Chapter 3: One Trouble Follows Another  

The mud-sculpted Dragon God Statue in the Dragon God Temple was so hideous it looked like someone had twisted a snake into a knot and made it pull a face…  

Could this thing really summon the Dragon God’s protection?  

Li Changsheng let out a sigh of relief.  

Seems the incense wasn’t wasted after all.  

The Dragon God’s translucent form gradually solidified into a physical body. His overly slender fingers loosely pinched the incense stick, his gaze fixed on Li Changsheng like a damp serpent.  

Several vengeful spirits remained trapped deep underground, letting out shrill wails before falling silent. Black mist twisted and floated midair, leaving only human-shaped indentations on the ground.  

With such unfathomable power, perhaps hiding in this Dragon God Temple could help evade the Nether Palace’s pursuit.  

Li Changsheng calculated in his mind, then took out another stick of incense from his sleeve to offer the Dragon God, seizing the chance to probe for information: “Does the Dragon God know the master of the Nether Palace?”  

“Somewhat.” Despite his cold demeanor, the Dragon God was surprisingly talkative. “Rumors say this ghost has a savage face with fangs, utterly ruthless. Of the souls in the Three Realms that descend into the Yellow Springs, half don’t reincarnate—they end up as his feast.”  

Li Changsheng flicked the burning tip of the incense and asked curiously, “Is it true he was killed by his beloved?”  

The incense smoke thickened, further defining the man’s striking features—his crimson vertical pupils locked onto Li Changsheng, a faint smile playing on his lips.  

“Indeed. Slit across the throat by his beloved’s saber. After death, his resentment festered, and he slaughtered indiscriminately. The Ten Halls of the Nether Capital needed hundreds of Soul Shackling Chains to seal him in the forbidden palace, saving all living beings from his rampage.”  

This was news to Li Changsheng. “The Dragon God is truly well-informed.”  

The Dragon God replied courteously, “You flatter me, Magistrate.”  

Li Changsheng hadn’t expected this icy-faced deity to be so amiable. Just as he was about to continue the conversation, footsteps echoed from outside.  

Another pursuer had arrived.  

Li Changsheng was getting annoyed.  

Would this never end?  

This time, it wasn’t vengeful spirits seeking to capture him for merit—it was a group of ghostly envoys clad in Four Spirits Pattern Black Robes, likely from the Nether Palace.  

The moment they barged in and spotted Li Changsheng, they immediately drew their weapons.  

Without hesitation, Li Changsheng ducked behind the Dragon God for protection. “Dragon God, save me!”  

The Dragon God: “?”  

The armed ghosts had charged in fiercely, but the moment their eyes landed on the Dragon God, their faces drained of color—though already pale, their terror and shock were unmistakable.  

Their pupils dilated, their minds slow to react, but their bodies moved first—thud after thud, they dropped to their knees, trembling uncontrollably.  

Li Changsheng was stunned.  

Did the Dragon God command such fear even among the Nether Capital’s ghosts?  

Instinctively, he glanced up at the Dragon God—then froze, sharp eyes catching something amiss.  

The Dragon God stood sideways, lazily observing the kneeling envoys at his feet. From Li Changsheng’s angle, he could clearly see a gruesome scar across the Dragon God’s neck.  

…As if someone had mercilessly slit his throat with a sharp blade.  

Clink.  

A metallic clang seemed to ring out.  

The Dragon God noticed his gaze and tilted his head slightly, casually adjusting his tattered wide sleeves—revealing, for a fleeting moment, the heavy golden-etched chains coiled around his wrists.  

A slit throat…  

Soul Shackling Chains…  

Li Changsheng felt his vision darken.  

Then, he heard the terrified ghosts stammer in trembling voices:  

“We greet the Palace Master.”

Li Changsheng: “…”

The matter was settled with a single hammer strike.

Li Changsheng closed his eyes in despair, almost wishing he could just reincarnate already.

Today was truly an ill-fated day for all endeavors!

The Dragon God… Sealed Palace Master Feng Hui gazed at Li Changsheng’s deathly pale face, the damp ghostly aura surrounding him swirling restlessly, tendrils of it drifting toward Li Changsheng.

Yet he still wore a gentle smile: “What’s wrong, Director? Weren’t we having a pleasant conversation just now?”

Li Changsheng: “…”

Reacting swiftly, Li Changsheng flicked a talisman toward Feng Hui without even blinking.

Feng Hui merely glanced at it, making no move to block as the Talismanic Incantation struck his body, exploding into a column of water that rained down in a splash.

…It hadn’t harmed him in the slightest.

Li Changsheng prepared to move again.

But Feng Hui closed the distance like a phantom, his slender fingers clamping around Li Changsheng’s throat as he slammed him violently against the nearby statue.

Boom—

The already tilting Dragon God Statue collapsed completely, its horns snapping off as clouds of dust billowed up.

Feng Hui continued smiling, but his eyes churned with storm-like malice and killing intent, as if harboring deep-seated hatred: “After three hundred years apart, is this how you greet me?”

Li Changsheng’s pupils contracted sharply.

