Chapter 336: The Divine Tomb of the Underground Palace (23)
Tonight, the moon was full.
An auspicious night for raising the dead.
Within the abandoned yizhuang, strange sounds echoed, causing the pack of wolves guarding the cave outside to lift their heads warily, their sharp eyes staring in the direction of the yizhuang.
They lowered their strong, agile bodies, facial features drawn tight with menace and hostility. Low growls rumbled from their throats, a clear warning against any approaching danger.
At their feet lay a villager who had tried to ambush the cave but had been killed by them. His blood soaked their once-beautiful fur, matting it with gore, yet the carnage only amplified the wolves’ bloodthirsty aura.
Anyone with a shred of sense would not approach this savage pack at a time like this.
Unfortunately, what was drawing near now were corpses—already long dead.
Not only the villagers who had just perished tonight…
But also… those long rotted away, reduced to nothing but skeletal remains.
Tall weeds, over a man’s height, swayed and rustled—swish, swish—the sound spreading through the silent valley.
Then the grass was parted. A menacing skeleton suddenly emerged into view.
The wolves’ vertical pupils grew colder, burning with fury and bloodlust. With a snarl that carried both rage and madness, one wolf lunged forward without hesitation.
It shot forth like lightning, dragging a long shadow behind it, a glowing green trail cutting through the air like a deadly arrow.
It crashed into the skeleton with brutal force.
The wolf’s claws crushed into the skeleton’s rotted, blackened ribs. Its fangs sank deep into the skull’s crown.
Crack! A sharp sound rang out. Fractures spread like a spiderweb across the bone. The skull shattered, falling at the wolf’s feet into a pile of fragments.
The wolf’s claw stomped down again without mercy. The once-sturdy skull crumbled under the pressure, crushed completely into shards.
Then, it lay still.
The wolf spat out the bone fragments and raised its head coldly, glaring toward a spot in the weeds not far off. It bared its teeth and let out a low growl.
The grass fell silent for a moment.
It was as if whatever hid within was also intimidated by the wolf’s ferocity.
But that fear lasted only a heartbeat. Under an unknown command, the dead once again pressed toward the cave.
However, over a dozen wolves had now been alerted.
They scanned their surroundings with sharp vigilance. The slightest rustle in the grass prompted them to charge in without hesitation, pouncing with the instincts of seasoned hunters and unleashing their fury upon their enemies.
Skeletons couldn’t even reach the open space before the withered banyan tree. They were intercepted by the wolves within the outer perimeter of the grass.
The tall weeds shook violently. The sound of bones being crushed underfoot rang out over and over, mingling with the wolves’ angry snarls—enough to send chills down anyone’s spine.
Yet while the wolves were focused on tearing apart the rotting bones hidden in the grass, a sudden disturbance erupted inside the yizhuang.
It began with a sound from within a thin wooden coffin.
Thud.
Thud.
A rhythmic knock came from beneath the coffin lid, as if someone were knocking on a door. Only the “person” was inside the coffin, and the “door” led from suppressed sin into the world of the living.
The coffin was poorly made. The lid was just a thin layer of wood. When something struck it from the inside, the surface visibly buckled from the outside.
It looked like someone trapped inside was struggling desperately to break free.
Then came a loud bang!—a hole burst open in the lid, and a pale, stiff arm thrust straight up through it, pointing at the decayed rooftop and the sky beyond.
That arm slowly retracted—then slammed down once more on the coffin lid.
This time, the entire plank was flung off, revealing the corpse lying inside.
Cool, bright moonlight poured through the hole in the roof, casting a silvery glow over the coffin and its occupant, making the body appear even more ghastly and bloodless.
This was not the headless corpse Yan Shixun had seen before—not one of the villagers massacred during the ancient slaughter.
The corpse wore a burial shroud, but the crude stitching and sloppy, haphazard embroidery made it clear this was not prepared with care. It looked more like something bought hastily and cheaply.
Beneath the shroud, the corpse had decayed until only a skeleton remained. The dried remains lay soaked in damp pus and rotted wood, a revolting mess like soggy sludge.
