Chapter 333: The Divine Tomb of the Underground Palace (20)
Yan Shixun felt like he heard something stir in the distance, but when he turned to look, there was nothing there.
Only the sound of water droplets echoed through the vast cavern.
The glowing orb in his hand flickered, casting the shadows of jagged rocks onto the stone walls. The shadows danced, clawing and twisting like malevolent ghosts.
Beyond the small patch of light, the rest of the cave was engulfed in darkness. The massive underground chamber stretched endlessly, oppressive and silent, making it hard to breathe.
A humanoid silhouette flickered through the darkness.
He caught it in the corner of his eye, a black shape darting past—but when he turned to look directly, there was nothing. It felt like a trick of the mind, born from anxiety.
But if one kept their gaze fixed on a certain patch of darkness, they would begin to see a vague figure standing silently in the shadows, moving back and forth toward the light.
The orb of light stood out like a target in the dark, drawing the attention of whatever lurked there.
Perhaps the wisest thing to do would have been to extinguish the light and move forward in the dark.
Yet Yan Shixun showed no fear. He calmly scanned the deathly silent cave and nodded slightly at the indistinct figure in the dark. Then, smiling, he turned back to face the stone wall he had pushed open.
To him, although this pitch-black, bone-chilling cave was a natural haven for ghosts, there was nothing here that could make him afraid.
Not only because he himself was an exorcist, long accustomed to seeing ghosts—no matter how terrifying they were, even little Kings of Hell ended up like pudgy rabbits whining as they waited to be beaten.
But more importantly…
The spirits guarding the entrance of this burial site—those who dwelled near the mouth of the cave—were the souls of villagers who had been massacred over a hundred years ago.
They were loyal and grateful people. Even in their final moments, dying to protect the truth, they never regretted their choice. Though filled with rage toward those who harmed them, they never allowed that hatred to harm the innocent.
To Yan Shixun, those villagers who died to guard the remains of the soldiers of Ye were immortal heroic spirits.
So what reason did he have to be afraid?
Yan Shixun raised his head and looked up at the stone wall towering over ten meters high.
This wall, once naturally formed, had been later carved by human hands to serve as a gate guarding the burial grounds. For a thousand years, it had remained tightly shut, now covered in layers of dust and cobwebs.
When Yan Shixun brushed away the dust, he uncovered marks of friction and deeply chiseled characters.
The script, carved by the hand of a craftsman, wasn’t particularly elegant, nor as poetic as ancient verses passed down through the ages—but its simplicity carried a weight that struck the heart.
“The warriors of Ye, a hundred thousand heroic souls, lie in eternal slumber here.”
“General Ye guarded the city with his life; we shall guard their graves with ours.”
“Demons and monsters shall not disturb this land’s peace.”
“May the hundred thousand souls of Ye achieve spiritual enlightenment, ascend to immortality, and enjoy the blessings of the divine.”
Beneath the wall sat an old incense burner, rusted with age. Inside it were remnants of ash.
Nearby were leftover bowls, plates, cups, chopsticks, and a copper basin once used for burning offerings.
Everything had been corroded by the damp, gloomy environment. The food offerings in the dishes had long rotted into muddy sludge.
But one could still see how the villagers, after sealing the tomb, had sincerely and solemnly prepared offerings for the soldiers, genuinely wishing them to become immortals and enjoy the peace and prosperity they deserved.
That humble wish carried more power than any flowery speech.
Yan Shixun couldn’t help but be moved—not just by the villagers’ virtue of gratitude, but for the hundred thousand soldiers themselves.
Back then, when the villagers secretly collected the soldiers’ remains from the battlefield and hid them here, they had no idea what would happen afterward.
To them, beings like ghost deities or the city of Fengdu were far too distant and unimaginable.
No one could have guessed that those soldiers who died so tragically on the battlefield never reincarnated, never lingered there.
Instead, fueled by righteous anger and unyielding resolve, they followed Ye Li into Fengdu, overthrew the Northern Yin Fengdu Emperor, and claimed the title of ghost deity, becoming the new ruler of Fengdu.
The villagers’ simple wish had gone unfulfilled.
