddenly stopped.
Though the others didn’t know why, they instinctively stopped as well.
In the darkness, the ghostly shadows stood in a row, turning their heads in eerie unison to look toward the place where the group was hiding. Their gazes were cold and sinister.
An Nanyuan could practically picture how, once those evil spirits discovered them, they would be filled with malicious desire—maybe they’d tear them to shreds, or worse, turn them into some grotesque wood puppets with living eyes and mouths…
The more he imagined it, the more his scalp crawled.
Goosebumps spread across his skin like a wave, his muscles stiff as stone—he couldn’t even move, let alone run. Only his heart pounded wildly, a surge of hot blood crashing in his chest, making it hard for him to breathe.
Everyone followed Lu Xingxing’s instructions: no speaking, no movement. But in their tension, their eyes all turned toward him—just like they used to look at Yan Shixun for help and guidance.
Lu Xingxing noticed.
But unlike Yan Shixun, he didn’t have that kind of confidence.
What’s more, he no longer had the temporary power lent to him by Ye Li, and his own strength had been completely drained long ago… Without power to support his confidence, his heart clenched tightly in fear.
To make matters worse, those evil spirits that had been standing still—as if trying to identify them—had started to move.
…But they weren’t moving forward.
They were drawing closer.
Nan Tian noticed it too. He instinctively tightened his grip on the cloth in his hand, hia thoughts still rooted in the mindset of an ordinary person rather than that of a shaman or exorcist. Hia first reaction was still to hide their presence and avoid provoking the ghosts.
But Lu Xingxing made a decision in that split second.
He formed a hand seal, silently reciting a spell in his heart. Before the evil spirits could get too close, he launched the first attack.
“Get behind Nan Tian!”
With a forceful push, he shoved Nan Tian toward the others, then strode forward in a big step to stand protectively in front of them all.
He chanted under his breath, eyes locked on the evil spirits ahead, filled with determination to destroy them right then and there.
Before the evil spirits noticed them, hiding might have worked. But once discovered by these ravenous entities, no amount of prayer would help—they’d pounce like starving wolves.
The only remaining, optimal choice was to strike first—beat them to it!
As Lu Xingxing faced the evil spirits head-on, using his body as a barrier to protect everyone behind him, he seemed to transform.
The man standing there wasn’t the cheeky, unreliable musician who joked about everything.
He was a true Taoist of Haiyun Temple.
One who made it his mission to protect lives—unyielding, even in the face of death.
He was young, playful, often unfocused, and not yet a fully trained master.
But he had a heart of steel. He knew exactly where his path led.
“The heavens have three wonders: sun, moon, and stars. Their light pierces sky and earth, terrifying ghost and deity alike…”
The deep, steady incantation flowed from Lu Xingxing’s mouth, as if he were gritting his teeth and forcing every word out with his own blood and pain.
The others, caught up in their tension, didn’t notice anything unusual. But Nan Tian did. He looked up at him in shock, as if realizing something critical.
That incantation… How could it be?
After inheriting the bloodline of the Nanming Mountain’s shamans, Nan Tian understood the severity of the Ghost Dao’s dominance.
It meant that all exorcists could no longer draw power from the four divine directions. Only those with inherited family lines had even the slightest chance—at the brink of life and death—of calling upon the power of their ancestors for help.
But Lu Xingxing wasn’t born into such a line. He had only entered the path because of his natural talent, chosen by Taoist Song Yi and Taoist Li to be a regular disciple.
Even Nan Tian, born of generations of shamans, wouldn’t dare claim he could do what he was doing under the rule of the Ghost Dao.
Because the talisman had… finally begun to take effect.
Under Lu Xingxing’s feet, a faint glow shimmered in the darkness, gradually sketching out intricate, ancient strokes. The talisman formed seamlessly around him.
As the evil spirits confirmed they were facing the living, they howled with malicious greed and lunged forward. But the talisman fully activated at that moment, forming a tightly sealed protective shield that encased everyone inside, cutting them off from the evil spirits attacking from all sides.
The grotesque evil spirits slammed against the barrier as if blocked by an invisible force. No matter how fiercely they clawed and snapped at the air, trying to tear through the damnable shield to feast on fresh human flesh and blood, they failed—again and again.
Seeing this, everyone finally felt their hearts—previously suspended with fear—drop back down. Hope rekindled.
