Chapter 337: The Divine Tomb of the Underground Palace (24)
When the ground began to shake, the official in charge had just crawled out of the shadow puppet museum, covered in dust. Not only had he been scared half to death by the life-sized puppet figures that looked no different from real people in the dark, but he had also embarrassingly screamed out loud in front of the rescue team and Taoists, before falling straight into a box filled with puppet skeleton frames.
The team members stifled their laughter, letting out muffled snickers like “pfft!” and “pfft!” as they looked at the unfortunate official with sympathetic eyes. It took a tremendous effort to pull him out of the box without damaging the puppet skeletons.
—After all, the experts from the Cultural Relics and Intangible Heritage group were watching like hawks. Anyone who dared damage these exquisite and historically significant ghost puppets of the Southwest would be torn apart by the experts on the spot.
As a result, the team members had to act cautiously, and in the end, they could only lift the official out of the box the way one might carry a pig out of a flood.
Though already in his forties or fifties, the official’s legs were badly jammed by the box, making him hobble painfully while clutching his waist, grimacing as he listened to the rescue team leader’s progress report.
That was when the earthquake hit.
The official seriously suspected that his earlier fall had done more harm than he thought—otherwise, why did everything suddenly spin? It felt like he was a lone boat rocking on the ocean, swaying left and right without an anchor, tumbling disorientedly in the direction of the tremor.
Not only were the rescue team members affected, but the parked vehicles and even the artifacts they had salvaged wobbled and toppled in all directions.
“Paintings! The shadow puppet paintings!”
A pained cry came from a nearby expert of the Cultural Relics team.
Startled, the rescue team leader looked over and saw the expert reaching out desperately to protect a human-sized shadow puppet figure, completely disregarding his own safety, fearing that the precious artifact might fall and break.
But the skeleton alone weighed several dozen jin. If it fell on someone, the result would be disastrous!
Alarmed, the team leader forgot himself and rushed over, grabbing the expert while shielding the puppet. Amid the violent shaking, he gritted his teeth and stood his ground.
Cries of alarm echoed all around, yet everyone’s first instinct wasn’t to protect themselves—it was to shield their work. They didn’t want these invaluable artifacts to be destroyed. Medical personnel clung tightly to stretchers, afraid that injured patients might fall and suffer further harm.
Meanwhile, the response from the Taoists of Haiyun Temple stood out as oddly different.
Their first reaction was to look up at the sky. Even Taoist Ma, who was severely injured and lying on a stretcher, struggled to rise, staring in astonishment at the pitch-black night.
Ordinary people might not notice the changes in heaven and earth, but the Taoists instantly sensed a major shift in the stars. The balance of Yin and Yang had changed in a flash. A wave of rich spiritual energy burst from deep within the earth, something never before experienced. Even the air felt cleansed, and breathing became smooth and effortless.
Life itself surged across the land, penetrating every leyline and rapidly spreading outward, radiating across the mountains and rivers from a central point in the distance.
The Taoists stood stunned.
An overwhelming surge of vitality was not necessarily a good sign—it could indicate a disturbance in the natural order, an imbalance in the cosmic forces, a disruption of Heaven and Earth.
Just like what had happened before at Mount Nanming.
But strangely, none of the Taoists sensed anything off about this surge of life.
Unlike the deceptive beauty of Mount Nanming, this vitality was real—natural and fragrant, breathing it in filled one’s soul with clarity and calm, bringing joy from deep within the heart.
Despair vanished, leaving only hope behind.
As long as this vitality remained, Heaven and Earth would endure.
—Somehow, the Taoists all had this same intuition.
As cultivators of the Dao, they were far more attuned to the changes of the world than ordinary people.
When the violent shaking finally stopped after several minutes, the Taoists remained stunned. Their mouths still agape, they slowly lowered their heads to look at the others, seeking confirmation of what they had sensed.
“Could this be… another Mount Nanming?”
The mustached Taoist hesitated and asked, “Should we go take a look?”
The Taoist next to him shook his head and gestured toward Taoist Li. “Master Uncle hasn’t said anything. That means it’s likely nothing serious. Besides…”
He paused before continuing, “I was present during the incident at Mount Nanming. My junior brother died there more than ten years ago. I know that place very well. What we’re seeing now—it’s not the same.”
“This is Heaven and Earth itself, rekindling new life.”