Except—the head was perfectly intact.
The facial features were still clearly visible. Under the pale, rigid skin, bluish-purple veins snaked grotesquely, but the face remained recognizable.
It was as if someone had deliberately preserved the face—so that those who bore hatred could find the right person to avenge.
Had Yan Shixun been here, he would have immediately realized that unlike the villagers who were slaughtered, the owner of this body had been one of the perpetrators. This man had died in the plague that erupted a century ago—born of hatred.
Even in death, his grievous sins had not released him. His soul remained bound to his corpse, forced to endure endless days and nights feeling his body rot away.
First the organs, then the flesh… Maggots writhed through his decaying tissue. Every squirming motion could be felt. He bore witness to his own body’s slow demise, yet he could neither move nor scream, confined within that coffin for a hundred years, consumed by terror and remorse.
It was the villagers’ curse upon their murderers.
—You destroyed my happiness, made me watch as my family died before my eyes. My youngest daughter’s head fell at my feet, her lifeless gaze accusing me for not protecting her… Even in death, you would not spare me. My soul was trapped in this place of death, guarding my own corpse in endless torment.
So now, you will feel the same pain.
I curse you. You will die because of your sins, your soul shackled to your corpse. You will murder your own family with your hands, then suffer your own decay and death.
In your long, sleepless agony, you will remember the slaughter you committed. Those memories will haunt you forever.
Perhaps then you will finally understand the unforgivable crimes you committed…
And only then will I forgive you. Only then will I let you go.
Yet the kind cannot comprehend the truly wicked.
Though the murdered villagers carried deep hatred, they still left their tormentors a path to redemption.
Even though their own souls were nailed into coffins with iron spikes—unable to move on, unable to reincarnate—they had soft hearts. They believed that if the guilty repented, they could be released and allowed to reincarnate.
For a hundred years, the remains of those perpetrators were still kept in the yizhuang. Even when abandoned by their own families, the corpses were given a final resting place—protected from the wind and rain, spared from becoming lonely ghosts.
But the villagers never expected… the perpetrators felt no remorse. On the contrary—they only grew more bitter.
The only moment of regret for the perpetrators came when they were facing death.
—And it wasn’t regret for the sins they had committed, but for not having completely killed off the villagers who guarded the “treasure,” thus giving the villagers a chance to take revenge.
They rose from their coffins—corpses so decayed that only their skulls remained—sitting up stiffly from the thin wooden boxes, breaking free from the bindings of a hundred years, returning to the world of the living, seething with rage.
First came the first corpse, then the second, then the third…
Pus and blood dripped and splattered, pooling on the ground into a foul, reeking puddle of gore.
The thin coffin had already shattered into pieces of wood, scattered all over the ground.
Sounds echoed from within the yizhuang. Dry, charred feet stepped onto the floor, and one rotting corpse after another with hollow eyes began to walk outside.
The direction they headed clearly pointed toward the mountain that separated two villages.
The wolf pack, still busy tearing apart the withered skeletons attacking the cave, had no time to spare. Even though the more alert wolves picked up on the strange noises and sensed that something had changed at the yizhuang, they were unable to break away from the endless wave of attacking corpses.
One wolf, standing amid a field of shattered bones, lifted its strong and streamlined body high and howled long into the moonlit night, warning the entire pack.
Under the alpha’s command, the wolves guarding the mountain immediately received the signal. They raised their heads, eyes glowing with eerie green light, and stared beyond the forest, alert and unmoving.
Soon, a skeletal figure dressed in burial clothes entered the wolves’ line of sight. Its pale blue face, not even slightly decayed, stared straight ahead at the wolves. It showed no sense of danger, walking rigidly and persistently into the woods.
The lead wolf instantly felt its authority challenged. It charged forward in rage, claws aiming for the corpse’s head.
But these corpses—bare-headed skeletons—were nothing like the ones the wolves had dealt with before.
These were murderers in life, their hands soaked with blood, having slaughtered an entire village’s worth of people—men, women, the elderly, and even children—with no mercy, no exception.
