Chapter 344: The End (3)
Lu Xingxing had just been pulled back from the brink of death and hadn’t even had a chance to enjoy the warmth and concern from the others when he was suddenly surrounded by over a dozen Taoists, trembling under their gaze.
Initially, the Taoists were still somewhat mindful of Lu Xingxing’s injuries and held back a little, not daring to go all out on him.
But then, Yan Shixun leisurely stood up and added with a smile, “Don’t worry, fellow Taoists. My ‘medical skills’ are quite decent. Xingxing’s as strong as an ox now—he can take a beating just like before.”
Taoist Song Yi nodded in relief. He had just begun to let go of his worries when he suddenly remembered how Lu Xingxing had used a peach wood sword to poke at manure. His face darkened all over again, and without hesitation, he charged forward to start beating him.
The other Taoists, reassured by Yan Shixun’s words, no longer held back. They rolled up their sleeves, grinned menacingly, and closed in on Lu Xingxing.
“Xingxing, you’ll stay right here, and with the Taoists…”
Yan Shixun smiled, “Yes, yes, catch up… on old times.”
Lu Xingxing’s eyes widened in horror. He desperately reached out toward Yan Shixun. “Brother Yan, save me!”
But the only response was a loud “*bang!*” as the door slammed shut.
Yan Shixun stood still for a moment in the courtyard. Behind him, from inside the room, came Lu Xingxing’s cries of agony and sobbing wails like he was mourning his parents.
Yan Shixun smiled faintly, then turned and calmly walked away from the courtyard.
At first, no one in the front yard of Haiyun Temple noticed Yan Shixun’s arrival. It wasn’t until a young acolyte ran over and tugged on the corner of his long black coat, whispering complaints like tattling, pointing to the side as he spoke.
The unlucky master who had taken his eyes off his disciple for a second: …Got it. He definitely ran off to report him to his idol.
Those who had initially been paying attention to the cute little acolyte looked up, and right then, caught sight of Yan Shixun.
Very soon, more and more people reacted and began to recognize him.
“Hey, look at that guy—isn’t he a TV star? I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere.”
“TV? I wouldn’t know. I haven’t watched te… te… television in like eight hundred years—WAIT, ISN’T THAT BROTHER YAN!!!!”
“Not TV! He’s from that variety show—the super popular one!”
“AAAAHHHH! IT’S BROTHER YAN!”
“Oh, I know him—he’s the guy who’s always trying to get people to believe in science even though he looks like a total fraud.”
“So he really is a Taoist from Haiyun Temple? Oh my god, when it came up online before, I thought he was just trying to promote himself. I didn’t think it was actually true!”
“Mom! I just saw Brother Yan in real life!”
Yan Shixun: …Have you seen me dead before?
The noise gradually overtook the front hall. Those who recognized Yan Shixun surged toward him with enthusiasm, surrounding him so tightly not even air could get through.
Many of the younger tourists had come to Haiyun Temple specifically because of the variety show and were already very familiar with Yan Shixun. The moment they spotted him, they screamed with excitement, waving like crazy and shouting they were “Yan Mais”.
And after the show Heart-Pounding Journey of Ninety-Nine Days experienced a few thrilling incidents, both its popularity and general public appeal skyrocketed. Even grannies who weren’t into the internet had at least heard something about it.
The temple visitors who weren’t into variety shows still knew that Taoist Li, the senior-most Taoist at Haiyun Temple, had a disciple-nephew. Taoist Li mentioned him constantly, and the other Taoists also spoke of this mysterious Taoist with great praise and admiration.
That alone made many curious. Upon hearing his name mentioned, they wanted to see for themselves just what kind of impressive figure this Taoist really was.
Some even heard other Taoists address Yan Shixun as “Master Uncle” or “Grandmaster Uncle,” and assumed he must be a highly respected Taoist who had returned to the temple for an important ritual. They thought maybe they could get lucky and receive a blessed talisman.