He really did know him!

Li Changsheng had always wanted to discover his true identity, but he never expected that after years of searching, his first clue would come from an enemy.

His slender neck constricted, Li Changsheng’s back collided with the stone statue in excruciating pain.

A Mortal’s body couldn’t even resist a minor vengeful spirit, let alone a Ghost King Palace Master.

Forced to tilt his head back, Li Changsheng’s vision nearly blurred out.

Feng Hui watched with satisfaction as that beautiful face he so despised finally showed the blankness of approaching death, observing the scene from above like admiring fine scenery.

“How pitiful.” He sighed, leaning in to lick lightly at the flushed corner of Li Changsheng’s suffocating eyes, smiling as he said, “Seeing you in such disarray is rare—I almost don’t want to kill you now. Beg me, and perhaps I might…”

Before he could finish, Feng Hui narrowed his eyes, looking down at his right hand.

The body formed from incense smoke was gradually becoming transparent.

As Feng Hui’s right hand lost cohesion, dispersing into mist, the nearly suffocated Li Changsheng suddenly dropped to the ground, gasping desperately for air while clutching his throat.

“Cough… cough…”

Feng Hui turned expressionlessly to look.

The pile of incense Li Changsheng had lit earlier had been extinguished.

—It was that water talisman.

From the very beginning, Li Changsheng had been targeting the incense all along.

Feng Hui lowered his gaze to his gradually vanishing hand, glaring coldly at him.

Li Changsheng coughed violently, his back pressed against a broken fragment of the statue, with no retreat yet still managing to smirk: “Treating your long-lost beloved so roughly—it seems the Palace Master isn’t as devoted as the rumors claim.”

Feng Hui’s eyes darkened inexplicably. “You truly don’t remember me?”

Li Changsheng was quick with his tongue; given the chance to speak, he could probably talk a corpse back to life.

Catching his breath, he raised his crimson-tinged eyes slightly: “The Palace Master’s face is quite striking. Now that I’ve seen it, I won’t forget it in the future.”

Feng Hui: “…”

Having dominated the Nether Capital for three hundred years, the Palace Master had likely never been flirted with like this before—the gloomy hostility around him momentarily scattered in shock.

Li Changsheng was a pure gambler, taunting while stealing glances at the incense burner nearby.

The incense was extinguished by water, its smoke dispersing slower and slower as Feng Hui’s form gradually turned translucent.  

Feng Hui stared straight at him, then suddenly raised his sleeve. The tattered, wide robe whipped up a gust of wind, sweeping the remaining incense smoke toward him and reforming his body once more.  

Li Changsheng’s smile froze on his face.  

Damn.  

Now he was really going to die.  

Feng Hui lowered himself unhurriedly, kneeling on one knee before Li Changsheng. His icy fingers clamped around Li Changsheng’s right wrist like iron shackles.  

Li Changsheng let out a dry laugh, recalling the threat of “ravish first, kill later.” Adaptable as ever, he said, “Let’s talk this out… Ah, I remember you now—my beloved, my Dao companion. There must have been a good reason for slitting my throat back then… Ow!”  

Feng Hui’s expression darkened as he tightened his grip, leaving a red mark around Li Changsheng’s wrist.  

Li Changsheng shut his mouth.  

“It’s fine if you don’t remember.”  

Ghost Forms of malevolent spirits were often ferocious and terrifying, their humanoid bodies far larger than ordinary mortals. Feng Hui’s fingers, cold as ice, forced their way into Li Changsheng’s palm, his fingertips tracing every inch with a damp, bone-chilling touch.  

…Like a serpent about to devour its prey.  

Li Changsheng’s fingers twitched involuntarily.  

He was going to be killed…  

Feng Hui smiled. Maintaining his unblinking stare, his eyes filled with a strange amusement, he lowered his head and lightly licked Li Changsheng’s palm.  

Li Changsheng: “?”  

Li Changsheng stiffened completely.  

Ravish first, kill later, kill again, ravish again…  

I’ve been defiled.  

Feng Hui’s tongue seemed to have tiny barbs, nearly scraping a bloody mark into Li Changsheng’s palm.  

The pain was one thing, but as that icy tongue made contact, a piercing cold surged into Li Changsheng’s palm before crashing violently into his heart.  

The red mark on his palm seemed to come alive, silently twisting into a pitch-black pattern—like a serpent, its tail tipped with a blood-red mole that swayed with the flick of its tail.  

Li Changsheng stared in shock.  

The snake coiled around his wrist like a tattoo before slithering effortlessly up his sleeve.  

Li Changsheng: “…………”  

What the hell was that?  

“Li… Changsheng.”  

Half of Feng Hui’s body slowly dissipated, his gaze filled with the predatory ferocity of a beast eyeing its prey. With a faint, mocking smile, he said, “One day, I’ll make you remember.”  

For Li Changsheng, who had lost his memories, this might have been a well-meaning blessing.  

—But coming from a sinister, ghostly fiend, it sounded more like an inescapable curse, chilling to the bone.  

