The iron gate was liver-colored and mottled with rust, featuring a small reach-through hole. Dax reached inside with practiced ease, groping for the bolt and sliding it open from the other side.
Creeeeak— The gate swung open. Beyond lay a modest courtyard that had clearly seen better days.
Moss filled every gap between the bluestone tiles, gleaming oil-slick green in the morning light. Two electric scooters and a ladies' bicycle were parked against the wall, a bunch of wilted scallions still poking out of the bike basket. On the other side, a simple shed sheltered a square low table surrounded by scattered wooden stools.
On one of those stools sat a calico cat. Paws tucked, eyes half-closed. Wearing an expression that clearly said: "This territory is mine."
The calico had been lazily mid-yawn. Mouth half-open—when she spotted Dax dragging in a bloody mess of a person, followed by an unfamiliar woman.
The cat's fur exploded outward, back arching, rising onto her toes.
"MROWWW!!"
She leaped off the stool and thrust her nose at Wynn, sniffing frantically. The inspection only made her more agitated. Claws scrabbling at Dax's pant leg, yowling pitifully:
"MRAOW! MROW MROW MROW!!"
Dax, red-faced and panting heavily:
"Not an outsider. Lock the gate. Shift. Get over here and help."
Ling watched as the calico launched into a standing jump toward the gate, executing a 360-degree aerial rotation. At takeoff, still a standard cat. Mid-spin, her form began to elongate.
The moment she hit the ground—already a petite girl. One foot braced against the earth, the other kicking the gate shut with pinpoint precision. CLANG.The rusty iron bolt shivered into place.
One fluid motion. Not a single wasted movement.
The system was still in low-power mode, lacking the energy to pop up any introduction panels. Ling watched the girl's agile form, those upturned eyes, unable to stop a ripple of joy from stirring in her heart.
She'd seen plenty of hungry ghosts. Ugly ones, stinking ones, rotting ones, mad ones—what hadn't she seen? But kittens—even if they were the blackest of devils, she was still defenseless.
This was the first time since arriving in the mortal realm that she'd worn an auntie-smile not generated by system correction.
However, the "kitten" seemed quite wary of her. The girl shot Ling a glance, bared two little fangs on her upper teeth, and hissed at her. Then she bent down, lifted Wynn's legs, and followed Dax into the house.
"Boss! What happened to Brother Zhong?" The girl's voice was sharp and urgent. "Didn't he just break through to Golden Core stage? How did he end up like this?"
Dax didn't answer. He just jerked his chin toward Ling, indicating the living room sofa:
"Kid, wait here for me."
Then he and the girl heaved and grunted their way down to the basement with their burden.
Ling shrugged and flopped carelessly onto the sofa. This frail body was truly exhausted—an unfamiliar ache had seeped into every joint.
The system chose this moment to pop up a reminder:
?? 【 LOW ENERGY WARNING 】
Current energy: 9%
Please recharge immediately. If unable to recharge
in time, please locate secure shelter.
System estimates FORCED HIBERNATION MODE
will activate within 30 minutes
Ghost-Eye chimed in with its own whimpering:
"Sister Ling… I can't hold on either…"
Ling: "…Another useless one."
"Fine, you rest too. Might as well work as sunglasses to block the light. I'm going to close my eyes for a bit."
Ling had never imagined coming to the mortal realm would be like this. For the first time, she felt exhaustion emanating from her very soul.
Sigh. So this is that shitty "being human" feeling those ghost bastards are always complaining about?
Not a moment's peace.
She'd barely closed her eyes when the iron gate creaked again. Then came thump thump thump—footsteps, heavy and urgent, like a charging bull.
Ling lazily lifted an eyelid, adjusted her "sunglasses," and squinted through her left eye to assess—
A powerfully built figure blocked the doorway. Literally "blocked"—his head nearly touched the doorframe. Had to be at least six-foot-four. Reeking of alcohol, barely able to stand straight.
He just stood there, bent over, slapping his thigh, letting out a grief-stricken, rough-hewn wail:
"MY BROTHER ZHONG—!!"
"HOW COULD YOU GO BEFORE ME—!!"
"WUUUUUUUU—"
Ling rubbed her temples.
For fuck's sake.
Does that fat landlord have any normal people working for him?
Oh wait, there was one. Just croaked.
A figure shot up from behind the basement stairway railing—the cat-Yao girl. The instant she landed, she launched into a blistering tirade at the wailing man in the doorway:
"Crying! Always crying! That's all you know how to do!"