Some of the rescue team members even looked at Lu Xingxing’s slightly hunched figure and nodded in relief and admiration. This young Taoist, who had been playful and mischievous since joining the show, had finally grown into someone who could shoulder responsibility alone.
Someone even thought to themselves that maybe, just maybe, they could start to trust Lu Xingxing the way they trusted Mr. Yan.
But only Lu Xingxing himself and Nan Tian knew that things were far from as effortless as they appeared.
Lu Xingxing was already in a state of severe yang energy depletion. He was suffering from both anemia due to blood loss and the invading ghost energy wreaking havoc through his meridians. His condition was so poor he shouldn’t have even been able to stand.
What he should have been doing was lying in Nan Tian’s arms, just like before.
But now, Lu Xingxing didn’t have the luxury to care about himself. He grit his teeth and desperately squeezed every last drop of energy from his meridians, recklessly sustaining the talisman’s effect to protect the others.
All he could do was focus on the present.
In the realm of the Ghost Dao, all exorcists were rendered unable to use traditional exorcism methods—talismans included.
Lu Xingxing was only able to use a talisman because of Ye Li.
Earlier, when Ye Li temporarily lent him power, he had quickly taken it back upon seeing Lu Xingxing nearly collapse under the pressure of ghost energy. But Ye Li, being a ghost deity, had seen many exorcists ask for divine power.
He knew well that if he withdrew all divine energy from an exorcist’s meridians, the resulting backlash could be overwhelming—like suddenly going from high pressure to low pressure.
To allow Lu Xingxing to adjust gradually, and also because Lu Xingxing had lost too much blood and was extremely weak, Ye Li had left behind a trace of power when he withdrew. This would support Lu Xingxing until he could return to Haiyun Temple and be treated by its Taoist.
By that time, the Taoist could expel the ghost energy from Lu Xingxing’s body, ensuring no remnants remained while also keeping him safe.
After all, reuniting with the master from Haiyun Temple would mean Lu Xingxing had escaped the worst danger.
Ye Li had essentially handed the choice over to Lu Xingxing’s elder. He knew Lu Xingxing was immature and might not always make the right decisions.
So he left the decision of when to expel the ghost energy up to the Taoist.
If it had been anyone else, Ye Li wouldn’t have been so considerate—thinking several steps ahead, accounting for all the potential problems Lu Xingxing might face.
But Lu Xingxing was, after all, Yan Shixun’s junior nephew, and always sweetly called him “Master Aunt.”
Ye Li was quite satisfied with that and naturally didn’t hesitate to offer a little tenderness.
The foundation that activated Lu Xingxing’s talisman was precisely that strand of ghost energy—both shielding and harming him.
But the pain of ghost energy invading the meridians was like a thousand needles piercing blood vessels all at once. The pain was far beyond what any normal person could endure.
Lu Xingxing trembled, drenched in sweat, his muscles spasming uncontrollably. Even his back hunched instinctively, curling like a shrimp.
Yet despite this, the incantations never stopped flowing from his lips.
The evil spirits had come from Baizhi Lake, harboring the deepest hatred and malice toward the human world.
For thousands of years, they had lived like rats scurrying across the street, endlessly suppressed and hunted by exorcists. Their patience had run out. Now was their chance for revenge.
And they had no intention of letting it slip away.
The Ghost Dao had granted them human status. No matter what they did to the living, Heaven and Earth would perceive it as normal.
Even if they killed every human present, Heaven and Earth would only deem it “killing ghosts” and wouldn’t punish them for it.
Although Lu Xingxing’s talisman was working, it could not withstand the relentless, suicidal assaults of the evil spirits.
Each time they were repelled only made them more furious.
They shrieked viciously, their dull, lifeless eyes locked onto Lu Xingxing with such hatred it seemed pus and blood could drip from them. They wanted nothing more than to drag him out from behind that barrier and tear him limb from limb. Their attacks grew increasingly savage and unrestrained.
Faced with such ferocity, Lu Xingxing had no choice but to keep forcing every bit of strength from his body.
Bright red blood began to silently trickle from the corner of his mouth, staining his pale lips a vivid crimson.
But worse still—the talisman began to crack.
Because the power replenishment was too slow, the talisman couldn’t maintain its full strength. Cracks began to form in the barrier.
