Taotie emerged from the trial and knelt on the ground, his bloated body prostrating in the dust as his forehead struck the floor with a dull thud.
His face was still streaked with tears and snot, his eyes red and swollen. The sight was a stark, jarring contrast to his usual ferocious appearance.
Yet, his crying was not unsightly.
No one thought it was.
Six pairs of eyes stared at him simultaneously, their gazes burning like six balls of fire. They understood.
A hundred thousand years of torment. To be liberated in an instant—anyone would cry.
Taotie did not shy away from Xuandu, nor did he hide from the other six of the Seven Evils. He simply knelt there, bowing deeply toward the image of Wu Gou on the light screen above.
Regardless of how the master’s subsequent trials went, in Taotie’s heart, he was already willing to acknowledge him as his lord.
Within the light screen, Wu Gou sat cross-legged amidst the golden light, palms pressed together as he gave a slight nod.
Taotie kowtowed three more times before pushing himself up from the ground.
His massive, fleshy frame swayed unsteadily, as if he could barely stand. The Chained Ghost quickly stepped forward to support him.
“Fatty, you okay?”
Taotie shook his head and wiped the snot and tears from his face with his sleeve, breaking into a wide grin.
“I’m fine.”
“In fact, I’ve never been better.”
His voice was still trembling, but everyone could hear the profound sense of relief in his tone.
The Chained Ghost patted his shoulder without a word, though a flicker of envy flashed in his eyes.
The expressions of the other five were much the same.
The Seven Evils under Xuandu’s Ghost Mansion were known as world-shaking malevolent ghosts, but in their past lives, they had all been souls of misfortune.
Who wouldn't want to be liberated from the agony of lingering regrets and obsessions?
However, an inner demon was not something that could be resolved through bitter cultivation alone.
They needed someone—someone willing to listen to them, someone willing to help them untie the knots of their past.
Perhaps they had lacked the fate in life; the world was heartless, and they had never found a compassionate soul willing to deliver them. They never expected that a hundred thousand years after death, the opportunity would finally arrive!
Six pairs of eyes simultaneously shifted from Taotie to Xuandu, burning with intensity.
Xuandu felt a bit uncomfortable under their collective gaze and cleared his throat.
“For the second trial, who among you will go?”
Before his voice even faded—
“I’ll go!”
“Me! Let me go!”
“I said it first!”
“Bullshit, I was the first to raise my hand!”
“Don’t push! Fatty already went, so it’s my turn now! My skin is itching for a fight! I want the new master to beat some sense into me!”
The Chained Ghost grabbed Zhao Lie’s arm. “Old Zhao, you already went once. Let me have this one. We’ve been friends for a hundred thousand years; surely you can give me this much face?”
Zhao Lie shook off his hand expressionlessly. “I lost last time. I need to reclaim my honor.”
Hong Xiu snapped her round fan shut, her willow-leaf brows arching sharply.
“No, no, that won’t do. Fatty’s gluttonous malice couldn't even budge the master’s Linglong Heart. His mental fortitude is absolute; you lot don’t stand a chance. It’s better if I go and test him with my Path of Extreme Emotions.”
“Dammit, Hong Xiu, have you no shame? How can you be so bold as to try and seduce a monk? Men and women should keep their distance; it’s inappropriate!”
“Nonsense! I didn't see you mentioning gender differences last time!”
The six of them argued until they were red in the face, nearly coming to blows on the spot.
Xuandu rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling like his ghost mansion was turning into a common marketplace.
He turned to look at Chen Zhou.
Chen Zhou stood to the side, the corners of his mouth curled slightly upward, clearly enjoying the spectacle.
Xuandu sighed helplessly.
He had intended to designate someone himself, but seeing this commotion, whoever he chose would surely cause resentment among the other five.
And to be honest, he also wanted to go a bit easy on them.
The difficulty of the second trial was significantly higher than the first. It was impossible for everyone to be a monster with a soul age of one year like Chen Zhou.
Chen Zhou certainly knew his own subordinate god best.
If Chen Zhou chose the opponent personally, the little monk might have a better chance of winning.
Xuandu’s internal calculations clicked away as he prepared to ask for Chen Zhou’s opinion.
The thin ghost was the most observant. Seeing Xuandu’s gaze drift toward Chen Zhou, he immediately broke away from the scuffle and darted in front of Chen Zhou.
“Young Palace Master!”
The thin ghost wore a fawning expression, clasping his hands and bowing so low his torso was nearly parallel to the floor.
“What do you think of this subordinate?”
“In life, I was merely a humble bookkeeper, a man who couldn't even lift a chicken. Although I’ve cultivated for a hundred and ten thousand years since death, my meager skills are nothing compared to your subordinate god.”
“Look at my frame—these thin arms and spindly legs. I’m clearly a pushover. Let the master hit me; I’m very easy to beat! I definitely won't let the master overexert himself!”
“Please, show some mercy and let me go.”
