Chapter 12: Looking Down in Genuine Anger  

The dream seemed to be set in the third month of spring, amidst peach blossoms.  

Pink petals clustered around a towering giant tree, and the wind carried a flurry of scattered blossoms that brushed against Li Changsheng’s hair as it draped over his shoulders.  

Li Changsheng had never seen such a massive peach blossom tree before.  

His gaze slowly drifted upward, trying to gauge just how tall the tree was.  

Amidst the swirling petals, when he lifted his eyes, he caught sight of a hand holding his.  

Li Changsheng tilted his head in confusion, belatedly realizing that the peach blossom tree wasn’t towering at all.  

He was just a child, barely reaching an adult’s thigh.  

Li Changsheng turned his head dazedly to look behind him.  

Two people stood beneath the peach blossom tree, seemingly cradling a swaddled infant as they laughed and cooed, the picture of a happy family of three.  

Li Changsheng stared blankly for a long moment before turning away, lowering his head and trudging forward.  

The man holding his hand had an indistinct face, but his voice was clear and cold: “What’s wrong?”  

Li Changsheng didn’t answer.  

The man seemed naturally aloof; when he received no reply, he didn’t press further. Instead, he continued leading Li Changsheng forward, stepping on the fallen peach petals one by one.  

Li Changsheng stared at the petals crushed into pink mush beneath his feet, lost in thought for a while before suddenly calling out.  

“Father.”  

The man replied indifferently, “I am not your father.”  

Li Changsheng didn’t like hearing that, so he pretended not to and stubbornly called out again, “Father, the peach blossoms aren’t pretty. Let’s never come here again.”  

The man seemed to sigh, then slowly bent down to pat his head, his voice growing fainter with the wind.  

“Call me Shizun.”  

**Boom.**  

The peach blossom tree in the dream, which had seemed forever out of reach, suddenly exploded into a sky full of pink petals that fluttered down onto his hands, gradually twisting into grotesque streaks of blood.  

Li Changsheng, clad in white and gold robes stained with blood, gripped a sword engraved with intricate talismans—the faint characters “Cui Wei” barely visible.  

The blade was buried deep in the chest of the person before him, blood gushing forth.  

The man’s blurred face seemed to smile as his bloodied hand slowly reached toward Li Changsheng’s face, his thumb leaving a crimson streak on his deathly pale cheek.  

In an instant, the man’s towering figure dissolved into golden light, vanishing into the world.  

“Shizun…”  

Li Changsheng’s eyes snapped open.  

His heart pounded violently, as if still ensnared by the agony of the dream. His pupils were unfocused, his left eye faintly shimmering with a divine golden glow—  

Gone in the next second.  

Gasping for breath, Li Changsheng waited for the emotions to subside, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t recall what he had dreamed. Only the overwhelming pain lingered, threatening to split his skull.  

After a long while, the torment that had nearly driven him mad finally faded.  

The scent of food seemed to linger in the air, and the indistinct murmur of conversation reached his ears.  

Li Changsheng’s sweat-damp hair clung to his snow-white cheeks as he panted, surveying his surroundings.  

This appeared to be an inn in the Human Realm—carved wooden bed with latticework, an immortal velvet blanket beneath him, and even the quilt was made of magnolia brocade, worth a fortune per bolt. A faint fragrance wafted from the incense burner.  

Li Changsheng stared blankly for a long moment before finally recalling his memories before losing consciousness.  

Where was this?  

Hadn’t he fallen into the Yellow Springs? Did Yu Qingjian save him?  

Hah, impossible.  

This was clearly a high-class room reserved for esteemed guests. There was no way Yu Qingjian—that stingy miser who’d round up fifteen taels and thirty coins to sixteen taels—would ever splurge like this.  

Knowing Lord Yu’s temperament, he’d probably dump him by the roadside and then exclaim in surprise, “What? Humans actually need beds?”  

