Chapter 311: Ritual Money, Old Capital (38)
Taoist Li had never imagined that he would survive.
His journey through the old Fengdu underworld had only confirmed that belief.
He had stirred the will to live in all living beings between Heaven and Earth, and in a hopeless deadlock, had forcibly carved out a path to survival. He destroyed the Ghost Dao’s ambition to control the vast mountains and rivers, causing the area it could influence to shrink drastically. In an instant, only the southwestern land remained under its sway.
Because the old Fengdu, which bore the Ghost Dao, had always avoided the Great Dao and clung to life in the southwest, the ghostly energy had seeped into the land veins over a thousand years, gripping that region tightly.
Even for Taoist Li, it was no easy task to shake the Ghost Dao’s hold over the southwest.
However, his actions had, at a critical moment when the Ghost Dao was about to succeed, severed its path to ascension—instantly stripping it of the right to contend with the Great Dao.
For that, the Ghost Dao’s hatred for Taoist Li far surpassed its hatred for Li Chengyun.
The Ghost Dao condemned Taoist Li as deeply sinful and threw him into the deepest layer of hell, intending to kill both him and Yan Shixun.
But what the Ghost Dao hadn’t anticipated was—
The Great Dao of Heaven and Earth, the ghost deities of Fengdu, and all living beings—
All stood behind Yan Shixun.
Aside from the ghosts, there were no other beings willing to support the Ghost Dao.
No, even many ghosts who had died with grievances and never found revenge resented the Ghost Dao and were willing to aid Yan Shixun in opposing the old Fengdu.
The weights on the other side of the scale kept increasing.
Yan Shixun carried the expectations of the Great Dao and all living beings. He turned their hopes into power and, despite the Ghost Dao’s overwhelming advantage, managed to turn the tide and destroy the old Fengdu.
To witness that moment with his own eyes, Taoist Li felt he had no regrets left in life.
To hear the Dao in the morning and die in the evening—so be it.
All the more so when he had helped save the Great Dao in a dire situation.
He had fully accepted death—even the possibility of his soul being shattered, never to reincarnate.
But how could he have guarded against his most beloved junior brother?
The moment Li Chengyun pushed him out of hell, after the initial shock, Taoist Li suddenly realized what Li Chengyun intended to do.
Even so, he would rather his junior brother killed him outright than steal his last chance at life!
Taoist Li’s eyes filled with anguish as he desperately reached out toward Li Chengyun, trying to return that chance at survival.
Unfortunately, it was too late.
A fierce wind howled. His soul flew out rapidly, and a hazy white mist shrouded everything.
After a long period of weightlessness, Taoist Li suddenly jolted and felt as though he had returned to his physical body.
His once-light soul was now weighed down by the pull of flesh, becoming heavy. The body was cold to the touch, making his soul tremble with chill.
Taoist Li thought to himself: …What kind of bizarre experience is this? I’ve descended into the underworld and soared through the heavens. I’ve had my soul leave my body and roam the earth, but this sensation—this really was a first.
While he was still muttering inwardly about how he should’ve worn more to keep warm—because the corpse’s temperature was so cold that even his soul couldn’t take it—he suddenly heard soft, sorrowful sobbing beside his ears.
Before Taoist Li could even make sense of it, someone started calling out to him.
“Master Uncle! Master Uncle! How could you just go like this?”
“Taoist Li has passed away, but we must carry on the Dao he upheld and continue the work he left unfinished!”
“Grandmaster, wuwuwu…”
Taoist Li: …………
“What’s with all the crying?! Mourning so early, just for me to hear it?!”
Taoist Li couldn’t help but snap angrily, “I can finish my own business just fine—‘carry on,’ you say? Don’t even think about it, you brat!”
Everyone: “Wuwuwu… uh?”
Just now… was that a voice?
Everyone froze in place, their actions halted mid-motion, with half the sorrow still on their faces—only to see that the very Taoist Li who had just sat in final meditation within the array… had opened his eyes again.
And not only that—he looked lively and full of vigor. Even when scolding people, his voice rang with strength and energy. There was no trace of that lifeless, breathless state he had been in moments ago.