Tiny fractures slowly spread through the air—unnoticed by everyone.
But the evil spirits, attacking nonstop from every direction, quickly detected the weakness.
They grinned, baring malicious, grotesque smiles. Watching the still-clueless crowd, it was as if they already saw themselves feasting on fresh human flesh.
The evil spirits began to gather at the damaged area of the shield, focusing all their strength on the weakened spot. The once-hairline fracture rapidly widened under their concentrated assault.
Finally—*Crash!*
Like shattered glass, a crisp, piercing sound struck everyone’s hearts like a heavy blow.
They instinctively turned toward the source of the noise, faces still frozen in shock, only to see the evil spirits climbing through the gaping hole in the shield—grinning, cackling as they advanced on the group.
Shrill screams erupted in a chaotic chorus.
Nan Tian pushed aside the people next to him, one hand gripping his robes, the other pointing directly at the first few evil spirits that had broken through. He chanted rapidly, casting a ghost-controlling technique from the Nanming Mountain tradition.
Though Nan Tian was a self-taught shaman who barely qualified as a novice, he thankfully managed to pull it off.
The evil spirits began to slaughter one another under his control and hurled the others outside the barrier.
The last remaining evil spirit was then swiftly dealt with by Nan Tian—he split open its skull, performed a quick exorcism ritual, and made the spirit kill itself. Then, using its grotesque, decaying corpse, he blocked the breach in the barrier, preventing more evil spirits—drawn by the scent—from charging in.
But this was only a temporary fix. It did nothing to address the root of the problem.
Nan Tian caught his breath, then quickly and anxiously shouted to Lu Xingxing, explaining the situation. He said that they had to kill those evil spirits—if they kept blocking them like this, eventually there would be gaps everywhere. By the time they couldn’t hold them off anymore, like trying to plug a sieve, it would be far too late to do anything.
“There’s no time! We don’t have the luxury of time or the strength to spare!”
As his strength drained, Lu Xingxing’s vision blurred in waves, like the snowy static of an old TV, gradually making it impossible to see what was in front of him.
He couldn’t even move his body anymore. He was holding on by sheer willpower.
Blood stained his teeth red. Every word he forced out carried a heavy scent of blood, so strong it was suffocating. Even speaking—such a simple act—had become a luxury for him.
Blood streamed down from his chin and neck, soaking through his clothes and making his pale face seem even more ghostly, as lifeless as a piece of paper.
Lu Xingxing took several deep breaths, caught his breath, and then steeled himself with a reckless resolve.
“Nan Tian, take everyone and go. I’ll hold these bastards off. Take them all to the Shadow Puppet Museum. Didn’t you say the Taoists from Haiyun Temple were there? Go ask them for help.”
After saying that, Lu Xingxing became strangely calm. His heart was like still water, without the slightest ripple.
Nan Tian glanced anxiously at the swarm of evil spirits closing in, and quickly realized that what Lu Xingxing suggested was indeed the most viable and effective plan at the moment.
But there was one serious problem.
“Xingxing—what about you?”
Nan Tian pressed him, “What are you going to do?”
Lu Xingxing curled the corner of his lips, but the tug on his muscles sent a wave of pain so intense that darkness clouded his vision.
Still, he stood steadily at the very front, showing only his back to everyone, not letting them see how close he was to collapse.
“You all go first. I’ll catch up right after.”
He forced himself to swallow down a mouthful of blood, even managing to add a touch of humor to his voice. “Don’t worry. I’m a Taoist of Haiyun Temple. My master is Taoist Song Yi. My master uncle is Yan Shixun. What are you afraid of?”
Seeing that Lu Xingxing still had the gall to brag at a time like this, Nan Tian couldn’t help but let out a tearful chuckle—this guy, even now, didn’t forget to boast. Yet that familiar arrogance actually reassured him a bit.
Nan Tian gave Lu Xingxing one last deep look, then clenched his teeth and dragged the others forward. “Go!”
Once an evil spirit had its eye on you, it was hard to escape.
Even fully trained Taoists from Haiyun Temple lost their lives to evil spirits every year.
At a time like this, the best thing to do was to get the helpless ordinary people to safety first. Only then could the Taoists return to rescue the one covering their retreat.
As Nan Tian ran, he instinctively looked back at Lu Xingxing and silently prayed: Please, Xingxing, hold on until I get back!