Feng Hui stood, glancing sideways at the kneeling ghosts still on the ground. His black robes, as if scorched by flames, billowed as his crimson vertical pupils turned cold.  

“Escort Director Li back to the Nether Palace.”  

With that, the incense smoke dissipated along with the man’s towering figure, leaving only the watchful Ghost Messengers of the Nether Capital behind.  

“Yes!”  

Li Changsheng: “…………”  

He’d almost forgotten about the Nether Palace’s Ghost Messengers.  

Under Feng Hui’s oppressive aura, the Ghost Messengers hadn’t dared to lower their heads. Now, they finally exhaled and bowed respectfully to Li Changsheng. “Director Li, please.”  

Their tone was deferential, but their eyes held a cold, ruthless edge.  

Li Changsheng, who had nearly been strangled to death moments ago, felt no lingering fear—nor any relief at his narrow escape.  

His brow arched slightly as he replied coolly, “I’ve already accepted the Bureau Chief Decree. Even if I were to return to the Nether Capital to assume my position, it should be the Bureau of Tribulation Transference welcoming me, not the Nether Palace overstepping its bounds.”  

The Ghost Messengers cared little for a mere mortal.

The Palace Master’s mortal enemy—once they enter the Nether Capital, they’ll wish for death rather than life. There’s no need for pretense with him.  

The Ghost Messengers had long lost their patience, each drawing out their Soul Shackling Chains.  

Suddenly, a cold voice spoke: “Sealed Palace Master, what impressive methods. Thunder Condemnation couldn’t kill him, sixty thousand Nether Forbidden Palace talismans couldn’t bind him. And now, even our Bureau of Tribulation Transference’s Director dares to attempt abduction and imprisonment. Before long, the entire Nether Capital will bow to his will.”  

The Nether Palace Ghost Messengers’ expressions darkened as they turned their heads sharply. “Watch your words.”  

Li Changsheng had a headache.  

More people?  

One after another—would this ever end?  

Outside the ruined temple, a tall figure approached carrying a lantern. The words “Tribulation Transference” on the paper lantern cast a wild, dancing shadow on the ground, twisting into ghostly shapes with each step.  

The man wore a Magpie Pattern White Robe, his hair tied back with a jade slip. Behind him, several shadowy figures adorned with paper masks loomed indistinctly.  

Magpie patterns, Masked Ghosts.  

—He was from the Bureau of Tribulation Transference.  

The Nether Palace Ghost Messengers frowned deeply. “Yu Qingjian, is the Bureau truly going to appoint a Mortal as its Director?”  

Yu Qingjian gave them a frosty glance. “Who’s barking nonsense? How noisy.”  

Ghost Messenger: “You—!”  

Yu Qingjian said, “A Mortal as Director is still better than the Nether Palace’s lunatics.”  

The Ghost Messenger was furious. “Yu Qingjian! How dare you!”  

“Oh, how dreadfully bold of me.” Yu Qingjian’s face didn’t even twist into a mocking expression, yet it somehow made people itch to punch him.  

With a hollow smile, he said, “Picking your battles, are we? If our Deputy were here, would you dare speak to him like this? You’d be groveling at his feet, offering up your own parents.”  

The Ghost Messenger’s face flushed red with rage, unable to out-insult the “Nether Capital’s Most Poisonous Tongue.” He lashed out blindly: “So what if your Deputy is powerful? Didn’t you still lose two Directors in three years? And now your new Director is just a Mortal!”  

Yu Qingjian: “…”  

A Mortal…  

Yu Qingjian’s expression darkened. “Spirit Attachment.”  

At those two words, as if struck by some miraculous cure, the Ghost Messengers paled, cursed under their breaths—”Madman!”—and stumbled back several steps, glaring at him with impotent fury.  

As the ghostly shadows dispersed, Yu Qingjian finally turned his gaze to the Bureau’s new Director.  

A Mortal’s body, devoid of Spiritual Power, unable to even fend off a few Ghost Messengers—utterly wasting that Heavenly Dao-bestowed Golden Merit.  

As for appearance…  

Hah. That was all he had.  

Yu Qingjian’s brow twitched slightly, and a faint, almost imperceptible “tsk” escaped him, laced with unconcealed disdain and irritation.  

Li Changsheng: “?”  

Did he just “tsk” at me?  

So he really does resent a Mortal becoming Director?  

Yu Qingjian stepped forward with the lantern, its flickering light casting ghostly reflections across Li Changsheng’s face.  

Then, to his surprise, Yu Qingjian slowly knelt on one knee before him, all traces of that earlier contempt wiped clean. He even lowered his head with what could almost be called deference.  

Li Changsheng was stunned.  

Yu Qingjian’s face remained expressionless as his voice, soft yet clear, cut through the sound of falling rain.  

“Subordinate Yu Qingjian, here to escort the Director back to the Nether Capital.”  

Author’s Note:  

Yu Qingjian, calm and composed: Insult, insult, insult, insult.  

Ghost Messenger: Your Director is a Mortal! [dog head]  

Yu Qingjian, instantly triggered: You’re asking for death! Are you insane?! [rage][rage][rage]