Those soldiers never got to enjoy peace and luxury after death.
Though they became “immortals,” they didn’t rest upon their merits. Instead, for countless centuries, they silently stood watch over the boundary between life and death, guarding justice and the souls of the dead.
Just as they had resented during their lifetimes—
Ye Li and his soldiers were denied justice in death a thousand years ago, so now they took it upon themselves to protect justice for others.
Even if the world of the living failed to pass judgment…
Fengdu would remain in silent vigil.
To judge the wicked. To return what was owed.
Yan Shixun rested his fingers on the stone wall, tracing the grooves carved by blades. A sigh rose in his heart.
“If you knew what became of those soldiers… would you be happy? Or heartbroken…”
Lowering his eyes, Yan Shixun whispered softly, “You guarded the bodies of the fallen, and though the soldiers truly became ‘immortals’ after death, they never stopped guarding the realms of yin and yang. They’ve protected your souls—and those of your children and grandchildren—ensuring none of you ever again face the injustice they once suffered.”
“If you count it up, I wonder… have they even rested for a single day?”
Yan Shixun recalled the soldiers he had once seen on the battlefield and smiled faintly.
Beneath their cold, gleaming armor was a heart that burned fiercely with warmth.
Their swords pointed forward, while their backs shielded the souls they vowed to protect.
They never spoke of their achievements. The world had no idea they existed. Yet they were the gentlest of all.
If those soldiers knew someone had been guarding them…Wouldn’t they be happy?
Yan Shixun spoke in a low voice: “I’m truly grateful that you’ve guarded the tombs of the soldiers for a thousand years. But now, your task has come to an end. Leave this tomb to me… I believe those soldiers would rather see you reincarnate than stay here forever, missing out on your next lives.”
“Your accumulated merit is enough for a good reincarnation—this time.”
His voice carried a trace of a smile, endlessly gentle: “There will be no more war, no more slaughter or death. You can finally enjoy your own lives in a peaceful and prosperous era.”
“It’s time to move on… Thank you.”
Yan Shixun’s words drifted into the quiet air. It was unclear whether he was talking to himself or speaking to some presence hidden in the darkness.
The cave remained silent, as if Yan Shixun had guessed wrong—no spirits lingered in the shadows, quietly guarding this burial ground.
But Yan Shixun was in no hurry. He waited patiently and quietly.
The next moment, the stone wall, which had felt as heavy as a thousand catties, let out a muffled groan. The tightly shut gate creaked open just a crack.
“Creak… groan—!”
A cold wind blew out from that gap, carrying the musty, damp scent of a place untouched for ages.
Yan Shixun’s tense expression finally relaxed—he knew he had guessed right.
He turned and nodded in thanks to the darkness behind him.
Then, placing his palm against the stone wall, he took a deep breath and pushed with force. His whole body tensed instantly.
Starting from that narrow gap, the stone gate slowly moved aside, gradually opening wide enough for a person to pass through.
Only then did Yan Shixun breathe a sigh of relief and slip sideways through the opening into the space behind the stone wall.
Since there had been spirits guarding this place, he couldn’t simply disregard the villagers who had continued to watch over the tomb after death.
Whether out of gratitude or courtesy, he knew he ought to seek the spirits’ permission before taking any action.
Although Yan Shixun feared no spirit in combat, he had no wish to harm those villagers, who were worthy of respect.
This was a virtue long lost to time, yet it inspired solemn admiration in him.
Moreover, without the guardians’ consent, opening the tomb door would have been nearly impossible. Even if it weighed thousands of catties, the willpower of the tomb’s keepers could make it feel as heavy as Mount Tai.
Yan Shixun was certain that even if other villagers had made it through the treacherous cave terrain over the past hundred years, they wouldn’t have been able to open this tomb gate without the guardians’ permission.
—Heavier than wood and stone was the will of the spirits guarding it.
After Yan Shixun’s figure disappeared into the cave behind the stone wall, the spacious, towering chamber returned to darkness.
After a long silence, shadows began to slowly emerge from the darkness. Human-shaped silhouettes gradually became clearer.
Ghosts wreathed in faint green light stood silently on the stone floor, their eyes fixed on the tomb’s stone door.
