Chapter 343: The End (2)
“I once met the dumbest little Taoist.”
In the warm, sunny light of a winter day, Yan Shixun lowered his eyes slightly, a soft smile curling on his lips.
“He didn’t like reading. He hated anything dull or tedious. Most of all, he couldn’t stand staying in one place for too long. Even if it was just a desk and a chair, he couldn’t sit still for more than ten minutes without squirming and wanting to run off to play.”
He shook his head and chuckled. “He was like a husky trapped in a cage.”
“Huskies aren’t used as police dogs because people think they’re not reliable. They say he wouldn’t make a good Taoist and wouldn’t be able to protect anyone. But what most people don’t see is that deep down, he has the most steadfast Dao heart.”
“No amount of money could buy him. No worldly temptation could shake him. When his elder died in front of him, he made up his mind to carry on the path that had been left unfinished.”
Yet the world only saw his grinning, unserious side. No one noticed how pure and resolute his eyes became when that smile faded.
“He clearly lacked real strength, yet when others cried for help, he still charged ahead without hesitation… even if the price he had to pay was his life, he never once flinched.”
Yan Shixun laughed quietly, his deep voice laced with a hint of helpless affection. “How can someone be so stupid? You just can’t let go of him. You end up wanting to do everything you can for him.”
“Don’t you think so, Xingxing?”
He looked at the still-unconscious Lu Xingxing and asked in a low voice, “Have you ever seen anyone dumber than him?”
Lu Xingxing breathed steadily, as if he were simply sleeping peacefully. He didn’t respond to Yan Shixun’s words.
But his eyelashes quivered slightly, and his eyeballs rolled restlessly beneath closed lids, as if he were unwilling to accept the label and wanted to open his eyes to argue.
Yan Shixun noticed this tiny movement, and his gaze softened.
Xingxing’s fighting spirit was as strong as ever.
The first time they met, Xingxing had come looking for him in defiance, not convinced by the praise from Taoist Li and Taoist Song Yi. He had been determined to prove himself.
Then, Yan Shixun had pinned him to the ground and trounced him.
After that, every time they met, Xingxing kept stubbornly trying to prove himself—though the result was always the same: he was thoroughly beaten, over and over again.
But at some point, the way Xingxing looked at him started to change. And Yan Shixun gradually accepted his role as “Master Uncle,” truly beginning to treat Xingxing as the junior he needed to protect.
Yan Shixun kept Lu Xingxing close, teaching him the way Li Chengyun had once taught him—hand-in-hand, explaining what things were and how to handle them, correcting Xingxing’s flawed thinking, and sharing with him the world he saw…
Every time Lu Xingxing called him “Master Uncle,” Yan Shixun would feel as if he saw a lively husky bounding toward him, tail wagging furiously and howling with excitement.
Yan Shixun began to understand how Taoist Song Yi and the others at Haiyun Temple felt. Though no one could compare to the genius of someone with a talent like Evil Spirit Bone Transformation, Lu Xingxing—despite his clumsiness and resistance to learning—still brought such good energy that the elders couldn’t help but tolerate him.
—Of course, unlike Taoist Song Yi, Yan Shixun truly was a strict and stern mentor, never going easy on Lu Xingxing when reprimanding him.
He had high hopes for Lu Xingxing. He believed that someday Xingxing would become a Taoist capable of standing on his own, just like the many great Taoists who came before him at Haiyun Temple—someone willing to give everything to protect life.
Yan Shixun had seen the resolve in Lu Xingxing’s eyes and the pure, innocent heart within him. He was willing to help this junior along the way and didn’t want him to get hurt or face danger.
Even though he knew that dealing with ghosts and spirits made such danger unavoidable.
“Your Master Aunt actually wanted to come see you, but the Lord of Fengdu came to the temple…”
As if remembering something amusing, Yan Shixun chuckled quietly. “No matter how I look at it, it didn’t feel like a friendly visit. More like someone came to pick a fight.”
The deities worshipped at Haiyun Temple were all at odds with ghostly entities.
“When you first called Ye Li ‘Master Aunt,’ I thought it was just because Ye Li and I had played the roles of the Jing couple before. But now, it seems that when it comes to feelings, you actually saw through things far better than I did. You noticed Ye Li’s thoughts long before I did.”
Yan Shixun shook his head, laughing. “No wonder Ye Li is cold to everyone else but always treats you well. So that’s the reason.”
“But still.”
He lowered his gaze and looked at Lu Xingxing. After a while, he spoke softly, “That goodwill is what earned you this tiny thread of hope.”