"If you hadn't flaked on him last minute, would big brother be like this?!"
"I'm not talking to you ever again!！"
The towering man wilted under the verbal assault from this girl who barely cleared five feet.
"But…" he mumbled.
"This deal is really huge… Boss Li said after it was done, he'd donate a fortune to our Little Sunshine Home… I…"
His voice grew smaller and smaller. Finally he just slumped down on the threshold, silently weeping.
The reek of alcohol was driving Ling to distraction. She was sensitive to liquor smells, and this mortal-realm rotgut was like being forced to inhale secondhand smoke. She spoke up coldly:
"What's there to cry about? He's not all the way dead yet. It's just a matter of recuperating for a century or so."
Only then did the drunk notice there was someone lying on the sofa.
He startled, asking the girl:
"Who's this?"
The girl completely ignored him.
But hearing Ling's words, she cried even harder, fat tears rolling down:
"What do you mean 'recuperate for a century'… Boss said… his soul…"
"Won't grow back for at least eight hundred… maybe a thousand years…"
"By then I might not even be around anymore…"
"Which means…"
Her sobs grew louder and louder:
"I'll never see Brother Zhong again… wuuuuuu…"
One tall, one small, their crying rose and fell in waves, feeding off each other, growing more and more pitiful.
Ling watched this scene unfold and sucked in a sharp breath. If this were her tavern, she'd have grabbed one in each hand and tossed them out already. Unfortunately, she was currently under someone else's roof.
Fuck. If I don't deal with this mess, they'll annoy me to death sooner or later.
She got up decisively and headed for the basement. The moment she stepped off the last stair, her vision flickered and the noise vanished.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
A barrier?
With the sunglasses on, the picture was smooth enough, but in this basement lit only by a single pathetic low-wattage bulb, she was still half-blind. Fortunately, she soon spotted a door, flickering blue-green light seeping through the cracks.
Ling pushed the door open. No lights were on inside.
In the dimness, she could make out a massive long table directly opposite. The frame was sturdy aluminum, but the tabletop was white jade. Completely incongruous.
Wynn's body lay quietly upon it. Already changed into clean clothes, the blood wiped away.
At the head of the table sat an enormous oil lamp. The lamp itself was a crude ceramic bowl, filled with lamp oil mixed with rush pith and cinnabar, giving off a pungent, acrid smell.
A thick wick soaked in the oil, its flame dancing, casting an eerie blue-green glow that flickered and wavered, throwing shifting shadows across his face.
A silver needle hovered directly above his philtrum, swaying with the lamplight. At his feet, seven small oil lamps were arranged in the shape of the Big Dipper's ladle. Each no bigger than a thumb, flames burning blue-green, like seven ghostly eyes staring unblinking at the figure lying in the center.
Red silk threads were tied around Wynn's left and right wrists and ankles. Thin, but pulled taut. The other ends connected to the four table legs. At the top of each hung a tiny copper bell, swaying with some invisible current, emitting the faintest ting-a-ling.
From the ceiling beam hung an Eight Trigrams bronze mirror. Cast in brass, its edges carved with dense talismanic script, already blackened by smoke. The mirror face was positioned directly over Wynn's chest, while a piece of yellow paper was pasted to its back.
Ling tilted her head for a look. On it, written in cinnabar, was a string of birth characters—the Eight Characters of his destiny.
Probably meant to reflect any scattered primordial spirit back into his body? Ling guessed.
Dax sat with his back to the door. Those shoulders that had seemed broad and solid now looked shrunken. Hunched over, deflated.
A cigarette dangled from his fingers, who knew how long it had been burning—the ash had accumulated nearly a finger-joint's length, threatening to fall at any moment.
Dax didn't turn around. But he seemed to know who had come.
A long silence. Finally, his voice came out hoarse:
"Hand over that evil spirit."
The resting Ghost-Eye jolted alert, trembling violently.
Ling tapped the frames, signaling it to stay calm.
Then she spoke, her voice level but firm:
"What's mine, no one takes from me."
Dax shot to his feet.
BANG!
The chair clattered to the floor behind him.
He spun around, crossed the distance in one stride, and seized the celestial maiden by the throat.
This Dax was nothing like the lazy, slick, old-hand Earth God she'd met earlier.
The lamplight behind him cast his face in shadow, only his bloodshot eyes gleaming red. His voice was pressed low, but shaking:
"I command you—"
"to hand over—"
"the abomination."
Ling remained unfazed, patting his arm.
"Shh."
"Let's talk this through calmly."