As more spirits appeared, the once-vast cave began to fill up.
There were men and women, dressed in varied styles of clothing that clearly revealed the eras they were from—spanning all the way from a thousand years ago up to just over a hundred years ago. Not a single generation was missing.
Only from a hundred years ago did it suddenly stop.
And it was only then that figures of children and young people began to appear.
The villagers had settled here a thousand years ago, raising generation after generation of children, silently guarding the secret of this burial ground. Even after death, they remained uneasy and unwilling to reincarnate, choosing instead to stay and protect the final resting place of their ancestors’ benefactors.
Until now—the right person had finally found the right place.
It seemed they could finally let go.
Countless generations of villagers stood quietly in the darkness, and faint smiles gradually appeared in their eyes as they gazed at the stone wall.
Soft murmurs floated in the cave, layered and overlapping:
The benefactors really did become deities.
How wonderful. Our efforts weren’t in vain.
Someone’s come to retrieve the benefactors’ remains.
Let him go. He carries a similar aura to the benefactors.
Those who died on the battlefield with regrets in their hearts can now finally rest—justice has been served. Thank the heavens.
We did not betray our ancestors’ instructions. We protected the remains of our benefactors, and let no evil disturb their peace in death.
Now, we too can finally close our eyes in peace…
Whispers of ghosts, gusts of spectral wind.
And yet, in this cave—it was finally spring.
—
When Yan Shixun stepped past the stone wall, he immediately felt the temperature around him plummet.
Even wrapped in a cashmere coat, he could still feel the cold creeping across his skin.
It wasn’t just the chill of the cave itself—it was a cold that clung to the soul.
The chill of death.
Yan Shixun could sense his soul plunging into an icy abyss, surrounded by freezing shards sharp enough to injure the spirit.
The exposed skin on his hands dropped to the temperature of ice in seconds. His fingers stiffened until they could barely move.
But he didn’t retreat. He gritted his teeth and endured.
Standing just past the stone wall, he waited in silence, giving himself time to adapt to the new temperature, and using the moment to survey his surroundings.
He raised the glowing orb in his hand high to illuminate the dark tomb.
The light, gifted by the King of Hell, burned with ghostly energy and was more stable than any modern technology. Yan Shixun was very satisfied with it.
He even mused that when he got back, he could suggest this to the King of Hell—if navigation wasn’t his thing, maybe he could manufacture lighting products instead. It would save power and still perform incredibly well.
He had even thought of the ad slogan for him:
“A hundred hours of light for just one ghost. King of Hell Lighting—your new energy-saving choice.”
Once he returned from the burial grounds, the King of Hell should still be around… He hadn’t said goodbye when they parted, so he probably hadn’t left just yet. It’d be a good time to discuss the affairs of the underworld too.
Lost in idle thought, Yan Shixun’s eyes kept scanning the cave.
Despite the harsh conditions, it was clear that the villagers from a thousand years ago had done everything they could to provide the soldiers with a proper tomb.
Though the situation at the time had been perilous, the villagers hadn’t wanted their benefactors to rest in crude graves.
Since the court had refused to honor the soldiers’ achievements, they took it upon themselves to give their benefactors the recognition they deserved.
The stone walls of the cave were carved with all manner of birds and beasts, and even murals.
With just a few glances, Yan Shixun recognized the murals as depicting the battlefield of Ye City from a thousand years ago.
It was obvious that the artisan who created the carvings held deep admiration and respect for Ye Li and the soldiers.
Ye Li and the soldiers were carved as tall and majestic warriors, while the enemy forces were drawn with shifty, sinister features—so vivid that any viewer would immediately grow to dislike them.
A gentle smile appeared in Yan Shixun’s eyes.
If he hadn’t known Ye Li personally, he might have actually believed the mural’s description of Ye Li as a towering man—nine feet tall, muscular and powerful, capable of lifting a tripod with ease.
Still, seeing how deeply someone cherished Ye Li and the fallen soldiers made Yan Shixun genuinely happy.
Although this wasn’t a proper imperial tomb, the villagers back then had stubbornly refused to let their benefactors be buried like ordinary folk. They modeled the tomb after those of kings and nobles, ensuring every detail was present.