Faced with the increasingly excited crowd, Yan Shixun didn’t panic. Instead, he calmly bent down, picked up the young acolyte, and placed him on his arm so he wouldn’t get hurt from being too short and hidden from sight in the middle of the crowd.
Then, he raised a hand and made a downward pressing gesture toward the people.
Almost instantly, the crowd fell silent.
Perhaps it was his piercing gaze, or the steady, commanding aura around him. Or maybe it was the instinctive trust and reverence of all the souls that had survived through the shifting tides of the Great Dao.
No one made another sound. Everyone looked up at him eagerly, waiting for him to speak.
But Yan Shixun only raised a brow and countered, “Who said I’m a Taoist? You’ve got the wrong person.”
He pointed at his face—unmistakably striking and impossible to miss in any crowd—and said casually, “Just an average guy with a common face. Surprised someone mistook me for someone else.”
The crowd: …………
Some fans were so excited that they whispered to each other, “This style of blatantly lying with a straight face is definitely Brother Yan!”
“Yes, yes, yes! This completely serious way of fooling people—ah, I miss it so much, sob sob. How long has it been since the last live stream?”
Because both Zhang Wubing and Lu Xingxing were unconscious and bedridden, the production team decided not to livestream in order to avoid drawing suspicion from viewers or getting disturbed by entertainment reporters. They simply let everyone rest properly.
However, while the other guests could still update their social media accounts, Yan Shixun’s Yan Mais waited eagerly but couldn’t get even a glimpse of their idol.
There hadn’t been any recordings of the previous live streams either, which plunged the Yan Mais into a kind of screenless loneliness. They had money but nowhere to spend it. In the end, they could only come to Haiyun Temple in person, treating it as a way to gather anything related to Yan Shixun.
—While other celebrities had merchandise like posters, photo cards, and endorsed products, Yan Shixun’s only “merchandise” was Haiyun Temple itself.
Strangely enough, this indirectly boosted the tourism economy of Binhai City, adding a spark to the off-season travel industry.
But before they arrived at Haiyun Temple, the fans never imagined that they would actually run into Yan Shixun there.
What was this—like opening a blind box and hitting the rarest prize?
In stark contrast to the fans’ excitement was Yan Shixun’s calm demeanor.
He raised a finger to his lips, gesturing for the people in front of him to keep quiet. A few who had been especially excited and unable to control themselves fell silent immediately under his glance.
“This temple isn’t suited for too much noise—it’ll disturb the patients recovering here.”
Yan Shixun blinked at his fans and gave a light chuckle. “Please visit quietly, alright?”
The fans nodded eagerly. Many Yan Mais suddenly remembered their idol’s personality and, after their initial excitement wore off, managed to rein in their enthusiasm.
In front of Yan Shixun, people somehow became inexplicably well-behaved.
He gave a slight nod, then turned to leave while carrying the young acolyte in his arms. The crowd automatically parted to create a path, silently watching him go.
But as he was walking away, someone couldn’t resist asking, “Brother Yan, did you come to Haiyun Temple today to pray and offer incense?”
Yan Shixun paused slightly. He looked down at the young acolyte in his arms, then chuckled and replied, “No, I came to fix the lightbulb.”
Everyone: “???”
The young acolyte stared at Yan Shixun in confusion, but by then he had already reached another Taoist. He gently placed the young boy into the Taoist’s arms and said, “Your young disciple? He’s a good kid.”
With that, Yan Shixun lazily waved his hand, one hand in his pocket as he walked toward the temple gate. “I’m off. Say hi to the other Taoists for me.”
The crowd blankly watched Yan Shixun leave, as if some invisible sense of authority filled the air, stopping anyone from daring to follow him.
The Taoist holding the young acolyte, however, knew a bit of the backstory. He was just about to sigh in emotion when he suddenly heard his little disciple speak with utter seriousness: “My idol is right—it definitely was the lightbulb.”
The Taoist almost stumbled and fell on the spot.