Though none of them wanted to leave Lu Xingxing alone to face such danger, they all knew they couldn’t do anything to help with exorcising evil. The only thing they could do was to not become a burden.
This wasn’t the time for arguing.
They could only run as fast as they could—faster and faster—ignoring pain and exhaustion, heading straight for the Taoists of Haiyun Temple.
Then they’d bring help back to save Lu Xingxing.
But Lu Xingxing, the one who had stayed behind and was on everyone’s mind, never once looked back as they left. He kept pressing forward with talismans, intercepting every evil spirit that tried to pursue them.
“No way I’m letting you bastards pass.”
Lu Xingxing grinned, mouth full of blood, his smile twisted and wild, full of ruthless madness. His tone was full of scorn. “Haven’t you seen what happens to little demons who want a piece of Monk Tang’s flesh? You came after the wrong people. Even if you die, you brought it on yourselves.”
The evil spirits who had first tried to charge after the group soon realized the talismans weren’t so easy to break through.
So the spirits at the back shifted their focus.
Hundreds of hollow, soulless eyes stared coldly at Lu Xingxing from the darkness, like they were already looking at a corpse.
But Lu Xingxing didn’t show the slightest trace of fear. Instead, when he saw the last figures of the group vanish from his view, he finally breathed a sigh of relief.
His thigh muscles were trembling violently, barely able to hold him up.
But Lu Xingxing acted like he felt nothing. Only one thought remained in his heart.
Hold on just a bit longer. A bit longer, so they can run farther. Far enough to be safe.
Once his meridians were drained of ghost energy, he started burning his own life force—betting everything on his soul.
Even though his temples throbbed like they were being stabbed with needles, even though all he could hear was static, and his vision had gone completely black—
He was still smiling.
“Evil spirits… don’t think you can overpower the living.”
Lu Xingxing laughed wantonly. “Do you know who my master uncle and aunt are?”
Even if he died here… Brother Yan would avenge him. He’d make sure his body returned to Haiyun Temple.
Just like those Taoists he’d seen in the past, whose coffins were brought back to the temple.
Exhaustion quickly devoured every inch of his nerves and muscles. No matter how strong his willpower was, his body had reached its limit.
His body temperature plummeted along with his energy. He was as cold as a corpse in a morgue.
But just before his consciousness slipped into darkness, Lu Xingxing’s mind flashed back to many years ago—on the day he won a major music award. When he returned to Haiyun Temple, he saw a coffin parked in the central courtyard.
He had hidden behind a corridor pillar back then, and for the first time, felt a deep, soul-shaking shock and awe. He saw with his own eyes what the people of Haiyun Temple had been fighting for all along.
In that lonely corner, the young man bowed deeply toward the coffin.
The path you didn’t finish… the things you didn’t complete… that’s my path now.
He had thought.
And now—
The cold mountain wind howled, whipping up Lu Xingxing’s robes, but he could no longer feel the chill. Instead, a faint warmth bloomed within him.
Tonight felt so much like that night from his memory… the same clarity in the air, the same breeze passing through.
Lu Xingxing let out a sigh, his body drained of all strength, uncontrollably falling backward.
Yet, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
Brother Yan… Master Uncle, if I don’t make it through this time, please take me home. Don’t leave me here all alone, with no one to talk to.
He suddenly regretted not studying more diligently under his master. If his master heard about his death, would he cry? Or would he get angry and scold him, thinking he had brought shame to Haiyun Temple?
Lu Xingxing desperately wanted to see for himself.
“Bang—!”
…
“Bang!”
The peachwood sword withdrew, and the wooden statue collapsed to the ground, lifeless.
Taoist Ma panted heavily, staggering back a few steps.
The peachwood sword in his hand was completely soaked in filthy blood, which trickled down the blade and into his palm, making it so slippery he could barely hold it.
This never-ending battle had drained everyone’s energy.
By now, both Taoist Ma and Taoist Wang were on the verge of collapse, relying solely on habit to mechanically swing their peachwood swords and clear out the wooden statues with living mouths and eyes that hungered for their flesh.
Bai Shuang’s face had turned pale from the earlier sneak attack.
No one had expected the wooden statues to emerge from beneath the muddy wetland. One had suddenly grabbed Bai Shuang’s ankle, attempting to drag her underground.