Many Taoists held compasses in their hands, gazing at the stars while calculating with swift finger movements, murmuring rapidly under their breath with solemn expressions.
Just as the rescue team leader was about to breathe a sigh of relief after the tremor ended—and was even turning to smile at the cultural experts—he caught sight of the Taoists’ utterly serious expressions.
Leader: “…?”
Crap, something else must have gone wrong.
Panicking, he quickly returned the shadow puppet he’d been protecting back to the experts and rushed over to the Taoists to see if he could help.
But he had barely taken a few steps when something suddenly grabbed his boot, stopping him in his tracks.
He froze completely. Eyes wide in terror, he slowly looked down—and then…
He saw a figure lying on the ground, clinging tightly to his foot.
In that moment, every hair on his body stood on end, his scalp tingled, and sheer panic overwhelmed all logical thought, piercing straight into his soul.
“AAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!”
“Aaaahhhh what what what is it aaahhhh!!”
He screamed instinctively, but midway through his screaming, he realized something was off.
…Why was there an echo? And why did the voice sound a bit different?
Terrified, the team leader forced himself to look more closely at the ground.
When the figure raised his head, the team leader finally saw the face clearly.
—It wasn’t a ghost like he feared. It was the official in charge, who had fallen to the ground.
The leader choked back his scream, realizing that his mistake had even startled the official, and awkwardly scratched his nose, embarrassed.
Everyone else nearby had been startled by the yelling too, glancing over in alarm, while some Taoists were already rushing toward them.
The official, who had fallen during the quake and was still dizzy, had only meant to grab onto something nearby to pull himself up—but before he could react, a scream of pure terror made half his soul feel like it had flown away.
Before he could even figure out what was happening, the rescue team and Taoists were already rushing toward him, their faces filled with concern.
“What happened? What did you see? Where?”
“Are you alright? Can you stand?”
The team leader, realizing he had made a huge blunder, turned bright red and sheepishly explained the situation, so embarrassed he wished he could dig a hole and crawl into it.
—He was a rescue team leader responsible for protecting civilians from evil spirits, yet he had actually been scared like this.
And the thing that scared him wasn’t even a ghost—it was clearly the official in charge.
After the explanation, everyone finally understood and relaxed, the tension lifting from their shoulders. They looked at the official with smiles in their eyes and teased, “Come on, official in charge, maybe it’s time you started taking calcium supplements?”
“When we get back, why don’t you drop by our department and pick up some vitamins? You know how it is, once people get older, they need to be more careful.”
“Huh? I never would’ve guessed, you look pretty young. You mean you’re already at that age?”
“Really not easy. Thank you for your hard work, official in charge.”
“Quick, help him up! Lying on the ground in the dead of winter—you’ll catch a cold like that!”
With good-natured laughter and several people helping him up, the official’s face slowly turned red.
From anger.
Even though everyone was being kind, his proud personality wouldn’t allow him to admit he was getting old. Falling down like that in front of everyone—he felt completely humiliated.
He kept thanking those around him, then urged them to get back to work and not worry about him.
The team leader stood awkwardly to the side the whole time, staring at the sky and the ground—anywhere but at the official.
The official looked at him, full of grievance: Me and my misfortune of a subordinate—so this is what social death feels like.
“I’ve been working for so many years.”
“This is the first time someone’s ever called me old.”
His voice sounded so gloomy, the team leader immediately felt a chill run down his spine.
He forced a stiff smile, trying to ease the awkwardness.
But the official went on: “It’s like I just farted, and instead of covering for me, you shout for everyone to come look… My leg just hurt, that’s all, I lost my balance for a moment. If you had helped me up quickly, no one would’ve noticed. Even if you didn’t help, you could’ve at least blocked the view.”
Team Leader: QAQ.
Me and my boss, who insists on saving face for life.
Was this the equivalent of turning off the music when my boss starts singing? Or spinning the lazy Susan when he’s picking up food? Am I about to get a mandatory vacation tomorrow just because I stepped into the department with my left foot first?
The Taoist, noticing the official’s embarrassment, simply smiled and shook his head. He stood to the side and waited until the limping official had been helped up. Then, as if nothing had happened, he calmly walked over.
“Official in charge, that earthquake just now was far from ordinary. We all believe it was a celestial anomaly, a disturbance in the Great Dao, not a normal seismic event. But as for the specifics…”
The Taoist looked toward Taoist Li in the distance, concern in his eyes. “Right now, we can only hope that Taoist Li can make something out of it.”