Everyone: …………
???
Even the Taoists from Haiyun Temple stood dumbfounded, unable to react for quite some time.
Even for exorcist, even for Haiyun Temple—one of the country’s top three great sects—this was unheard of. No one had ever come back from the dead.
The boundary between life and death was absolute. Even ghost deities could only bring someone back if the person had just passed, their body still warm and vitality not yet completely severed.
And even that only existed in ancient records—no one had ever witnessed it with their own eyes.
Let alone a case like Taoist Li’s…
One Taoist’s jaw hung open for so long that he didn’t even notice the drool dripping from his mouth.
Taoist Li, whose soul had been chilled to a headache by the corpse’s cold, rubbed his temples to soothe his rising irritation from all the weeping. As he did so, he caught sight of his junior’s dumbstruck expression.
Immediately, Taoist Li raised a hand with disdain and pointed at him. “Fine, cry if you must—but are you three years old? Drooling like that? Even that brat Xingxing doesn’t drool anymore.”
“What, do we need to get you a bib for that wrinkly old face?”
The scolded Taoist finally snapped back to reality. He quickly reached up to wipe the corner of his mouth, his face reddening in embarrassment.
But upon seeing that Taoist Li was not only alive but scolding them just as fiercely as usual, full of vitality, the other Taoists couldn’t help but beam with joy.
Even the Taoist who had just been scolded grinned like a fool.
Which earned him another annoyed glance from Taoist Li. “Great, now you’ve really gone dumb. Once we get back, you and that brat Xingxing can relearn everything together. Honestly, the two of you are like peas in a pod—equally hopeless.”
The Taoist nodded enthusiastically. “Alright, alright, whatever you say, Grandmaster. As long as you’re…”
Alive.
No matter how old these Taoists were, no matter how famous they were outside, to them, ever since they were little acolytes stumbling along behind their elders, Taoist Li had always been there at Haiyun Temple—unchanging for decades.
To everyone, Taoist Li was already the symbol of Haiyun Temple.
As long as he was there, they all had a place they could return to, someone they could turn to for help. Just stepping through the gates of Haiyun Temple gave them a feeling of safety and protection.
That was it—the Dao compass of all their fellow Taoists.
Taoist Li took in the expressions of the crowd, and his own face softened slightly. Until this time when he truly died, he hadn’t realized how deeply he had frightened these younger disciples.
But his little junior brother… having lost that vitality—what was he supposed to do now?
Thinking of Li Chengyun, Taoist Li’s eyes dimmed, a hint of sorrow nestled between his slightly furrowed brows.
At the same time, he knew very clearly that the chance to come back to life wasn’t something you could haggle for at the market.
Even though he deeply wished to give it back to his little junior, things had come to this point—he was powerless to do anything more.
For Li Chengyun to have earned such an opportunity, he must have endured unimaginable suffering and saved countless lives. Only then would the Great Dao have granted him the right to choose.
There wouldn’t be a second time.
Taoist Li sat motionless in the formation for a while before tilting his head back and letting out a long sigh, knowing that he might never see his little junior brother again.
That reunion in the old Fengdu had been a mercy from heaven and earth—a second chance given to them, letting him make amends after missing his junior’s death, allowing him to see him one last time.
Taoist Li closed his eyes briefly, hiding all his pain and fleeting weakness in front of the younger generation.
When he lifted his robe and rose to his feet again, he was once more that venerable old Taoist, composed and unshakable, with a firm gaze—nothing could bring him down.
With a glance around, he quickly noticed that compared to when he had died, there were many more people present. Besides Taoist Ma, the previously missing members of the production crew had also reappeared.
Most importantly, the aura of the abandoned village had changed.
Although Yan Shixun had destroyed the core of the old Fengdu, the decline—and eventual disappearance—of the Ghost Dao was inevitable. But Fengdu had been rooted in the southwest for a thousand years, especially its core, Baizhi Lake. Severing all ties with the Ghost Dao would still take time.
Taoist Li couldn’t calculate the exact changes, so he beckoned another Taoist over to ask for clarification.