Beneath the mural-covered stone walls, many earthenware vessels had been carefully placed.
Though not made of gold or silver, it was evident that a great deal of care had gone into crafting them.
Whether it was the burial items or the intricate patterns on the murals, although slightly rough compared to true treasures, to Yan Shixun, their value did not lie in material worth.
It was the villagers’ love and reverence for Ye Li and the soldiers that mattered most.
Their respect and affirmation for Ye Li were the most precious treasures—an unbestowed crown.
Seeing the heartfelt effort of the villagers, Yan Shixun couldn’t help but feel a sincere pride for Ye Li.
He smiled gently, his eyes filled with tenderness.
Once he felt his body had fully adapted to the surrounding chill and he could move freely, he began walking deeper into the tomb.
Using the glowing orb in his hand for light, he gradually discerned the structure of the tomb as he walked.
Though the conditions were simple, the villagers had displayed great wisdom.
They cleverly made use of the natural shape of the stone walls, designing the entire tomb so that its structure was supported by the stone itself. Along the jagged, uneven surfaces, they followed the grain of the rock to carve out images of rare beasts and scenes of the battlefield.
Even if Yan Shixun hadn’t known Ye Li or the soldiers, the murals alone were enough to tell the story of their achievements.
A lifetime spent galloping across battlefields, never defeated—yet in the end, they chose to stay behind in Ye City to protect the elderly, weak, and sick who couldn’t evacuate, dying in defense of the people…
Their deaths were their brightest glory.
Even if centuries passed, time would never dull their radiance.
Yan Shixun walked slowly, not wanting to miss a single vivid mural etched into the stone.
Through these murals, his understanding of Ye Li’s past deepened more and more.
The image of a mighty general, awe-inspiring and feared by enemies, came vividly to life in his mind.
He couldn’t help but marvel at Ye Li’s battlefield accomplishments and commanding presence.
“Even though you’re not here, I’ll go ahead and praise you a little,”
He said with a soft chuckle, affection gently blooming in his eyes. “You were amazing—you became a hero to the people.”
If Ye Li had heard this rare praise from Yan Shixun’s lips, he surely would have been overjoyed.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t here to hear it.
Yan Shixun’s voice echoed through the vast stone chamber, unheard by anyone.
As he continued deeper into the tomb, the scenery began to change.
Gone were the burial goods and murals. In their place were decaying weapons.
Covered in patches of verdigris, the wooden shafts of spears and arrows had long since rotted into mush, leaving only bits of metal behind.
Yan Shixun crouched down to examine them and quickly realized what they were.
Back then, when the villagers gathered the soldiers’ bones for burial, they had also collected some weapons from the battlefield.
These weapons were engraved with the character “Ye.” They had once belonged to the soldiers and were buried here as grave goods, placed beside them.
What kind of warrior would be laid to rest without their weapons?
As Yan Shixun stood back up, he couldn’t help but admire the villagers’ attention to detail all those years ago.
They had only one night—not just to retrieve the remains of the soldiers from a battlefield where both sides perished, but also to transport such a massive number of bones back. For the manpower and transport capacity of that era, it was by no means a small task.
Yet, despite the enormity of the undertaking, the villagers moved in an orderly and composed manner.
Not only did they avoid being discovered by the watchful eyes of emerging powers, but they even managed to recover the weapons left behind by the soldiers on the battlefield.
Those weapons, which could no longer be traced to any specific owner, were buried as funeral offerings in the tombs—laid beside the soldiers—as a gesture of respect from the villagers.
When the people genuinely loved and revered someone, that affection showed in every little detail. True history didn’t lie in the writings of court historians, but in the hearts of the people.
Even if later generations feared the truth and erased this brutal city-slaughter from the historical records—even if they wiped out the legendary merits of Ye Li, refusing to let future generations know how one man who led a hundred thousand troops killed a million—the truth could not be hidden.
Heaven, earth, and ghost deities knew. And so did the people.
That genuine love remained buried beneath the mountains and rivers. Those spirits had returned and continued to guard the land of Ye, unwilling to leave.