The abbot had already left to give them space. The other Taoists also knew Yan Shixun had returned today, so even though they were anxious and worried, they didn’t come in to disturb him. Instead, they waited nervously outside the courtyard for news.
Would Xingxing wake up? Would he be okay? Surely, nothing bad would happen—surely, everything would go well…
Even the Taoist, normally calm and composed, paced back and forth outside, restless and fidgeting. If he could, he would have blinked himself forward a few hours just to hear the news that Xingxing was safe and sound.
The young acolyte squinted from being dizzy and grumbled with displeasure, “Senior Brother, could you please stop pacing back and forth? I just finished sweeping the fallen leaves into a pile and now you’ve scattered them again.”
The Taoist looked down and, sure enough, he was standing right in the middle of the pile of leaves—something he hadn’t even realized.
He gave the young acolyte an apologetic smile, then took the large broom from his hands and said that since he couldn’t calm his mind anyway, he might as well keep himself busy. It might make him feel a bit better.
As he spoke, he urged the young acolyte to go back to his room and get some rest.
Lately, everyone in Haiyun Temple had been incredibly busy. Many of the daily chores in the temple had to be passed on to the young acolytes simply because there weren’t enough hands. These kids, who were still of elementary and middle school age by ordinary standards, had already started acting like grown-ups, helping the abbot manage the temple, and keeping everything neatly in order.
However, due to their young age and the fact that they were still growing, they often got very sleepy. It wasn’t unusual for one of them to doze off while standing and wiping dust in the main hall.
Many visitors had witnessed such scenes and felt sorry for these little monks. They even brought it up with the abbot and other Taoists, gently suggesting that the little ones should be allowed to sleep more and eat a bit better—they were just children, after all.
The abbot, “…When I was his age, I was already helping my master provide for the entire temple.”
But despite what he said, the abbot still felt for the young ones and wanted them to rest more.
Only to be refused by the acolyte.
“My idol was only nineteen when he graduated from his training. When he was my age, he was already following his master to expel evil and catch ghosts. He told me to grow up faster.”
The young acolyte clenched his fist, encouraging himself, “I must grow up quickly! I want to be someone who can stand on his own!”
The abbot didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
And the Taoist hadn’t succeeded in sending the young acolyte off to rest either. Once the child saw that someone was sweeping in his place, he turned and said he was heading to the main hall.
Leaving the Taoist alone to face a courtyard full of fallen leaves.
The Taoist turned back to glance at the quiet courtyard, sighed, bent down, and began sweeping while chanting scriptures under his breath, offering prayers for his little junior brother, Xingxing.
Ever since Haiyun Temple had opened its doors as a refuge during the recent crisis, the returning townsfolk had spread the word. They all said Haiyun Temple truly had real knowledge and skill, and its moral conduct was upright. Even if one didn’t believe in any of it, coming for peace of mind or just to enjoy the scenery was still worth the trip.
Because of this, the incense in the temple burned more fervently than ever. Visitors came in a steady stream. As soon as the mountain gate opened to the public, people flooded in.
Many of the newcomers weren’t familiar with Haiyun Temple. When they saw such a young child moving about with practiced ease, they couldn’t help but be curious.
“Is such a small child really a master in the temple?”
Someone whispered to the person next to them, “Isn’t this kind of cruel? Making kids work so young? Isn’t that child labor?”
But the regular visitors were already used to it. When the young acolyte passed by, they even bowed respectfully and clasped their hands in greeting. Some smiled and tried to pat his head, but were firmly refused. Even so, they weren’t discouraged, and their affection remained, as if looking at their own children.
“Don’t be fooled by how young the little master is. His understanding of life is far deeper than most people’s. Even folks in their seventies or eighties don’t have the kind of clarity he does.”
One visitor watched the young acolyte’s back with reverence in their eyes. “He is like the Taoist masters from decades ago, and one day, he’ll shoulder the future of Haiyun Temple. He’s trying his best to grow up fast, to study hard, all to protect us.”
“He knows exactly what he wants, and the road beneath his feet is clear and steady.”
The visitor turned back to the astonished tourist and smiled, “I’m already seventy. I have several houses in Binhai. But to this day, I still don’t understand what my life is about, or what it is I’m really looking for. Every day I live feels lost and full of anxiety.”
“When I compare myself to them, I truly envy the Taoists.”
She let out a sigh and said, “They’re never confused. Their lives are full of meaning, every minute and every second is fulfilling.”
The tourist listened and nodded in admiration. When they looked at Haiyun Temple again, their gaze was filled with respect.
Still, there were some visitors who mumbled, puzzled about how the temple felt a bit quieter this year.
