UCS Chapter 139

Chapter 139

 

Gao Shi opened his eyes and quickly identified the timeframe depicted in the dream.

 

It appeared to be the period following the time Master Zhang and the Gao Gusheng from the dream had gotten together.

 

In other words, it was a continuation of the previous dream.

 

Logically speaking, with the Ghost King gone, no malevolent spirits haunting him, and his lover by his side, Gao Gusheng’s life should have been improving; yet, in this dream, Gao Gusheng looked terrible.

 

His face was pale and there were dark circles under his eyes—he clearly hadn’t rested properly in a long time.

 

Gao Shi frowned inwardly.

 

On his way home, he overheard passersby talking.

 

“That celebrity Gao Gusheng—God, I can’t believe he’s that kind of person!”

 

“Right? Living such a promiscuous life, sleeping with so many men… it’s absolutely disgusting.”

 

“What a waste of such a handsome face!”

 

After making some discreet inquiries, Gao Shi learned the truth: the videos Li Mochen and Xiao Yusheng had previously used to blackmail him had been leaked to the public. Overnight, his reputation plummeted.

 

Although he had previously been sidelined by the industry, he had still retained some fans; now, even his last remaining supporters were gone.

 

He became a pariah in the entertainment world—a figure everyone reviled—turning into a laughingstock and a byword for disgrace.

 

While working a menial job, he was recognized; people tried to take advantage of him, spouting sanctimonious rhetoric as if they were ridding the world of a scourge, dismissing his resistance as a futile, overreaching effort.

 

Fortunately, the man saved him.

 

Later, he found work elsewhere, carrying a disguise talisman given to him by the man, which significantly reduced the trouble he faced.

 

When the whole world was hurling abuse at him, the man stood by his side without hesitation; Gao Gusheng finally surrendered his battered heart.

 

“Why are you back so late? Go check the crucian carp soup hanging in the kitchen; if you’d been any later, it would have boiled dry. For dinner, I’d like Spanish mackerel dumplings. Add a side of stir-fried *caixin* and another of stir-fried celery. As for tea, white tea will do.”

 

Master Zhang spoke to Gao Gusheng without looking up from his book.

 

“Alright.”

 

Gao Gusheng, exhausted after a full day of work, nodded and headed to the kitchen.

 

It was over an hour before Gao Gusheng emerged from the kitchen; the man was already seated at the table.

 

He took a sip of the crucian carp soup and remarked casually, “It’s a bit bland.”

 

After the meal, Master Zhang returned to the sofa—positioned right where the moonlight fell—and began to meditate; a faint white mist swirled around the center of his forehead.

 

Gao Gusheng didn’t dare turn on the lights and disturb him, so he washed the dishes in the dark.

 

Once the dishes were done, he picked up a pair of headphones that leaked sound badly, sat on the bed in the bedroom, and listened to English audio exercises with his eyes closed. He had listened to two passages, yet the man had not finished his meditation. Gao Gusheng touched his textbook and sighed inwardly; he pushed open the narrow window, allowing the moonlight to cast a faint glow upon the pages.

 

He couldn’t see clearly.

 

Gao Gusheng had no choice but to close the book and lie down fully clothed.

 

He was exhausted; before long, his breathing had evened out into the rhythm of sleep.

 

Gao Shi stood by the bedside, reaching out to stroke the boy’s head, but his hand met only empty air.

 

About an hour later, the door opened and the man approached. His eyes gleamed with a faint green light in the darkness, like a hunter stalking prey in the dead of night.

 

Those green eyes locked unerringly onto Gao Gusheng on the bed.

 

He loomed over him, pressing his body close.

 

Gao Gusheng jerked awake, instinctively trying to hold back the man’s hands, though the only sound that escaped his lips was a soft, breathless gasp: “Don’t… I haven’t finished my studying for today…”

 

The man gave a low, derisive huff. “Am I less important than those textbooks of yours?”

 

If the man chose to force the issue, Gao Gusheng would be utterly powerless to resist.

 

…

 

Gao Gusheng felt as though he were being driven to the point of falling apart; the man kept asking him over and over,

 

“What are you thinking about? Me, or those textbooks?”

 

Gao Gusheng felt a sense of helpless resignation; the man’s arm was still clamped tightly around his waist, and it took a great deal of effort for him to wriggle free and clean himself up.

