Chapter 339: The Divine Tomb of the Underground Palace (26)
The official in charge led the rescue team and Taoists down the highway at breakneck speed, emergency notice signs flashing as they pushed forward without daring to delay a single moment. After a frantic rush, they finally made up for the time lost due to the earthquake. Just as dawn broke, they arrived in Jiangbei from the southwest.
They covered in three hours a journey that usually took five.
When they got out of the car, even the seasoned official—used to long business trips—nearly collapsed as his legs gave out. The others looked pale and nauseated, gripping the car doors as waves of dry heaving hit them.
Time was tight and the mission urgent, so the driver focused solely on speed, sacrificing all comfort. They barreled down the highway at speeds rivaling a helicopter. Even the most experienced team members struggled to endure it, rocking so violently they nearly vomited.
The driver scratched his head sheepishly, standing awkwardly off to the side with an embarrassed grin.
But the official paid no attention to any of that. Stumbling forward, he ran toward the village, heart in turmoil, his mind now spiraling toward the worst possibilities.
All calls had gone unanswered. No one could be reached. Add to that the powerful earthquake, and Yan Shixun’s grave tone the night before…
Even though Taoist Li had told him not to worry, the official wouldn’t be at ease until he saw things with his own eyes.
And that anxiety hit a peak when he saw the guests’ vehicles parked outside the village—completely empty of people.
The tires had been slashed. The outer shells were covered in dents and scratches, streaked with grime and muck. The damage made the official instinctively think the cars had been attacked—perhaps by zombies, or malevolent spirits…
His vision darkened. He didn’t dare think further. He immediately ordered the rescue team behind him to start searching the surrounding mountains for people.
“Huh? Isn’t that Junior Brother Yan and the others?”
One of the Taoists, sharp-eyed, spotted figures in the distance illuminated by morning light.
The official squinted into the glaring sun, trying to make out the scene ahead.
On the narrow path leading through the fields into the village stood several figures.
Even though the light was behind them and their faces were obscured, the official slowly recognized the two leading figures by their silhouettes and auras—it was Yan Shixun and the Lord of Fengdu!
“Mr. Yan…”
Whether it was the harsh sunlight or the rough ride, tears welled up in the official’s eyes, his voice trembling.
The rescue team—prepared to scour the mountains in a grueling search—now burst into cheers at the sight of them.
First, one person broke into joyful tears and clapped wildly. Then a second, a third…
This was applause and honor for heroes who had returned triumphant.
The Taoists had initially planned to rush forward and question Yan Shixun, but upon hearing the applause, they broke into smiles and joined in, clapping sincerely. They felt nothing but pride for Yan Shixun—and deep gratitude that he had survived.
The applause immediately caught Yan Shixun’s attention.
He looked up cautiously, only to see familiar faces filled with joy and emotion. Many were wiping away tears.
His sharp features gradually softened. He let out a faint scoff. “These people…”
Yet a smile still lingered at the corners of his lips.
Once the official confirmed it was truly Yan Shixun, he hurried forward with excitement.
But as he drew near, his expression changed dramatically.
The ground… was littered with mangled flesh and shattered bones. Blood stains remained in the grass and shrubs, faintly revealing traces of the brutal struggle that had taken place the night before.
What shocked the official even more were the corpses sprawled haphazardly along the road.
Many wore burial garments, decayed into little more than dry bones. But a few were dressed like ordinary villagers, lying in pools of blood. These didn’t look like some cursed skeletons. They looked like local residents, beaten to death right on the spot.
The official’s face went pale. “Mr. Yan, this… what happened?”
Yan Shixun swept his gaze across the scene with clear disgust. He didn’t explain much. He simply said, flatly, “Those who do evil will meet their end. This was just his own retribution coming back to him.”
Jing Xiaobao was still clinging tightly to Yan Shixun’s leg, trying to act cute. Seeing the confused look on the official’s face, and knowing Yan Shixun didn’t like to waste words, he instantly got a clever idea.
The official, who had just been about to question Yan Shixun further, suddenly heard a voice beside him.
“Sir, if you’d like to know something, you can ask this humble one.”
Startled by the sudden voice, the official turned his head—only to come face-to-face with a terrifying, hideous ghostly visage.
The face was ashen-blue and deeply wrinkled. Its twisted facial features were bunched together grotesquely, and a large scar still marred the top of its head. It looked like some malevolent spirit lurking in the shadows, waiting to devour someone.