When he heard that Taoists Wang and the other had been trapped in another space and hadn’t made it through the formation, Taoist Li frowned.
But before he could say anything, a member of the production team, seeing he might go rescue the two Taoists, immediately cut in with displeasure, saying, “Weren’t those Taoists the ones who chose to stay behind? Going back to save them now would be such a waste of time—we should be getting out of here instead.”
The moment those words were spoken, almost every Taoist frowned in discomfort.
They could lay down their lives to protect others. For that, they had no complaints—only the fulfillment of sacrificing themselves for the Dao.
But that didn’t mean others could point fingers and say they ought to die.
There was a vast difference between choosing to do something and being told it was their duty to do so.
Taoist Ma found the voice familiar. When he looked up, he immediately understood—it was that same staff member whose earlier suggestion had been rejected.
Probably still upset about being scolded by the Taoists, and now bearing a grudge.
Taoist Ma found it dull and unworthy of further thought. He simply smiled and let it go, returning to explain the situation to Taoist Li.
However, the assistant director and Bai Shuang, among others, were both openly and subtly casting dissatisfied looks at that staff member.
The variety show celebrity’s eyes were even more blatant, as if to say, “Look, what an idiot.”
The staffer still stubbornly held his ground, convinced he hadn’t said anything wrong. But the assistant director had already made a mental note to sever ties once they returned.
He understood one thing very clearly: if someone saved your life, you owed them a debt—and it must be repaid.
In this industry, anyone who didn’t know gratitude wouldn’t last. He couldn’t afford to use someone like that—who knew when they might stab you in the back? Better to cut ties early.
The staff member still had no idea that his grudge would eventually backfire on him.
But everyone else had already shifted their focus.
When Taoist Li heard there was another Taoist still with Taoist Wang, he felt relieved and said calmly, “Since he’s a master now, of course he should set an example for his disciple. He can take care of himself—he doesn’t need me to do anything.”
“But…”
Taoist Li seemed to sense something.
His heartbeat gradually elongated, his soul—only just reattached to his body—suddenly began to float upward again, rising lightly to brush the drifting clouds, the vast earth sprawling beneath his feet.
Having experienced this many times, Taoist Li immediately understood—this was another moment of communion with heaven and earth.
But this time, what he saw wasn’t the future—
It was the present.
—Lu Xingxing, engulfed in flames.
The young man’s mouth was full of blood, his face pale and drained. All the familiar vigor and playful charm that Taoist Li knew were gone. Only the bleakness and pain of death remained.
That child was crying, trembling.
Taoist Li froze, and murmured in a low voice, “Xingxing…”
…
When Yan Shixun finally freed himself from Ye Li’s embrace, it took quite some time for the flush on his cheeks and ears to fade.
Even so, his usually wild and unruly handsome face still wore an uncontrollable smile. The corners of his eyes held a pink hue, hinting at a joyful mood—clearly, something had just happened.
But compared to Ye Li, Yan Shixun was the model of restraint.
Ye Li’s face remained bloodless and pale, but when he looked at Yan Shixun, it was as if a stream flowed gently through his eyes—tender and constant, unable to hide the love he felt.
Even a stranger, no matter how dull, would understand—Standing before him was the one etched into his soul. His beloved.
Ye Li’s gaze was far too intense. As it swept inch by inch down Yan Shixun’s body, it felt as if he could see through the black coat and into what lay beneath.
Such a piercing stare naturally didn’t go unnoticed by Yan Shixun.
He turned his eyes slightly to glance at Ye Li. Feeling the warmth slowly drain from his cheeks in the wind, he let out a mocking laugh and said, “What are you looking at? Aren’t you going to get to work?”
Ye Li showed no sign of being embarrassed at being caught red-handed. Instead, he nodded openly at Yan Shixun and said with a smile, “Looking at a beauty.”
“I’ve seen the most beautiful soul in the human world. But even luckier than that—he’s already the lover in my arms.”
He rolled each syllable off his lips with deliberate care and then slowly added, “Shixun.”
His deep, magnetic voice carried a soft laughter, thick as aged wine.
Yan Shixun hadn’t expected to be struck in the heart by that simple call of his name. His ears, hidden beneath his hair, immediately warmed once more.