Even as victims cried and begged, they remained cold and unmoved.
How could such vicious killers, even in death, be compared to ordinary corpses?
As the wolf attacked, the corpses—newly risen from shattered coffins in the mortuary—finally lifted their heads and stared directly at it.
Though they had been dead for a hundred years, their murderous nature hadn’t diminished. Instead, it had been sharpened by endless torment in death. They felt no remorse—only deeper cruelty.
Their eyes were like murky glass beads, completely black and devoid of light—utterly terrifying.
One corpse locked eyes with the charging wolf. It seemed to recall something, then grinned, revealing a mouthful of jagged fangs, its facial features twisted and grotesque.
A bestial roar squeezed from its throat. It lifted its skeletal arm from the sleeve of its burial robe and reached fearlessly for the wolf.
Its ten bony fingers were sharp as blades. The moment the wolf drew close, the corpse seized its fur, piercing its flesh and raking down with brutal force.
At the same time, the corpse opened its gaping maw and sank its deformed fangs into the wolf with terrifying savagery, its face radiating nothing but feral bloodlust—no trace of humanity remained.
The wolf cried out in pain, blood spraying into the air.
This sudden turn of events shocked the rest of the wolves. They hadn’t expected the corpses rising from the yizhuang to become savage and frenzied, abandoning even human methods of attack and instead fighting like the wild beasts they themselves hunted.
The wolves exchanged a quick glance and charged forward together, howling and snapping at the corpse to rescue their companion from its jaws.
But by the time the corpse let go, the first wolf lay heavily on the ground, breathing its last.
Its carotid artery had been torn apart, and blood gushed uncontrollably, staining its once-beautiful fur crimson.
The wolf writhed in agony on the ground, its limbs twitching. Its bright eyes dimmed, but it still gazed stubbornly at the round moon, unwilling to close them.
Its mission was not yet complete. It still had unfinished business. The innocent souls, unjustly slain, were still trapped in the yizhuang and needed its protection. The wicked—those responsible—must be watched by these eyes…
Its body convulsed violently, its breath growing fainter. Yet it forced itself to open its mouth and, from deep within its throat, let out one final, desperate howl.
“Awooo——!!!”
Its cry was filled with sorrow—like death itself.
When the pack heard that final howl, they all turned toward the sound, and together, they lifted their heads and howled at the moon.
Their howls echoed across the valley, a mournful farewell to a fallen comrade.
But not one wolf showed fear or backed away. Instead, their dying companion’s final cry filled them with new strength. They stared at the corpse with even greater ferocity, blood-soaked fangs gleaming in the moonlight.
In the forest, the wolves tore at the corpse, ripping off chunks of flesh. Its entire face was peeled away. Eyes were crushed under sharp claws. The once-perfectly preserved face was reduced to raw, blood-red muscle stretched over bone. Its dry skeleton was stomped and bitten until it shattered, scattering like bone clubs across the dirt and leaves.
Without its frame to support it, the corpse collapsed to the ground, reduced to nothing but a blood-stained skeleton atop a pile of bones.
The forest fell silent.
The wolves no longer bared their fangs. They slowly padded across the dead leaves to gather around their dying comrade.
The proud pack lowered their heads, nuzzling the wounded wolf and sniffing the scent of death lingering on its body. Low whimpers came from their throats, as if to say goodbye.
The wolf with the torn throat lay among dried leaves and a pool of blood, its chest heaving wildly, as though gasping for air it could no longer find. Even at the edge of death, it refused to give in.
But at last, the light in its eyes faded.
Like a candle in a storm, flickering valiantly until the wind finally snuffed it out, leaving behind only a wisp of smoke.
Only the moonlight remained, gently embracing its child.
The wolf, its fur drenched in blood, finally took its last breath.
And moved no more.
The pack whimpered and mourned, their cries like tears of blood.
But they had no time left to grieve.
—More corpses had appeared in the mountains and forests.
All the thin coffins stored in the yizhuang had been broken open by the corpses. They had walked out of the yizhuang.