 

By the time he finished, it was already the dead of night. He let out a soft sigh, rubbed his temples, and headed toward the living room with his textbooks.

 

The next day, he had to get up for work—but not before preparing breakfast for the man.

 

He stepped out, yawning sleepily; he hadn’t gone far when a ghost latched onto him.

 

Gao Gusheng shuddered.

 

Gao Shi furrowed his brows, staring intently at the ghost.

 

That wasn’t right. Spending a long time with a Daoist priest inevitably influenced one’s aura. Gao Gusheng had been intimate with Celestial Master Zhang just last night, so his aura was at its strongest; to any ghost, it looked as though a powerful, malevolent spirit had already claimed him—marking him as their own.

 

So, how could a ghost with a death wish possibly possess him?

 

Gao Shi felt a twitch between his brows and pressed a finger against the spot.

 

Unless… this ghost had been sent by Celestial Master Zhang himself.

 

Daoists. Celestial Masters.

 

Factions that dealt with the spirit world often possessed secret arts for raising and commanding ghosts, in addition to methods for exorcising them.

 

But what could Celestial Master Zhang possibly gain from this?

 

Gao Gusheng hadn’t activated his “Yin-Yang eyes.” Previously, he had only been able to see spirits because his body was saturated with Yin energy; now that the Yin energy had been dispelled, he was completely unaware of the ghost clinging to his back.

 

The ghost appeared remarkably docile; it wasn’t draining Gao Gusheng’s Yang energy, so although he sensed something was amiss, he didn’t feel any significant physical discomfort. However, the yin energy and aura of death radiating from a ghost are inherently harmful to the human body; even a brief stroll through a place heavy with yin energy could leave one exhausted for days, let alone having a ghost clinging right to one’s back.

 

Gao Gusheng felt a bit groggy; he went to the restroom and splashed some water on his face to shake off the drowsiness.

 

A colleague noticed him and whispered sympathetically, “I recall you work during the day and study at night, right? Studying is a good thing, but you shouldn’t run yourself into the ground—you need to rest when you can.”

 

Gao Gusheng smiled and replied gently that he understood.

 

But how could he afford to rest?

 

His life had been full of hardships; though these recent days were exhausting, they offered a rare tranquility. With the exam fast approaching, he had to seize every spare moment to study.

 

He would go home at noon to cook, work in the afternoon, and return home again in the evening.

 

Master Zhang was still sitting on the sofa, holding an old book he had acquired from somewhere.

 

“Wait—don’t move. You’ve picked something up again.”

 

As Gao Gusheng stood frozen in place, Master Zhang pointed a finger. The ghost obediently floated down from Gao Gusheng’s body, drifted over to Master Zhang, transformed into a wisp of smoke, and slipped into the master’s chest.

 

Gao Gusheng recalled the jade pendant he had seen on the man the previous night. Being knowledgeable, he had recognized it at a glance as “blood jade”—specifically, a piece formed by absorbing the blood of thousands in a mass grave. The originally snow-white, translucent mutton-fat jade had been saturated with blood, taking on an inky black hue tinged with a reddish glow.

 

He had wondered back then why the man dared to carry such an object on his person; it turned out the blood jade had been carved into a magical artifact for nurturing ghosts. Gao Gusheng possessed a “Spirit-Attracting Constitution,” meaning any entity from the netherworld near him would benefit; the ghost that had spent the day in his proximity found its spectral form becoming noticeably more solid.

 

Master Zhang produced two more talismans. They ignited spontaneously without a flame, and he sprinkled the resulting ash into a cup for Gao Gusheng to drink.

 

Although Gao Shi had no expertise in these matters, having witnessed Ying Bujie seal Gao Gusheng’s constitution previously, he understood that Master Zhang was reinforcing the seal—though he also knew it could only dampen the effect rather than fully suppress the trait.

 

Gao Gusheng was unaware of the specifics; he simply felt a sudden lightness in his body, and the heavy drowsiness that had plagued him largely vanished.

 

He smiled at Master Zhang, his eyes crinkling warmly. “Wenxuan, thank you.”

 

His smile was truly captivating; the man’s heart skipped a beat, and he hoisted Gao Gusheng up over his shoulder, carrying him toward the bedroom.

 

With nowhere to put his hands or feet, Gao Gusheng could only cling tightly to the man’s clothes. “I haven’t made dinner yet.”