“I promise, I won't harm a single hair on the little master’s head!”
After speaking, the thin ghost looked at Chen Zhou expectantly, his eyes shining with terrifying intensity.
The other five finally realized what was happening and turned their attention to Chen Zhou.
“Young Palace Master!”
“Pick me! Pick me!”
“I’m much weaker than that thin guy! You saw it yourself last time—I’m just a poor little girl who sings for a living! Look at me!”
Another wave of clamoring erupted.
Chen Zhou didn't mind either way. He had confidence in Wu Gou, and since the thin ghost was being so proactive, he might as well pick him.
“You, then.”
He pointed at the thin ghost.
The thin ghost froze for a second before being overcome with joy, nearly jumping into the air.
“Thank you, Young Palace Master! Thank you!”
He bowed deeply to Chen Zhou three times, then turned to look at the other five with a smug expression.
Following Chen Zhou’s word, Xuandu nodded.
“Very well. Shen Liang, you go.”
The thin ghost acknowledged the command and, with a flicker of his body, transformed into a streak of cyan light that vanished into the light screen above.
The other five watched Shen Liang’s figure on the screen, gritting their teeth.
“That bootlicker.”
“If I’d known, I would have rushed to beg the Young Palace Master too.”
“What can you do? He was an accountant; his mind works fast. He’s always been the best at flattery. We can’t compete with that.”
As the five grumbled, Xuandu shot them a cold glance that felt like the tip of a blade. They immediately became submissive, not daring to make another sound.
They huddled in the corner, craning their necks to stare intently at the screen.
The original gravel plain began to change as Shen Liang entered.
The yellow sand receded, and the ground cracked open as murky floodwaters surged from the fissures, quickly rising past the ankles.
The sky turned a somber gray, and a drizzling rain began to fall—not heavy, but dense, making everything feel damp and chilled.
The flood rose higher and higher, moving from the ankles to the knees, then to the waist.
In the distance, a river appeared. It was incredibly wide with a rapid, turbulent current. Murky water carried withered branches, rotting leaves, and the carcasses of animals.
Along the riverbank stood a small town.
It wasn't large, featuring bluestone paths and wooden buildings constructed along the water’s edge.
But now, the town was mostly submerged, with only the rooftops of the taller houses still visible above the surface.
People clung to the roofs, perched in the branches of trees, or lay flat on floating wooden planks.
The sounds of wailing, crying, and desperate cries for help mingled with the sound of the rain, creating a sense of panic in the heart.
Shen Liang stood in the flood, the water already up to his waist. His gaunt face had high cheekbones and sunken eyes. His skin bore a bluish tint and his lips were purple, as if he had been soaking in water for a very long time.
His hair was soaking wet, plastered to his scalp, with droplets of water running down the ends.
Shen Liang looked down at his hands, then up at the surrounding flood, the corners of his mouth curling slightly.
His malice had not yet fully awakened, but he was already very excited.
This was the scene of his past life.
The place where he had died.
The root of his resentment.
Shen Liang took a deep breath and walked toward Wu Gou.
The floodwaters automatically parted before his feet, as if recoiling from something terrifying.
He stopped in front of Wu Gou.
Wu Gou sat upon the lotus platform of human hands. His clothes were soaked through with blood, and since his skin had not yet regrown, he was a mass of mangled flesh—a truly gruesome sight.
But Shen Liang didn't find it gruesome; he found it familiar.
“I am Shen Liang.”
Shen Liang clasped his hands in a polite greeting, his tone quite gentle.
“In life, I was the accountant for a rice shop in Linhe Town of the Southern Tang. People called me Mr. Bamboo Stick.”
“After death, I entered Xuandu’s Ghost Mansion to cultivate. It has been a hundred and ten thousand years since then.”
“Little master, please guide me.”
Wu Gou looked at him and sighed.
His Wenchang destiny allowed him to hear much more than what was in Shen Liang’s simple introduction; he even caught a few fleeting images before his eyes.
Hundreds of thousands of years ago, the Southern Tang in the outer province had been under the protection of a certain goddess. Thus, the weather was favorable, and the harvests were bountiful.
Wu Gou could see that goddess with a blurred face, dressed in green and holding living soil. With a wave of her hand, she could create a shimmering oasis.
But for some reason that year, floods had ravaged the land. Rivers breached their banks, and all the crops were submerged.
The owner of the rice shop hoarded grain to drive up prices, which rose more than tenfold.
The poor couldn't afford rice, and the town couldn't distribute food. Shen Liang had secretly opened the granary to feed the people. When the owner found out, he had Shen Liang’s legs broken and threw him into the flood to drown.
After death, his resentment would not dissipate. With no ghost bailiff to guide him, he became a water ghost that terrorized the area. Later, because of his immense talent for the ghostly path, he was brought into the ghost mansion by Xuandu.
Wu Gou could glimpse all of this from Shen Liang’s tone, eyes, and aura.
Shen Liang’s resentment was profound, completely unlike his outwardly gentle and polite demeanor.