"It's just a bite out of him. Plenty of ways to patch that up. Is it really worth getting this worked up over?"
Dax ground his teeth:
"Drop the act."
"He wasn't 'bitten'—he had nearly half his soul devoured!"
"You must hand over that evil spirit!"
Ling scoffed:
"And then what?"
"Rip a chunk off the evil spirit and patch him up with it?"
Dax choked, instantly deflating like a punctured balloon.
Of course he knew it wouldn't help.
Soul devouring at this level wasn't like fishing undigested food out of a stomach. Eaten was eaten. The moment it was swallowed, it was like pouring two bottles of water together.
How could you possibly separate them again and pour it back into the original bottle?
But Dax wasn't ready to back down. He pressed on with his threat:
"If you don't give it to me—"
"I can take back your shell right now."
"After that, we go our separate ways. Bridge to bridge, road to road."
Ling raised an eyebrow.
"Oh? Sounds good."
"Then the first thing I do when I get out—is swallow the other half of your precious captain."
"Oh, right. Those two upstairs smell pretty nice too."
Dax's eyes went wide.
"You wouldn't dare!"
Ling tilted her head and grinned, lips parting.
The blue-green flame light flickered across her face. Even in this murky dimness, that maiden's features remained impossibly exquisite—porcelain-white skin, delicate willow-leaf brows, the slight upward tilt at the corners of her eyes, full crimson lips.
Should have been a peerless beauty stepped out of a painting. But in this wavering emerald glow, something uncanny bled through. Like a smiling puppet. Like a mask too perfect to be real.
Especially those eyes—something seemed to turn in the depths of her pupils, a light no living creature should possess. The cold, appraising gaze of something that had crawled up from the abyss.
The beauty's lips curved, red mouth parting slightly.
"Try me."
A chill ran down Dax's spine. Without meaning to, he released his grip on Ling's throat and stepped back.
Standoff.
Silence.
In the end, Dax softened. He probably understood—things that crawled up from the bottom never responded to force.
The now-rational Dax promptly switched tactics, slumping to squat on the ground and launching into a sob story:
"You don't understand…"
"Wynn, that kid's had it rough…"
"Diligently self-taught cultivation for nearly a century. How many prestigious sects offered him full scholarships? He turned them all down. Instead he came to my minor temple to work-study, just wanting to do more for the folks back home…"
"Sigh… Just formed his Golden Core, such a rare talent…" He paused, voice going hoarse. This time he was just trying to help that poor kid with an exorcism. Who knew—"
"One moment's carelessness, ambushed into this state…"
"Without him, my Tudi Temple's KPIs are going to crash through the warning line… Might as well just shut down…"
He glanced up at Ling.
"This body of yours… I can't afford to feed it anymore either."
Ling snorted coldly.
This old bastard. Everything he says still comes back to threatening me with this piece of junk.
Too lazy to play along with his melodrama, she cut in bluntly:
"His physical body is already cold. If you don't hurry up and find a way to contain what's left of his soul—"
"What good is venting on some evil spirit?"
Dax fell silent. Of course he knew—even grinding that thing to dust wouldn't help now.
But his poor temple's artifacts were nearly depleted. At best, he could only preserve the corpse from decay and buy the soul a bit more time.
And then what? Without a living vessel, a fragmented soul cannot hope to recover. It can’t even withstand the crushing weight of the Great Dao, and will eventually just… dissolve into the world
He looked at Wynn lying on the cold jade, unable to speak.
Ling also gazed at that slab. Feeling the new 4K ultra-HD ghost-vessel inside her—even though she couldn't run it yet. Somehow, unfamiliar emotions stirred.
Sigh.
Big fish eat little fish, little fish eat shrimp. It's all just survival of the fittest. Wynn got outmatched and devoured by a hungry ghost—what's that got to do with me eating the hungry ghost?
When humans eat chicken, do they go apologize alongside the bugs the chicken ate?
But for some reason, remembering how Wynn had told her to run first at the end… Even someone as shameless as Ling felt a bit… awkward about keeping all the spoils.
"…"
Fine, little bug.
I've got some junk I can't really use anyway.
Lucky you.
Ling opened her mouth. Raised that slender hand. Two scallion-white fingers reached into her mouth, pinching something and slowly drawing it out—
A drop of viscous liquid.
Shimmering with iridescent light, like oil paint not yet dried.
She cradled the substance in her other palm. The liquid trembled but held together, rolling around like a bead of mercury.
"Here."
She extended her palm toward Dax.
"I'm keeping that idiot. This celestial meridian can be spared—give it to your dear captain."