 

“We’ll make it—and eat it—later.”

 

…

 

As time went on, Gao Shi came to understand why the man insisted on having a ghost stay by Gao Gusheng’s side at regular intervals.

 

It was a constant reminder to Gao Gusheng that he could not do without him.

 

Because Gao Gusheng felt indebted to him, he naturally did nothing but play the role of the pampered young master at home.

 

At the same time, the man was intensely possessive; the ghost he kept served to drive away anyone with ill intentions toward Gao Gusheng while simultaneously keeping the young man under surveillance.

 

Ultimately, Gao Gusheng was an exceptional vessel for nurturing spiritual entities—it would have been a waste not to take advantage of that. The days dragged on. The man was different from the Ghost King; the Ghost King played a cat-and-mouse game, never truly driving Gao Gusheng to the brink—whenever Gao Gusheng was on the verge of collapse, the King would ease up and let him catch his breath. Master Zhang, however, was not like that.

 

He disregarded the state of Gao Gusheng’s body entirely, often hauling him up to submit to intimacy even when he was utterly exhausted. Because he was frequently in a semi-conscious stupor, Gao Gusheng missed work and had his pay docked.

 

This time, Gao Gusheng was tormented until he lost consciousness again. Perhaps the accumulated exhaustion had finally taken its toll; he developed a high fever.

 

The fever hit with ferocious intensity, keeping Gao Gusheng bedridden for seven days—and naturally, he lost his job.

 

To his surprise, however, the man actually went out during his illness and would always bring back food upon his return.

 

He said he had taken a job at a nearby teahouse.

 

That teahouse was not far away, yet it was worlds apart from this place—separated by an unbridgeable chasm.

 

He had chosen to live here because the poor transport links made the rent cheap, while the teahouse had opened nearby for the sake of the area’s quiet, secluded atmosphere.

 

A towering wall stood between the two worlds: on one side lay poetic charm and elegance, while on the other lay the suffering of the masses.

 

Gao Gusheng knew the man’s true identity was likely far from ordinary; his skills were certainly sufficient to secure him a job at the teahouse.

 

As he ate the hot porridge the man had brought back, Gao Gusheng recalled the cool touch on his forehead during his bouts of delirium. Realizing the man had been caring for him all along, the lingering doubts he had once harbored vanished completely.

 

He was probably overthinking things; how could Wenxuan possibly be connected to the spirits that haunted him?

 

Even though the spirits had shifted to harassing him only intermittently since Wenxuan appeared, it was likely just because he didn’t understand their patterns.

 

After all, Wenxuan wasn’t a permanent protective talisman.

 

Once Gao Gusheng recovered enough to get out of bed and cook, the man began spending his days at home again.

 

Then, one day, the man suddenly said, “Gusheng, I want crab roe noodles today.”

 

“I’m heading out to the teahouse.”

 

It was the perfect season for crab, but they were expensive.

 

The two weeks he’d spent sick—hospital stays, injections, and medication—had all cost money.

 

He was out of a job, too; although the man went out every day, he only ever brought back food.

 

There were no deposits coming into the bank account; the balance was down to a three-figure sum.

 

The man had a hearty appetite; to fill him up, it would take a dozen crabs or more.

 

Gao Gusheng thought it over, then went to the market and picked out a single hairy crab. He meticulously extracted the roe and meat. Next, he took a salted duck egg and prepared a dish of “Mock Crab” (a scramble made with egg and salted egg yolk), stirring in the crab meat and roe he had prepared earlier. Finally, he plated a generous portion—a beautiful mix of golden yellow and jade white.

 

Noodles were best eaten hot. The man was already late getting home, and Gao Gusheng worried he was too busy at the teahouse to eat. After a moment’s thought, he packed the meal into a lunchbox and prepared to head out.

 

He had used that lunchbox for a long time; the edges were slightly worn, but it was still perfectly functional. Upon arriving at the teahouse, he realized he had acted impulsively. He hesitated, wondering how to contact the man—the man didn’t own a mobile phone, and he himself was using a cheap “senior phone” that cost mere tens of yuan; naturally, he had no spare money to buy another one.

 

But a moment later, he saw the man walk out.

