Chapter Sixty-Six: The Ghost Corpses of Xiangxi

To speak of that monk—he truly wasn’t one for modesty. To dare to soar about so wildly in broad daylight, before a crowd, was quite the spectacle. Then again, it only proved how powerful he must be. Just being able to fly was enough to shatter my understanding of the world. I doubt even my second uncle could manage such a feat.

“There are also reports that he is the reincarnation of the Buddha. Our station will continue to follow this story…” I switched off the television and drifted back to sleep.

...

At dawn the next day, I awoke early. Rubbing my eyes, I glanced at the clock hanging on the wall.

“A bit past five...”

I washed up quickly, then stepped outside. By now, rising early and going out had become routine for me; whether I had anything to do or not, I always went for a walk.

Today, the sky was overcast—perhaps because the sun had yet to rise fully. The chilly wind made me shiver until I called forth a strand of spiritual energy to envelop myself, which warmed me a little.

“Students, please gather at Yangjiang Park at 7 a.m. this morning,” read a message on my vibrating phone. So, it was the Ghost King—he was up early. As soon as the message was sent, the group chat buzzed with conversation for the first time in a while.

“Huh? Why not at school?”

“Anywhere but school, please. Just the sight of it makes me want to throw up.”

“Hopefully, we’ll never have to play games at school again…”

But was it really a good idea to play games outside of school? What if passersby saw us fighting so fiercely? I sighed softly. It was out of my hands at this point; I could only let fate take its course.

I was about to put my phone away when a call came in.

“Hey, where did you go?” It was Nangong Xi. She sounded sleepy, her voice tinged with laziness.

“I’m out getting you breakfast. I’ll be back soon.”

She responded with a quiet “mm,” then hung up.

I walked to the breakfast shop I frequented and bought two pancakes before heading home. The weather was chilly, but otherwise unremarkable, and I encountered nothing unusual along the way.

Once home, Nangong Xi and I sat across from each other, each holding a pancake.

“What are you always so busy with every day?” she asked suddenly, as if recalling something. I knew there was no point in hiding the truth forever—after all, paper can’t wrap a fire. So I replied,

“I’m under someone’s control, playing some bizarre and terrifying games. But I can’t tell you who, because if I did, I’d die…”

I gave her a brief explanation, not caring whether she understood.

Nangong Xi seemed to think I was teasing her. She smiled and said, “I’m not a child anymore. Can you stop making things up?”

I could only shrug helplessly.

After breakfast, I headed out alone—Nangong Xi was staying home to clean, so I wasn’t worried about any accidents. By then, it was half past six, and since Yangjiang Park wasn’t far, I decided to run there.

On the way, I bumped into an old friend, Chen Chen.

“Hey, haven’t seen you in a few days—you seem a lot stronger now,” I said, not without reason.

The leaf on Chen Chen’s forehead had grown plump, as if he was on the verge of a breakthrough.

“Don’t just talk about me. What about you? Why can’t I see your leaf?” he replied, lighting a cigarette.

With a thought, three leaves appeared on my brow.

“Spirit Leaf, third rank?” Chen Chen stared at me in surprise, then added with a hint of awkwardness, “You’re basically a celestial being now…”

“My uncle says some geniuses can step into cultivation in just one day, while others can practice a lifetime without knowing what they’re doing.”

We ambled along, chatting as we entered Yangjiang Park.

As soon as we stepped inside, my phone rang.

“Very well. Today’s game is simple: there are tens of thousands of ghost corpses in the park. Each person must kill one. You have five hours. The game begins.”

No sooner had I finished reading the rules than someone came running toward us.

I looked closely—it was Li Zijian.

“Hey! Brother Yao! I’ve been so bored lately. Did you hear there’s a new event in the game…” Li Zijian was still his usual self—talking about games the moment we met.

But I noticed something: he, too, now had a leaf on his forehead, and his was even more robust than Chen Chen’s.

“Where have you been cultivating?” I asked, fixing him with a sharp gaze.

“My dad taught me…” Li Zijian looked sheepish under my stare, as if he’d done something wrong, and hung his head.

“All right, never mind. I was just asking.”

I thumped his shoulder, returning to my usual demeanor. Seeing my joke, Li Zijian grinned and started animatedly recounting his gaming exploits to me and Chen Chen.

I believed his answer. After all, someone had tried to kill him, and none of them were ordinary people, so it was clear his father wasn’t either.

As we discussed tactics, I suddenly sensed the air around us growing cold. Both of them now possessed spiritual energy, so they could sense it too.

We stood up swiftly, and I immediately drew my learning blade. Chen Chen, who now had a ring of his own, followed suit and pulled out a weapon I’d never seen him use before—a miniature version of the halberd of General Fang Tian. Despite its size, it remained long, and he wielded two in tandem.

Both weapons glowed red, enveloped in spiritual energy that shone crimson-black—surely a formidable sight in the darkness.

Li Zijian was not to be outdone. With his father a cultivator, he too had a ring. From it, he drew a pair of punch daggers, each blade etched with intricate patterns and gleaming with a golden edge.

There was no time to admire their weapons—the coldness around us was intensifying.

Glancing around, I perceived several invisible streams of spiritual energy. I knew waiting around would be fatal, so I took the initiative, swinging my blade toward the nearest presence.

With a crash and a shower of sparks, the thing was revealed. Its face was deathly pale, eyes tightly shut, but its long hair and weathered features hinted at a life full of stories.

I expected it to attack again, but instead, it picked up a blade and fled.

As it ran, the other presences scattered as well, taking the chill with them.

“What just happened?” Chen Chen whispered.

“I’m not sure, but they seem organized,” I replied. It puzzled me—these ghost corpses were supposed to be mindless, yet this one ran after a single strike.

“I think the Ghost King is controlling them,” Chen Chen mused, putting away his weapon and stroking his chin. “My family says these ghost corpses come from a secret art in Xiangxi—akin to corpse driving. A master can manipulate them to walk for hundreds of miles, and they even possess a will of their own.”