But that same face was now forcing out a smile—making it even more nightmarish.
The official’s scalp tingled with fear. He let out a shriek and staggered back two steps.
The creature, seeing it had scared him, stepped forward again with worry. It even reached out a hand in concern. “Sir, is something wrong…”
This only made the official even more terrified.
Thankfully, Yan Shixun reacted quickly, grabbing the official’s clothes and yanking him back just in time.
He glanced sideways at the creature next to him—not frightened like the official in charge—but instead noticed the standardized uniform it wore, along with the square-sealed key and the small notebook hanging at its waist.
Yan Shixun immediately understood. This was an official from the underworld, responsible for recording a soul’s life and death experiences and verifying any sins they had committed.
However, officials like this were usually chosen from those who had accumulated virtue during their lifetime. They typically never left the underworld—especially not in broad daylight…
Jing Xiaobao?
The child happily hugged Yan Shixun’s leg with his chubby little hands, beaming with pride as if he had done something amazing. In his mind, Yan Yan would surely be so pleased that he’d finally agree to let him raise a big dog\~
Yan Shixun: “…………”
Found him. The true culprit.
He turned to the official in charge and said, “This one is from the underworld—not a ghost, and certainly not here to take your life.”
Yan Shixun patiently calmed the official and explained, “He’s responsible for recording things. If you have any questions, you can ask him, and he’ll answer truthfully.”
The official was still shaken, but as he looked again at the underworld officer standing before him, his fear slowly turned into curiosity.
He had worked in special departments for most of his life, yet had never actually seen an underworld officer before.
The petty official finally realized as well, “Oh! This face of mine isn’t very pleasant to look at, I must’ve scared you. I truly apologize. I’m usually stationed in Hell, and everyone there is used to this appearance, so I forgot to take that into account.”
As he spoke, he respectfully turned and bowed to Yan Shixun, thanking him for explaining things on his behalf.
But despite his words, the official quietly shuffled farther and farther away from Yan Shixun, desperate to put more distance between them.
No one in their right mind would willingly face the Great Dao head-on. That kind of pressure was like Mount Tai crushing an ant—especially for a low-ranking ghost official like him, who still hoped to live a few more centuries…
He grumbled silently to himself but didn’t dare resent the King of Hell for summoning him to explain things. Even when he accidentally glanced at Jing Xiaobao, cold sweat instantly broke out on his back, and he quickly lowered his head.
A representative of the Great Dao, the King of Hell, and a living government official—he couldn’t afford to offend any of them.
The official in charge gradually calmed down and tentatively began conversing with the ghost official.
With both Yan Shixun and Jing Xiaobao standing nearby watching, the ghost official was practically overflowing with enthusiasm. He answered every question without reservation, and before the official could even ask, he would read his expression and offer up detailed explanations nonstop. The official listened intently, nodding again and again in sudden understanding.
While things were going smoothly on that side, a chill wind swirled ominously on the other.
Yan Shixun grabbed Jing Xiaobao by the back of his collar and stared at him with a fake smile plastered on his face. “Why did you make a ghost official come here in broad daylight?”
Jing Xiaobao blinked his beautiful large eyes, still unaware of what he had done wrong. In a proud, childish voice, he said, “Yan Yan didn’t want to explain everything to these people, right? So I brought someone else to do it. That way Yan Yan wouldn’t have to work so hard.”
“So Yan Yan, can I raise the big dog now, please\~?”
With a face full of “Wasn’t I amazing? Come on, praise me!” Jing Xiaobao instantly made Yan Shixun’s expression darken.
“Jing Xiaobao.”
Yan Shixun let out a cold laugh. “We haven’t seen each other in a while, and now you’ve gotten bolder, huh? Do you think just because you’re the King of Hell, you can do whatever you please?”
He raised his hand and pointed at the sun, already high in the sky. “Can’t you see the sun? It’s full daylight now. The yang energy is strong—it’s not a time when ghosts are supposed to be out and about, yet you summoned a ghost official here.”
“!!!”
Jing Xiaobao, who had clearly messed up in his attempt to suck up: “Q-Q”
“Th-then can I still keep the big dog at home?”
“Heh. You tell me.”
“Wuwuwu—Yan Yan! Yan Yan wuwuwu!!”