The official had taken a nasty fall—twice in a row—and it felt like his legs no longer belonged to him.
But the strange nature of this quake had already caught the attention of everyone in the exorcist world. The special department responded immediately, and all teams began working in full swing.
Calls came in one after another, giving the official no time even to catch his breath. He immediately began coordinating between departments, patiently explaining the bizarre earthquake.
Although the Taoists had a preliminary guess, the official couldn’t just casually repeat it.
Anything he said would be taken as an official statement, so he had to be extremely cautious. Otherwise, it might be misinterpreted or misunderstood, resulting in serious consequences or unnecessary panic.
“We’re still investigating the cause of the earthquake. We’ve already contacted the Seismology Bureau. A dragon diving into the sea? No! Absolutely nothing like that. Why don’t you ask their department to be a bit more scientific?”
“No one’s refining pills, and no, the alchemy furnace didn’t explode… where do all these bizarre guesses even come from? Go tell those entertainment reporters waiting around that it’s just an earthquake—not all that mystical nonsense.”
“Haiyun Temple? What does this have to do with Haiyun Temple? Just because it’s in the southwest today doesn’t mean it caused the southwest quake, right? That’s a stereotype, and it’s prejudice—you really need to fix that mindset. Besides, the epicenter wasn’t even in the southwest; that area was just affected.”
“It’s still unclear whether this is related to the special department, but we’ll provide a thorough answer after a careful investigation. Please don’t worry.”
Because the panic caused by yesterday’s human-shaped statue attack hadn’t fully subsided, some entertainment journalists and marketing accounts smelled blood like sharks. They sensed a shadow of the special department behind this incident.
Even if they couldn’t confirm it, they still reached out to contacts, trying to dig up real evidence of the department’s existence. Ideally, they wanted some explosive story—something shocking and thrilling enough to attract massive attention. Firsthand news meant guaranteed traffic.
With things this tense, everyone in the special department was swamped. There was no one available to manage other areas.
Since the tremor had been felt almost nationwide, many people had been jolted awake and didn’t dare go back to sleep, fearing the ceiling might collapse. Wrapped in blankets, sitting by their doors, they shivered in the freezing draft while refreshing their phones again and again, searching for the latest updates.
It was probably the most people awake across the country at this hour of the night.
Ordinary folks didn’t know what was really going on. They simply assumed it was an earthquake.
But as they kept scrolling, they saw all sorts of strange theories popping up online.
Aside from messages reporting safety and tremor locations, the most common posts were urban legends—fallen dragons, mountain gods… everything imaginable, except any serious discussion of the actual earthquake.
“???”
Many people were left thoroughly confused. “What happened to believing in science?”
Taking advantage of the lingering fear from last night’s statue incident, marketing accounts and tabloids got excited again and started inventing “news,” heavily implying that this quake wasn’t normal. They said it was caused by something like a dragon plunging into the sea or a trapped dragon lashing out.
They included pictures—spliced together and circulated online for years—of so-called dragon corpses. They made it sound so terrifying that readers were left stunned and spooked.
Some even started to wonder: Could dragons really exist?
Others claimed it was a secret experiment, or the Ghost King had appeared, or an immortal had ascended…
In no time at all, rumors spread like wildfire. The internet was full of wild speculation.
The public opinion team, who had just begun to relax, was urgently called back to work overtime, scrambling to clean up the mess online.
At a time like this, some people were charging fearlessly into the frontlines, ready to fight tooth and nail against the unknown. Others were hiding behind screens, playing gods and monsters, calculating how much money they could make.
The official debunked rumors until his lips nearly blistered.
When he finally had a moment to take a sip of water, he glared at the just-ended phone call and muttered, “What kind of nonsense is this? Do they think they’re writing for ‘Strange Stories Monthly’? All this dime-store mystical fantasy—can’t anyone be normal for once?”
“A fallen dragon? I’ve worked for decades and never seen a single dragon. I have met a Lord of Fengdu, though. At least try to guess something a little more plausible.”
Shaking his head, he turned back, planning to find Taoist Li for a discussion.
But he hadn’t gotten far when a phone call came in urgently.
It was the call he had been waiting for—from the Seismology Bureau.
