The h*ll I will.
Jiang Luo almost couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes.
What did the rise or fall of the metaphysics world have to do with him, Jiang Luo?
Beyond scoffing, Jiang Luo keenly picked up on something off about the Fated One.
The “he” that the Fated One spoke of—besides Chi You, Jiang Luo couldn’t think of anyone else.
But more than that, what made Jiang Luo even more alert was the tone in which the Fated One spoke. There was an indescribable cadence to his words—like something sacred, descending from the heavens. Distant, mysterious, resolute—it made people instinctively want to treat his words as truth and obey his will.
This familiar feeling—it was exactly the same as the one he felt from the mastermind behind the Mirror World.
Jiang Luo’s gaze darkened momentarily before returning to normal.
He had always remembered the one pulling strings behind the Mirror World.
No one liked having their past humiliations dragged out and displayed in the open. The mastermind had learned of Jiang Luo’s experiences in the real world and replicated them in the Mirror World. Those filthy, shameful, broken memories being seen by others made Jiang Luo bristle with rage.
From the Mirror World to now, the Fated One had been trying to guide Jiang Luo into seeing Chi You’s evil nature, pushing him to kill Chi You. Jiang Luo did want to kill Chi You, wanted to conquer the evil spirit, make it bow at his feet in defeat—but he deeply resented being manipulated into doing it.
He did things by his own will, hated being controlled or bound.
Who the h*ll are you to think you can manipulate me?
New grudges piled on old ones—just like that, the Fated One soared to the top of Jiang Luo’s “must eliminate” list.
His mind churned with waves of emotion, but on the surface he just stared blankly at the Fated One, as if he’d lost his wits.
The Fated One took his hand and led him out of the hot spring pool, slowly walking away.
Jiang Luo’s clothes were soaked, water dripping from the hem of his pants, but he felt no cold. The Fated One led him down a small path, and with each step, the scenery around them changed dramatically.
Mountains, rivers, and landscapes passed by.
Jiang Luo saw illusion after illusion flash by along the path.
From primitive humans seeking caves during the hunting era, to the River Diagram and the Luo Book, then to the birth of the innate and acquired Eight Trigrams. From royal architecture to burial feng shui, from astronomy and calendars to farming and weather—generations of predecessors in the metaphysics world had gone through life and death, working from small tasks like house design to great matters like family and national fortune. Shimmering stars shifted, and countless starlights replaced the sun, spreading out above Jiang Luo’s head.
He looked up at the sky.
The stars merged into a Taiji symbol, silver light subtly moving, then transformed into the Eight Trigrams chart.
Heaven, Earth, Thunder, Wind.
Fire, Water, Mountain, Lake.
The constantly shifting stars dazzled the eye.
It was an overwhelming sight. Jiang Luo’s neck began to ache from looking up, and when he lowered his head, he suddenly realized he was standing amidst heavy snowfall on a snowy mountain.
The howling snow stirred his hair. Jiang Luo looked toward the Fated One, who was still leading him forward. Their steps left a narrow trail in the snow, and as they stepped forward again, the snowy scene melted away—intense magma with flying sparks surged forward.
They were now deep inside a volcano.
Blazing flames rushed toward them. Jiang Luo closed his eyes, and the Fated One leapt with him into the magma—only for them to fall instantly into the deep blue sea.
In just moments, Jiang Luo had seen the ends of the earth, the marvels and wonders of the world.
At last, the Fated One brought him to stand beneath an aurora, turned to look at him, and softly said, “If all of this were destroyed, wouldn’t it be a great pity?”
When Jiang Luo opened his eyes again, he found himself still soaking in the hot spring pool.
The Fated One stood at the edge and said, “Time’s about up. You can come out now.”
Jiang Luo paused in a daze before slowly stepping out of the spring and changing into fresh clothes. He walked back with the Fated One.
What technique had he just used?
Was that even something a human could do?
His brain was bursting, like a computer overloaded with too much data—it was freezing up. His thoughts felt foggy, and the Fated One’s words echoed over and over in his mind, so loud and relentless that Jiang Luo gritted his teeth to resist.
“Only by eliminating evil will peace return.”
“Only you can end the disaster.”
“Only you… can kill him.”
Shut up.
Shut the h*ll up.
The Fated One suddenly turned around and looked at the black-haired young man stumbling behind.