 

The man accompanying him looked like a young scion of a wealthy family, dressed in incredibly luxurious attire. Even without having seen such clothes before, Gao Gusheng knew that the outfit likely cost more than all the money he had spent in his entire life up to that point.

 

The young man appeared to be on good terms with Master Zhang; Gao Gusheng speculated that Master Zhang might have gained the young man’s favor.

 

He looked down at himself: his clothes were the simplest kind, worn and fraying at the seams; he walked with a limp, and one of his eyes was blind.

 

Suddenly, he felt a sense of inferiority. Worried that he might embarrass his boyfriend, he ducked behind a wall.

 

Gao Shi felt a pang of heartache as he watched him in that state.

 

At the beginning of the dream, the eighteen-year-old Gao Gusheng—freshly admitted to university—had been full of high spirits and poised in his conduct. Despite his impoverished background, he had carried himself with dignity and an unyielding pride. Now, after a journey fraught with hardship, though he remained resilient, that pride had been worn away.

 

His child deserved the very best the world had to offer.

 

Hiding behind the wall, Gao Gusheng patiently waited for the two men to part ways, never expecting that they would actually stop to chat right there behind the wall.

 

“Wenxuan, are you really not going to wait a bit longer before heading back?”

 

“No, my little one is waiting for me.”

 

Was he talking about him? A flush rose to Gao Gusheng’s face.

 

“No way—are you actually serious about him? You really got hooked on this ‘amnesiac prince and Cinderella’ game, didn’t you?”

 

What? “Hey, hey, hey—don’t forget you’ve got a fiancée. That young lady might look delicate and frail, but her family is nothing to mess with.”

 

A fiancée?

 

“I know,” Master Zhang’s voice held a note of nonchalance Gao Gusheng had never heard before. “It’s just for fun.”

 

Just for fun?

 

Gao Gusheng stood frozen; suddenly, the lunchbox in his hand felt incredibly heavy—so heavy he could barely hold onto it.

 

“Isn’t it amusing how a few scraps of leftover food are enough to make him devoted to me?”

 

The young playboy’s exaggerated, teasing voice drifted over—sounding muffled, as if through a barrier. “Damn! Wenxuan, you’re a real bastard. You make that ‘Cinderella’ figure work to earn money while you lounge at home like a king. He takes such good care of you—you ran him ragged until he got sick, and here you are mooching a meal off me, yet you only bring *him* leftovers… though, to be fair, even the leftovers from this teahouse are probably more than he could afford on his own.”

 

“You only ran out here because there was no one left to cook for you, didn’t you? He took great care of you; if he hadn’t fallen ill, you’d probably still be playing the lord of the manor.”

 

The playboy laughed. “Tell me, if he found out your memory had actually recovered ages ago, what do you think he’d do?”

 

“Doesn’t matter. He looks pretty good when he cries. If he’s sensible, I wouldn’t mind keeping him as a kept man on the side.”

 

The playboy clicked his tongue and changed the subject. “By the way, why didn’t you bring any of today’s crab roe noodles back for him?”

 

Master Zhang’s voice remained casual. “I told him I wanted crab roe noodles before I left. I just wanted to see what kind of mess he’d manage to whip up.”

 

The rest of the conversation became inaudible. Gao Gusheng felt as though his fever had returned; he was dazed, his ears ringing, and he hadn’t even realized when his lunchbox had fallen.

 

The lid—its paint worn away at the edges—had popped open, spilling the noodles and the “mock crab” dish inside.

 

The savory aroma, usually appetizing, now made him feel nauseous.

 

He clutched his stomach, his body racked by spasms of dry heaving; involuntary tears welled up at the corners of his eyes, yet strangely, he did not truly weep.

 

He forced himself to calm down and cleaned up the mess on the floor. Though the corners of his eyes remained red and watery, his expression was blank as he dumped the soiled food into the trash.

 

He had to keep the lunchbox.

 

He couldn’t afford to buy another one.

 

He found a public restroom to rinse the lunchbox clean. Just then, his phone rang; his hand trembled so violently that he failed to answer it several times.

 

“Gusheng, where are you? Why didn’t you go to work today?”

 

It was Mo Hua.

 

Gao Gusheng instinctively relaxed his posture, but he didn’t want to drag Mo Hua into this situation.

 

So, he forced a cheerful tone: “It’s nothing. I switched jobs—the pay is better, the work is easier, and I’ll have time to read now.”