If Taoist Wang hadn’t reacted swiftly, she truly would have been lost.
The incident shattered everyone’s previous assumptions about the living statues, exposing the sheer cruelty and inhumanity of these entities.
One of the crew members even cautiously suggested that the two Taoists stop worrying about whether the statues were illusions concealing real people and simply treat them all as enemies—kill anyone that appeared.
Better to kill an innocent than let a real threat live—that was the logic to protect everyone’s lives.
But Taoist Ma firmly rejected this idea.
“I understand your concerns, but our lives are lives, and so are theirs. How can you say such things?”
Taoist Ma frowned sternly and said, “If we preserve our own lives by killing others, how are we any different from evil spirits? There are deities three feet above our heads—do you really think you could escape the judgment of heaven and earth after committing such acts?”
“Karma always finds its path. We cannot become perpetrators after being victims.”
Seeing how resolute Taoist Ma was, the staff member who had made the suggestion fell silent, clearly displeased at being reprimanded in front of his colleagues.
But as Taoist Ma and Taoist Wang exchanged glances, they could see the weariness in each other’s eyes.
What wore them down so badly was not just fighting the wooden statues—it was having to distinguish whether they were actual monsters or innocent people disguised by illusions.
One thing was clear: they and a group of others had been separated into two different spaces, each believing the other to be evil spirits.
What the Ghost Dao wanted was precisely a scene of mutual slaughter.
How could the Taoists allow themselves to fall for such a trap?
Yet they also knew that things couldn’t go on like this.
Taoist Ma could clearly feel the power draining from his body. After calmly assessing the situation, he estimated that he could only hold on for a few more hours.
Once he crossed the threshold of physical and spiritual exhaustion, he would be powerless to do anything, no matter how hard he tried to wring out the last of his strength like squeezing water from a sponge.
Before that happened, they had to find a way out.
“If the Ghost Dao can disguise the people on the other side to appear as statues to us, then at least one thing is certain—it means that people in the two spaces are not completely cut off from each other.”
Taoist Wang furrowed his brow, deep in thought. “Then what if we reverse this—what if we use this connection to our advantage?”
Taoist Ma was startled. “You mean… we voluntarily switch roles with the ghosts? Use their path to cross over to the other side?”
“Or have the people on the other side come to ours—it doesn’t really matter. I don’t think either side is part of the real world, or things wouldn’t be so difficult.”
Taoist Wang continued, “I’m sure those on the other side are just as confused as we are—unsure who’s human and who’s ghost, hesitant to act. That’s what the Ghost Dao is exploiting. But if we all gather on one side, at least we won’t be so restricted.”
At first, Taoist Ma thought the idea was far too bold, but after some thought, it started to make sense.
The Taoists of Haiyun Temple were battle-hardened. It wasn’t that they lacked the ability to fight ghosts.
The real problem was not knowing if their opponents were spirits to be destroyed or innocents to be saved.
Once that was resolved—once they could act with full force—the outcome was far from certain.
After a brief moment of consideration, Taoist Ma made the decision without hesitation. “Alright. Let’s do it.”
He gritted his teeth and said, “Dragging this out is pointless. Who knows how much longer Fellow Taoist Yan can hold out. At the very least, before he resolves the Ghost Dao issue, we need to make sure nothing else distracts him.”
Haiyun Temple never raised disciples who shrank back in fear. They trained only those who confronted challenges head-on.
Risking everything in a single battle might offer their best shot at survival.
Having made up their minds, Taoist Ma and Taoist Wang immediately worked together.
They stood face-to-face, simultaneously forming hand seals and chanting incantations, attempting to borrow strength from the spirits and deities of the four directions.
Yet when it came time to invoke a specific divine name, they exchanged glances, and in perfect unison, said: “We now respectfully request the aid of Fengdu’s Yan Shixun…”
Taoist Ma remembered what Taoist Song Yi had told him before—that if they replaced the name of the usual deity in their talismans with Yan Shixun’s real name, the borrowed power would work.
He hadn’t believed it at the time, but now he had no other choice. Desperate, he decided to try.
And when the talisman scattered into the air, both men were shocked to find that Heaven and Earth had actually responded!
It seemed the universe held a surprising level of regard for the name Yan Shixun. The moment it was spoken, even though the Great Dao was currently locked in conflict with the Ghost Dao, it still turned some of its attention to them.
