Copy 013

Fang Zhiyi glanced at it: "Save me some face—how was I supposed to know he'd show up here?"

Li Lei looked aggrieved: "I didn’t dare assume either! If I hadn’t watched your livestreams breaking through dungeons a few times, I wouldn’t have been sure it was you. But that technique—I’m certain only you could pull it off."

"You brat... when did you join?" Fang Zhiyi studied him.

Suddenly, Li Lei’s expression changed. "Master, this isn’t the place to talk."

Fang Zhiyi sensed it too—an overwhelming pressure, as if some colossal creature was watching them.

In the livestream chat:

"What are they saying?"

"Couldn’t hear."

"Sounded like begging for mercy?"

"I get it—Fang-ge deduced he’s Li Lei."

"Could be. Hiding as the first NPC in the opening is an easy way to slip under the radar."

"?? What’s going on with them?"

Then, the unthinkable happened on stream.

"Mas—" Li Lei stared in shock as Fang Zhiyi didn’t even flinch when a sudden ghostly attack came.

Fang Zhiyi raised a finger and hissed, "Shut it. Can’t a man take a break after working this hard?"

Li Lei tried to stop him, but it was too late. Black veins had already begun spreading across Fang Zhiyi’s body—a clear sign the supernatural was consuming him.

"Mas—"

"Shut up. Come find me when you’ve sorted things out," Fang Zhiyi muttered before theatrically wailing, "Ahhh, you’re too strong... I can’t accept this...!"

"Find you?" Li Lei looked utterly lost. No doubt about it—this was his master. The acting was painfully awkward. As Fang Zhiyi was dragged into the void, Li Lei slowly knelt and kowtowed three times.

Both the human and supernatural livestreams went silent.

No one expected the god of slaughter, that violent madman, to die at the hands of some minor ghost.

And what was up with Li Lei? Kowtowing three times?

In the human livestream, viewers from Dragon Nation (China) mourned, while audiences from other countries—especially the U.S.—cheered as if they’d waited years for this moment.

The Dragon Nation’s analyst team was grim-faced. They couldn’t make sense of it, but one thing was clear: Fang Zhiyi had chosen to die. But why?

The Old Minister’s expression darkened before he finally closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

In the supernatural livestream:

"Wait, Fang Zhiyi’s dead?"

"No way! Who’s gonna make those trashy dungeon streams for us now?"

"Demand Fang Zhiyi’s resurrection!"

"Resurrect! Resurrect! Resurrect!"

"Bro above, are you a broken record?"

"You are! You are! You are!"

"Fang Zhiyi’s an idiot. How’d some no-name ghost kill him?"

"You’re the idiot."

"Hey, watch your mouth."

"Sorry, bro, I didn’t mean it—"

"You better explain, or I’ll tear you apart at home."

"Try me!"

Half an hour later:

"Sorry. I shouldn’t have called Fang Zhiyi an idiot."

The supernatural beings grew uneasy.

"Let me check this out. Ghost, you dare drop your address?"

"Come at me! No balls if you don’t!"

Another half hour later:

"Sorry. I have no balls."

Soon, word quietly spread: Fang Zhiyi had appeared in the supernatural world.

Dragon Nation drowned in defeat. Their punishment? Crop failures and minor supernatural incursions.

But then, shocking news broke worldwide:

Li Lei had betrayed the U.S. and joined Dragon Nation!

Even the supernatural rules seemed to allow it.

"Why would you—?" The Old Minister stared at the travel-worn young man.

Li Lei clasped his hands. "A disciple obeys his master."

He refused to say more.

Soon after, he announced his new name: Zhao Chenyang. His first act under this identity? Escorted by the military, he purged the rampaging supernatural threats. Though some citizens still resisted him, many accepted him.

Fang Zhiyi, meanwhile, was baffled. He’d prepared to rampage through the supernatural world again—but instead, he faced an entirely different scene.

"Brother! Brother! We want to see Brother!" A female ghost with disheveled hair and four slender arms waved four signs beneath his building, shrieking. Several identical ghosts joined her.

"Mr. Fang, this is our offer." A well-dressed supernatural being slid forward a crate of ghost coins. "Of course, we’ll still split profits from your scripts 50-50. Please consider it."

Fang Zhiyi realized these beings were different—they’d developed full-blown capitalist minds!

"I’m not opposed... but what about those outside—?"

The supernatural shook his head. "Mr. Fang, those are your fans. We can’t control them. Unless... you’d like us to handle them?" He mimed slitting a throat.

Fang Zhiyi declined. Same old supernatural world—straight to murder.

"About the livestreams—what’s the deal?" Fang Zhiyi suddenly asked.

The supernatural paused, then shook his head. "Trade secret. Can’t disclose."

Fang Zhiyi waved him off. "That’s all the answer I need."

No surprise—this world had monetized the concept, and they’d sought him out because his dungeon designs raked in profits.

"Progress breeds capitalists, whether human or supernatural," Fang Zhiyi mused, gazing at the oppressive sky.

Now, he was part of the supernatural livestreams, even scripting shows for their production company.

"Did you see Fang’s new hit, My Boss Is a Ghost?"

"Ugh, trash! Supernatural Survival is way better."

"Reincarnated to Punish My Toxic Husband is filming soon!"

"Giggle giggle—I’m in it!"

"What’d you play?"

"The janitor who falls off the window!"

"That spiky-handed ghost?"

"Yeah, yeah!"

"Congrats on your one-scene career."

"These streams are so boring. Same old stuff. I’m ditching it for Fang’s new series."

"Same."

"Me too me too me too me too!"

Fang Zhiyi sipped tea on set. Beating up ghosts was routine, but directing them? First time. The production company’s actors couldn’t emote, so they’d begged him to coach.

"You there—come here!" Fang Zhiyi called.

Running over was none other than his fangirl—the four-armed ghost.