When Yan Shixun reached the second stone gate, his footsteps halted.
Behind the first gate were the villagers’ accounts of the soldiers’ lifetime achievements, along with the most complete funerary offerings they could gather.
Behind this second stone gate lay the soldiers’ remains.
Ye Li’s remains would be among them.
Yan Shixun had clearly made up his mind earlier—to help Ye Li accept his past and become one with the Great Dao.
But now, standing close to the remains, he hesitated for a brief moment.
He wasn’t afraid of bones.
After so many years as an exorcist, Yan Shixun had seen all kinds of terrifying remains and powerful malevolent spirits. He had personally handled and buried more than he could count.
But when the remains belonged to someone he knew—someone he loved…
He couldn’t help but recall the day many years ago when Li Chengyun’s bones were returned to Binhai City.
He had personally prepared Li Chengyun’s remains for burial, had closed the coffin with his own hands, and had watched as the only person dear to him was buried under handfuls of yellow soil—knowing that from that moment on, they were separated by life and death, with no hope of ever meeting again.
Even though he had been fortunate enough to see Li Chengyun again in the old Fengdu, that reunion only led to another farewell.
That second time had been a final farewell.
Li Chengyun’s soul had scattered completely. He had willingly given up the last spark of life offered by the Great Dao and had not left even a sliver of hesitation for Yan Shixun.
For the sake of the Great Dao and the people, he had taken his own life—severing all chances of future catastrophe and preserving peace in the human world for generations.
But that scene had been deeply etched into Yan Shixun’s heart.
Even when he lay sleeping in the commercial vehicle that took him away from the southwest, he dreamed again and again of the moment Li Chengyun fell into the abyss—smiling at him as he fell.
The nightmare never ended.
Yan Shixun never told anyone, but he knew—that moment had become a festering scar deep within his heart, one that could never heal.
And now, he was about to personally send Ye Li onto the path of the Great Dao.
His palm rested on the cold stone gate, but he hesitated, unable to push it open.
Once he stepped into the space beyond the remains, there would be no turning back.
He knew clearly that his unique constitution—the Evil Spirit Bone Transformation—would draw the attention of the Great Dao at all times.
This was both the best way to show the human world to the Great Dao and seek its power, and also a potential risk.
—Whatever he saw, the Great Dao would see as well.
The Great Dao constantly kept its gaze on him. Anything around him fell under its scrutiny.
Even though this was a burial ground for ghost deity, and the Great Dao had no control here, his presence made all the difference—and Ye Li did not guard himself against him. Perhaps…
Through this, the Great Dao would be able to see what lay in this burial ground.
From what Yan Shixun understood of the Great Dao, it felt no warmth or sentiment. It acted with absolute logic and made decisions with ruthless precision.
Yan Shixun might hesitate out of concern for Ye Li—but the Great Dao would not.
What it sought was the absolute preservation of all life in existence.
And Ye Li—he was the best backup option for the Great Dao.
If the current Dao ever weakened or collapsed, then Ye Li—having accepted his past and risen from ghost deity to the Great Dao—would become the new Dao, carrying the weight of the world in place of the old one.
Yan Shixun had once thought the same as the Great Dao—but he believed that the one who should be ready to sacrifice himself for all life should not be Ye Li.
It should be him.
Yan Shixun couldn’t bear to watch others die while he continued to live.
Especially now—facing an irreversible decision—he realized, because of this hesitation that shouldn’t have existed, what his heart truly wanted.
—At some point, Ye Li had become just as important to him as Li Chengyun had been.
Through daily companionship, he had unconsciously formed an unbreakable bond with Ye Li.
Yan Shixun once didn’t understand what love was.
But now, he could say it with certainty, with solemn conviction—
He truly loved Ye Li.
And in this lifetime, all the love he had would be given to Ye Li alone.
Even the mere thought of Ye Li dying—or vanishing—filled him with unbearable pain.
The once selfless exorcist now had a selfish desire of his own.
That rare selfish desire…
Had a name: Ye Li.
Yan Shixun wanted Ye Li to live—whether as the Lord of Fengdu, or simply as the man he loved.