Though the Great Dao was being suppressed by the Ghost Dao, the power it granted them was limited—yet the talisman still worked, tangibly and effectively.
Air currents surged and collided between the two Taoists, forming a breeze that lifted the hems of their robes.
The image of the Taiji fish slowly took shape in the hands of the two Taoists, embodying the cycle of life and death and the intermingling of forces.
Some of the wooden statues, which had launched their attacks when the two paused, suddenly froze mid-motion, their movements becoming stiff.
The others, who had been too frightened to even breathe, noticed this anomaly as well and looked toward the statues in confusion, unsure of what had just happened.
A wisp of light smoke drifted out from the body of one of the wooden statues, carrying the smell of scorched wood.
Bai Shuang sniffed sharply, her nose twitching. Then she was shocked to realize that the usual strong, blood-tinged scent that had almost numbed her senses was absent. Instead, it smelled like pure timber, like walking into a forest.
It was the smell of wood catching fire.
What happened next resolved Bai Shuang’s doubts.
At first, it was just a small, weak flame, the kind that could be snuffed out with a breath of wind.
Then, the fire quickly spread, engulfing the entire wooden statue. With a loud *whoosh*, it burst into a fierce blaze, tongues of fire leaping several meters high.
A humanoid shadow stood motionless within the flames, making no attempt to struggle.
Many people gasped, covering their mouths in revulsion.
The scene looked disturbingly like a real person being burned alive. Even though they knew it was just a wooden statue, their minds couldn’t help but make the association.
The Ghost Dao hadn’t expected the two Taoists to make such a decisive move. Caught off guard, even the other statues halted along with it, making no further moves.
Their hollow eyes stared into the flames, as if shocked by what they saw.
The flickering firelight danced on everyone’s faces, yet no one dared to make a sound.
For a moment, the only sound left in the desolate village was the *crackling* of burning wood.
The charred statue soon lost its structural integrity and collapsed to the ground, brittle as it was. Upon impact, it shattered into a mess of black wooden fragments.
Taoist Ma spared only a quick glance before returning his focus to the formation in front of him.
The array was beginning to take effect. The illusion created by the Ghost Dao that had clouded their vision gradually lifted, restoring the true view of their surroundings.
Taoist Ma quickly noticed that within the unburned statues, faint outlines of flesh-and-blood human forms could be seen. In contrast, the ashes left by the burned statue contained no trace of human bones or remains.
He immediately smiled in understanding.
At that moment, voices suddenly rang out in his ears.
“What is this?”
“Some of the living-mouthed, living-eyed statues are spontaneously combusting… Wait! Aren’t those the ones we had previously identified as real humans?”
“What’s going on? Something strange seems to have happened on the other side!”
As soon as he heard the voices, Taoist Wang couldn’t contain his excitement.
He recognized them—they were the voices of other Taoists from Haiyun Temple!
They had succeeded!
Taoist Wang quickly calmed his excitement and shouted across, “Taoist Ma and I are over here, and so are all the program staff! The evil spirits that had you fooled before—it was us!”
There was a brief silence on the other side upon hearing this.
Then, the other side erupted into noise. Footsteps could be heard, people running and gathering, along with the shrill cries of evil spirits.
It seemed that the methods used by Taoists Ma and Wang had not only worked on their side, but also helped the others distinguish the real evil spirits.
With the confusion cleared, the Taoists on the other side stopped holding back and began fully eliminating the possessed statues.
Familiar voices called out from across the way, “Hang in there a bit longer! There are more of us here—we’ll help you expand the formation! Everyone should pass through the formation and come over here!”
Clearly, they had quickly understood the situation and joined Taoists Ma and Wang in their effort.
Standing in solidarity, watching over and helping one another.
Taoist Ma finally allowed himself a smile and called out in agreement.
The Taoists who had entered the desolate village under Taoist Li’s leadership were reinforcements from Haiyun Temple.
Once Haiyun Temple grasped the severity of the situation, they had mobilized nearly all of their elite forces and dispatched them to Baizhi Lake. Every Taoist among them was highly respected and had long-standing reputations—even influential nobles often failed to invite them.
This was truly the backbone of their order.