No one knew whether they were longing for the village where they had once lived or whether they had caught the scent of living flesh and blood. All the corpses were heading in the same direction, trying to cross the mountains and reach the village on the other side.
But blocking their path was a pack of ferocious wolves.
Low growls squeezed out from the throats of the wild wolves. Their howls overlapped, one after another, as if the entire forest were enraged by the corpses’ actions.
Glowing green eyes floated in the darkness, staring unblinkingly at the corpses entering the forest.
These were people with heavy sins, and they had also killed the wolves’ companions.
The wolves were grieving, but they did not retreat in the slightest.
They stood in front of their fallen comrades, then charged at the corpses with fierce howls, their eyes sharp and glowing with a greenish murderous intent.
The corpses also stared back with cloudy, lifeless eyes. They opened their bloody mouths, revealing yellowed fangs mixed with pus and blood.
The once quiet forest instantly erupted in chaos. Angry howls echoed through the valley.
The lead wolf gave a command—guard the forest to the death.
As long as they had a breath left, they would not allow any corpse to cross the mountains and reach the village on the other side.
The wolves knew very well that there were living people in that village.
Those people were the companions of the exorcist who had come here to help release the wronged souls.
Since the exorcist was saving the kind spirits that the wolves had always protected, then it was only right that they protect the exorcist’s companions in return!
The wild wolves’ glowing green eyes shone brightly, filled with determination as they charged forward.
And outside the village on the other side of the mountain, the lead wolf stood tall atop the perimeter wall. It had also heard the shrill howls coming from the forest.
It immediately lifted its head, sharply turning to look toward the mountain hidden in the dark fog.
Amid the wolves’ cries, the lead wolf froze for a moment.
But it quickly snapped back to its senses, leaped down from the wall, and dashed into the crowd of corpses that had filled the small courtyard.
Its silver-gray figure was extremely striking under the moonlight, immediately catching everyone’s attention.
The moment the people recognized the lead wolf, they shouted in surprise and joy.
“That wolf came back again!”
“Thank goodness, we’re saved now!”
“That wolf must’ve been called by Brother Yan. Otherwise, how could it have come back again? I thought it had already left.”
With the lead wolf joining in, the corpses that had been attacking the guests quickly shifted their focus and turned to fight the lead wolf instead.
Even those corpses that still stubbornly tried to rush into the house were swatted back into the courtyard by the lead wolf. With a cold sneer, it forced the corpses to face it directly.
This immediately eased the pressure on the guests, who no longer had to stay tightly wound like before, afraid to even breathe too loudly.
The variety show celebrity slumped against the wall, completely exhausted, panting as if all the exercise in his life had been packed into this one night.
“Once I get home, even a marathon or a triathlon won’t be a problem for me,” the celebrity mumbled dazedly.
And Bai Shuang, who had just been tightly gripping the large iron pot, finally had a moment to catch her breath.
She looked down and saw that the hand holding the pot had been rubbed raw, the entire palm a bloody mess. Blood streamed down her arm, soaking her clothes.
Without the skin to protect it, her palm had even begun to stick to the iron handle.
Bai Shuang was in so much pain that even the act of letting go of the pot made her tremble. Gritting her teeth, she slowly peeled her hand off the handle despite the agony.
In that instant, the sharp pain made cold sweat bead on her forehead, and her vision darkened.
Standing closest to her, An Nanyuan noticed her unsteady breath. He quickly reached out and grabbed her, stopping her from falling.
“Bai Shuang? What’s wrong with you?”
An Nanyuan looked at her in shock, her pale face frightening him. “Did those corpses outside scratch you?”
As soon as he asked, An Nanyuan’s mind automatically started playing scenes from every zombie movie he’d ever watched. He began to imagine that Bai Shuang might already be infected with corpse poison, that she might turn into a zombie, that she might mutate and start attacking people…
He quickly put down the memorial tablet he’d been using as a weapon and nervously glanced toward the kitchen, wanting to search for glutinous rice.