He looked at his young disciple in shock, his voice raised in exasperation: “When I said it was the lightbulb that exploded, you called me a liar. But when Fellow Taoist Yan says it’s the bulb, you just accept it???”
The young acolyte nodded solemnly. “Mm-hmm!”
The exasperated master: “You still dare say ‘mm-hmm’!!!”
“Master, you need to grow up. Try learning from my idol, will you?”
The young acolyte gave him a look full of disdain.
The Taoist’s eyes gradually dimmed with hopelessness.
Blessing of the Heavenly Lords!!! Ah!
…
The news that Yan Shixun had appeared at Haiyun Temple quickly spread across social media.
A worshipper, while taking a photo as a souvenir, accidentally captured part of Yan Shixun’s figure in the background. After uploading the photo to their account, it was quickly noticed by others following the #HaiyunTemple hashtag—who immediately recognized Yan Shixun in the image.
Since the production team had stopped livestreaming, Yan Mais paid extra close attention to any update related to him. They scoured social media several times a day and even asked other guests for information—leaving no stone unturned.
So, any new information about Yan Shixun spread among the fans like wildfire.
In the photo, the black coat emphasized Yan Shixun’s broad shoulders and tall, straight figure. A few loose strands of hair had been casually tucked behind his ears. That relaxed, faint smile he wore was especially captivating—charming enough to make hearts skip a beat.
The Yan Mais were all extremely excited, but unfortunately, Yan Shixun didn’t have any social media accounts. If they wanted to reach him, they had to go through other guests or the show’s official account.
For a while, fans flooded the program’s official account, refusing to give up as they asked when Yan Shixun would appear again, and when the livestreams would resume.
However, the directors—who were working while also vacationing near the rehabilitation center—found themselves in a bit of a bind.
Outsiders didn’t know the full story, but they were all very clear about it: the reason this show had lasted until now was entirely thanks to Director Zhang Wubing’s persistence.
One could say that without Zhang Wubing, this show wouldn’t exist—and without Yan Shixun, it wouldn’t have continued.
But now, Zhang Wubing lay seriously injured in bed. Although the doctors had examined him multiple times, they found nothing wrong with his body. They were baffled, unable to understand why he had become so weak.
No matter what the reason, judging by the way Zhang Wubing could barely walk, it was becoming clear that continuing this show would be extremely difficult.
Not to mention that he now had to lean against the wall just to walk a few steps, gasping for breath and trembling legs with every movement—even stepping out of the house had become a luxury. And speaking of Zhang Wubing’s family…
This time, the incident that nearly cost Zhang Wubing his life had triggered an especially strong reaction from his father.
When Yan Shixun had carried him home unconscious and unaware, Father Zhang had been so terrified that he nearly lost his child that the moment left a deep psychological scar.
Though Father Zhang didn’t say it directly, everyone on the production team knew very well—such a loving parent would never agree to let his child take on dangerous work again after nearly losing him. No amount of persuasion would change that.
It was only human nature. Although everyone on the crew felt deep regret for a program they had come to consider home, they understood and accepted the Zhang family’s decision.
Mother Zhang had always been the most supportive of his little hobbies. This time, when she came to visit him, she had nearly fainted from crying.
It wasn’t hard to imagine—once Zhang Wubing recovered and wanted to return to the show, he would surely face strong opposition from his family.
No matter how one looked at it, this show had probably come to an end.
The assistant director sat there in a daze. He stared at the comments on the screen for a long time before speaking softly, “I’ve been in this industry for over a decade. I’ve worked with both wealthy and struggling crews, good programs and terrible ones, and back then I always forced myself to keep working through the annoyance. Once one ended, I moved to the next. But this show… this one was different. It felt like home.”
He had been part of many production teams and crews, but they were all just jobs.
Whether it was internal bullying, bossy directors, or celebrities throwing tantrums, he had endured it all for the sake of his job and paycheck. There were no real feelings involved—just forgettable entries on his resume.