Ascending from ghost deity to Great Dao… Whether it was Ye Li or the King of Hell who spoke of it, they all made it sound effortless. But in truth, none of them—Ye Li included—believed it to be easy.
In fact, if it weren’t for Ye Li, this would’ve been a task deemed utterly impossible.
Only Ye Li—he was the only being under heaven and earth who had defeated a ghost deity as a mortal. He was the miracle that had never existed under the Great Dao.
Only he had the potential to become the Dao, the successor—to inherit the burden of all life from the existing Dao.
But even so, to ascend to the Great Dao, Ye Li would have to pay a terrible price.
Yan Shixun didn’t know how Ye Li’s trial had gone, nor whether he could truly reconcile with his past and become the Dao…
The fearless Yan Shixun had found his own weakness.
He feared that Ye Li, like Li Chengyun, would leave him.
When Yan Shixun had been abandoned in the marketplace by his parents over a decade ago, it was Li Chengyun who gave him a home—a place of safety and peace, a resting place for his soul.
No matter how far he wandered, the vine-covered courtyard in Binhai City’s old town always basked in sunlight in his memory—always waiting for the wanderer to return.
But that hope vanished with Li Chengyun’s death.
After his death, whenever Yan Shixun returned to the courtyard, there was no one left to greet him with a smile, no one to prepare meals, no one to listen to his stories or quiz him on his studies…
All that awaited him was cold, impenetrable darkness.
Yan Shixun had once returned there covered in wounds, falling asleep in his clothes on the bed—each breath in the dark cold and lonely.
But later, that loneliness was broken by Ye Li.
The man had walked into his life with a smile, bringing warmth, and made him accustomed to the constant presence of someone at his side.
Now, Yan Shixun didn’t know what he would become if he lost that warmth again.
When he stood before the stone gate, at the moment of his final decision, he finally saw into the depths of his own heart.
Every cell in his body, every thought in his mind screamed the same thing—he could not lose Ye Li.
He was the only one he loved, the anchor and destination of his life.
He loved the days and nights spent with Ye Li by his side, loved turning around and seeing someone watching him with a smile. Whether it was Ye Li gnashing his teeth in jealousy or his consistently awful cooking… he loved the simple, everyday life they shared in the same room.
He didn’t want to lose this rare and peaceful happiness.
Yan Shixun lowered his head slightly, his palm resting on the stone gate slowly curling into a fist, clenched so tightly that veins bulged across his hand.
He closed his eyes and exhaled a deep, heavy breath, trying to calm the storm surging inside his heart and to untangle the chaotic mess of thoughts in his mind.
Even at a time like this, Yan Shixun still tried his best to force his mind to pull away from the tangled web of thoughts and start working clearly again.
On the scale within Yan Shixun’s heart, the Great Dao and Ye Li constantly rose and fell, struggling against one another. No matter which one he chose, the side he abandoned made it nearly impossible for him to breathe.
It was only at this moment that Yan Shixun finally understood what the King of Hell had said to him earlier.
—”Only you can approach the ghost deity’s burial ground. Only you can decide whether Ye Li can become the Great Dao.”
He gave a bitter smile and slowly shook his head.
How strong must one’s will be to remain unmoved even at a moment like this?
It turned out that, compared to the difficulty of finding the burial ground, the real challenge lay in making this choice and facing the consequences to come.
The most important thing wasn’t the search—it was the decision of the soul.
Even if he brought back Ye Li’s remains, and Ye Li successfully passed the trial and gained the qualification to become the Great Dao, no one had ever experienced what came after. No one could predict what would happen, or what the outcome might be.
After all, since records began, there had never been a newly born Great Dao.
Let alone now—when it was the Lord of Fengdu, Ye Li himself, who was to become the Dao, not the countless living beings perishing to form it.
If they failed, what awaited Ye Li… might be complete annihilation, reduced to dust.
All of these speculations raced through Yan Shixun’s mind.
Never before had he hated his own clarity and rationality so much.
If only he were a little more foolish, a little more selfish—would he not have to face this kind of agonizing struggle?
Yan Shixun felt as if two completely opposing voices were tearing him apart from both sides.