Even though he was panicking like a headless dog on the inside, he still tried to comfort Bai Shuang with his words. “It’s fine, don’t be scared. I’ll go get you some glutinous rice right now. If that doesn’t work, I’ll see if there’s a dog around. We’ll borrow some dog blood. It should be fine, really.”
However, An Nanyuan’s trembling voice still gave away his true emotions.
Bai Shuang was in so much pain that cold sweat was pouring down her body, but when she heard An Nanyuan’s words, she felt like a giant question mark had popped up above her head.
She even suspected that maybe her brain had become sluggish from the pain. Otherwise, why couldn’t she understand what An Nanyuan was talking about?
It took her several beats before she belatedly realized what he meant, and she couldn’t help but laugh through her tears.
“…You didn’t seriously think I was turning into a zombie, did you? Talking about glutinous rice and black dog’s blood. An Nanyuan, you’ve got to stop watching so many horror movies.”
Bai Shuang looked at An Nanyuan helplessly and showed him her hand, which was covered in mangled flesh and faintly exposed bone. She joked bitterly, “Good thing I make a living with my voice, not as a doctor or a pianist. Hurting my hand isn’t that big of a deal.”
An Nanyuan lowered his head and was first startled by the severity of Bai Shuang’s injury. Only then did he realize that he had completely misunderstood the situation.
He immediately felt embarrassed. Scratching his head awkwardly, he tried to ease the tension. “It’s nothing then, haha, ha…”
But when An Nanyuan raised his hand, Bai Shuang finally noticed that his sleeve was also soaked with blood—and it was spreading upward.
When they left the southwest, An Nanyuan had changed into a white sweater, so now with blood on it, the stains stood out starkly.
Bai Shuang quickly asked with concern, “You’re hurt?”
An Nanyuan: “?”
He followed her gaze and looked down, finally noticing the bloodstains on his sweater. He was so startled he nearly jumped.
When he lowered his hand, he saw that his own palm was also a mess of blood and torn flesh. Even bits of wood were stuck in the wounds.
Since An Nanyuan’s weapon was the memorial portrait, and he wasn’t particularly skilled at using such an awkward “weapon,” he had simply grabbed the frame and bashed at the corpses with brute force, paying no attention to whether he got hurt in the process.
When someone was under extreme stress, all their attention was focused on what was in front of them. They couldn’t even register their own condition, and the pain of being wounded would be blocked out.
It wasn’t until he relaxed a bit, and Bai Shuang pointed it out, that the pain finally began to creep in.
An Nanyuan immediately felt as if the muscles and tendons in his palm were twitching with pain. The exposed flesh pulsed with bone and sinew underneath, as if something alien was about to burst out of his skin.
An Nanyuan: “QAQ!”
Bai Shuang: “…What are you imagining now? Don’t cry—hold it in!”
Because of the tense battle just now, all the guests had suffered some degree of injury.
They were nothing like Yan Shixun, who trained daily and never slacked off. Except for Zhao Zhen, who had spent years doing minor roles and had developed thick skin, the rest of the guests had torn palms, were covered in bruises, and had scrapes all over their bodies.
But they didn’t have time to treat their wounds. After catching their breath for just a moment, they quickly pulled themselves together, returned to the windows, and resumed fighting the corpses.
Nan Tian, in particular, somewhat clumsily climbed out of the window and jumped down into the courtyard.
The moment Nan Tian’s feet touched the ground, the head wolf’s gaze snapped toward him like a bolt of lightning. It looked at him as if he were a disobedient cub, its eyes filled with reprimand.
Nan Tian quickly raised his hands in explanation. “I’m here to help—it’ll go faster this way!”
Afraid the lead wolf would reject him, he added, “Before he left, Brother Yan told me that while he’s gone, the safety of the others is my responsibility. There’s danger now—I can’t back down.”
“Brother Yan trusts me. If you were sent by him to protect us, then you should try trusting me too.”
The lead wolf gave Nan Tian a once-over, its expression distinctly humanlike as it revealed clear disdain.
