UCS Chapter 151

Chapter 151

Across the Three Thousand Worlds, spiritual energy levels and developmental trajectories varied. This world, originally rich in spiritual energy, ought to have evolved toward the path of cultivation; however, because the “False Heavenly Dao” had drained its energy without restraint, the path of cultivation was all but severed, forcing the world to race instead toward technological advancement.

Yet, within the dreamscape, the False Heavenly Dao—intent on hunting the Spirit Flower—had bestowed excessive “protagonist auras” upon the “scum gongs”. Legal constraints were rendered virtually powerless against them, further fueling their savagery and contempt for the law, ultimately allowing *chaebols* and capital to seize control of the world.

Powerful clans vied with one another; the elite carried weapons at will, whereas the common people faced criminal charges for doing the same—punished by a legal system that had become nothing more than a weapon for the capitalist class.

Major factions focused their energy on crushing their rivals rather than sharing knowledge; consequently, technological and medical advancements never trickled down to the masses, and there was no exchange of ideas—as if societal progress had nothing to do with the ordinary people at the bottom. All of this resulted in the pace of technological advancement within the dream world lagging far behind that of the real world.

The more developed a world becomes, the greater the feedback received by the entity acting as the Heavenly Dao. However, because the “false Heavenly Dao” of this world had engaged in unrestrained absorption during the early stages, the world had become feeble; consequently, the feedback it yielded—and the benefits the entity could reap—diminished over time.

Fearing that the world would grow increasingly frail and eventually wither away—thereby causing it to lose its supreme authority—the entity began to curtail its absorption of the world’s spiritual energy and fortune.

The resulting surge in spiritual energy led to the gradual reawakening of demons and ghosts, which in turn gave rise to Celestial Masters and the sects of the mystic arts.

Yet, these uncontrolled creatures from the Underworld brought no new vitality; instead, they plunged the world into a period of unprecedented chaos, accelerating its decline.

It was at this juncture that Gao Gusheng appeared in the world.

The false Heavenly Dao was overjoyed!

Here was a spiritual flower that had gained sentience. If it could harness the flower’s power, extinguish its consciousness, and consume the essence of the Heavenly Dao contained within it, it could not only survive the world’s crisis but perhaps even supplant the weakened Heavenly Dao itself!

And so, the drama began to unfold.

The dream Gao Shi experienced was a revelation of the Heavenly Dao’s scheme—information conveyed to him by the little snake that had been gathering evidence of wrongdoing by his side.

Had it not been for Gao Shi, events would have proceeded exactly as the Heavenly Dao had orchestrated.

Now that the false Heavenly Dao has dissipated, the world has returned to its proper course; following Gao Gusheng’s repairs, it will gradually regain its former vitality.

Signs of an emerging fusion between high-end technology and ghost-exorcism techniques have already appeared in the real world; perhaps the future lies in the development of technology-based exorcism. After everything concluded, Headquarters invited Gao Shi and Ying Bujie to a meeting. The primary agenda was to inquire about the functions of the Heavenly Dao and to discuss how to handle the ensuing crisis now that it was lost.

Only core members of Headquarters attended this meeting; because the grand formation had been activated in time and the battle took place high in the air, few people actually knew the truth.

Some had captured footage of the heavenly fire raining down, and others had complained about the earthquake, but since there were no casualties, the public’s reaction was one of curiosity rather than fear.

The authorities understood that suppression often backfires, so they merely monitored the situation covertly while occasionally deploying “internet water armies” to muddy the waters.

For instance, under posts speculating about the anomalies of that day, comments expressing mild worry or fear were soon swamped by a flood of “doge” emojis—turning into a veritable “doge army” that eventually took over the video’s comment section:

【Don’t worry, I’ll step in.】

【It seems my tribulation-crossing last night couldn’t be kept secret after all.】

【Shut up! Have you forgotten the confidentiality agreement of ’99?!】

Thanks to this chaotic online banter, the video’s content morphed into a meme, ultimately preventing any social unrest.

There is a paradox where the more openly something is displayed, the less people believe it; conversely, if one starts deleting messages, suspicion inevitably arises.