“I remember when I came in previous years, there was a particularly lively young man. I think his name was Xingxing?”
That visitor chuckled as they gestured, “Last time I was halfway up the mountain and got tired, it was him who carried me the rest of the way up. Such a good kid. I used to feel happy just seeing him around. I wonder why he didn’t show up this year?”
Someone chimed in, “You’re talking about the young Taoist from Haiyun Temple. I saw his master chasing him all over the mountain with a peach wood sword the other day. Then his master’s master started chasing his master… I heard that old Taoist is nearly two hundred years old and still looks like he’s only in his sixties or seventies. Pretty incredible.”
“Oh, oh, I remember now! You’re talking about that young Taoist named Lu Xingxing, right? Hahaha, that kid was so lively. If his master wasn’t chasing him around with a stick, he’d be chasing the chickens and dogs all over the temple grounds. He was really amusing.”
“Aiya, I came here just for Brother Yan. Why haven’t I seen him? Isn’t he supposed to be a Taoist of Haiyun Temple?”
“Speaking of which… it really has been a long time since anyone saw Xingxing…”
…
In front of the main hall, incense smoke swirled through the air. The distinctive scent of burning incense gradually calmed the mind.
The young acolyte respectfully saluted the statue and was just about to begin dusting it. But upon hearing voices behind him, he raised his head again and looked toward the courtyard where Yan Shixun resided, nodding in agreement.
What they said was true—someone like his idol really was the most amazing!
But when he compared it like that… the young acolyte couldn’t help but think of his own senior brother, who was so childish that he even fought him over a big broom, and so anxious that all he could do was sweep the floor.
His lips immediately pouted.
There truly was a gap between people. His idol lived such a fulfilling life, while his senior brother spent all his time sweeping the courtyard. Hmph.
And in the quiet little courtyard, where no one came to disturb him, the distant chatter gradually drifted in, breaking the stillness and letting the sounds of the bustling world seep into the peace.
Yan Shixun turned around and looked in the direction of the voices, squinting slightly as the sunlight struck his eyes.
He knew that the front courtyard of Haiyun Temple had opened its doors to welcome visitors and incense burners. After all, the New Year was near, and it was a tradition for the people of Binhai City to visit Haiyun Temple to pray for blessings. Many young people liked to come and have their fortunes read, especially regarding love and marriage.
Usually around this time, young Taoists like Lu Xingxing, who hadn’t yet graduated from apprenticeship, would be called to help out in the front. But this year, while all the other little Taoist friends of Lu Xingxing were running around up front, busy to the point their feet didn’t touch the ground, only he… lay here, unaware of it all.
Yan Shixun took long strides and slowly walked to Lu Xingxing’s bedside, then sat down.
The soft mattress sank slightly under his weight, and the old bed frame let out a creaking sound.
Beneath the bed, the tiled floor was inscribed with a complex, ancient-looking formation, drawn to gather energy and nourish Lu Xingxing’s soul, preserving the final breath that still lingered within him and preventing his spirit from becoming damaged.
With one glance, Yan Shixun could tell that part of the formation bore the handiwork of Taoist Ma—but at this time, Taoist Ma should’ve been over at Baizhi Lake in the southwest, helping to deal with remnants left behind from the old Fengdu.
It seemed that even Taoist Ma, hundreds of kilometers away, hadn’t been able to rest easy about Lu Xingxing, and had made a special trip back.
A faint smile flickered in Yan Shixun’s eyes. He reached out to check Lu Xingxing’s breathing, and when he found that his cheeks felt cold, he gently adjusted the edge of the quilt to tuck it in more snugly. The thick cotton blanket now sealed in warmth completely.
This was the first time Yan Shixun had entered Lu Xingxing’s room—and also the first time he was surprised to discover that contrary to the dazzling, carefree persona Lu Xingxing usually gave off, in reality, his lifestyle could only be described as minimalist.
Lu Xingxing was an official disciple of Haiyun Temple and had always had a room of his own there.
But the layout of this room was completely at odds with the image of him as an indie musician.
One could even say—it was barren.
The room had only one very old bed and a massive desk. Other than that, there wasn’t even a proper bookshelf. Stacks of vinyl records and books were just placed haphazardly on the floor, spread out everywhere, almost covering an entire wall.
Yan Shixun could tell this was already after it had been tidied up. Perhaps before, the room had been so messy with records and books scattered all around that there wasn’t even space to step.
——The Taoists of Haiyun Temple didn’t understand the categories of Lu Xingxing’s precious vinyls. When they cleaned up, they simply stacked them neatly in the corners. As a result, jazz got mixed in with classical, and guzheng records were pressed under piano scores, with no system of organization at all.