Ever since receiving that damned Director Seal, Li Changsheng had been plagued by misfortune—injuries, falling into water, freezing, starving.  

Ah well. At least he was alive.

Li Changsheng got off the bed, weakly pushing open the door to see where he was.

He took a glance outside.

Bang—he shut the door again.

Li Changsheng closed his eyes briefly.

Must be a hallucination.

He thought he must be having another nightmare. Just as he hesitated, Feng Hui’s cold voice sounded from outside: “Director, you’ve been lying in bed all day. Still thinking of going back for another nap?”

Li Changsheng: “…”

Damn it, it really was Feng Hui.

Why was this ghost so persistent? Even jumping into the river hadn’t shaken him off.

Wait—had Feng Hui saved him?

Didn’t he want him dead? Why would he be so kind?

Still, the one silver lining was that Feng Hui didn’t seem to realize his identity had been exposed. The Magical Artifact concealing his face still rested on his forehead, determined to play the role of a benevolent “savior.”

Li Changsheng steadied himself and decided to take a big gamble.

He opened the door and peeked outside. Having lived in Nanyuan City for years, he recognized the layout immediately—this was the most extravagantly expensive inn in the city center: Penglei Inn.

This inn was notorious for its jade cuisine and cassia cooking, charging exorbitant prices that only the wealthiest fools would pay.

It was already dusk, the setting sun casting molten gold across the sky.

Feng Hui had changed clothes again, his wide-sleeved black robes archaic yet opulent. He lounged lazily by the window, gazing down, his profile bathed in honeyed twilight, the eerie ghostly aura around him noticeably diminished.

Just seeing him made Li Changsheng’s neck ache. Tentatively, he said, “Thank you, Lord Ming, for saving me.”

Feng Hui didn’t look at him, replying with a faint smirk, “Two life-saving favors, and the Director thinks a mere word of thanks suffices as repayment?”

He didn’t deny the surname “Ming.”

Li Changsheng silently exhaled in relief.

It seemed the Sealed Palace Master wasn’t done playing yet—his life was safe for now.

Ever carefree, Li Changsheng, now certain he wouldn’t be killed, casually strolled over and took a seat opposite Feng Hui as if they were old friends. “Which hall does Lord Ming belong to? I must seek out your Palace Master to properly commend your selfless act of saving my life.”

Feng Hui replied, “Soul Retrieval Envoy of the Double Spring Hall, here in Nanyuan to collect souls.”

Li Changsheng raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you afraid the Nether Palace Master will come after you, Envoy Ming?”

Feng Hui seemed even colder than he had been on the boat, not even bothering to look at Li Changsheng as he indifferently picked up a teacup. “Why should I fear him?”

Li Changsheng said, “Because rumors say he might be my old lover—”

Feng Hui: “…”

The Sealed Palace Master’s hand paused abruptly, cold tea spilling over the rim and dripping onto his fingers.

“—and also the one who wants me dead.” Li Changsheng finished the sentence with dramatic flair, then looked at Feng Hui with concern. “The Sealed Palace Master has offered a bounty of 100,000 Spirit Stones for my life. Yet you, Envoy Ming, have saved me twice now. If word of this reaches that vile and ruthless Palace Master, you might suffer unjust retaliation.”

The “vile and ruthless” Sealed Palace Master: “…”

Feng Hui finally turned his gaze toward him, his crimson ghost pupils locking onto Li Changsheng like a snake seizing its prey. “He won’t.”

“You still don’t understand.” Seeing Feng Hui’s restraint, Li Changsheng sighed theatrically. “The Sealed Palace Master is utterly mad—petty and vindictive, holding grudges over the smallest things. If you cross him, you’ll regret it.”

Feng Hui: “…”

Feng Hui’s grip on the teacup tightened slowly, his crimson eyes icy and sinister.

…He looked very much like he wanted to strangle Li Changsheng on the spot.

Having vented to his heart’s content, Li Changsheng finally felt avenged for the neck-choking incident.