When the still-youthful Zhang Wubing had come to him, smiling and asking him to help put together a program, the assistant director had thought he was just another rich kid playing around—someone who would grow bored in a few days and quit when things got tough.
But no one turned down money.
Looking at the generous salary Zhang Wubing had offered, the assistant director had chuckled to himself, thinking this naive young master clearly didn’t understand the market—his offer was far above the standard. But… for him, the more, the better.
He had agreed immediately, even coaxing Zhang Wubing by saying they could create a nationally famous show—one that would go down in variety show history.
—Of course, that had seemed impossible at the time. A show made by an amateur? It’d be a miracle if it lasted a few episodes. They probably wouldn’t even have viewers. How could it possibly become popular?
Who would be bored enough to watch this kind of show?
On the first day of filming, the assistant director had been completely uninterested.
And then…
That turned out to be the last ordinary day he would have for most of the next six months.
From that day on, the assistant director had been dragged into an entirely new world—his worldview turned upside down, each day filled with thrills, danger, and a race against death and ghosts.
He never expected that the nonsense they had once joked about to encourage Zhang Wubing would actually come true!
“Heart-Pounding Journey of Ninety-Nine Days” had shot to the top of the live streaming charts, rightfully becoming the most popular national variety show—a viral, must-watch sensation that everyone was talking about. On every street and in every corner, people were discussing the program. There wasn’t a soul who didn’t know it.
The assistant director had been completely stunned.
But if it had only been about money, he wouldn’t have felt such sorrow about the show ending.
What he found hardest to let go of were the relationships between the staff and the guests.
They had escaped death together, supported one another through one crisis after another. Sharing life-and-death experiences wasn’t something even families always did, but over the course of these six months, they had lived through it again and again. It had quickly and deeply bonded them.
The team had experienced life and death together, got along seamlessly, and during this past month of rest, had enjoyed a warm and joyful time.
Their friends were just next door. All they had to do was open the door, and they would never feel lonely. That feeling… was simply too wonderful.
When the assistant director saw the fans leaving questions under the show’s official account, all the emotions he had been holding back finally burst out.
He sniffled, eyes red with tears.
The rest of the crew gradually stopped working too, moved by the assistant director’s emotions, and each fell into their own sadness about the looming farewell.
“I really don’t want it to end. This has been the best working environment I’ve ever had. No—it’s more than colleagues now. We’re family and friends.”
“Can’t we keep filming? Even with a pay cut, I’d still do it. I really loved these joyful days with everyone.”
“Being with Brother Yan is like getting into a thrilling amusement park for free. My life has never felt this exciting.”
“Can’t we beg the director to let us keep working together?”
….
While the staff sighed with reluctance, the guests also found it hard to say goodbye.
But in this industry, stopping meant falling out of relevance. Endless work lined up, waiting for them to take it on.
Being granted even a month of rest was already a luxury.
Bai Shuang and An Nanyuan’s hands had mostly healed, and the other guests’ injuries were no longer serious. The only reason they’d stayed in the rehabilitation center this long was to prevent the outside world from discovering anything about Zhang Wubing and Lu Xingxing. Now, it was time to return to work.
Everyone was reluctant to part, but reason reminded them they couldn’t let emotions get the better of them.
An Nanyuan had just separated from his former company and was in the process of establishing his own studio. There were still many lawsuits to handle and many partnerships to negotiate. He had already anticipated that in the coming months, he’d barely have time to sleep.
With the year-end approaching, Bai Shuang, as a singer, had many New Year’s and Spring Festival galas scheduled in advance.
Thanks to this show, her fanbase had grown fivefold, her popularity skyrocketed, and she’d gained a solid reputation among the general public. Her career was on the rise, and she couldn’t afford to waste even a second.
The variety show celebrity also gained widespread recognition due to this program, leading to numerous job offers that he needed to personally negotiate.
Aside from Song Ci, the young master who was already part of a wealthy third-generation family, only Nan Tian—who had decided to gradually leave the entertainment industry—was relatively more relaxed.