Even though the Great Dao had declined, and no cultivator had truly achieved the Dao in the mortal world for a long time, ascending to godhood had become nothing more than a legend.
But Yan Shixun had read countless notes left by predecessors. In the words they left behind, he had seen their experiences and the immense trials they faced during ascension.
Yet it wasn’t until he himself lived through this torment that he finally understood why so few successful ascensions had ever been recorded.
The two conflicting thoughts fought within him like inner demons, blocking his path forward. No matter which he chose, the road ahead seemed destined to be a hell of suffering.
Yan Shixun blinked slowly. In the darkness, no one could see the shimmer of tears in his eyes or the way his trembling hand clenched into a fist.
At this final moment—when he had already touched upon the Dao and sensed the will of heaven and earth—Yan Shixun clearly perceived what the Dao truly intended.
The Dao, with foresight for the future of all living beings, did not act for the present alone.
It planned ahead, guarding against disasters that might occur in hundreds or even thousands of years.
Even if Ye Li became the Dao, he did not need to immediately replace the existing Dao.
But if the Dao once again began to crumble, then Ye Li would become the last and most critical line of defense, ensuring that the living would never again suffer the pain and struggle of a century past.
The Dao was merciless—it governed the sun and moon with precision.
What it demanded was absolute safety for all living things, without the slightest margin for error.
In that moment, the weight of the entire world fell upon Yan Shixun’s shoulders.
—Your one true love, or the absolute safety of all living beings. Which will you choose?
Perhaps, even if you chose love and gave up on the world, nothing terrible would happen.
After all, the old Fengdu had completely vanished, and for the next few centuries, perhaps even millennia, nothing might ever arise to threaten the Dao again. The only reason the Dao guided Ye Li to seek the burial ground was as a precaution for some distant future disaster.
Maybe that disaster would never come. Or maybe it would, but not for thousands of years.
Was it really worth sacrificing your beloved… for something that might never even happen?
But if Ye Li died, it would be true and complete annihilation—never again would he return to your side.
You would live out the rest of your life with the guilt of losing your beloved, mired in silence and pain.
Is that what you want?
Think of those who never understood you, those who hurled insults and blame even after you saved them. Think of those who committed atrocities—their countless sins, the blood, and the death…
Do they truly deserve saving?
Would you really gamble your one and only beloved’s life on a chance so slim?
You don’t even know those strangers. Why sacrifice so much for them?
Maybe… maybe it was time to be a little selfish.
For your own happiness.
…
The two opposing voices echoed endlessly in Yan Shixun’s mind, pulling relentlessly at his soul.
At that moment, he felt as if he were being scorched by flames, his whole body trembling in unbearable agony.
Yan Shixun could endure inhuman pain, could push forward with fatal wounds that would kill an ordinary person, clenching his teeth to kill evil spirits and protect the living.
But when the choice was about Ye Li—when the pain struck directly at his soul—even Yan Shixun found it impossible to bear.
He would rather die himself—it would be easier that way.
The crossroads of fate had always been the hardest place to stand.
The consequences of this decision might become a weight too heavy for Yan Shixun to bear.
The cave fell into silence.
Perhaps even the bones of the fallen soldiers behind the stone gate could feel the agony tormenting Yan Shixun’s heart, for the air around him began to gradually warm.
It was as if the spirits of the soldiers appeared one by one behind him, smiling as they looked at him, as if saying—
Make your choice. Whatever you choose, we and our general will always support you—without a single word of complaint.
Cold sweat soaked Yan Shixun’s shirt and coat. When he finally raised his head and looked once more at the stone gate before him, the flickering light in his shattered eyes became steady again.
Yan Shixun took a deep breath and straightened his back.
He lowered his gaze to his palm resting on the gate, then clenched his teeth and pushed it open with all his strength.
*Creeeaak—*
The heavy sound echoed.
There was no turning back now.
But Yan Shixun’s eyes were filled with unshakable resolve.
He had made his choice.
—He was an exorcist. It was his duty to bear the burden for the living. He could not turn away.
Ye Li would become the Great Dao.
And if they failed…
He would disappear with his beloved—together, reduced to dust.
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