The youth’s eyes were dull. He clung hurriedly to a tree trunk, his face covered in a thin layer of sweat. Beneath the sheen, his cheeks were flushed from the steam of the hot water.
His striking features were tightly furrowed, as if veiled by a layer of snowy mist.
The Fated One gazed at him silently, then walked back toward him.
Sensing his approach, Jiang Luo’s expression grew even weaker. He looked up feebly and gave the man a glance.
That glance was light and faint, the emotion in his eyes unclear—but beneath the ethereal shell of immortality, there was a dark, muddy shadow like a ghost hidden beneath.
A flash of emotion quickly passed through the Fated One’s eyes. He sighed softly and reached out to lightly touch the side of Jiang Luo’s face. “Calm your mind.”
The noise in his head gradually quieted.
Jiang Luo pretended to feel unwell and rubbed his temples. “Fated One…”
The Fated One said, “It’s time for you to go back.”
***
Jiang Luo returned to his residence full of unanswered questions—only to be immediately cornered by Lu Youyi and the others, who had been waiting there.
It was just about lunchtime, and Lu Youyi dragged him to the dining room. “Jiang Luo, is your cold any better?”
Jiang Luo gave a calm nod. “Mm.”
Lu Youyi felt something was off with him, but couldn’t quite say what. He figured Jiang Luo just had a sore throat and didn’t want to talk, so he specially ladled a bowl of porridge for him. “Drink more of this porridge, it’s good for you.”
Jiang Luo wanted to smile but held it back.
There were a few more people at the dining table now, and the atmosphere had become much more chatty. Lian Xue kept her head down eating, but when Zhuo Zhongqiu asked her about Lian Bing’s injuries, she sighed. “My junior brother isn’t seriously hurt, but those college students are still unconscious. Their souls died inside the mirror, so they’ll likely remain in a vegetative state for the rest of their lives.”
“Even Senior Uncle can’t do anything about it. He plans to try one more time, but if it doesn’t work, there’s nothing else to be done.”
Jiang Luo suddenly asked, “They’re still not back? Didn’t their families come looking for them?”
“They probably haven’t realized anything’s wrong yet,” Lian Xue replied. “Li Xiao and the others often go out on field trips during winter break. Their families are used to it.”
If the Fated One was the one behind the mirror world, then the story about going to look in the mirror at midnight sounded extremely suspicious.
Jiang Luo didn’t believe it was a coincidence. He felt he needed to check in on Duanzi and the others again.
After lunch, Jiang Luo told Wenren Lian and the others to leave as soon as possible.
He didn’t want them to get involved in all this, and with familiar people around, it was harder for him to act freely.
Wenren Lian and the others didn’t insist on staying. Daoist Wei He, knowing they were leaving, even sent a child disciple to escort them down the mountain.
Before they left, they repeatedly reminded him, “Don’t forget the time of the court hearing.”
Jiang Luo nodded and personally saw them out the door.
Only when their figures had disappeared did Jiang Luo return to his room, planning to catch up on the sleep he missed from staying up all night.
***
By dusk, two unusual guests arrived at No Worldly Desires.
The child disciple led a stern-faced Heavenly Master and a funeral parlor owner to the quiet meditation room. After exchanging a few words with Daoist Wei He, Feng Li quickly ran out of patience, stood up, and said, “Where is he? I’m going to see him.”
Wei He gave him the location, and Feng Li left without needing anyone to lead the way.
Looking at Feng Li’s cold, handsome face, Wei He chuckled awkwardly. “Is he in a bad mood?”
“When have you ever seen him show up here with a happy face?” the funeral parlor owner replied lazily. “Forget the Lian family at the base of the mountain—if there’s a place Feng Li hates most, it’s probably this mountaintop. Ever since he found out his disciple was brought up here too, his face has been scary dark.”
Wei He mumbled, “Was it me who insisted on bringing his disciple up here? I even…”
He swallowed the rest of his words. The funeral parlor owner pretended not to hear and instead asked, “Anyone else come up the mountain recently?”
“Zhuo Zhengyu’s daughter brought some classmates. They stayed one night and then left,” Wei He replied absentmindedly. “Others? No one else.”
The funeral parlor owner let out a faint sigh of relief.
Looks like what he had sent was delivered successfully.
***
When Feng Li arrived, Jiang Luo was still asleep.
He stood beside the bed, observing him for a while. Seeing that Jiang Luo wasn’t visibly injured, he was about to leave—until he noticed something wrong.