Even so, Nan Tian remained committed to completing the rest of his contracts with integrity and ending things properly. So while his workload was lighter, his schedule was still tight.
When the production team came to talk to the guests, they were in the middle of playing a card game where losers had to stick paper notes on themselves. Song Ci had been losing repeatedly and was growing visibly frustrated. Concerned the young master might hurt himself from anger, Zhao Zhen volunteered to take on the punishment of being covered in sticky notes.
So, when the production crew opened the door, the first thing they saw was a white Christmas tree.
Production crew: “…Sorry, wrong room.”
Guests: “???”
With that, the assistant director politely backed out, closed the door, and then re-entered as if starting over.
The person completely covered in white sticky notes remained seated on the sofa, looking toward the doorway.
Assistant Director: “…”
What kind of look was this? Was it supposed to be a humanoid Chewbacca?
Zhao Zhen casually raised a hand and waved at the production team, entirely unaware of how bizarre he looked at that moment.
One of the staff members was so startled that they nearly thought they’d run into a ghost in the hospital.
Once the guests realized what was happening, they couldn’t help but laugh.
“Did the assistant director come just to make a trending topic on social media?”
Song Ci shook his phone and said, “I noticed. Today, the whole internet is flooded with posts about Brother Yan and the show.”
Yan Shixun had recently become a hot topic, and neither marketing accounts nor entertainment reporters would let go of that kind of traffic. They kept a constant watch on his every move. Even if they couldn’t come up with any big scoop, they could still use him to generate attention.
Back on the night at Southwest Baizhi Lake, many marketing accounts and companies had taken the opportunity to ride the wave of hype, spreading misleading content online. Once things calmed down, the authorities quickly summoned those companies for a talk, and afterward, they didn’t dare post anything supernatural or bizarre on public platforms.
However, they also knew very well that for many people, the name “Yan Shixun” was already synonymous with ghosts and spirits. They couldn’t outright fabricate ghost stories for traffic, but they could craft articles around Yan Shixun’s identity, using suggestive hints and vague wording—that was their specialty.
So even before Yan Shixun had left Haiyun Temple, the news had already spread like wildfire, being reposted by countless marketing accounts.
Now, opening any social media app revealed one name at the top of the feed: Yan Shixun.
As the young master of an entertainment company, even though Song Ci didn’t work himself, he was sharper than most when it came to things like this.
After seeing the public discussions and the buzz, Song Ci realized the production team needed to address the issue of the next livestream. The audience waiting for them deserved a definite answer.
The assistant director hadn’t expected Song Ci to guess the reason before he’d even spoken. Caught off guard, he was momentarily stunned.
“That’s right. After all, the last livestream was when we got back from the Southwest, and that definitely wasn’t a proper farewell.”
The assistant director shrugged and said, “I just feel like, after everything we’ve been through with the show, if we don’t take the time to say a proper goodbye to the audience, it’ll feel like something’s missing…”
“Then let’s do one more livestream,”
An Nanyuan said cheerfully. “Even if the show can’t continue, we can use our personal accounts.”
The others nodded in agreement. “Right. Once Director Zhang fully recovers, let’s take a family photo together.”
“It’s almost the New Year anyway—it can be a holiday special.”
“We can use my account too!”
“I just wonder how Xingxing’s doing. If he’s not there, it’ll feel incomplete.”
“Don’t worry. Didn’t Brother Yan go to Haiyun Temple today? Xingxing must’ve already been rescued. Once he’s back, we’ll ask when we can visit Xingxing.”
Just then, a sharp knock came from outside the door.
Everyone looked toward the sound and saw Yan Shixun—whose name was still trending online—leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed.
“You won’t be seeing Xingxing anytime soon.”
Yan Shixun gave a half-smile and added, “He’s still at Haiyun Temple, receiving some ‘loving education’ from the Taoists.”
Everyone immediately lit up with joy. “Brother Yan!”
“Brother Yan, is Xingxing safe now?”