As soon as the results came out, the Bureau immediately informed him. They confirmed that this earthquake had not been detected in advance—it wasn’t a normal seismic event.
More importantly, they had located the epicenter.
It was in Jiangbei.
The moment he heard the place name, the official paused. Instantly, he remembered what Yan Shixun had told him on the phone earlier.
—At daybreak, go to Jiangbei.
Whether it was Yan Shixun, the celebrity guests, or that Lord of Fengdu…
They were all in Jiangbei.
Was that just a coincidence?
The official turned slowly, staring in the direction of Jiangbei, his thoughts racing.
At the same time, Taoist Li had already confirmed the location. He stood facing Jiangbei, his expression solemn.
Noticing this, the official swallowed hard and asked the person on the other end of the call, his voice slightly trembling, “Can you help me check something? The location of the epicenter… is it close to the ancient land of Ye?”
“Hm?”
The other party sounded a bit puzzled at first, but after quickly looking it up, they couldn’t help but ask in astonishment, “How did you even know about the old Ye City? It’s now called Yexian District, a subdistrict under a small city in the northern province across the river. Although it used to be a strategic fortress, due to its mountainous terrain and dangerous landscape, it never developed well. Hardly anyone even knows about it nowadays.”
How did he know?
The official in charge gave a wry smile.
He hadn’t known about Ye City before, but now he finally understood where the “Ye” in the title “Lord of Fengdu” came from.
Back when they were in the old Fengdu, the official had seen the incarnation of the general in the ebony statue. He knew then that the Lord of Fengdu had once been a general during the final days of a kingdom—a man whose death marked the fall of a nation.
And the land granted to that general just happened to be Ye.
—That was an era when kings, nobles, and ministers all took their fiefdoms as surnames.
Moreover, it was something that involved the Great Dao of Heaven and Earth.
Because of how serious the matter was, the official couldn’t explain much over the phone. He gave a vague reply and quickly hung up, then hurried toward Taoist Li.
“Taoist Li, do you think this earthquake has something to do with the Lord of Fengdu?”
The official asked anxiously. “If we count the time, Mr. Yan instructed me to arrive in Jiangbei at dawn. And now—it’s exactly the departure time. They’re in Jiangbei, and the earthquake’s in Jiangbei too—doesn’t that feel like too much of a coincidence?”
Taoist Li’s fingers paused mid-calculation. He turned with a solemn expression to look at the official, then gave a slow, weighty nod. “Yes, it is indeed the Lord of Fengdu.”
“But this earthquake… wasn’t caused by Fengdu. It was caused by… the Great Dao.”
“The Great Dao has just undergone a shift—an exchange between the old and the new.”
Taoist Li closed his eyes, and a stream of blood trickled down from the corner. His eyeballs were bright red.
The sight terrified the official, who immediately shouted for the other Taoists. But Taoist Li held up a hand to stop him.
“I dared to peer into the Great Dao. Going blind is the least that could happen. Even dying here would be a reasonable outcome. This little injury is nothing serious.”
Taoist Li gave a cold snort. Even as blood streamed down his face and his body visibly withered and weakened, his aura remained imposing—it never diminished.
He raised his head and gazed at the galaxy of stars spread across the sky.
No scriptures nor writings from ancient sages had ever mentioned a renewal of the Great Dao. It was as if, ever since the first breath of life was born between Heaven and Earth, the Dao had always existed—never fading, never dying.
Every cultivator took it for granted that the Dao would eternally govern the rotation of the heavens and the movement of the sun and moon—that it would always function flawlessly.
Just like how ordinary people never imagined the sun might explode tomorrow when they wake up.
But no one ever considered that the Dao could weaken, let alone change.
Taoist Li had lived over a hundred years, having guided Haiyun Temple through the chaos of war to the present day.
He had personally prepared the remains of his master and senior brothers. He had fought in battles, chewed on tree roots by the roadside, and crawled back to Haiyun Temple clinging to his last breath, surviving to become a living relic of the temple.
He had witnessed the Dao in its unweakened state. He knew what it was supposed to be like.
Taoist Li still remembered the sky and earth of his childhood—the scent of flowers and the feel of the air still lingered at the tip of his nose. It was the kind of protection only a strong Dao could grant to all living things, strong enough to keep evil spirits outside the realm of mortals, allowing exorcists to drive them away with power.
So, at the very moment the Dao shifted, he was stunned to sense a change in the air.