 

Mo Hua chatted briefly before hanging up.

 

Immediately afterward, the man called.

 

“Where are you?” The man’s voice held a trace of anger. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going out?!”

 

Gao Shi could see that the man hadn’t planted a ghost on Gao Gusheng today; he had likely assumed Gao Gusheng hadn’t fully recovered and wouldn’t leave the house.

 

He hadn’t expected Gao Gusheng to bring him a meal out of concern.

 

By this point, however, Gao Gusheng had calmed down.

 

The autumn evening air was already turning chilly; he clutched the cold lunchbox with icy fingertips, carefully wiping away the droplets of condensation bit by bit.

 

“I went to bring you some food,” he said.

 

Silence fell on the other end of the line.

 

Gao Gusheng lowered his eyes, standing in the amber glow of the setting sun. “Zhang Wenxuan, now that your memory has returned… I’m just an ordinary person. I know I couldn’t resist whatever you wanted to do to me, so I’ll just accept my bad luck. I won’t ask you for an explanation.”

 

“Let’s break up.”

 

The sound of breathing on the other end grew heavy and rapid.

 

His anger seemed ready to burst right through the phone; he laughed—a harsh, furious sound. “Break up? You’re talking about breaking up with *me*? Who gave you the right?”

 

Gao Gusheng asked calmly, “You have a fiancée, and you said you didn’t have any real feelings for me—that I was just a plaything. What else is there to do but break up?”

 

There was no mockery in his question; it sounded like simple curiosity.

 

Yet, that only infuriated Zhang Wenxuan further.

 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this—it wasn’t supposed to be like this!

 

The little thing should be crying, should be heartbroken, should be begging him not to leave, should be casting aside all pride and dignity to kneel on the ground and plead for his love!

 

Didn’t he love him? What was the meaning of this reaction?

 

It was a situation slipping out of his control—and perhaps something else, too—that drove him into such a rage. “Fine. Very well then.”

 

He hung up the phone.

 

Gao Gusheng stared at the disconnected call, then slipped his phone back into his pocket, his expression unreadable.

 

It seemed he wouldn’t be able to return to his rental place tonight.

 

He walked toward the old orphanage, following the direction of the setting sun.

 

Now, nothing remained there but ruins.

 

He walked for over an hour; night had fully fallen, and the biting cold seeped through his clothes, chilling him to the bone.

 

Yet, as if he couldn’t feel it, he kept walking.

 

He walked until he saw the desolate ruins of the orphanage—and Mo Hua standing there.

 

“…Ah-Hua?”

 

Upon seeing him, Mo Hua strode over. He felt the fabric of Gao Gusheng’s clothes, frowned, and took off his own coat to put it on him.

 

“Ah-Hua, I’m not cold…”

 

“Put it on.”

 

Gao Gusheng was no match for Mo Hua’s strength; he was dressed in the coat almost like a doll being fitted with a new outfit.

 

Mo Hua was tall; the coat hung past Gao Gusheng’s hips, and the raised collar covered half his face, instantly warming him up.

 

Only when he saw Gao Gusheng stop struggling did Mo Hua’s expression soften.

 

He had sensed something amiss in Gao Gusheng’s mood; knowing that whenever Gao Gusheng felt down, he tended to head toward the old orphanage, Mo Hua had gone there ahead of time to wait for him. He didn’t ask Gao Gusheng what had happened; instead, he simply said, “I got paid today. Come on, let’s go get some wontons.”

 

Behind the orphanage, there was a couple who ran a wonton cart; the wontons they made had thin wrappers and generous fillings, and their aroma wafted for miles. Back when they lived in the orphanage, whenever the topic of future dreams came up, eight out of ten kids would say they wanted to go to that cart and eat their fill to their heart’s content.

 

Gao Gusheng’s eyes crinkled as he tried to smile, but he failed; the expression morphed into an awkward, bitter grimace.

 

“Not right now, Ah-Hua. I want to sit here for a bit.”

 

Seeing this, Mo Hua didn’t press the issue. He found two discarded flyers to use as cushions, and the two of them sat down, each on their own sheet.

 

Mo Hua spoke first: “Here, take this. Whether it’s actually useful or not, just wear it for now.”

 

Gao Gusheng caught the moonlight and saw that it was a *ping’an kou*—a traditional jade safety disc.