“We were just talking about the livestream—Brother Yan, when will Xingxing be back? He can’t miss the group photo!”
“Don’t worry.”
Yan Shixun nodded lazily and promised, “Once the Taoists are done beating him up, Xingxing will be back. Also—”
He stepped to the side, making room by the doorway.
A figure slowly appeared.
“Since this is a show, how could we let everyone stream using their personal accounts? That would make us look totally unprofessional.”
Zhang Wubing beamed. “Of course we’ll use the official equipment and accounts. Business as usual.”
Everyone’s eyes widened in surprise, and then they cried out in delight, “Director Zhang!”
“You’re recovered already?”
“How are you feeling today?”
“Yes! We can livestream again!”
They all swarmed around Zhang Wubing, smiling and asking about his condition with genuine concern.
Zhang Wubing smiled and answered each of them one by one, reassuring them that they didn’t need to worry—he was recovering well.
—Even though he could still only stand by leaning against the wall, and his weak legs wouldn’t stop trembling.
Yan Shixun had long noticed his frailty. He casually reached out, grabbed Zhang Wubing by the collar, and used that grip to help him stay upright.
The directing team came over too, asking when the next livestream would be so they could give the audience a firm update.
Zhang Wubing tilted his head and thought for a moment. “Let’s do it a week from now.”
In seven days, he’d be more or less recovered, Lu Xingxing would have finished getting his beatdown, and they could all get back together again.
Amid the cheers, Yan Shixun slowly walked back while carrying Zhang Wubing along, leaving the space behind for everyone else to celebrate to their heart’s content.
Zhang Wubing, however, had lost the cheerful smile he wore earlier. His face was now clouded with worry as he sighed repeatedly, stealing glances at Yan Shixun.
Yan Shixun asked, “…If you’ve got something to say, then say it. What’s with that face—do I look like I abused you or something?”
“It’s not that.”
Zhang Wubing let out a long, heavy sigh, looking utterly deflated. “I just… don’t dare go home.”
He had stormed out of his house after a fight with his father, full of the determination to prove himself.
He wanted success, to return in glory.
—Not out of vanity, but to show his father he was capable of achieving something on his own.
The first half of his journey had gone relatively well—as long as one ignored the number of dangers and near-death experiences. But this final episode left him in this sorry state, and now he worried—would his father dismiss his achievements and mock him?
“Even though I think I’ve done a great job—and really, running into a few ghosts isn’t a big deal, it’s like eating; who hasn’t seen a ghost or two in their life? I just saw… a few more than average.”
Zhang Wubing sighed again. “But I’m afraid my dad’s going to sneer at me and ask how I ended up like this.”
“And…”
He hesitated.
He was also worried about his mom.
When she came to visit him before, she had cried uncontrollably. That made him feel both guilty and heartbroken. He didn’t want her to worry anymore.
But if he went home looking this weak—struggling just to walk—she’d probably cry even harder.
Zhang Wubing didn’t want to see that.
Right now, the only person he could turn to was Yan Shixun.
“So, Brother Yan… can I stay at your place?”
Zhang Wubing looked at Yan Shixun with hopeful puppy-dog eyes. “You’ve got such a big house, can’t you spare a little space for me?”
Yan Shixun: “…………”
“I’ll pay for food! I’ll pay for lodging! Seriously, Brother Yan, there’s no one better than you in this world. With you, Xiao Bing is a treasure. You’re all I’ve got now, sob sob sob!”
Seeing that Yan Shixun didn’t budge an inch, Zhang Wubing let out a wail and lunged at him, hugging him tightly and crying like crazy—smearing snot and tears all over his shirt.
A vein throbbed on Yan Shixun’s forehead. He kept reminding himself—this is a patient, you can’t hit him. This soul has done great deeds, you can’t beat him to death! You can’t… you absolutely can’t… The hell I can’t!
With a loud “smack,” Yan Shixun shoved him away to create distance. He grabbed his shirt, holding him off as Zhang Wubing flailed like a desperate little turtle trying to latch back on, but couldn’t reach.