Jiang Luo’s face was flushed, his lips dry. His eyelids were tightly shut, black hair tangled at his nape, the heat reddening even his ears. The young man clutched his blanket, breathing heavily, looking utterly pitiful.
Feng Li hesitated, then reached out and touched Jiang Luo’s forehead—he had a fever, as expected.
He withdrew his hand and looked around. Taking a towel from the side, he left the room, soaked it in cold water, and folded it onto Jiang Luo’s forehead.
But after only a moment, the heat from Jiang Luo’s face was so intense that steam rose from the towel. Feng Li frowned, stared at the sleeping Jiang Luo for a long time, then turned and walked out.
When Jiang Luo woke up, his mouth was parched. The entire room was dark.
It was probably well past dinnertime. He lazily turned over, but suddenly froze.
A tall figure was standing silently at his bedside. Seeing him awake, the figure pressed something against Jiang Luo’s lips. “Eat this.”
It was Feng Li’s voice.
Jiang Luo hesitated. “Sir?”
Feng Li stepped forward, and the sharp contours of his face took shape in the dim light. Something jumped from his arms onto Jiang Luo, letting out soft sobs of “wuwuwu.”
Jiang Luo found it vaguely familiar. Groping in the dark, he caught it—it was the ginseng doll in its red bellyband.
The ginseng baby cried miserably, yellow teardrops rolling from its eyes like pearls. It clung to Jiang Luo’s arm, sobbing and whining, “Papa…”
A clear chunk of its leafy top had been broken off. Jiang Luo immediately understood what Feng Li had fed him—it was a ginseng root.
Without hesitation, Jiang Luo lowered his head and ate it.
Hot breath brushed against Feng Li’s palm. In just a second, Jiang Luo pulled away.
Feng Li withdrew his hand and rubbed his fingers against his palm, expression calm. “You’re sick.”
Jiang Luo wondered if he could use this illness as an excuse to get Feng Li to take him down the mountain. But with even the ginseng spirit here, that excuse clearly wouldn’t work. So he kept up his act and gave a nonchalant smile. “Illness is just a test for disciples. I’m fine, no need for concern, sir.”
Feng Li noticed something off in his tone. His voice turned colder. “How many times did you soak in the spring water?”
“Twice,” Jiang Luo answered. “An hour each time. The Fated One also dripped some blood into it.”
The pressure from Feng Li became even more intense. He suddenly turned and strode out the door. But before leaving, he turned to look at Jiang Luo. “Come with me.”
Jiang Luo turned over and got out of bed, following behind Feng Li at a not-too-far, not-too-close distance with the ginseng spirit in tow.
He could tell that Feng Li was going to stir up trouble. Mischievous anticipation bubbled up inside him—he was practically wishing Feng Li would hurry up and get into a fight with the Fated One.
But… could Feng Li actually win against the Fated One?
The ginseng spirit clung to Jiang Luo’s chest. With no one to coax it, it had finally stopped crying. Grabbing Jiang Luo’s clothes, it tried to climb up. Jiang Luo didn’t stop it, and in the blink of an eye, the ginseng spirit had scrambled up like a kitten and perched on his shoulder.
It spoke sweetly into Jiang Luo’s ear, “Daddy, are you still feeling unwell?”
Jiang Luo wasn’t actually sick—he was just a bit exhausted from heavy blood loss after slitting his wrists and a long night of erotic dreams. He’d lost too much blood; even with the ginseng spirit’s potent tonic effects, it wasn’t something that could be fully replenished in an instant. While he was much better, he wasn’t completely recovered.
However, the wound on his wrist had started to itch—it was probably about to scab over and heal.
That was a good thing. Over the past couple of days, Jiang Luo had carefully protected that wound even in his daydreams. On one hand, he didn’t want the Fated One and the others to find out he’d regained clarity. On the other, the wound was tangible proof of his current weakness. He had no intention of showing it to anyone.
Even in dreams, when he laid on the podium, he kept his shirt on and guarded his wrist tightly—he wouldn’t take it off even if he died.
Jiang Luo did feel tempted to take another bite out of the ginseng spirit for extra nourishment, but he worried too much of it might harm him instead. So he could only watch regretfully as the little thing bounced around, full of energy. “I’m alright. Why do you ask?”
The little ginseng spirit had no idea that its dad wanted to bite it. It grinned and urged him, “Daddy, open your mouth.”