"I've already compressed it into base essence. Should be enough to encase his soul fragments first."
When Dax took it, his face was full of disgust. He'd thought Ling had inexplicably coughed up something revolting.
Until he heard "celestial meridian."
His entire body went rigid. His hand shook, nearly dropping the droplet.
"You… what did you say?"
His eyes bulged, voice trembling.
"You ripped out—this celestial body's meridian??"
"And reduced it to… base essence?"
"Base essence??"
"Are you saying—this is… Taiyi Primordial Essence???"
He stared at the shimmering liquid in his palm as if he couldn't believe his own eyes.
"How is this possible…"
"What kind of monster are you?!"
Dax's panic was understandable.
This celestial shell, however shoddily made, still originated from the Upper Realm. To put it crudely—a malfunctioning assault rifle pitted against a wooden sword still wins handily as a divine weapon.
And the celestial meridians were one of the most critical components of that assault rifle. But even if ordinary people got their hands on one, they couldn't use it. The thing was like organ transplantation—not only did the functions need to match, but the frequency calibration had to be excruciatingly precise. The slightest rejection response was fatal. Otherwise, these celestial maiden and boy bodies would have been plundered clean long ago.
More critically—celestial meridians could not be melted down and reforged. This was an extremely pure form of yang energy. Once condensed, it could never be dispersed again. Forcibly refining it would only turn the vessel into a pile of glass shards. No matter how you pieced it back together, you'd just get a leaky piece of garbage.
Yet Ling had somehow "compressed" it into base essence, fresh and pristine?
Dax couldn't comprehend it. Couldn't accept it. In less than a day, he felt his entire worldview had been stripped bare and trampled upon by this female ghost who'd appeared out of nowhere.
He felt thoroughly shattered.
Seeing him silent, Ling grew a bit uneasy. She reached out to take back that droplet:
"Um… there really are too many impurities. This body is what it is, nothing I can do about that…"
"Forget it. I'll just keep it for brewing. But I'm definitely not returning that moron to you."
Dax hastily retreated a step, hands cupped protectively:
"Hey! No take-backs on gifts!"
He felt the liquid in his palm—slightly warm, even stinging a bit—and decided to gamble. If this really was Taiyi Primordial Essence, Wynn wouldn't just survive—immortal rank would be within reach. After all, the merit Yu the Great earned from taming the floods had only been enough to exchange for one-third of what he now held in his hand.
Wynn's soul fragments barely maintained the faintest fluctuation within the Seven-Star Soul-Locking Formation. Nearly half his spiritual essence had been devoured by the Ghost-Eye, so thin it was almost undetectable. The Golden Core he'd just formed had shrunk to smaller than a sesame seed.
Dax took a deep breath.
He cradled the droplet in both hands—the one Ling had dismissed as "too many impurities," yet shimmered with five-colored iridescence. His expression solemn, almost reverent.
He began chanting in a low voice. The red threads on the corpse fell away in response, the silver needle suspended above the philtrum and the ancient coins at the four corners clattering to the floor.
Without restraints, the soul fragments began to disperse like smoke without a container, losing human form instantly.
Dax hurried to drip the essence down with utmost care. The moment the condensed liquid touched the soul, it seemed to vibrate with some invisible wave—like a pebble dropped into a still lake, rippling outward ring after ring.
The liquid slowly spread amid the vibrations, thinning, thinning further. Until it had completely adhered, leaving only a gossamer shimmer.
And that soul on the verge of total dissipation suddenly seemed coated in a protective membrane. It began slowly gathering, obediently returning to the body. Not a wisp lost. In the dantian, that sesame-seed Golden Core began to reconsolidate, expanding.
The seven green flames that had been flickering toward extinction roared to life with red fire as the soul returned to the body.
Dax, witnessing all this, felt shock and joy, shock and dread.
The joy: Wynn had followed him for so long, and he'd never been able to give the kid anything—had nearly gotten his soul scattered to the winds. Now, though the body was ruined, his primordial spirit had stumbled into a windfall.
For a human cultivator like Wynn, it meant wooden sticks becoming steel rebar—a complete rebirth.
The dread: This thing… what the hell was she?
He began to wonder if he had been playing with fire. But on second thought—
Perhaps… this is heaven's will.
Only a monster like this could help me uncover what really happened back then.
Maybe.
Ling let out a huge yawn, eyelids barely staying open. This body of hers truly couldn't hold out any longer.
"Hey."
She patted Dax's shoulder.
"Now—"
"Can I go to sleep?"