 

The jade’s quality was nothing to write home about—in fact, it was downright poor. Its vivid green hue made one wonder if it was merely a cheap plastic trinket, and it hung from a simple red cord.

 

Yet, Gao Gusheng knew exactly what it was: a safety disc from a Taoist temple in a neighboring city—an item reputed to be spiritually potent and notoriously hard to obtain.

 

Gao Gusheng’s heart skipped a beat. He looked up and saw that Mo Hua was still wearing his hat, the brim pulled low against the darkness.

 

Gao Gusheng suddenly reached out and flipped up the brim, revealing a patch of bright, fresh blood on Mo Hua’s forehead.

 

His hand, still gripping the brim, tightened and began to tremble slightly.

 

Mo Hua snatched the hat back from Gao Gusheng’s grasp and pulled it down over his head again. “I don’t know if it’ll work—supposedly it’s been blessed, so it ought to ward off ghosts. Try wearing it; if it fails, we can look elsewhere.”

 

Gao Gusheng’s throat felt parched; after a long moment, he managed to squeeze out a soft “Mm.”

 

He clutched the red cord, intending to put it around his neck, but just then, a gust of wind suddenly rose up out of nowhere.

 

An evil wind swept through, stinging their eyes; Mo Hua instinctively reached out to grab Gao Gusheng but grasped only empty air.

 

When he opened his eyes again, he saw a man holding Gao Gusheng high in the air by the throat.

 

Gao Gusheng struggled, his face flushed crimson; the sensation of suffocation brought him to the brink of death.

 

The man let out a cold sneer, his voice laced with a terrifying, explosive rage: “Gao… Gu… Sheng!”

 

“Gusheng!”

 

Mo Hua’s pupils contracted; he clenched his fist to strike the man while reaching out with his other hand to grab Gao Gusheng.

 

But with a mere point of the man’s finger, Mo Hua was frozen in place.

 

“Good. Very good!”

 

“You found yourself a wild man to keep you company so quickly—it seems you really can’t go a single moment without a man.”

 

“No wonder you managed to hook the Ghost King and keep him obsessed.”

 

What?! Seeing the look of disbelief in Gao Gusheng’s eyes, Zhang Wenxuan gave a cold, mocking laugh. He pulled the young man close and gently caressed his cheek with his free hand. “My dear Gusheng, why do you think I came here—and even sustained such severe injuries? Naturally, it was to subjugate the Ghost King and make it a servant under my command.”

 

“I hadn’t expected it to be so formidable; we ended up mutually wounded.”

 

“What I *didn’t* anticipate, however, was finding a treasure like you here—possessor of the ‘All-Spirit Body,’ a rarity seen only once in ten thousand years. If you unite with me while alive, my cultivation will advance by leaps and bounds; and after you die, you will become the most powerful vengeful spirit of all!”

 

“You…” Gao Gusheng’s pupils contracted sharply as he recalled the time he had been vilified by the entire internet.

 

Zhang Wenxuan laughed.

 

“That’s right—I was the one who leaked the video. After all, I don’t make a habit of sharing my cultivation vessels with others. Where did you think you could run to? Now, the whole world knows that the minor celebrity Gao Gusheng is nothing but a cheap slut.”

 

“I’m going to turn you into my favorite toy.”

 

“Don’t even think about leaving me… not even in death!”

 

The man’s gaze was vicious, as if he intended to tear Gao Gusheng apart and devour him whole.

 

Gao Gusheng was still clutching the *ping’an kou* (safety pendant); the agony of impending death made him grip whatever was within reach. The pendant, made of inferior material, cut into his palm, drawing blood.

 

“You’re the one who deserves to die!”

 

The moment the blood welled up, the restraints binding Mo Hua vanished. He threw a punch at Zhang Wenxuan’s face—but it was a feint; dropping his center of gravity, he swept his leg toward Zhang Wenxuan’s.

 

Zhang Wenxuan was momentarily stunned by Mo Hua’s unexpected move, a murderous glint flashing in his eyes. “Go!”

 

At his command, thick ghostly energy surged from the blood-red jade pendant at his chest. Thousands of malevolent spirits poured out, instantly transforming the orphanage into a hellish realm of ghosts.