Though Nan Tian was a diligent male celebrity with a well-toned physique—considered strong in the entertainment industry, and his abs photo had once gone viral—he simply didn’t measure up in the eyes of the lead wolf.
…Trust? With arms and legs that skinny, this cub couldn’t even catch a rabbit. If not for that young man protecting him, he probably would’ve starved to death in the winter. Couldn’t even catch a single rabbit.
The lead wolf stared at Nan Tian for a long moment, then flicked its silvery-grey tail and turned away, as if silently agreeing to let Nan Tian join the fight in the courtyard.
—After all, it was rare for a cub to show some initiative. As a parent, it had to offer a bit of encouragement.
Its fluffy ears twitched slightly as it sighed inwardly. This generation of cubs was really hard to raise.
Tch.
Once Nan Tian got the wolf’s approval, he beamed with joy and jogged over to its side. One hand held the cloth tied to his chest, and the other swung a shovel, following closely behind the wolf. As soon as the wolf bit a corpse into near-death, he would finish it off with a clean blow. The corpses dropped one by one.
It was starting to look like an assembly line.
The guests still in the building were all stunned by what they saw.
But thanks to this teamwork, the corpses in the courtyard were quickly taken down, one after another, clearing out a large area in no time.
Just as Nan Tian was about to celebrate, a sudden, sorrowful wolf howl echoed from afar.
The sound was weak and trembling, no longer carrying the majestic tone from earlier. Instead, it sounded like a warning of death.
Even on its dying breath, it fought to send an alert to its companions.
The lead wolf raised its head sharply, standing amidst the blood and bones, and looked out toward the forest and the fields beyond the yard.
Nan Tian couldn’t understand the meaning of the wild wolf’s howl, but the lead wolf clearly knew what its comrade was saying.
Its lips curled back, revealing its fangs. Its tightly drawn features radiated a ferocious battle intent. Its glowing green eyes burned with furious light.
Soon, Nan Tian understood what it meant.
…A strange corpse had appeared at the entrance to the courtyard.
Nan Tian saw that the corpse was dressed in funeral robes. The exposed hands and feet were already decayed to bare bone, yet the head remained perfectly intact.
He could even make out the facial features.
But the funeral clothes on the corpse were soaked in fresh blood, dripping onto the ground at his feet. His mouth and face were smeared with blood, and several strands of gray hair clung to his face.
Nan Tian froze for a second before realizing where this corpse had just been—and who the blood might have belonged to.
He immediately looked toward the lead wolf, worried.
Soft pads stepped silently into the pool of blood.
Under the moonlight, the lead wolf’s lithe and powerful body resembled a silver-gray arrow, shooting swiftly toward the corpse outside the gate.
Among wolves, strength was revered—the strongest was the lead wolf.
As the alpha of the entire pack, it possessed power far beyond the rest, with a massive body and terrifying explosive force that could tear any prey to shreds.
And now, the lead wolf was both shocked and furious. Its power surged without reservation, and with a roar, its sharp claws aimed straight for the skull of the corpse.
“Bang!”
The corpse’s head burst like fireworks. Fragments of red and white flesh splattered, landing on the lead wolf’s beautiful fur.
It lifted its head coldly and looked around.
Outside the courtyard, one corpse after another, all dressed in burial clothes and drenched in blood, slowly approached, forming an encircling formation.
The lead wolf slowly lowered its body, letting out a low growl from its throat. Its eerie green eyes glared viciously at the encroaching enemies.
…
In the dim and spacious cavern, there was nothing but the two of them.
Ye Li held his lover tightly, unwilling to let go.
If it were possible, he even wished time would stop right here, never moving forward again—allowing them to remain in this darkness, forgetting the world, existing only as lovers, free from all disturbances.
But the hardest part to endure… was Ye Li’s own clarity.
He knew all too well that emotions, for his beloved, could only ever occupy a small portion of his heart.
And even that tiny portion—he had wagered everything to obtain.
What filled Yan Shixun’s heart was the world and its people. He would never shirk his responsibility. Even burdens he could have easily refused, he had taken up on his own, holding up a crumbling heaven and earth.