Headquarters’ leadership also gained some insight into the nature of the Heavenly Dao. It was meant to be the embodiment of the Great Dao governing the world; its loss signified the end of the balance between Yin and Yang, the cycle of life and death, and the law of karma—leaving the living in a daze and the dead stranded in the mortal realm.

Although no differences had been detected yet—and the world actually seemed a bit clearer after the death of the “fake” Heavenly Dao—they still needed to learn more about the true nature of the Heavenly Dao.

Upon hearing this, Gao Shi smiled and said, “Don’t worry; the true Heavenly Dao has already taken over our world.”

The Heavenly Dao may wax and wane, but it endures forever.

However, one cannot rely solely on the Heavenly Dao; human action is crucial. Faced with the ever-surging spiritual energy, Headquarters held meetings for half a month straight to formulate management measures, laws, and handling protocols regarding the Underworld.

Incidentally, the Research Institute benefited the most from this situation. Gao Gusheng had demonstrated through personal experience that scientific methods for exorcising ghosts were highly effective—proving that science was the primary driving force behind such efforts.

The director of the Research Institute was grinning so broadly that his face had crinkled like an orange peel.

After the meetings concluded, Gao Shi headed to the Research Institute to check on Zhang Wenxuan.

Zhang Wenxuan had previously suffered a backlash from a myriad of ghosts but was saved by Ying Bujie using half a drop of Gao Gusheng’s tears.

He was now confined within a transparent chamber, monitored from the outside by the Institute’s newly developed “Ghost Visualization Camera.”

The camera feed revealed that Zhang Wenxuan’s physical body was being constantly gnawed away, only to rapidly regenerate; the excruciating pain was such that he could never become numb to it.

The Spirit Flower dew’s terrifying regenerative power had become a curse of despair for him. Because the Spirit Flower could heal the body while simultaneously stabilizing the mind, he could not—unlike Xiao Yusheng—escape reality through madness. Instead, he was forced to watch, fully conscious and lucid, as his flesh was stripped down to bone, only for the flesh to regrow and the cycle to begin all over again. The director’s eyes gleamed brightly. “This is the first time I’ve seen a test subject like this; his body is practically saturated with yin energy, yet he’s still alive.”

Gao Shi smiled faintly. “In about seven or eight days, his regenerative abilities will start to wane. Just remember to drive away the ghosts—don’t let him actually get gnawed to death, or your experiment won’t be finished.”

The director nodded repeatedly, his eyes shining with a terrifying intensity that made even Gao Shi’s hair stand on end; he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of experimental procedure the director was dreaming up now.

Gao Shi cast one last glance at Zhang Wenxuan before looking away.

This suffering was exactly what he deserved.

He should have realized this long ago—back when countless people, who ought to have lived glorious lives—or at least lives of comfort and ease—were drained of their fortune and lifespan by him, eventually dying in destitution.

The director asked Gao Shi, “By the way, do you want to check on that test subject you sent in earlier?”

“Subject No. 239; it’s expected to dissipate next month.”

239—the Ghost King’s designation.

Gao Shi waved his hand. “No need.”

It was all over; there was no point in dirtying his eyes by looking at it again.

…

After the great battle ended, everything began to gradually return to normal.

Thanks to the restorative power of Gao Gusheng’s tears, everyone in Gao Shi’s squad had fully recovered their health; consequently, after just a single day of leave, the entire team was back on duty.

Ran Qiu, whose legs had turned to jelly, slumped straight into his workstation the moment he opened the door. Chang Yang looked up from his paperwork, grinning as he picked up a spicy snack stick and waved it at him like a cat-teasing wand. “So, Qiuzi, how was it? That special training from Captain Gao must have felt pretty great, huh?”

He put on a mock-sycophantic voice: “This ‘royal favor’ from His Lordship is a privilege unique to you in the whole squad~”

Ran Qiu rolled his eyes and mimicked the tone: “If you want this ‘favor’ so much, why don’t you take it?”

Gao Shi pushed the door open and leaned against the desk with his arms crossed, smiling. “No need to be so modest; I can handle special training for two people at once.”

Chang Yang shuddered, then hurriedly pulled out a massive round lollipop and presented it with both hands. “I offer this lollipop to the Boss.”

Gao Shi looked at the lollipop—which was easily the size of his own head. “A fine offering. Don’t do it again. You’re dismissed.”