“Shut up. Cry when I’m dead. Until then, hold it in.”
Yan Shixun, still holding the sniffling Jing Xiaobao, handed over all matters related to the village to the official in charge. He also informed him that the guests had all suffered varying degrees of injury and were currently resting in the nearby house.
Upon hearing this, the medical and rescue personnel immediately rushed toward the house.
Even though the rescue team members were used to seeing severely injured people, the moment they laid eyes on the smeared brain matter and rotting flesh splattered everywhere—along with shattered, decaying bones and funeral robes scattered around—they felt their skin crawl. The discomfort of traveling long distances now felt ten times worse, and several were nauseated to the point of dry heaving.
“One of my senior brothers is a forensic pathologist, he asked me a few days ago if the emergency rescue division of the special department needed more people. I told him our work is about saving lives, so being a forensic specialist probably wasn’t a good fit.”
One of the medics muttered, expression difficult to describe as they looked at the bloody carnage all over the ground: “Now I realize—this department was practically made for forensic pathologists.”
When the guests saw the medical staff arrive, they finally breathed a sigh of relief.
An Nanyuan, who had been tense the entire night, collapsed to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Despite his own weakened state, he kept gesturing toward Bai Shuang and urgently told the medic in front of him, “I’m fine—check on her first. Her hand is nearly ruined. A girl shouldn’t be left with scars.”
But the medic clearly saw that An Nanyuan’s own palm was drenched in fresh blood, with an entire chunk of flesh having been ground off and barely hanging on. The injury was so severe he couldn’t even curl his fingers from the pain.
“Don’t worry, someone else is already looking after Miss Bai Shuang. You need to take care of yourself first. Give me your hand—now.”
As the medic grabbed his hand for a closer look, they gasped, “You were this close to damaging the tendons! And you’re saying you’re fine?”
During the chaos of the night, everyone had grabbed whatever they could find as weapons—there wasn’t even room to be picky.
The memorial portrait that An Nanyuan held tightly in his hand was heavy—heavy enough to be used as a weapon. But because he had gripped it so tightly the whole time, the two sharp corners of the picture frame had been grinding into his palms, pressing painfully between his finger bones.
After a general examination, the medical staff broke out in a cold sweat.
If it had deviated just a little more, or if it had gone on for just a few more minutes, An Nanyuan’s hand tendons would have been damaged. Even with treatment, it would have left long-term consequences.
An Nanyuan had originally looked completely unconcerned, but then he was met with reproachful gazes from the guests around him.
“Nanyuan, you have to take care of your body too.”
Zhao Zhen brought over a blanket and placed it behind Song Ci’s back so the delicate young master wouldn’t be hurt by the rough ground or the rocks. At the same time, he said seriously to An Nanyuan, “If anything like this ever happens again, you absolutely must not push through it. Understand?”
“We’ve all walked the line between life and death together. So what if you need to rest after getting injured? We’ll cover for you.”
Zhao Zhen added sternly, “Next time, if there’s a problem, speak up.”
Lying on the stretcher, An Nanyuan felt a sting in his eyes.
He sniffled and raised his arm to cover his eyes, making an excuse for himself. “The sun is really bright today. It’s hurting my eyes.”
But the tremble in his voice, tinged with the sound of crying, didn’t fool anyone.
The others exchanged looks—and then smiled.
“It’s really great… we can finally go home.”
“I feel like I haven’t slept in a lifetime. Once we get back, I’m turning off my phone and sleeping for three whole days and nights.”
“Aiyo, my poor old back… If we keep going through things like this, I’ll end up losing all my fat in the process.”
“Hiss! This is weird… When did I hurt my back? I didn’t even notice—ow, ow, ow!”
The medical staff were helping Nan Tian secure a brace for his fractured bone, but they were amused by his tightly scrunched-up face. One of them gave a light pat on his uninjured side and said with a laugh, “You didn’t even notice you were hurt? You really don’t take yourself seriously. Do you know how dangerous it is if a broken rib pierces your lung?”
Song Ci rolled his eyes and said coolly, “He should try it and find out.”
“He got so worked up over Xingxing that he didn’t even care about his own life. What, am I supposed to be the cold-blooded one here? You’re the only one allowed to feel something?”
The young master was wrapped in a thick blanket, his face pale as snow, but his voice still full of energy. The moment he started venting about everything they’d bottled up, he got mad again.