Although the Ghost Dao had deliberately chosen Taoist Li, who had once communed with the heavens and glimpsed the Great Dao, to create disorder and infiltrate the Great Dao, making things difficult for the Taoists, their situation still wasn’t as dire as that of Taoists Ma and Wang, who were already nearly exhausted while still trying to protect everyone else.
With more Taoists joining, the formation quickly expanded.
The two spaces that had been intentionally separated by the Ghost Dao were now being reconnected through the “living-mouthed, living-eyed” wooden statues.
The Taoists from the other side immediately jumped over, rushing to check on the situation with concern.
Only now did Taoist Ma finally breathe a slight sigh of relief.
“Let’s evacuate the program crew first,”
Ge said with a smile. “Fellow Taoist, would you please lead the way and have the others assist in receiving them?”
The Taoist nodded. “We’ll need you to hold the formation just a bit longer on this end. We’ll evacuate everyone to the other side as quickly as possible, then you can come over.”
Taoist Wang nodded without the slightest objection. Rather than being dissatisfied, he admired this Taoist greatly for knowing what mattered most.
Bai Shuang was so overwhelmed when she heard the Taoist’s words that she nearly burst into tears. “Are we finally saved?”
The Taoist walked briskly over to her, smiling as he comforted her, “Everything will only get better from here. Trust us.”
One by one, the production crew members began to evacuate. The Taoists’ strong arms supported the frightened individuals as they passed safely through the formation and were received by the Taoists waiting on the other side.
The rescue operation was proceeding in an orderly fashion.
Before leaving, Bai Shuang turned back with concern and asked Taoist Ma, “What about you, Taoist?”
Taoist Ma gave a faint smile. “Don’t worry about us. The fact that you all made it across first already helped us greatly. We can handle the rest from here.”
Bai Shuang glanced at the two Taoists with concern but didn’t dare delay any further. She quickly allowed herself to be ushered to the other side by the Taoist.
Once everyone had been evacuated, the Taoist looked calmly at Taoist Ma and gave a nod. “You’ve been seriously injured. You go on ahead. I’ll hold the formation from here.”
Taoist Ma exchanged a knowing look with Taoist Wang. They were in full agreement—no one objected to what was clearly the best decision for the situation.
He gave a short reply of “Okay,” and immediately prepared to transfer the formation he had been arduously maintaining to the other Taoist.
But just then, something unexpected happened.
The power the heavens had been lending to Taoist Ma had always been limited. The fact that he had held on this long was already a miracle. Their previous success had only been possible because they had taken the Ghost Dao by surprise.
Now, however, that divine power was dwindling, and the Ghost Dao had regained its senses. It began severing the connections between the wooden statues.
The entire setup had been designed to make the two sides destroy each other. But now that the plan had been foiled, the statues no longer served any purpose.
The Ghost Dao coldly discarded them, like worthless chess pieces tossed into a fire to serve as kindling.
At the same time, it realized something was wrong with itself.
Its power was rapidly fading.
…Something had gone wrong in the old Fengdu that sustained it.
The firewood had been pulled out from under the cauldron.
The Ghost Dao was so enraged it nearly charged straight into the old Fengdu to kill Yan Shixun—the man who had ruined its plans. But reason held it back. Grinding its teeth in hatred, it chose the most rational course: it began to recall its scattered strength, drawing all the power it had extended across the southwest back to Baizhi Lake, concentrating everything it had to reinforce its foundation.
If the foundation collapsed, the Ghost Dao would cease to exist.
Under such circumstances, the discarded wooden statue—once living, once moving—suddenly burst into flames with a *whoosh!*
The evil spirits howled in agony within the fire. Rotting skin curled and peeled, the stench of burning flesh and putrid blood filled the air.
But for the Taoists, the deadliest threat was—
The formation built around the statue—their connection point—was violently shaking and about to fail.
In that split second, the other Taoist reacted swiftly, shoving Taoist Ma with all his strength, slapping his palm onto Taoist Ma’s back and thrusting him into the formation.
Taoist Ma still wore a look of astonishment on his face. Before he could react, he was already falling into the formation.
A flash of golden light swept past his eyes, and the sudden weightlessness made his heart race.
He instinctively reached out, trying to grab the other Taoist, but could only watch helplessly as the man grew farther and farther away.
Then—strong arms caught him.
Only then did Taoist Ma realize that he was standing on solid ground again.