He shook his head with a smile and looked down, asking Lu Xingxing softly, “If you don’t wake up soon, those records of yours will be scratched and moldy. Are you really willing to let that happen?”
Underneath the blanket, Lu Xingxing’s fingers twitched slightly, as if he was trying to push himself up from the bed.
But after trying for a long while, he could only give up weakly.
Yan Shixun didn’t notice the small movement beneath the quilt.
He lowered his head and closed his eyes, quietly reciting an incantation. Golden light slowly began to glow in the center of his palm, and one by one, golden characters formed in the air. Soon, they arranged themselves into golden streams of light, crisscrossing and weaving together to cover the entire room.
Even in daylight, the glow gradually outshone the sun itself, making the room brightly lit under the clear sky, like a lightbulb flicked on.
The Taoist who saw this couldn’t help but clench his fists tightly and offer up a silent, anxious prayer.
The power belonging to Yan Shixun began to slowly spread outward, filling every corner of the room.
Although he bore the Evil Spirit Bone Transformation, from the moment he took up the Great Dao, he had already become a bearer of life itself. Once, he could only barely preserve Lu Xingxing’s final breath—but now, he could bring him back.
The gentle power slowly flowed into Lu Xingxing’s meridians. His expression became peaceful, his brows smoothed out, and even the corners of his lips lifted with a trace of relief—like a child returning to his mother’s arms.
Bathed in this gentle, water-like power, he could sleep deeply and soundly, leaning on the man beside him—the strongest exorcist in history.
Yan Shixun patiently waited as the life force nourished Lu Xingxing’s spirit, constantly monitoring his condition to ensure that not even the slightest excess of energy would cause him harm.
But in his heart, he still remembered how cool Lu Xingxing’s cheeks had felt earlier. Looking around the room again, he suddenly realized—there wasn’t even a single heating device in the place. The only source of warmth came from the few cotton quilts.
Yan Shixun’s gaze darkened slightly.
Of course, he understood—this wasn’t because Haiyun Temple had intentionally mistreated Lu Xingxing. It was simply that the entire temple had always operated under such austere conditions. Having grown up there, Lu Xingxing naturally inherited its frugal ways. Unlike others who indulged in luxury and excess, he lived a life of simplicity.
As an independent musician, Lu Xingxing spent most of his money on his passion. Whether it was sound equipment, better materials, or improved techniques, his spending flowed freely in those areas.
But when it came to himself, he never spent large sums. In fact, whenever he wasn’t working, he stayed and ate at Haiyun Temple.
Haiyun Temple still retained centuries-old buildings. Though they had been repaired at times, the renovations were modest—just enough to keep the temple’s pavilions functional. Each year’s maintenance was focused on the main hall and the front courtyard where tourists gathered. Very little ever reached the back where the Taoists lived.
Practitioners of the Dao mostly didn’t care about such material things.
Even though they could have lived in mansions, driven luxury cars, and spent their nights drinking champagne in revelry.
Every year, the incense donations alone, plus the fees from exorcisms and rituals performed by the Taoists, amounted to an astronomical figure.
Yet all that money was used by Haiyun Temple to give alms, aid those who came seeking help, and to donate to government causes across the country.
The reason Binhai City placed such trust in Haiyun Temple was because several of its public welfare programs were fully funded by the temple. Officials deeply understood the character of Haiyun Temple—they knew that in hundreds of years, this place had never once strayed from its original intention: to protect life.
From deep within the mountains to the bustling city streets, wherever the Taoists of Haiyun Temple went, they left behind a trail of charitable giving.
Even though each taoist’s pay could rival that of a tycoon, none of them were interested in keeping the money for themselves.
Their earnings were a form of karma—used to offset the sins and misdeeds of those who came seeking help. To covet money would only lead to being consumed by it.
The taoists of Haiyun Temple understood this well.
They only kept enough to cover their daily needs—three meals a day, clothing, housing, and basic necessities. There were times when they couldn’t even afford enough cinnabar or talismans and had to ration what little they had.
—Yan Shixun had once seen a Taoist throw a talisman to exorcise a spirit. When it didn’t hit the ghost, he carefully picked it up, inspecting which ones could be reused next time.
Even when dining outside, the richest businessmen knew not to splurge when hosting the taoists. Ordering a whole table of dishes just to throw them out afterward would only earn their disapproval. Over time, people unconsciously learned to restrain themselves.
Compared to an impressive table of food that would go uneaten, the taoists preferred to donate the meals to those in need.