 

One spirit clamped its jaws onto Mo Hua’s neck, while another latched onto his fist. Starved of the flesh and blood of the living for so long, the spirits went into a frenzied state of excitement. As chunks of his flesh were torn away, a scream that sounded inhuman erupted from Mo Hua’s throat.

 

“Mo Hua!”

 

Seizing the moment Zhang Wenxuan’s guard was down, Gao Gusheng kicked out at the man’s groin—but he was no match for Zhang Wenxuan and was easily pinned to the ground. Zhang Wenxuan sank his teeth into the back of Gao Gusheng’s neck, drawing a torrent of blood.

 

“If I have my way with you while he watches, do you think he’ll be able to rest in peace?”

 

Gao Gusheng could no longer feel the physical pain racking his body; his eyes were wide, fixed unblinkingly on Mo Hua.

 

In the blink of an eye, half of Mo Hua’s body had been stripped down to bare, white bone.

 

In that moment, Gao Gusheng’s proud spirit was utterly shattered. He pleaded, “Spare him—if you spare him, I’ll be your dog while I live, and your plaything when I die.”

 

“It’s too late.”

 

Gao Gusheng’s submission brought no pleasure; instead, it fueled a greater rage. Zhang Wenxuan grabbed Gao Gusheng by the hair, forcing him to look at Mo Hua.

 

He watched as Mo Hua was torn apart by a myriad of ghosts—his flesh devoured, his very soul shredded until it dissipated into nothingness. From that moment on, Mo Hua would cease to exist in this world.

 

Gao Gusheng could not see the gruesome sight of Mo Hua’s soul being torn to pieces, yet he felt an agony akin to a thousand ants gnawing at his heart. The instant Mo Hua’s soul vanished, he felt—inexplicably—that something within him had snapped.

 

As Zhang Wenxuan vented his fury upon him, Gao Gusheng neither struggled nor resisted; his eyes remained locked on Mo Hua’s skeleton.

 

Even in death, one of Mo Hua’s hands was still reaching out toward him.

 

Gao Gusheng could not grasp it.

 

He stretched out his hand, but he could not reach it.

 

The jade peace charm Mo Hua had sought for him lay on the ground, resting in a pool of blood—its vibrant green hue stained by the deep crimson of the gore. Gao Shi’s eyes glowed with a faint golden light; he saw the truth—that *ping’an kou* (peace-bringing jade disc) was nothing more than a charlatan’s ruse. It was Gao Gusheng’s spiritual blood—and his sheer force of will—that had enabled Mo Hua to break free from Zhang Wenxuan’s restraints.

 

Just as it had been that day:

 

*Prayers for fortune, three kowtows and nine prostrations upon the stairway to the heavens.*

 

…

 

Gao Gusheng had become like a lifeless puppet; no matter how Zhang Wenxuan humiliated him, he showed neither joy nor anger.

 

Zhang Wenxuan was furious, yet he could not conceal the panic that grew within him day by day.

 

He refused to admit he was afraid. Looking at Gao Gusheng—now so utterly devoid of vitality—he did not even know what exactly he feared. He simply wished Gao Gusheng would show some emotion; even hatred or despair would have sufficed.

 

Yet, even when Zhang Wenxuan yanked his hair and conjured illusions replaying the moment Mo Hua was devoured, Gao Gusheng remained unresponsive.

 

He even curled the corners of his lips into a faint smile.

 

“Zhang Wenxuan, just kill me.”

 

Zhang Wenxuan was incensed, yet he dared not strike the fatal blow. He had an inexplicable intuition: despite his mastery of ghost-commanding arts, if he truly killed Gao Gusheng, he would lose him forever.

 

But when a person’s will to live has withered to the absolute limit, no one can pull them back.

 

Gao Gusheng lay in bed for a year, existing like the living dead, his body gradually wasting away.

 

In the end, he passed away in the dead of night—quietly, without a sound.

 

Gao Shi stood by Gao Gusheng’s bedside. At last, he recalled every detail of the dreams that had haunted him day and night since he was eight years old; finally, the full picture was revealed to him. The surrounding scenery twisted and shattered, dissolving into countless golden specks of light that converged upon Gao Shi; the specks settled beside his ear, coalescing into a tiny serpent.

 

He gazed up at the boundless firmament.

 

“So, your target is the Spirit Flower, isn’t it?”

 

“The plot—or rather,”

 

“The Heavenly Dao.”

 

##

 

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