Jiang Luo lazily glanced at it. “Why should I open my mouth?”
The ginseng spirit carefully lifted its red belly wrap and mimed the action of wringing fabric. “When I was crying just now, I was super careful. All my tears got soaked into my belly wrap. I’ll wring it out for you to drink. The medicinal effect is amazing.”
Jiang Luo: “……”
The ginseng spirit said proudly, “Daddy, my tears are more effective than my whiskers. If you find them helpful, can you tell your master not to pluck my whiskers anymore and use my tears instead?”
Seeing that Jiang Luo wasn’t moved, it grew anxious. “Really! They’re super effective—older people in their seventies and eighties drink them and grow black hair again!”
“…Wring them on my hair then,” Jiang Luo replied.
It was already dark by now, though it was just a bit past six in the evening. Even on a mountaintop with no entertainment, no one would go to bed this early.
Feng Li led Jiang Luo all the way to Daoist Wei He.
The funeral parlor owner was still chatting with Wei He when he saw the two of them approaching and froze in surprise. Feng Li’s expression was grim, pressure low. “Where is he?”
He didn’t specify who “he” was, but both Wei He and the shop owner knew whom he meant.
Wei He coughed and glanced at Jiang Luo. “He doesn’t live here.”
Feng Li’s tone grew colder. “Where does he live?”
Wei He hemmed and hawed but couldn’t give a proper answer.
Jiang Luo listened to their exchange and noticed the funeral parlor owner was watching him cautiously. He remembered the soul-capture pendant and felt a flicker in his heart. His face remained calm, emotionless, as he returned the gaze.
The shop owner looked at Jiang Luo’s clear, desireless expression and was inwardly shocked, his face showing clear astonishment. He raised a finger, pointing at Jiang Luo. “You, you, you—”
How had Jiang Luo become like this?!
Feng Li and Wei He both turned to look at him. The shop owner quickly said, “Feng Li, what happened to your disciple? He looks worse than when you got soaked in Little Spring Pool!”
Feng Li sneered, “Then you should ask him.”
Wei He sighed and tried to smooth things over. “Your disciple hasn’t eaten yet, right? Come on, let’s go have a meal and a few drinks. Don’t scare the child anymore.”
Feng Li didn’t move.
Wei He tried again. “Heavenly Master, even if you look now, you won’t find him.”
Feng Li finally turned to Jiang Luo. “Hungry?”
Jiang Luo nodded.
Feng Li’s anger eased slightly. He cast a cold glance at Wei He. “Lead the way.”
Wei He knew he was just a scapegoat for Feng Li’s anger. He forced a wry smile and headed for the door. “Let’s go, let’s go. Time for drinks.”
Jiang Luo deliberately hung back, and sure enough, the funeral parlor owner fell into step beside him after a few paces.
The shop owner looked closely at Jiang Luo’s expression again. The more he looked, the more his features scrunched up like a bitter gourd.
“Jiang Luo?” he asked tentatively. “Do you still want to study spirit channeling?”
Jiang Luo smiled calmly. “Those are just external pursuits. Whether I learn them or not makes no difference.”
The shop owner felt a chill in his heart. He thought of how obsessed Jiang Luo used to be with the Yin-Yang hoop and quickly asked, “What about the Yin-Yang hoop? Do you still like it?”
Jiang Luo paused, raised his right hand, and said, “You mean this?”
The shop owner nodded quickly.
Jiang Luo made a motion as if to take off the hoop. “They don’t mean much to me. If you like it, I’ll give it to you.”
The shop owner: “…No need, no need.”
He was now fully convinced that Jiang Luo’s mind had been wiped clean. He sighed deeply. “Didn’t you get the soul-capture pendant I sent?”
Jiang Luo took out the tassel earring from his pocket. “Soul-capture pendant? You mean this?”
The shop owner’s eyes lit up. “Why haven’t you worn it?”
Jiang Luo asked in return, “Why should I wear it?”
The shop owner grew anxious. “It’s good for you if you wear it.”
Jiang Luo gave a faint smile. “I’m doing just fine as I am now.”
Right now, he simply wouldn’t budge—neither soft nor hard approaches worked. The funeral parlor owner couldn’t come right out and say, this will keep you from being affected by the waters of Tianbi Pool, because Jiang Luo was already affected.
The funeral parlor owner was extremely distressed. He gritted his teeth. “Just say it—what would make you willing to wear it?”