Zhuang Xiuxiu spoke up: “Captain, the Spirit Officers at the Spirit Management Bureau are basically like Underworld Envoys. Does that mean we’re walking the line between the Yin and Yang realms?”

Gao Shi, still looking at the lollipop and wondering where to take the first bite, replied casually, “You could say that. It used to be the Yin and Yang realms; now it’s the Underworld and the Human World.”

As he said this, Gao Shi sighed, unable to figure out how to actually bite into the lollipop.

He couldn’t exactly cradle the thing and lick it, could he? Aside from the fact that snacking so brazenly would hardly be dignified, how long would it take to lick through a lollipop that size?

Gao Shi’s affirmation reignited Zhuang Xiuxiu’s inner “chuunibyou.” Recalling various tropes from the novels she’d read, her eyes sparkled. “So, can we come up with a cool name? Since we walk between the Yin and Yang realms, how about… how about…”

“Yin-Yang People?” Ran Qiu blurted out instinctively.

The sparkle in Zhuang Xiuxiu’s eyes vanished instantly. “No… I suddenly think ‘Anomalous Police’ is a great name—an excellent one.”

“By the way, Yangzi, I saw Qiuqiu secretly dump that *luosifen*-flavored cilantro sauce you gave him into the flowerpot.”

“What?! You actually dumped out the *luosifen*-flavored blue cheese and cilantro dressing I painstakingly concocted!”

“Waaah! Brother Chang, I was wrong! I really tried my best!”

Xiong Xiong feigned annoyance. “No wonder my flowerpot smelled like a mix of poop and stink bugs; I was wondering who’d fertilized my plants with farmyard manure.”

The two of them pounced on him to tickle him; Ran Qiu, pinned down by the burly men, laughed hysterically while begging for mercy.

Huang Shan couldn’t help but smile. Gao Shi walked over, gave a soft cough, and gently tugged at the back of Huang Shan’s collar. “Brother Huang.”

Huang Shan was startled, then froze, his face flushing red. He muttered in exasperation, “That little brat…”

Gao Shi quietly looked away.

Seeing the bite mark stamped onto the back of Brother Huang’s neck, he knew just how intense the “battle” had been.

In fact, things had been even more intense than Gao Shi imagined.

Once Feiyu regained his memories, all the tension, anxiety, sorrow, and excitement he’d felt previously transformed into surging passion and desire for Huang Shan.

Needless to say, during their day off yesterday, the two of them had only left the bed twice—just to eat. Even the mild-mannered Huang Shan had been driven to the brink of losing his temper by Feiyu; just before passing out, he had bitten down hard on Feiyu’s shoulder in retaliation.

Huang Shan thought wearing a shirt would be enough to hide the evidence of yesterday’s wild antics, but who would have guessed there was still a “dog bite” mark on the back of his neck?

Once Huang Shan had tidied himself up and the heat finally faded from his face, he asked Gao Shi, “Captain, now that the Underworld for the living realm has been established, does Daoist Ying still need to keep the cycle of reincarnation open?”

At the mention of serious business, Gao Shi’s smile vanished. “For the time being, yes,” he said.

Then, his expression softened into a smile again. “But it won’t be long before it’s no longer necessary. The seed has been planted; as spiritual energy grows, a new Gate of Reincarnation will emerge here.”

The Underworld governing the three thousand worlds was not yet fully functional, but Ying Bujie could channel a sliver of the power of reincarnation to open a gate in this world, guiding countless souls to their next lives.

The Spirit Management Bureau was acting as a stand-in for the Underworld, capturing wandering souls in the interim.

The day order was fully established would be the day they returned to their divine thrones.

…

A day passed, and everything returned to normal. Chang Yang stretched lazily. “I never thought there’d come a day when I’d feel that just going to work normally isn’t so bad.”

Huang Shan smiled. “A quiet, ordinary life is the real deal.”

Gao Shi finished packing up and walked to the doorway, where he saw Ying Bujie standing and gazing at the clouds.

Hearing Gao Shi’s footsteps, Ying Bujie turned and smiled—a smile so radiant it seemed to melt the ice and snow, capturing the very essence of spring across the city.

“Let’s go home.”

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