“If you’ve got money, why not stay at a hotel?!”
Yan Shixun finally lost it. “Why does everyone insist on crashing at my place? It’s loud!”
So noisy he couldn’t even sleep properly!
He thought back to when he used to complain that the house was too quiet and realized how foolish he had been. He’d had peace and didn’t know how lucky he was. Now? With those creatures living under his roof, he couldn’t even hope for a second of silence.
“Brother Yan, don’t you love your cutest Xiao Bing Bing anymore? Sob sob sob QAQ, not even a room for me? What if I stay at a hotel and run into a ghost? I’d die right there! It’s terrifying!”
Zhang Wubing reluctantly offered, “How about… I share a bed with Brother Yan? There might not be a spare room, but I’m not picky—I just need a place to sleep…”
“You just said—where do you want to sleep?”
A cold, low voice echoed menacingly from behind.
Zhang Wubing instinctively shivered. His whole body stiffened.
Sensing danger, he slowly turned inch by inch to face the owner of that eerily familiar voice.
Sure enough…
Ye Li was standing at the far end of the hospital corridor, wearing a cold smile as he stared at Zhang Wubing.
“Come on, Zhang Wubing. Say it again.”
Ye Li took a step forward. Instantly, darkness swallowed the area where he stood. All the lights in the corridor exploded, one by one, plunging everything into gloom.
An overwhelming pressure filled the hallway, so intense it suffocated the air. It felt as if they had fallen straight into hell.
Ye Li’s voice came again, soft and slow, like a whisper from the abyss. “Where did you say you wanted to sleep?”
Zhang Wubing trembled with terror, his legs giving out as he collapsed to the floor.
Desperate, he clung to Yan Shixun’s leg, begging him to save his pitiful life.
He knew now—this man was the Lord of Fengdu!
A ghost deity tied to death itself. That was way too terrifying! He had never encountered a ghost this scary before. He even wanted to run for his life.
Thank goodness I’m not a ghost deity. I have nothing to do with death. Otherwise, I’d scare myself to death.
Zhang Wubing shivered uncontrollably at the thought.
“I-I didn’t say anything. I think sleeping on the floor is just fine. QAQ.”
He sobbed pitifully. “I love the floor. Really! I’m staying with it forever, me and the floor, never apart. Boohoohoo…”
In the pitch-black corridor, only Ye Li’s cold laughter rang out. “Is that so? But I think you’d be more suited to sleep in the underworld.”
Zhang Wubing’s eyes widened in horror as he clutched at Yan Shixun in a frenzy. “Brother Yan! Brother Yan, do something about your husband! Ahhh! He said he’s sending me to meet the King of Hell! That’s way too scary—I don’t wanna die! Boohoohoo!”
Yan Shixun: “…………”
In the darkness, he let out a silent sigh and casually picked Zhang Wubing up.
This idiot had clearly been scared senseless by Ye Li. His legs were like jelly, and he clung to Yan Shixun like a koala, refusing to let go.
“That’s enough, Ye Li. Stop scaring him. This fool doesn’t remember anything.”
Yan Shixun lowered his eyes, gazing at Zhang Wubing’s tear-streaked face in his arms. He whispered softly, “The broken soul has already left completely, along with all of its memories…”
In order to win Zhang Wubing a slim chance of survival, all ties between him and the Dao had to be completely severed. As a result, his memories only remain up to the point when everyone entered the southwest—everything from the shadow puppet museum onward was completely erased by the King of Hell, leaving him untouched by anything related to the old Fengdu.
Zhang Wubing didn’t remember at all that he himself was actually the King of Hell, nor did he recall that it was he who had given the crucial reminder that allowed the world to restart and regain vitality.
Right now, he was just a blissfully clueless man, worrying about his family and friends, holding onto his dreams and goals, and constantly fueled by the motivation that stemmed from them.
Yan Shixun didn’t plan on telling him about those earth-shaking achievements either.