Anyone who tried to stand in the way of Yan Shixun fighting for the people was standing in direct opposition to him.
—He was the only person who had survived the Evil Spirit Bone Transformation, one whom the Great Dao trusted deeply enough to entrust with the fate of the world.
Though helpless, Ye Li understood that the soul he loved was just this brilliant and steadfast. Therefore, he would never let Yan Shixun face the pain of making a difficult choice. His beloved only needed to do what he wanted to do—everything else… Ye Li would handle it all.
How could he bear to see Yan Shixun in pain?
Ye Li clenched his teeth and endured the trial, receiving authority from the Great Dao, accepting his past self, and taking command of heaven and earth.
Then, he returned to Yan Shixun’s side.
Even a single moment apart was unbearable for him.
Ye Li cherished Yan Shixun’s feelings toward him deeply and would never test this hard-won love.
No matter how reluctant he was, he merely rubbed lightly against his lover’s neck, gently licked the bead of blood welling from the bite mark, then placed a final, cherished kiss.
Afterward, with great reluctance, he released the arms that had been holding Yan Shixun.
But strangely, based on Ye Li’s understanding of him, it would’ve made more sense for Yan Shixun to turn around and hit him at this point. Yet after being let go, Yan Shixun remained stiff where he stood, motionless, without the slightest reaction.
…Hmm?
Ye Li felt puzzled. The first thought that flashed through his mind was—could it be that Shixun was injured and he hadn’t noticed?
But he immediately dismissed that possibility.
Before he even passed through the trial to return, he had accepted his past self. After the battle in Fengdu a thousand years ago, he had made a drastically different choice than before and gained a sensitivity toward remains.
So, when Yan Shixun approached the coffin, Ye Li had sensed his presence and his weakness. Power surged into Yan Shixun, filling his meridians and healing his grievous injuries and exhaustion.
Logically, there shouldn’t be any injuries left.
Ye Li furrowed his brows slightly, just about to step forward and ask, when suddenly, as if inspiration struck him, he chuckled knowingly.
A shy Shixun… was also very cute.
Luckily, the cavern was completely dark, allowing Yan Shixun’s slightly blushing face to remain perfectly hidden, unseen by anyone.
Ye Li quickly composed himself. After a moment, when Yan Shixun turned back to look at him, he had already returned to his usual calm and sharp demeanor.
“Let’s go,”
Yan Shixun said softly, “Heaven and earth are waiting for us.”
Ye Li nodded without hesitation. “Alright.”
As the words of the ghost deity fell, a fierce wind suddenly rose beneath their feet, howling through the empty cavern. Wind blades sharp as knives sheared the jagged stone walls, chunks of rock falling with deafening crashes. The entire cavern shook as if caught in an earthquake.
Meanwhile, the glowing particles scattered from the coffin were swept up by the wind, gathering from all directions toward Ye Li. They whipped at his trailing robe, sending his hair into a swirling frenzy—but nothing could obscure the blade-like sharpness of his gaze.
When he lifted his head and looked forward, it was as if his eyes pierced the entire cavern, locking straight onto the Great Dao suspended in the void.
The Lord of Fengdu stepped forward, slowly raised his hand, and pointed toward the sky.
“Heaven’s might descends—”
As Ye Li’s voice rang out, the world paused for a split second.
Time stopped. The air ceased to flow. The Great Dao cast its gaze down upon them. The restriction on this burial ground of ghost deities was instantly lifted, allowing it to rejoin the human realm and reintegrate into the natural order.
“The thirty-three celestial gods fall under my command, regulating the Five Sacred Mountains, the Eight Seas bear witness, the Primordial Origin descends, and true words are proclaimed…”
The entire earth began to tremble violently. Though no rain fell from the dark canopy above, faint thunder rolled through the distant, high clouds.
Violent winds swept across the land, raging from east to west, covering the north and south. A black fog converged from all directions.
Many people were startled awake in their sleep, shaken by the tremors, and frantically asked if it was an earthquake.