And Nan Tian had no way to argue back. He could only smile and nod, getting verbally skewered by the young master’s sharp tongue until there wasn’t a shred of him left intact.
Once the rescuers had finished checking all the traces of the battle left inside and outside the house, and had heard the full account from the guests, their expressions turned grim, and their eyes were filled with lingering fear.
In a situation like that, never mind the guests—even these physically fit rescue team members might not have made it out unharmed. The fact that the guests had survived to this extent was nothing short of a miracle.
The rescuers looked at the guests with newfound admiration. “You’re amazing. Because of you, I think I’ve changed my perspective on actors and singers completely.”
The other team members nodded in agreement.
But Bai Shuang’s expression dimmed. She stared at a large patch of dried blood in the courtyard, looking lost.
That was where the lead wolf had lain before.
Though the lead wolf had now been saved thanks to Brother Yan, she still remembered the comforting feeling of being shielded by its powerful body—and the warmth of its blood as it splashed onto her skin.
“It’s not us who deserve admiration. It’s the wolf pack.”
Bai Shuang gave a bitter smile and shook her head slowly. “If Brother Yan hadn’t commanded them to protect us, there’s no way we would have survived that ordeal.”
She looked exhausted, her hair messy, and her face and body were covered in blood. Her delicate features were completely obscured by blood and dust.
A medic came over and gently hugged her, patting her back to comfort her. “It’s all over now. You’re safe. It’s all over. We’re going home.”
Once he saw that all the guests were receiving proper medical care and arrangements had been made, Yan Shixun finally turned around. He grabbed Jing Xiaobao—who was sobbing with hiccups—and started walking toward the forested mountain area.
“Mr. Yan, where are you going?”
One of the rescuers asked in surprise, “Aren’t you coming with us?”
Yan Shixun slowly shook his head. His voice was quiet but resolute. “There’s still one person who hasn’t come back.”
“I’m going to find him—and bring him home.”
Yan Shixun took long strides, his steps steady. Ye Li walked beside him.
Beside them, two strong wolves quickly followed, walking proudly by his side.
But as they walked, the two wolves gradually faded—becoming more and more transparent—until they completely vanished into the air.
One of the rescuers rubbed his eyes in disbelief and stared at Yan Shixun, mumbling to the person next to him, “Did you see that? The wolves… they disappeared!”
The person next to him immediately looked puzzled. “What wolves? Are you hallucinating from staying up all night? You’re not about to drop dead, are you? Someone check him!”
“That’s not right. I did see a wolf! There really was one… Huh? Where did it go? It was just squatting right next to Brother Yan’s feet.”
Another team member objected, but just as he was about to point at the wolf as evidence, he was stunned to discover—it had vanished!
“What’s going on…”
The team member murmured, feeling as though the world before him had suddenly turned surreal.
Some of the people remaining claimed they saw a wolf, while others insisted they didn’t. Neither side could convince the other.
In the end, the rescue team leader shook his head and sighed, “That’s Mr. Yan we’re talking about. Isn’t it normal if there’s something going on that we can’t understand? Who cares whether there was a wolf or not—it’s not like it bit you. Besides, if anything happens, Mr. Yan is here. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“Come on, let’s get to work. Don’t even think about slacking off!”
“I haven’t slept in three days. Can someone switch with me? I’m about to drop dead…”
“As if! Who here hasn’t been forcing themselves to keep going for days? We’re short on people. Just hang in there. I haven’t slept in four days, and I just puked from that bumpy ride earlier.”
The team moaned and groaned but still joked with each other, laughter echoing among the fatigue.
Their task was to thoroughly inspect and map out the area, accurately recreate the completed scenes, and ensure that nothing tainted by ghostly energy was left behind.
But just as they turned around, one team member scratched his head, finally realizing what had been nagging at him.
“Wait a second—did anyone see Director Zhang?”
He looked around, confused. “Isn’t Director Zhang usually walking right next to Mr. Yan? Why haven’t we seen him this time? Where did he go?”
“Huh, now that you mention it…”
“That is strange…”
“Oh! That’s right! Earlier, Mr. Yan said he was going to pick someone up—he must’ve meant Director Zhang, right?”
The others suddenly understood and relaxed.
“With Mr. Yan there, we don’t need to worry about Director Zhang.”