Because of that, he risked his life once more to cast a divination, hoping to discover the Dao’s current state.
During the transition from old to new, there existed a brief moment of emptiness—the old had vanished, but the new had not yet fully risen into the sky.
That was the moment when the Dao was at its weakest in all of eternity. It was hypervigilant to danger, unwilling to let any being—human, divine, or ghost—see its true form, fearing someone might take advantage of its vulnerability to plunge the mortal realm into chaos.
So Taoist Li had walked straight into the Dao’s most defensive moment, when even its warnings were more forceful than ever before.
Though he had considered himself experienced in peering into the Dao, even he had nearly failed—his consciousness almost didn’t return in time from the celestial patterns, and he came close to being struck by divine lightning and turned to ashes.
But at that critical moment, he distinctly felt a force supporting him.
The aura was cold yet gentle, oddly familiar.
In that instant, when Taoist Li turned around in shock, he saw a figure so familiar it made his eyes sting with heat. That figure stood beside him, gently holding him upright, smiling softly with downcast eyes as he reminded him: “Master Uncle Li, you must take care of your health.”
It was clearly Gou Dan’s disciple—Yan Shixun.
But somehow, Taoist Li felt like he was seeing the shadow of his own junior brother in Yan Shixun.
It was as though, before his departure, his junior brother had entrusted not just responsibility to Yan Shixun, but also passed on his exceptional bearing, now vividly reflected in Yan Shixun.
Before Taoist Li could make sense of why he saw Yan Shixun within the Great Dao, his vision blurred, and his spirit plummeted rapidly—returning to his body.
Where he should have perished beneath the weight of the Dao, he had only suffered an eye injury, all because of Yan Shixun’s presence.
Though Taoist Li wasn’t overly attached to his life, he was still deeply astonished.
When the official told Taoist Li about Yan Shixun’s earlier instructions, Taoist Li finally understood.
“Fengdu and Xiao Xun… they’re a pair, aren’t they?”
He solemnly asked the official for confirmation.
The official blinked. “?”
Though he didn’t understand why Taoist Li was suddenly interested in Yan Shixun’s romantic situation during such a tense and serious moment, he dared not dismiss the question. He nodded, “Yes. Mr. Yan and his lover have a very strong relationship—everyone knows it.”
But Taoist Li wasn’t done. He pressed further, “Are they married?”
The official hesitated. “…?”
He was a high-level official, not some gossiping idle man. How would he know something like that? He couldn’t just barge in and ask, “Are you married?”
Given Mr. Yan’s personality, if he really tried that, he might never get close to him again.
If it had been anyone else asking, he might have ignored the question. But this was Taoist Li.
So the official could only answer with a sigh, “I don’t think so? I remember Lu Xingxing mentioned once that he planned to help Mr. Yan pick out a pair of diamond rings.”
Taoist Li raised his eyebrows in surprise, then burst into hearty laughter. “That rascal—Xiao Xun—hahaha! Everyone else uses diamond rings to get married, and he—he uses the Dao itself as witness!”
Though he spoke jokingly, Taoist Li puffed out his chest proudly.
If it weren’t for the Dao’s secrecy, he would’ve grabbed a loudspeaker and announced it to the world—just to let everyone see how amazing their child was!
—To support the heavens and earth, to inherit the Dao, to plan for the future of all living beings.
This was a height Haiyun Temple had never reached… No, not even any exorcist in thousands of years had come this far!
No human, god, or ghost had ever become the Dao itself.
But Yan Shixun had done it.
At the most critical moment between Heaven and Earth, he had stepped up and fulfilled his duty.
Taoist Li grinned from ear to ear. The other Taoists looked on curiously, and seeing him so cheerful, they figured the crisis must have passed. One by one, they came over to ask what had happened.
But Taoist Li only raised a finger to his lips and smiled, “Can’t tell.”
With that, even the ones who hadn’t been curious before were now dying to know. They scratched their heads and chests, wondering what on earth had happened during the earthquake.
—The more you’re not allowed to know, the more you want to know.
It was probably just human nature.
Fortunately, Taoist Li’s instructions to the official got everyone back to work quickly, and the atmosphere turned serious again.
“Didn’t Xiao Xun tell you to reach Jiangbei’s old Ye City by dawn?” Taoist Li glanced up at the brilliant, star-filled night sky and smiled. “Let’s go. Now’s the perfect time.”