But among Taoist disciples and mystics, many scrambled to dress and rush out, staring in astonishment at the massive changes in the night sky.
Celestial masters muttered incantations, calculating with fingers, brows furrowed tight.
In the southwest, Taoist Li looked up at the sky in shock, crying out in disbelief, “The Great Dao… has changed?!”
“How can this be!”
All of these shifts were buried beneath the quaking darkness of the night.
The Great Dao lowered its head gently and released its constraints, allowing the power from Fengdu to approach the void.
Back in the cavern, Ye Li’s expression remained calm. His deep voice carried immense power, echoing endlessly off the stone walls.
“Where I command light, there shall be light. Where I command darkness, there shall be darkness. Where I command east, there shall be east. West, there shall be west. South and north, likewise. Heaven and earth, ghosts and gods shall obey. Those who do not… shall return to dust. Rivers, sun, moon, mountains, seas, stars—are all in my palm…”
With every syllable that fell into the air, Yan Shixun could feel the monumental shift within the Great Dao.
Between heaven and earth, the Dao was rapidly weakening. But at the same time, another force was rising swiftly—powerful enough to hold up the skies without letting the cosmic balance falter for even a moment.
And the source of that power…
Yan Shixun slowly looked toward Ye Li, standing before him.
The wild wind tossed his hair into disarray, fragmenting his vision of Ye Li into countless swirling pieces. His eyes stung.
That tall figure stood like a mountain—steadfast, dependable, unmoving.
And beneath Ye Li’s outstretched hand, golden light blazed brightly.
It was like a golden sun had fallen to earth—exploding magnificently.
“Boom——!!!”
A deafening roar spread outward as violent energy burst in all directions.
The fierce wind billowed Ye Li’s robes, roaring like thunder.
But not a trace of emotion appeared on Ye Li’s face. His defined hand continued to calmly restrain the power, not letting the blazing orb escape his grasp for even a second.
Then he slowly turned around. His other hand stretched out gently—toward the Yan Shixun behind him.
“Shixun,”
Ye Li called to his beloved in a gentle tone.
He gazed intently at Yan Shixun, as if the entire world had vanished from his sight—only Yan Shixun remained.
In Ye Li’s eyes, ripples shimmered like spring water: “There are three thousand paths to the Great Dao, and ninety thousand miles of clear sky. They endure through thousands, tens of thousands of years without fading. Yet, the Great Dao is a lonely path.”
“May I be so fortunate as to walk this path with you?”
Yan Shixun looked steadily at that outstretched hand waiting for his, and then, smiling, he stepped forward and placed his own hand into Ye Li’s.
“You may.”
“The world is vast, and eternity is lonesome. But you have me.”
“And I, on this journey, have you walking beside me. I have no more regrets.”
Ye Li slowly tightened his grip, holding his lover’s hand, unwilling to ever let go again.
He looked at Yan Shixun for a long time, then finally smiled.
“Having you is my greatest blessing.”
As his words fell, they carried the weight of truth.
In that very instant, Heaven and Earth bore witness. The ghost deity broke free from the long-standing shackles and embraced the years he had lived as a human.
The past, present, and future all converged into a single moment.
The ghost deity ascended the Great Dao, taking the place of the weakened path and once again propping up Heaven and Earth.
All living beings across the world seemed to sense it, turning their attention toward the northern bank of the river.
—In the past, a war general crossed the Li River and ascended in the land of Ye, becoming a ghost deity.
His name was Ye Li.
And now, in that same land of Ye, a new Great Dao had been born once more.
Only, this time, the Dao had given half of itself to his beloved.
In the hands they never released, the final truth of the Great Dao had been engraved.
—Love.
Ciacia/N:
Them: “Will you marry me?”
Ye Li: “There are three thousand paths to the Great Dao, and ninety thousand miles of clear sky. They endure through thousands, tens of thousands of years without fading. Yet, the Great Dao is a lonely path……May I be so fortunate as to walk this path with you?”
The difference is paramount.
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