Meanwhile, on the other side, the official in charge didn’t have time to spare for Yan Shixun. He was busy discussing the situation with a ghost official.
Thanks to the ghost official’s explanation, the official quickly learned what these corpses lying on the ground had done in life and what sins and blood debts they or their ancestors had committed, along with the punishments they rightfully deserved.
Both the past and the future were laid out clearly before him.
The official immediately became furious. “They even killed people?! How dare they! What era do they think this is, pulling that ‘claiming the mountains as kings’ nonsense?”
The ghost official glanced at the human official with a trace of pity and sighed inwardly.
He had held this position for centuries, recording the souls doomed to be cast into hell, having seen countless sinners so steeped in evil that no forgiveness could be granted. That was why he understood just how much effort it took to maintain peace in the human world.
In his view, this official deserved respect. But those sinners…
The ghost official cast a cold glance at the corpses and said, “They’re not worth your anger. There are many good people still out there who need your protection. Don’t get worked up. Take care of your health.”
The official had just calmed his breathing when he heard the ghost official speak again—with a face that looked even more horrifying when it smiled: “Live a few hundred more years.”
The official: “……???”
“Thank you… but I don’t think I’ll make it to that age.”
The official looked at the ghost official awkwardly and suddenly became aware of the stark difference between them. “If I can live a few more decades and make it to retirement, that’ll be enough.”
The ghost official looked at him in puzzlement, then realization dawned on him. His mind, long fixed in the mindset of the underworld, finally adjusted to that of ordinary people. Embarrassed, he said, “Ah, I’m so used to talking like this with my colleagues down in the underworld. I forgot—you’re still alive.”
The official: …What a thing to say.
The ghost official bowed deeply several times. “Then once you pass away, consider joining our underworld bureau. You could be my superior. Living a few more hundred years would be no problem.”
The official in charge felt that if it weren’t for his strong professional training, he might’ve coughed up a mouthful of blood right then and there.
That line didn’t sound like a blessing at all! If an ordinary person said something like “go to the underworld,” it would absolutely sound like a curse, wouldn’t it?
Still, considering the cultural differences between the underworld and the human world, the official forced himself to adapt. He quickly took the ghost official’s invitation to visit the underworld as a form of recognition for his work.
It wasn’t until he began inspecting the situation throughout the village that he realized just how useful the ghost official really was. This time, Jing Xiaobao hadn’t set him up at all.
Whether it was a body that had rotted down to a handful of dry bones and couldn’t be visually identified, or a pile of flesh that had turned into a mangled mess, the ghost official only needed a glance to clearly state who the person was, both in life and death. From personal history and identity to deeds, karma, and cause and effect, he flipped through the worn little notebook in his hands and explained everything in clear detail.
The official stood there, dumbfounded.
The surrounding Taoists and rescue team members, hearing the commotion, also looked over in amazement.
“Your work… is incredibly thorough.”
The official sighed in admiration. “You’re practically a walking archive.”
“Oh, you flatter me.”
The ghost official bowed humbly, but he looked quite pleased with himself. Puffing up his chest with pride, he added, “It’s all thanks to the King of Hell’s leadership—his wisdom is unmatched.”
The official: …Alright, now I believe you’ve been alive for a few hundred years. That flattery was perfectly executed.
With the ghost official helping, the official’s work progressed at lightning speed. What would normally take several days could now be finished in just a few minutes.
One person spoke, another recorded, a third moved the corpses and sealed the evidence.
Their speed was so fast it practically became a production line—smooth and efficient. The rescue team members looked on, stunned, finding rare joy in what was usually a tedious and time-consuming task.
Normally, with this kind of remains, they had to verify the identity and name, sort out the entire sequence of events, and only then seal and document the case. This way, if a similar incident occurred in the future, there would be records to reference and better solutions available.
Though it was cumbersome and exhausting work, it was their duty.
The team members didn’t complain, but if the process could be made easier, they were certainly glad for it.
Suddenly, even the ghost official’s terrifying face couldn’t dampen their enthusiasm—they all crowded around him, eager to learn his methods.
The ghost official quickly hugged his little notebook tightly. “What are you all doing? Why are you surrounding me? You can’t look! This is confidential! It’s underworld business!”
The Taoists watching this scene couldn’t help but laugh. “We used to fear the underworld. Now it’s the underworld that fears us.”