The official followed Taoist Li’s gaze—and was briefly stunned by the beauty of the starry sky above.
“Even when I was a kid back home on summer nights… I’ve never seen this many stars—never this bright.”
The official murmured to himself in awe, “It’s… breathtaking.”
At the same time, many others noticed the stars outside their windows.
People who couldn’t sleep because of the earthquake had all gathered by their windows, excitedly pointing at the night sky in awe. Countless others were snapping photos.
Meanwhile, those from the Taoist mystic traditions stood frozen in place, completely spellbound by the vast starry sky above.
New sun, moon, and stars were beginning to move in the heavens. A new vitality surged through the earth, bringing peace and happiness back to the human world.
Power surged through the meridians of every exorcist. With talismans in their hands, they were now capable of shielding ordinary people from the disturbance of ghosts and spirits.
There might have been no gods across the four corners of the world—
But the Great Dao had never truly departed.
It always hung silently above the firmament, quietly watching over the countless beings of the mortal world.
No matter whether one committed evil or good, no matter how small the merit or sin, the Great Dao recorded everything faithfully. It was the cruelest and yet the gentlest force of all—utterly impartial in its justice.
This was karma. Nothing more, nothing less.
On Wild Wolf Peak, in a small, shabby yet tidy hut, an elderly woman sat by the window with her drooping brows and weary gaze cast downward, looking at her wrinkled hands—
And the faint glimmer of light she cupped within her palms.
She didn’t even dare to breathe too heavily, afraid that the tiniest breath might extinguish that fragile flicker of light.
Though it was small, it was resilient enough. No matter how fierce the wind or rain, it refused to be extinguished.
“A new Mountain God is about to be born.”
The old woman’s voice was hoarse and unpleasant, yet it brimmed with tenderness and motherly affection.
She lifted her head to gaze at the starry sky outside the window, her eyes full of irrepressible joy.
“That exorcist… he actually succeeded. Yan Shixun… The Great Dao has been reopened, vitality restored, and all things revived.”
…
Inside the cave, as the raging wind gradually died down, Yan Shixun didn’t even get the chance to congratulate Ye Li before he keenly picked up on a faint sound coming from the stone wall nearby.
It was like cracks rapidly spreading through the mountain’s structure—this cave might soon collapse from the damage it had sustained.
Yan Shixun’s expression immediately turned serious.
But before he could act, Ye Li’s arm reached out and gently wrapped around his waist.
“Let’s go.”
Ye Li turned his head slightly and smiled at his beloved: “After all, this was once the burial ground of ghost deity. If we just leave it alone, the residual power could bring about another situation like the old Fengdu. We might as well destroy it completely.”
“Besides, letting ghost energy linger here isn’t a good thing.”
That once-illusory “treasure” had already lured greedy men into massacring a whole village.
If ghost energy were truly left behind, someone with ulterior motives might find it in the future—an exorcist harboring dark intentions could exploit even a wisp of that power to commit evil and disrupt the order of the human world.
Just like the Ritual Master of Mount Nanming had done.
Although, thanks to Yan Shixun, Ye Li no longer rejected the human world, he hadn’t forgotten the countless sins he had once witnessed there. He wouldn’t let his guard down so easily.
Yan Shixun nodded but still looked a little concerned about the aftermath of the cave collapse.
“Don’t worry.”
Ye Li casually extended his hand, his sleeve sweeping across his front. Instantly, an invisible force spread out, reshaping the mountain itself.
“Don’t forget, your beloved is now the Great Dao.”
He winked at Yan Shixun, his long, narrow eyes filled with warm amusement. “No matter what problem arises, just leave it to me.”
Yan Shixun was just about to say something when he noticed Ye Li’s gaze shifting.
It landed… on his neck.
Yan Shixun suddenly remembered what was on his neck and snapped, “…Scram!”
Ye Li couldn’t help bursting into loud laughter, thoroughly amused by his lover’s unchanged temperament.
As expected, with Shixun’s personality, the fact that he hadn’t already rushed over to punch him was a mercy. He had probably just been caught off guard and flustered back then.
While Ye Li laughed unrestrainedly, Yan Shixun forced on a fake smile. “Keep laughing, and it’s you back to Fengdu and me back to Binhai.”
Ye Li’s laughter stopped instantly.
No way—was his wife threatening to kick him out? Absolutely not!