Outsiders didn’t know. They assumed Haiyun Temple must be unimaginably wealthy and accused them of using countless means to hoard money—perhaps even hiding treasure within the temple. These accusations were not uncommon.
Even when the taoists honestly explained that they were just ordinary people who wanted enough to eat, many scoffed and refused to believe them. They insisted instead on believing only what they thought they had seen.
And even if someone did believe them, most still looked down on them. They wondered—what was the point of spending so much time and energy becoming a Taoist? Did they have a degree? A job? Social status? Wealth?
To them, they were just a bunch of poor fools who couldn’t afford anything nice.
—Maybe there were places with ample wealth, but that place would never be Haiyun Temple.
Yet when faced with such words, the taoists only smiled and paid them no mind.
Even if a younger taoist had a temper, the older ones would stop him with a simple phrase: “Karmic debt of speech.” And that would be the end of it—never taken to heart.
Under such circumstances, the taoists naturally didn’t bother decorating their own living spaces.
Besides, the winters in Binhai weren’t cold enough to kill anyone. They could sit in meditation and enter deep contemplation—by the time morning came, the night had passed. A little cold was nothing. In fact, it was a good thing. It helped keep their minds sharp and focused for cultivation.
Having been raised in such an environment, Lu Xingxing naturally adopted the same ways.
He was playful and energetic, but never with ill intent. He became a musician simply because he had the talent—and he loved it.
Though the room was silent, Yan Shixun could see Lu Xingxing clearly—his personality revealed through the furnishings and layout of the space.
He was the grand-disciple of Taoist Li, the student of Taoist Song Yi, the leading figure of the younger generation… and also the junior nephew of both Yan Shixun and Ye Li.
Through his actions, he had proven himself worthy of their teachings.
A soft smile began to bloom in Yan Shixun’s eyes.
Just then, he felt the blanket beside him shift—Lu Xingxing’s body seemed to instinctively respond to the outside world.
Yan Shixun lowered his gaze and saw Lu Xingxing’s brows furrowed tightly. His head moved from side to side, as if rejecting something in his sleep—he seemed trapped in a nightmare he couldn’t escape.
Yan Shixun leaned down, one hand bracing beside Lu Xingxing, the other gently resting on his forehead. At this close distance, he gazed steadily at him, their breaths almost mingling. The calm rhythm of breathing echoed softly in his ears.
“Lu Xingxing,”
Yan Shixun called in a low voice, “It’s time to wake up.”
His words carried the power of the Dao.
As soon as the words fell, the golden patterns crisscrossing in the air suddenly erupted, swiftly gathering and surging toward Yan Shixun.
A violent wind swept through the room. Books stacked on the ground were blown over, scattering in all directions.
The intense and forceful golden light shot from Yan Shixun’s long fingers directly into Lu Xingxing’s forehead, pouring into his very soul.
In that instant, Lu Xingxing’s expression twisted in pain. His body convulsed uncontrollably, like a fish thrown onto the shore, gasping for breath.
But Yan Shixun sensed Lu Xingxing’s struggle before it escalated. He immediately pressed a hand against Lu Xingxing’s chest, firmly restraining his movements. No matter how much Lu Xingxing writhed, he couldn’t escape the grip of that hand.
This pain and struggle were things Lu Xingxing had to go through—and they were also the reason why Yan Shixun hadn’t saved him right away.
The injuries Lu Xingxing suffered in the Southwest were far too severe. Medical personnel had already declared him clinically dead, deeming him beyond rescue, not even worth attempting to save. No scientific method could bring him back. The human world couldn’t save him either.
The only thing that could save him was the vitality of the Great Dao.
His soul had already been branded with the mark of death. It was only due to Ye Li that it had been forcibly sealed within his body, barely sustaining his physical form with a thread of ghost deity’s power.
Yet even so, it couldn’t erase the fact that he had once stood at the edge of death.
Lu Xingxing’s soul was already dead—no longer fit for the life of the living. It would instinctively reject the burdens of the human world and long to descend into the underworld, to slumber and find peace.
What Yan Shixun was doing now was wrenching Lu Xingxing’s fading soul from the embrace of darkness and dragging it back into the world of the living.
This process was more painful than rehabilitating a comatose patient. Even the slightest recollection or thought could trigger excruciating pain, as his body instinctively sought the comfort of death.
But life had always been filled with pain. It was pain that made life feel real.
—After all, where there was life, there was also death.
Otherwise, how would he be any different from Ritual Master of Mount Nanming?
Even as Lu Xingxing cried and struggled, Yan Shixun remained unmoved. He continued to press his hand against Lu Xingxing’s forehead, pouring vitality into his soul.