With help from someone else, he barely managed to steady himself. He immediately looked up toward the formation.
But the violent tremor just now had already rendered it useless.
The link between the two spaces had been severed.
Of the three Taoists, only he had made it out in time, crossing through the formation in the nick of time.
But the Taoist who had gone to receive them, along with Taoist Wang… had not made it.
They were still trapped on the other side.
“Wait, wait!”
Taoist Ma’s voice cracked in panic. “There are still two fellow Taoists over there!”
The Taoist beside him was silent for a moment, then sighed. “Trying to pull something like this off right under the Ghost Dao’s nose was always going to be risky. We knew that. It’s a burden we must bear.”
“It’s still better than if they’d been caught mid-crossing when the formation collapsed.”
He patted Taoist Ma’s shoulder in comfort and said, “Have faith in your brothers. Have faith in Haiyun Temple’s strength. As long as they’re alive, they’ll know how to handle things.”
Taoist Ma opened his mouth to say more, but then he noticed something.
The Taoists surrounding him—though numerous and clearly accomplished—were all wearing expressions of deep grief.
This grief wasn’t just for Taoist Wang—it was for something that had happened before they even arrived.
Otherwise, they wouldn’t have made such a decisive choice, nor believed so strongly that Taoist Wang and the other Taoist could save themselves.
It was as if… they were all hoping for something too.
Taoist Ma lowered his voice unconsciously. “What happened?”
The Taoist he questioned didn’t speak. His eyes turned red, and he looked away.
The others stood silently in place, heads bowed low, unwilling to speak.
Taoist Ma suddenly realized—they were all crying.
Tears slid quietly down their faces, falling onto their robes and blooming into wet patches.
These were people who had never cried out even when their flesh was torn and bones exposed from injury, and yet now… they cried like lost children, mourning someone who had left and could never return.
The variety show crew, who had just been cheering with joy after their rescue, also fell into silence under this heavy atmosphere.
It should have been a joyous moment, but the deserted village was now shrouded in deathly stillness.
Only the crackling of the burning statue broke the silence.
And somehow, it made the world feel even colder and more desolate.
All the Taoists fought to contain their sorrow, their bloodshot eyes fixed on a single direction.
Taoist Ma sensed something. His body froze.
Yes… with the situation this dire, Taoist Li should have come too. But he hadn’t seen him.
So then… where was Taoist Li?
Stiffly, Taoist Ma turned and looked in the direction the others were facing.
Then he saw—
In the middle of a massive formation carved into the ground, an old Taoist with white hair and beard sat cross-legged at its center. His eyes were closed as if he had fallen asleep.
But on his face lingered a bright, content smile—like someone who had just accomplished everything they set out to do.
The night wind stirred his loose strands of hair but couldn’t move the blood-soaked robe he wore.
Blood had streamed from his chest and dyed the ground beneath him deep red.
The intricate lines of the formation still remained etched on the earth, but the man who had drawn them… had taken his final breath.
In that instant, Taoist Ma’s pupils shrank. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
For over a century, Taoist Li had been revered by all cultivators as a guiding beacon—a master of the Dao.
And yet now… he had departed this world.
How could this be possible?
Was it the Ghost Dao? Was that what had killed Taoist Li?
“Taoist Li… Grandmaster…”
Taoist Ma sat there in a daze, collapsing to the ground.
The show crew were equally stunned when they realized what they were seeing.
Though they were ordinary people, thanks to Yan Shixun’s background in Haiyun Temple and their work with special departments through the show, they knew who Taoist Li was. They knew he was the strongest Taoist alive.
They had always believed, subconsciously, that someone like him couldn’t die—that he would always be there to hold up the heavens for everyone.
But they had never imagined…
Bai Shuang and the others immediately began to tear up, some sobbing uncontrollably.
The Taoists could no longer restrain their grief. Unable to bear witnessing such a scene, they turned their faces away.
After a long time, one Taoist sniffled, wiped away his cold tears with his sleeve, and strode over to Taoist Ma. He grabbed him by the sleeve and tried to pull him to his feet.
“Get up! Taoist Li did this for us—so we’d have a chance to save the southwest!”
The Taoist choked back his sobs. “We can’t waste the hope he fought so hard to give us.”
Yet amidst the sounds of weeping, Taoist Li’s eyelids suddenly trembled.
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