The mountain began to tremble violently, dead leaves shook loose from the trees, branches whipped around, and the wind howled as it swept through the valley.
Ten thousand Fengdu soldiers stood silently in formation on the clearing outside the cave. Their neat ranks and awe-inspiring aura waited for the return of their general.
And besides the soldiers, several hundred translucent souls slowly drifted over from the cave and the yizhuang, gathering around the troops.
As the souls looked at the soldiers, a deep and commanding voice rang out.
“Dismount, remove your helmets, unsheathe your swords—salute!”
The ten thousand soldiers moved instantly. The clear clang of metal echoed as they removed their armor and weapons, placing them at their sides. They faced the gathered souls in perfect unison.
These souls, only just freed from their resentment and still lost in confusion, looked up to see a tall man in black robes step before them. He bowed solemnly and respectfully to every single one.
“Thank you for guarding the graves for hundreds of years. Thank you… for collecting the remains of my soldiers from the battlefield back then, so they would not lie exposed beneath the open sky.”
As Ye Li bowed, the ten thousand soldiers behind him also bowed deeply in unison, paying tribute to the souls.
The overwhelming sight of the army formation stunned the confused spirits, and slowly, fragments of memory returned.
The battlefield bathed in blood-red sunset, the desperate sprints through chaos, the carts filled with bodies, the cold armor clutched tightly in trembling arms, the tears carved into stone with a blade inside the cave, the cries as the stone door slowly closed…
And the noise outside the village at midnight, the torches swaying, the outsiders pretending to be bandits, children’s screams, and the thud of heads hitting the ground.
Scene after scene flashed through the souls’ memories.
One elderly soul squinted, then suddenly pointed at Ye Li in disbelief. “You—you’re that general from back then!”
Ye Li nodded and said softly, “Thank you for everything you did for us. If it hadn’t been for your kindness back then, the world wouldn’t have seen this new beginning.”
Had Ye Li not died defending Ye City to shelter the people, he wouldn’t have fallen in battle. But if he hadn’t done so, those same villagers wouldn’t have risked their lives to gather the remains of his soldiers in gratitude.
Because the ghost deity had a burial site, there was a chance to retrieve the king he had once abandoned, allowing the past and future to converge. He could ascend to the Great Dao and uphold the heavens and earth.
And the souls of those kind villagers who had lingered here wouldn’t have gotten the chance to reincarnate.
It was the people’s goodness that had made all of this possible.
“Now, your duty is complete. The burial ground is back in our hands. You may let go of your regrets and leave in peace.”
The Lord of Fengdu delivered his judgment: “To save the heavens and earth is a great virtue—kind souls shall be reincarnated and blessed for nine lifetimes.”
“But those steeped in sin shall be imprisoned in Fengdu’s prison and may not leave until all debts are paid.”
The souls were moved to tears, repeatedly thanking Ye Li, who returned each of their bows, expressing his gratitude for all they had done over the centuries. Their kindness and loyalty deserved to be honored.
Yin officials from the underworld had long been waiting outside ancient Ye City, respectfully leading the virtuous souls toward the afterlife.
As for those ghosts that had drifted out from the yizhuang and graves, they wailed and begged for mercy, but were still stomped into the ground by Fengdu’s ghost officers. Chains snapped into place, and they were dragged away toward Fengdu’s prison.
The final darkness before dawn gradually faded. With a thunderous crash, the cave completely collapsed—never again would it be a burial ground for ghost deity.
Mist curled through the mountains. When the first ray of light broke through the sky, golden sunlight spilled across the entire forest like a dream.
Yan Shixun and Ye Li stood side by side before the mountain, watching as the soldiers escorted the souls away, sins dissipating from this place. Even the lingering resentment that had hovered over the yizhuang melted into nothingness.
On the first winter morning after the rise of the new Great Dao that now upheld heaven and earth, the warm sun fell on Yan Shixun’s shoulders. Even the cold air carried a clean and fresh scent. Power and vitality filled every corner.
The creatures of the mountain cheered and leapt with joy—for the new world and the life it promised.
Tall and straight like a crane, Yan Shixun looked around, then slowly began to smile.
He reached out and gently took Ye Li’s slender, defined hand.
“Have I ever told you,”
He lowered his eyes slightly, voice soft, “I love you.”
Ye Li’s eyes widened instantly.
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