“Lu Xingxing—wake up!”
Yan Shixun suddenly barked, his gaze sharp and commanding. “Your Dao is not yet complete. There are still things you cherish in this world. Are you really going to run away?”
The golden light in the room grew even more intense, like the sun crashing to the earth—so blinding it couldn’t be looked at directly.
The light spread through every crack in the windows and tiles, radiating outward and lighting up a corner of Haiyun Temple with extraordinary brilliance. Even the entire mountain and the earth beneath trembled. The spiritual energy in the ley lines surged wildly in response to the call of the Great Dao.
At that moment, every Taoist in Haiyun Temple stopped what they were doing, instinctively looking up in the direction of the golden light, holding their breath.
That was… Xingxing’s room.
A pure, untainted force—like the very essence of the Great Dao—began to spread through Haiyun Temple. Even the creatures of the surrounding forests felt its nourishment. Plum trees suddenly sprouted branches and bloomed, releasing a faint fragrance into the air.
In the sky, the clouds shifted subtly, as if the heavens themselves were observing.
The Dao was watching.
The compasses in the hands of the Taoists spun wildly, sutras flipped with a rustling sound, and strange visions appeared before each cultivator’s eyes.
The incense burning in the censer curled upward, forming mysterious shapes in the air, as if even the gods were comforted.
The candles in the great hall burned steadily, untouched by the wind, as if standing guard over a great presence.
At first, the worshipppers at Haiyun Temple thought it was an earthquake. Their frightened cries echoed as panic began to spread. But the young acolytes quickly realized what was happening and moved to maintain order, urging the worshipppers to remain calm and preventing a stampede.
“Little Master, wh-what’s going on? Is this an earthquake?”
A frightened worshippper asked, grabbing a young acolyte’s arm, voice trembling as they sought reassurance.
The acolyte glanced in the direction of the golden light. He understood immediately. Nodding, he straightened his childish face, trying to look like a grown-up, and said seriously, “Don’t worry. This is just Taoist Yan performing a ritual—”
*Thump!* A clear, sharp sound rang out as a fist landed directly on the acolyte’s head, instantly pushing him down.
The worshippper was stunned.
They followed the fist upward in a daze and saw a smiling face.
The Taoist wore the traditional robe, with thick bandages faintly visible beneath it. A wooden hairpin held his hair in a Taiji-style bun. His smiling demeanor had a hint of roguish charm.
“This kid’s just making things up. Don’t take it seriously,”
The Taoist cast a careless glance at the flash of golden light before continuing to smile and say, “A few days ago, we bought light bulbs for the temple with too high wattage. Maybe the voltage was unstable, and they exploded.”
“…Huh?”
The worshippper was stunned. “So…it was just the bulbs? But why was it so loud? Wasn’t that an earthquake?”
The Taoist confirmed, “Just faulty knock-offs. Dangerous stuff. You really ought to buy certified products next time, not get fooled like we did. You don’t save much money, and it only brings trouble.”
The worshippper hesitated and looked toward the young acolyte. “But just now, this little master said it was…a ritual…”
The Taoist’s expression didn’t change. “You misheard.”
“I’m not that old—my hearing’s just fine. He definitely said it was a ritual…”
“He misspoke.”
“…………”
After sending off the skeptical worshippper, the Taoist finally let go of the young acolyte’s hand.
The little acolyte was holding back tears, his lips trembling in protest as he looked up at the Taoist. “Master, how could you lie! That’s bad karma!”
“No, I simply gave them the explanation they’d be most comfortable with.”
The Taoist didn’t mind at all. Hands behind his back, he said leisurely, “Would you really prefer to see them go home paranoid, imagining ghosts at every turn and disrupting their lives?”
“…No… but you still shouldn’t lie!”
The young acolyte argued indignantly, “My idol never lies!”
The Taoist: “…………”
He raised his brows in surprise, gazing at his little disciple as he sighed. “Exactly how deep is that filter you have for Fellow Taoist Yan? Are you my disciple or his? When it comes to lying, probably no one does it better than him.”
—After all, back during the livestream, even the elders of Haiyun Temple thought they might not be able to keep things under wraps. But Yan Shixun kept a straight face and, with just a couple of sentences, flipped the entire narrative. He muddled the audience so thoroughly that they couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t, eventually forgetting all about ghosts and choosing to believe in science again.
It had really opened the eyes of many Taoists at Haiyun Temple. Who knew you could explain things like that?
The little acolyte was stunned.
He sniffled, hesitated a moment, then timidly asked in a tearful voice, “Can I really become Taoist Yan’s disciple?”