Noticing Feng Hui’s darkening expression, he smugly withdrew his Divine Ability and softened his tone. “I still haven’t repaid Lord Ming’s kindness. If you were to suffer because of me, I’d never forgive myself.”

Feng Hui stared expressionlessly at his lips, unmoved by the incessant chatter.

Just then, the waiter downstairs came trotting up the wooden stairs with three wooden trays, juggling them like a performer. Beaming, he announced, “Honored guest, your meal is ready—prepared exactly to your specifications.”

Li Changsheng had gone hungry for three or four days, surviving on only half a small piece of glutinous rice lotus root. He hadn’t thought much of it until now, but the aroma of the food before him amplified his hunger to unbearable levels.

His stomach began to cramp painfully again.

He could endure pain and wasn’t particularly greedy, but he was genuinely surprised.

Did the ghosts of the Nether Capital also eat mortal food?

The waiter set down the dishes one by one.

“This is the beefless vegetarian soup from Suiwan Workshop, limited to twenty servings a day. As requested, no beef was added—completely free of any meat. The chef didn’t even complain. The cherry meat has not a trace of ginger, and the plum blossom wine has just been warmed…”

The waiter had likely received a hefty tip from Feng Hui, as he cheerfully listed off every detail of the meticulously prepared dishes—anyone else would have grumbled at such demands. After setting down two pairs of chopsticks, he quickly retreated.

Li Changsheng grew more astonished with each dish mentioned.

Nearly every one was tailored to his notoriously finicky tastes.

Feng Hui…

Had his old feelings reignited?

—Though he couldn’t recall if they had ever truly been Daoist partners.

Feng Hui was tall, and the evening light from the west cast his shadow over half of Li Changsheng’s body, almost enveloping him from a distance.

Without even glancing at Li Changsheng, Feng Hui poured himself a cup of wine and took a sip.

Li Changsheng’s stomach ached, and he wanted to eat, but unsure of Feng Hui’s attitude, he maintained the dignity of a Director, sitting primly and waiting for Feng Hui to insist multiple times before he would reluctantly take a bite.

Feng Hui ignored him entirely, drinking on his own.

Li Changsheng: “…”

Watching the food grow cold, Li Changsheng decided to take the initiative. Feigning surprise, he pointed at the cherry meat and asked sincerely, “What dish is this? It looks quite delicious.”

Feng Hui glanced at him with a faint smirk. “Director Li is hungry?”

Li Changsheng replied with restraint, “I’m managing.”

“Good,” Feng Hui said coolly. “Having saved Director Li twice already, I’ve earned the Nether Palace Master’s resentment. If I were to invite you to share a meal, your old lover’s jealousy might cost me my life. Surely, Director Li wouldn’t want me torn apart and devoured by the fierce and ruthless Sealed Palace Master because of you.”

Li Changsheng: “……”

Old lover? This was clearly just to mock him.

Feng Hui didn’t seem interested in the food either, not touching a single dish and only drinking wine, his gaze occasionally drifting downstairs.

Opposite the Penglei Inn stood the Tantai City Lord’s residence.

In two days, it would be the Ghost Festival’s grand ceremony. Located in the remote southern region of Nan Yuan, the ceremony was always a quiet affair, organized by the Tantai City Lord.

This year, however, the usually deserted residence bustled with cultivators coming and going.

Li Changsheng casually picked up a chopstick and feigned curiosity. “Is there something special about this year’s Nan Yuan ceremony?”

Feng Hui’s eyes flicked toward the empty sky above the Tantai residence, as if noticing something, his tone laced with sarcastic amusement.

Though he acted indifferent and disdainful toward Li Changsheng, he answered every question. “Du Shangheng has been dead for three hundred years. Many believe he will reincarnate due to his accumulated Karma from overcoming calamities.”

Li Changsheng picked up another chopstick and turned his head. “Du Shangheng?”