The former King of Hell had already retired. The current King of Hell was Jing Xiaobao. Let Jing Xiaobao handle those headaches and busy matters. As for Zhang Wubing… this was the final lifetime of the King of Hell—let him live it out in happiness and joy.
The King of Hell had toiled for the world for a hundred years. Now, it was time for Heaven and Earth to return the favor.
Yan Shixun was so dense, he didn’t even realize what exactly Ye Li was mad about.
The jealous Lord of Fengdu, on the other hand, was so angry he burst out laughing.
“This idiot actually dared to say he wants to sleep in the same bed as you? Hah, I must say, he’s got guts.”
Ye Li slowly emerged from the darkness, each of his steps landing with a clear, firm sound—like the arrival of death and darkness.
Zhang Wubing was so terrified he started bawling on the spot, clinging to Yan Shixun and shaking like a leaf.
“I only just managed to start sleeping in the same bed with you these past few days! What right does he have to take my spot?!”
Ye Li scoffed coldly. “There’s already two wolves and a ghost cub in this house, and that’s noisy enough. Add in one more idiot? Then what happens to our two-person world? Every time I want to do something, I have to worry about weird sounds…”
Before he could finish the sentence, Yan Shixun simply and decisively raised his leg and gave him a hard kick.
Had that kick landed on a wall, the entire thing would’ve turned to dust in an instant. Yan Shixun didn’t hold back in the slightest.
Even the Lord of Fengdu couldn’t help but groan in pain. His long brows scrunched together from the ache.
He instinctively bent his tall figure down and clutched his shin where he’d been kicked.
Yan Shixun put on a fake smile and asked, “What weird sounds?”
“…None.”
“What exactly did you want to do?”
“Nothing at all.”
—He wanted to do everything, actually. He even wished they wouldn’t leave the house for years, just the two of them in a world of their own, totally shut off from the outside, wild and passionate.
But just as the truth reached his lips, Ye Li sensed danger closing in and swallowed it back down forcefully, not daring to provoke his cute but overwhelmingly powerful exorcist even a little.
If Shixun really kicked him out, with the strength he had now, there’d be no way Ye Li could sneak back under his blanket in the middle of the night ever again.
He knew very well which scenario was worse.
Just moments ago, Ye Li had been overflowing with oppressive presence, but now he immediately reined it in and became docile, with no sign at all of the dominant, ghost-lord aura he had as the Lord of Fengdu.
Yan Shixun snorted coldly and lifted Zhang Wubing like a sack. “Then he’s staying with us.”
“Shixun…”
“Shut it! Your objection is invalid.”
What Ye Li didn’t know was that originally, Yan Shixun had no intention of taking Zhang Wubing in.
But after Ye Li finished complaining about not having a two-person world, Shixun made up his mind.
—A two-person world, my ass! That ghost deity who never seems tired, tsk.
Yan Shixun thought of how they had to replace three beds within a month, and the puzzled complaint from the garbage company: “How can a bed be broken this thoroughly?” That memory made his face darken instantly.
Zhang Wubing had just been sobbing pitifully, only to suddenly find himself picked up by Yan Shixun. His face lit up with surprise. “Brother Yan, you really agreed to take me in?”
Yan Shixun snorted, “Yeah, you’ll sleep in my room. The previous tenant can go sleep in Hell.”
Zhang Wubing had just opened his mouth to cheer, when he felt an icy, murderous gaze fix on him. He instantly shuddered in fear, and the cheer got stuck in his throat.
He turned around and saw Ye Li staring at him with a dark, deathly glare. Zhang Wubing was on the verge of tears.
He regretted everything. Suddenly, he didn’t want to stay at Brother Yan’s house anymore. He volunteered to sleep on the street! Under a bridge! Wuwuwu, he realized he must’ve offended a ghost deity!
“Brother Yan, I think…”
“Shut up—unless you want to offend the Great Dao too.”
Zhang Wubing: Why am I the one getting hurt?! Let me go!!
Sob sob QAQ
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