The long-suffering master: “…………”
He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Don’t get mad, don’t get mad! He’s your own disciple—your one and only official disciple!!
Damn it!
Taoist: I mean, yes, I admire Fellow Taoist Yan too, but could you at least give me a little face? It’s hard to be a respectable master like this, you know? QAQ
Just then, some other worshipppers noticed the Taoist’s conspicuous robes and hurried over, anxiously asking what had just happened.
The Taoist looked over.
The golden light had gradually faded, replaced by a spreading vitality—like spring wind brushing over the earth, making the plants flourish and the creatures rejoice.
High above, the once wildly shifting stars had returned to their proper places, restoring balance.
The mist dispersed, and everything calmed down once more.
Aside from those who practiced cultivation, no one knew what kind of miraculous event had just taken place.
…But for that Fellow Taoist Yan, perhaps it was as easy as flipping a hand.
The Taoist smiled faintly and calmly said, “Old wiring. Cheap bulb exploded.”
The worshipppers: “???”
The Taoist smiled and winked. “Believe in science, folks.”
Everyone wore complicated expressions. Some even glanced up to double-check if this really was Haiyun Temple.
—A Taoist in a temple preaching science? That just felt off.
But the younger crowd lit up: “Oh, oh, oh! That’s Brother Yan’s catchphrase!”
One of them even lowered his voice and mimicked Yan Shixun’s tone: “Less superstition, more reading. Believe in science. Tsk.”
Those around who had watched *Heart-Pounding Journey of Ninety-Nine Days* immediately burst out laughing in understanding.
“So Brother Yan really is a Taoist from Haiyun Temple? Look, even the other Taoists here talk like him.”
“Guess this visit counts as a pilgrimage to Brother Yan’s hometown then? Awesome!”
“I was still wondering if ghosts were real or not… but if a Taoist himself says believe in science, doesn’t that mean ghosts really don’t exist?”
“Oh please, would Brother Yan lie to you? If he says they don’t exist, then they don’t! Why even doubt it?”
“Ghosts and all that—how old are you people? Still believing in that stuff?”
Outside the main hall, after the tremors and disturbances faded, the tourists and worshippers gradually calmed down. The place was once again filled with laughter and chatter.
The Taoist nodded and led his little disciple away—he needed to have a proper talk with the kid. After all,*he wasn’t any less handsome than Fellow Taoist Yan!
Ahem, well… maybe, possibly, just a tiny bit less.
The little acolyte cried out, “Liar!”
“Your idol lies too!”
“No, he doesn’t! My idol is the best in the world!”
Meanwhile, in the quiet room, Yan Shixun looked at Lu Xingxing, who was slowly opening his eyes, and smiled gently. “Xingxing, welcome back to the living.”
Lu Xingxing’s lashes trembled. Having not opened his eyes in a long time, he was extremely sensitive to light. In the glow of the golden light, he could only see a vague, hazy blur. It took quite a while before his vision gradually cleared.
And the first thing that came into view was Yan Shixun’s handsome face, so close it was practically inches away.
There were barely ten centimeters between them, yet an overwhelming sense of majesty radiated from Yan Shixun’s body, spreading outward like the heavens closing in, pressing down with suffocating grandeur.
It was the power and authority of the Great Dao—unquestionable and untouchable.
But in front of Lu Xingxing, that overwhelming force didn’t harm him in the slightest. Instead, it enveloped him gently and firmly, like the warmth of a fledgling protected under a pair of wings, safe and secure.
Lu Xingxing didn’t feel a single ounce of pressure. Even his long-bedridden body felt so light he could almost float, without a hint of discomfort.
When his gaze met Yan Shixun’s eyes, Lu Xingxing suddenly felt as if he had crashed into a brilliant galaxy, filled with countless shining stars, dazzling and bright, enough to drown someone in their splendor.
“Brother Yan…”
Lu Xingxing called out softly, disbelief written all over his face.
His voice was hoarse and strained, only the faintest breath of sound making it out.
He hadn’t spoken for so long that even his throat felt rusted.
But the moment he spoke, his eyes widened in terror, as if he had just remembered something.
His dazed soul hadn’t fully recovered yet, and his inactive brain wasn’t functioning properly. He couldn’t quite make sense of what was happening.
He had forgotten how he made it back to Haiyun Temple from the southwest. Even when he tried hard to recall, his last memory was still of himself by Baizhi Lake, telling the others to go ahead while he stayed behind to delay the horde of ghosts.
And after that…
Lu Xingxing shook his head, slowly recalling the pain that came right after that memory.
Blazing fire tore through his body, burning away his very soul, a pain so intense he couldn’t even breathe.