“That’s because Junior Brother Yan is here.”
Another Taoist burst out laughing. “Even though the Grandmaster didn’t say it directly last night, it’s obvious that this change must’ve come from Junior Brother Yan. The younger generation is truly impressive! With him, Haiyun Temple is blessed—no, the whole human world is blessed!”
The long-bearded Taoist nodded, stroking his beard with pride and satisfaction. “From misfortune comes blessing. Though the Great Dao faltered, it brought about new life. Balance between Yin and Yang, and vitality springs forth. Good, good!”
“If only Hermit Chengyun were still here.”
One taoist sighed. “If only he could see for himself what a brilliant, awe-inspiring disciple he personally taught—someone who could turn the tide in the face of catastrophe.”
“Such a pity… Hermit Chengyun left us far too soon…”
After a moment of silence, someone suddenly realized something. “Huh? That cheerful little director who always followed Taoist Yan around—where did he go? Why isn’t he here?”
Another Taoist who had personally seen the King of Hell in the old Fengdu Hell sighed. “The affairs of ghosts and deities… how could the living ever fully understand? We can only trust Taoist Yan, and wait for his news.”
…
Because he was still worried about the guests on the other side of the mountain forest—and about all the living creatures of the world—Yan Shixun, after leaving the cave, immediately began confirming the safety and vitality of all lifeforms.
Not until he had personally witnessed the restoration of peace in heaven and earth, and confirmed that the guests had been taken into the care of the official in charge and the rescue team, did Yan Shixun suppress his own anxious concerns, finish handling everything, and devote himself fully to finding the King of Hell.
“In the trial, I returned to the moment a thousand years ago, when I battled the Northern Yin Fengdu Emperor. But even if I had to go through it all again, I would still make the same choice I once did—nothing would change.”
“I despised the person I used to be. I failed to protect the lives behind me. That’s something I will never be able to forgive myself for. Even though I was able to bring justice to the people after their deaths and help them reincarnate into a new life… it still couldn’t ease my guilt.”
Ye Li lowered his eyes slightly. “Though I don’t agree with the Northern Yin Fengdu Emperor, there’s one thing said in the old Fengdu Hell that’s true—‘Guilt is the most terrifying hell of all. You draw a prison with your own hands, and there is no escape.’”
Even though he wasn’t afraid of the trial or the vast heavens and earth, he also knew very well that he might not survive it.
Most people couldn’t see themselves clearly, but Ye Li was not one of them.
He had always known exactly what he wanted, and what he stood for.
And the path he had always adhered to—this time, it could very well lead to his death, his complete annihilation within the trial.
The Great Dao had never been a path that allowed compromise. It would not go soft on anyone, because it knew very clearly: the moment it wavered or made a single mistake, it would be all living things that suffered. The Dao bore responsibility for the future of all heaven and earth, seeing the futures that no one else could, and laying plans in advance to face coming disasters.
Even though the living might not understand the Dao, that never made it falter in the slightest.
And when it came time to appoint a new inheritor of the Dao, its standards were just as strict.
Even the Lord of Fengdu, whom it had pleaded with countless times, had shown no leniency or sympathy.
Did it want to become the new Great Dao?
Then it had to truly possess power equal to that of the Great Dao, enough to shoulder the weight of all living things and creation itself.
From the moment Ye Li stepped into the trial realm, he had known exactly what he would be facing.
But his beloved was waiting for him. The heavens, the earth, and all the kind spirits were waiting for him. Every hope had been pinned on him, and he would not waver in the slightest.
Even though Ye Li had prepared himself thoroughly, he had also accepted the possibility of dying and vanishing completely if he failed. No matter what the outcome, he had to walk this path.
Everything had gone just as Ye Li expected—
Except for the appearance of the King of Hell.
When Ye Li, having lost all memory, saw the King of Hell for the first time during the trial, he immediately sensed that something was wrong. The memories stripped away by the Great Dao instinctively began to return to his soul.
The hint from the King of Hell awakened Ye Li, like a timely rainfall deciding the outcome of a drought, bringing new life to the battlefield soaked in blood and fire.
Because of that, Ye Li was able to face himself calmly and accept the past that had once filled him with hatred.
At the moment the Lord of Fengdu successfully ascended to the position of the Great Dao, the Great Dao also delivered its punishment to the King of Hell.