“Four days ago was Du Shangheng’s birthday and death anniversary,” Feng Hui said. “Rumors say the Tantai City Lord found Chong Jun’s reincarnation on that very Qixi Festival—a child with golden patterns on the left eye. Naturally, those devotees from the Three Realms who worship Du Shangheng as a deity caught wind of it and came to investigate.”

He seemed quite familiar with Du Shangheng, even remembering the man’s birthday.

Li Changsheng, surprised, picked up a piece of cherry meat with his chopsticks and stuffed it into his mouth, still playing along: “Huh? I thought those whose souls scattered couldn’t reincarnate?”

Feng Hui replied, “Naturally, it’s just another fake. Seen plenty of those over the past three hundred years.”

The setting sun wasn’t strong, but Feng Hui, after all, was a ghost. Even as the Hall Master of the Nether Palace, he feared the light. The half of his face illuminated by the faint glow revealed faint golden patterns, as if scorched by flames from within.

Feng Hui didn’t fear pain. His gaze fixed on the dense miasma of yin energy hovering over the Tantai residence, lost in thought.

Seizing the moment while the Sealed Palace Master was deep in contemplation, Li Changsheng picked up a spoon and took a sip of the plain broth.

Hearing the sound, Feng Hui glanced sideways at him.

Li Changsheng wasn’t embarrassed—what was done was done. Even if Feng Hui hated him, could he force him to spit it out?

The Sealed Palace Master wasn’t petty either. He coldly averted his gaze and continued observing the Tantai residence.

But this time, his brows furrowed slightly.

After drinking half a bowl of broth, Li Changsheng’s stomach finally stopped aching faintly. He was about to pour himself another half bowl when sudden cries of alarm erupted from the streets.

“It’s a giant ship!”

Puzzled, Li Changsheng looked up at the sky and froze.

Was that the Spring Gazing Golden Ship of Snow Jade Capital?

Their vantage point was excellent, offering a clear view of the Tantai residence’s front courtyard.

A massive, ornate golden ship descended slowly, its bone-like wings flapping. Its sheer size stirred a violent gust of wind upon landing, sending pedestrians on the street stumbling.

Snow Jade Capital was the foremost sect of the Three Realms. Three hundred years ago, only Du Shangheng could afford to travel on the Spring Gazing Golden Ship, a Magical Artifact that consumed vast amounts of Spirit Stones.

Now, only the current sect leader of Snow Jade Capital could do so.

Li Changsheng’s feigned puzzlement turned into genuine surprise. “Xu Guansheng is here too?”

Rumors said Xu Guansheng, the sect leader of Snow Jade Capital, was Du Shangheng’s sworn junior brother. If even he had come all the way from Snow Jade Capital to this remote southern region of Nanyuan, could the reincarnation be real?

Li Changsheng craned his neck to watch the spectacle when a wave of icy, sinister energy surged relentlessly from across the table, making him shiver.

Just then, the last sliver of sunlight vanished from the horizon, plunging the sky into darkness. Feng Hui’s face was half-hidden in shadow, like a vengeful ghost lying in wait.

The Sealed Palace Master glared coldly at Li Changsheng. “You… recognize Xu Guansheng?”

Li Changsheng shrugged. “Of course.”

The sect leader of Snow Jade Capital—such an esteemed figure. Who hadn’t heard of him?

Feng Hui’s gaze grew even fiercer, as if he wanted to devour him.

The ghost’s chilling aura felt like it could reach straight to the Yellow Springs. The steam from the piping-hot dishes on the table froze into shards of ice, clattering down, and the wine solidified into icy slush.

Li Changsheng was baffled.

Feng Hui stared at him indifferently for a long moment. Seeing Li Changsheng’s still-confused expression, his face darkened abruptly. He stood, turned on his heel, and strode away without a backward glance.

Li Changsheng: “…………”

Why was this ghost so temperamental? Who had even provoked him this time?

Author’s Note:

Changsheng: “Why’s he mad again? [pitiful]”