From a distance, Li Chengyun watched the two of them with a gentle smile. Only after Yan Shixun had calmed his emotions a little did he leisurely walk over.
He knew his Xiao Xun well, knew just how emotionally dense the child was. In all other matters, Yan Shixun was fearless—no matter how dire the situation, he could hold his ground. But when it came to emotions, he was utterly unaware.
When Li Chengyun saw how Yan Shixun behaved in front of Ye Li, he already understood. His Xiao Xun had truly developed feelings for this Lord of Fengdu.
It seemed… this Lord of Fengdu had done quite a bit indeed. No easy task.
Li Chengyun cast a glance filled with mirth at Ye Li. Sensing it, Ye Li turned slightly toward him and gave a respectful bow.
“To make my Xiao Xun recognize his own feelings… you must’ve put in a great deal of effort. Thank you for that.”
Li Chengyun stopped walking a short distance from Ye Li. His voice was warm as he spoke softly, “Before I died, I used to worry constantly. After my death, with Xiao Xun’s personality—unwilling to let others in—would he end up all alone? Would there be anyone by his side…? Now that I see this, I can finally be at ease.”
Ye Li’s tall figure stiffened for a moment. He lowered his head slightly and pressed his lips together before replying, “It wasn’t hard. Every second I’ve spent pursuing Shixun has been a beautiful memory for me—one that made me truly understand what happiness in the human world means.”
“But you…”
Ye Li looked at Li Chengyun apologetically. “I couldn’t save you.”
Even a ghost deity had no power to bring back someone like Li Chengyun, who had already been dead for years and had voluntarily given up the chance to return to the living world.
Ye Li understood how important Li Chengyun was to Yan Shixun. Even if he felt upset sometimes, thinking Shixun didn’t hold him dearly enough, he still couldn’t bring himself to just let Li Chengyun disappear from this world.
But…
The moment Li Chengyun had saved Taoist Li, his own fate had been sealed.
Heaven and Earth would not permit a second miracle of resurrection.
Li Chengyun understood what Ye Li meant. He simply shook his head gently and asked in return, “Lord of Fengdu, do you think I would care?”
“Now that the Great Dao has regained its power, and Heaven and Earth are at peace again… the only thing I still care about is Xiao Xun.”
His gaze carried deep concern and affection as he looked at Yan Shixun’s back.
The young boy he had left behind back then had already grown into someone capable of supporting the Great Dao and the world—someone who surpassed even him.
Li Chengyun chuckled softly, his eyes full of tenderness. “I want him to live well. I want him to be happy, to have someone by his side, so that he’ll never feel lonely again, never be cold and alone.”
Hearing this, Ye Li fell silent for a moment. Then he, too, looked toward Yan Shixun.
A deep love spread in his eyes and formed a smile. He solemnly promised Li Chengyun, “Please rest assured. I will make Shixun happy—until the collapse of Heaven and Earth, until the vast universe returns to dust.”
“My love will never cease.”
“In the name of Ye Li, let all of Fengdu and Heaven and Earth bear witness.”
Li Chengyun blinked and let out a soft laugh. “You should say those words to Xiao Xun, not to me. A ghost deity who understands all things in the world still doesn’t know how to pursue a lover? Do I really have to teach you myself?”
“I know my Xiao Xun well. He’s sharp in everything else. He can uncover secrets buried eighty layers deep. But when it comes to love…”
He shrugged. “If you don’t tell him outright, he’ll never realize what you’re trying to say.”
Ye Li wasn’t surprised and smiled knowingly. “I’ve already learned that the hard way.”
Li Chengyun looked up at Ye Li and smiled as he nodded slightly. “Then… I’ll leave my Xiao Xun to you.”
“Lord of Fengdu, Ye Li.”
Ye Li bowed slightly, his tone more solemn than when facing even the Great Dao: “Thank you.”
As for Yan Shixun, he had already leapt into the abyss, ready to inspect the remains of the giant beast.
But then, he suddenly sneezed.
He paused, as if sensing something, and looked up.
Yan Shixun: “?”
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