Yet now, with his throat like this, seeing Brother Yan, lying in this bed in a room that unmistakably looked like Haiyun Temple—could it be…?
“Did… did I die?”
Lu Xingxing murmured in a daze, “Is this a final surge before death?”
Yan Shixun raised an eyebrow, a trace of a smile curling at his lips.
Even though he had used the power of vitality to restore Lu Xingxing’s soul and body, ensuring there were no lingering aftereffects, the boy hadn’t inhabited his body for quite a while. Now, with his soul slipping back into the flesh, it would take time to adjust.
Yan Shixun understood this clearly—but Lu Xingxing didn’t.
And Yan Shixun’s delayed response only made Lu Xingxing more convinced of his guess.
Tears suddenly gushed from his eyes, reddening them instantly. He grabbed Yan Shixun’s hand with trembling fingers and began to speak as if giving his final words: “Yan, Brother Yan… You have to promise to be good to Master Aunt, okay? After I die, you two must grow old together, love each other forever, and have beautiful babies soon…”
“Oh right, that ancient book in the old house in Binhai City—it wasn’t Xiao Bao who tore it. I fell asleep on it and drooled on it by accident. Since Xiao Bao was nearby, I handed it to him and said you asked him to memorize it. I planned to keep it a secret, but since I’m already dead, I should leave with a clean conscience, so I’m passing this secret on to you, Brother Yan.”
“And also, that fish tank in the yard—it wasn’t Zhang Wubing who broke it. I got startled by a fake head Xiao Bao was playing with when I visited, and I accidentally kicked the tank. Zhang Wubing happened to walk by, so I blamed him.”
“And that peachwood sword Master had? I broke it too, but I swear it wasn’t on purpose. I was helping with fertilizing the back garden, and the other Taoists told me to dig. I borrowed Master’s peachwood sword and accidentally snapped it while digging…”
Lu Xingxing continued confessing between sobs and sniffles, looking completely sincere.
But Yan Shixun’s smile was already beginning to fade. His eyes narrowed, and his expression turned dangerous.
Oh… so all of that was you, huh?
“And Brother Yan, honestly speaking,” Lu Xingxing added, “I think you’re really dumb when it comes to feelings. Master Aunt liked you for so long and you never noticed—are you a wood-type or something? I think I totally beat you in this area.”
Yan Shixun: “……”
He regretted everything. He should have let this idiot stay in bed as a sleeping beauty forever!
Just moments ago, seeing Xingxing unconscious had actually made him feel distressed—what nonsense! A kid like Xingxing should never have learned to talk!
Lu Xingxing kept rambling while wiping his snot and tears all over Yan Shixun’s coat sleeve. The sight made the cleanliness-obsessed Yan Shixun’s temple twitch violently. He felt like he was on the verge of losing all patience with this fool.
Finally, when Lu Xingxing admitted that he had told everyone about Yan Shixun and Ye Li’s relationship ahead of time, Yan Shixun could no longer hold back.
With a sharp smack, he slapped Lu Xingxing on the forehead, leaving a clear red mark.
Lu Xingxing’s eyes filled with tears from the pain. Through blurry eyes, he whimpered, “B-Brother Yan?”
Yan Shixun sneered, “Does it hurt?”
“It h-hurts… QAQ…”
“Good. That means you’re still alive.”
Yan Shixun said with a cold, sarcastic smile.
Lu Xingxing: “…………”
“!!!”
What was more terrifying than death?
—Not being dead, but being socially annihilated.
Lu Xingxing looked utterly devastated as he hesitantly asked, “If I say it wasn’t me now… is it still too late?”
Yan Shixun chuckled coldly, “Heh, what do you think?”
“QAQ!!!”
At that moment, the Taoists who had rushed over upon hearing the commotion arrived outside the door—just in time to overhear Lu Xingxing’s confessions.
A few of them immediately felt their blood pressure skyrocketing, their rage boiling over.
“This little brat!”
One Taoist roared in fury, “I knew he wasn’t the type to quietly tend the garden!”
“So it was him who left oil stains on the manual! Oh, you’re dead meat, Xingxing!”
And just as Taoist Song Yi hurried back to Haiyun Temple, covered in dust from the road, he heard Lu Xingxing casually mentioning how he had used his master’s peachwood sword to dig poop.
Taoist Song Yi: “…………”
“LU! XING! XING!”
He grabbed the peachwood sword and kicked the door open, charging inside: “You ungrateful little rascal—!”
“AAAAAAH Master, you’re here too?! So I really didn’t die?! WAAAH QAQ—!”
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