Whether ghost deities or the Dao itself, breaking the laws of heaven and earth would always bring about the appropriate consequences.
Especially for something as significant as appointing a new Great Dao.
When Ye Li felt the weight of the Great Dao settle upon his shoulders, he also clearly understood that the King of Hell…
was truly and utterly gone.
Ye Li stood in a daze within the trial realm for a long time before he could accept this fact.
The King of Hell had always been a mere remnant soul, stripped of his divine name. Dozens of cycles of reincarnation had left his power severely weakened. After this lifetime, he would completely return to death.
And yet, he had cruelly denied himself even this final life. Even knowing exactly what would happen, he had calmly entered the trial grounds, given Ye Li the final push at the crucial moment, and fallen into the abyss himself.
There was no way someone like the King of Hell could survive the karmic backlash from the Dao.
After all, this was…
The karma of ascending to the Great Dao.
The stronger the power Ye Li received as the new Great Dao, the more violently the karmic backlash would fall upon the King of Hell.
Under the thunder of judgment, not even bones would remain.
Before leaving the trial, Ye Li had searched for the King of Hell’s soul, scouring the illusionary realm for any trace of him—but there had been no response.
Just like a century ago, after the gods fell, when the Lord of Fengdu had searched all across heaven and earth trying to find the King of Hell’s soul, only to return empty-handed.
Now, the same scene repeated itself.
Ye Li lowered his dark, crow-feather-like lashes slightly and recounted everything he had experienced to Yan Shixun.
His voice was calm, as if this matter could no longer stir any emotion in him.
But the hand hanging at his side slowly clenched into a fist.
Yan Shixun stood in the silent forest, remaining quiet for a long time.
Ye Li furrowed his brow slightly, his expression filled with compassion.
He knew how important the King of Hell—or rather, Zhang Wubing—had been to Yan Shixun.
When Li Chengyun died, it had been Zhang Wubing who stayed by Yan Shixun’s side, helping him manage all the trivial affairs, always keeping him company.
And in the years that followed Li Chengyun’s departure, there had been no one else at Yan Shixun’s side—only Zhang Wubing.
Even though that little idiot who could summon ghosts kept snatching time and life away from the jaws of death every day, crying and clinging to Yan Shixun’s leg for support, he couldn’t survive a single day without Yan Shixun’s help.
To outsiders, it had always seemed like Zhang Wubing was the one asking for everything, and Yan Shixun merely tolerated him out of kindness or because of Zhang Wubing’s background.
But anyone who truly knew Yan Shixun would realize—he was never just some soft-hearted good guy.
Having seen countless innocent souls and wicked ghosts, and having heard truths long buried in darkness, Yan Shixun had the clearest, sharpest understanding of human nature.
No one could hide their selfish intentions from Yan Shixun.
Unless they were truly sincere and carried no malice at all.
Zhang Wubing had been like that.
He had genuinely regarded Yan Shixun as his friend.
Perhaps there were many so-called “friends,” especially in the circles of the wealthy third generation, where meeting someone once already made you friends. But the kind of friend you would give your life for—there was only one for Zhang Wubing. It was Yan Shixun.
That foolishly sincere Zhang Wubing had offered a warmth to the lonely Yan Shixun who walked the human world alone. It was pure and blazing, so much so that Yan Shixun had never taken his eyes off the mortal realm, never disconnected from society for even a moment.
Even if Yan Shixun often complained about the clingy fool holding onto his thigh, every time he rescued Zhang Wubing, he never hesitated—not even once.
This had been his only friend.
His only one.
Yan Shixun pressed his lips together. His gaze darkened.
“If the King of Hell survived the death of the gods a hundred years ago, then he can survive this too.”
Yan Shixun looked up at Ye Li. “I don’t believe the King of Hell is dead. That guy—he’s more cunning than a fox. If he could deceive the Dao once, he can do it again. Unless I see him die with my own eyes, I won’t give up.”
“His soul was left inside the trial? Then open it again. I’ll go in and find him.”
Yan Shixun’s voice was calm, but his eyes were unwavering. “Until the very last second, I will never give up easily.”
Ye Li saw clearly the stubbornness in his lover’s eyes. He didn’t try to persuade him—he abandoned reason and chose emotion.
In that moment, he wasn’t the Great Dao. He was simply Ye Li.
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