Why were the malevolent ghosts of the Great Emperor's Palace all so terrifyingly tragic?
Wu Gou sighed inwardly and pressed his palms together.
“Namo Amitābha.”
“This monk is Wu Gou. Please.”
Shen Liang grinned, revealing two rows of blackened teeth.
“Then, little master, forgive my offense.”
As soon as he spoke, the rules of Xuandu’s Ghost Mansion began to descend.
Shen Liang’s body jolted violently.
He felt his soul age being rapidly compressed.
It was a strange sensation, as if something were draining away his years, forcing him back into the past.
Shen Liang trembled with excitement. He looked forward to returning to the moment after his death when his resentment was at its peak.
He had waited a long time for this moment.
Shen Liang’s already tall and thin frame, like a bamboo stick, saw its limbs stretch even further, reaching disproportionate lengths.
His fingers became pale and bloated, with silt packed under the nails.
The whites of his eyes were bloodshot, and his pupils shrank to the size of pinpricks, but something was churning deep within them, threatening to overflow.
It was venomous resentment, hatred, and a sense of injustice that had not dissipated for a hundred and ten thousand years.
Shen Liang’s body began to sink, his lower half merging into the flood, becoming one with the murky current.
He glided through the water with startling speed, like a water snake slicing across the surface, leaving only a faint ripple behind.
Only his upper body was visible above the water—his skeletal torso, unnaturally long arms, and that twisted, agonizing face.
He swam up to Wu Gou, his limbs slowly coiling around him.
His arms wrapped around Wu Gou’s waist, his long fingers digging into Wu Gou’s muscle tissue, nails sinking deep into the flesh.
Beneath the water, his legs wound around Wu Gou’s ankles like strangling weeds, pulling downward with great force.
Shen Liang’s malice erupted completely.
His venomous gaze fixed on Wu Gou, and his mouth pulled back into a bizarre smile.
“Yes, this is exactly how I died.”
“Water pouring into my nose, my mouth, my lungs.”
“You struggle desperately to breathe, but all you suck in is water. You fight to float to the surface, but something keeps dragging you down.”
“You scream for help, but the people on the shore just watch. They watch you struggle in the water, watch you slowly sink.”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“What did I do wrong?!”
Shen Liang’s limbs tightened further, as if he wanted to crush Wu Gou.
“Do you know, master? At the moment I died, I was thinking...”
“If I could come back to life, if I could crawl out of this water, I would throw everyone into the river. I would watch them struggle, watch them sink, watch them die.”
“I want them to feel their lungs fill with water, too.”
“I want them to taste that despair.”
“I want everyone to know what it feels like to have people watch you while you wait to die.”
The flood had already reached Wu Gou’s neck, just inches away from covering his mouth.
Shen Liang’s malice was damp and cold. His neck also began to elongate, coiling around Wu Gou’s throat and tightening. He brought his face closer until they were almost touching.
In those venomous eyes, besides hatred, there was something deeper.
It was a plea.
“Master.”
“Do you want to drown with me?”
“How does suffocation feel? Isn't it wonderful?”
“Master, lord.”
“You could deliver Taotie. Can you deliver me, too?”
“Deliver me.”
“Deliver me.”
“Deliver me...”
Wu Gou’s neck creaked under the pressure, but he was not a living person; an evil spirit does not suffocate.
Still, being clung to by a sticky little ghost was troublesome. Although Wu Gou would not be polluted by malice, the sensation was quite unpleasant.
Wu Gou was prepared to use Golden Cicada Shedding its Shell again to escape Shen Liang’s grip and assess the situation.
But at that moment, the rules of Xuandu’s Ghost Mansion did not stop.
That invisible force continued to press down, heavier and deeper than before, like a great mountain weighing on Shen Liang.
Shen Liang’s soul age continued to shrink.
The malice tried to resist and struggle, but the power of the rules was too strong, so overwhelming that it was utterly powerless.
Shen Liang’s bizarre malevolent ghost form slowly reverted to normal under the suppression.
His blood-red eyes gradually regained their clarity, his twisted features became peaceful, and his unnaturally long limbs retracted to a normal length.
That agonizing, distorted face seemed to have its wrinkles smoothed out by an invisible hand, becoming clear and even once more.
The malice was still struggling, desperately trying to grasp onto something, but it was completely unable to withstand the power of the rules. It could only shriek and roar within Shen Liang’s ghostly body.
However, the sound grew smaller and weaker until it finally fell completely silent.
Shen Liang’s appearance changed entirely. His features were straight, his skin fair, his eyes soft, and his lips thin, carrying a hint of scholarly air.
He wore a scholar's headscarf and a blue-gray robe with cloth shoes. He looked clean and proper; if he weren't standing in water, he would have looked like a scholar who had just finished his provincial examinations.
Shen Liang stared blankly at his hands—fair and slender, with distinct joints and neatly trimmed nails. He was a world away from his previous pale and bloated self.
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