At this moment, Xiulian still clung to hope, but Butcher Zheng had no intention of letting her go. Instead, he trapped her at home, tormenting her daily. Then, by chance, she caught a glimpse through a small window of the figure she had longed for day and night.
The Peddler held a red embroidered handkerchief, flirting with a young woman who blushed deeply, yet showed no displeasure in her eyes.
In that instant, Xiulian's hope shattered completely.
Drunk again, Butcher Zheng came for her. As he assaulted her, Xiulian—lying like a corpse—suddenly grabbed the scissors hidden under her pillow and stabbed at his eye. But how could a frail woman match the strength of a butcher who slaughtered pigs and cattle year-round?
Butcher Zheng lost an eye but grew even more brutal. He grabbed anything within reach to beat this "worthless wretch," smashing Xiulian's face until she breathed her last. Only then did he stop.
The aftermath was simple. Xiulian’s parents came, making a show of their grief, but after Butcher Zheng handed them a few silver coins, they left satisfied—without even taking her body.
Blinded in one eye, Butcher Zheng wrapped Xiulian’s corpse in a tattered mat and tossed her into the mass graves.
And so, the vengeful spirit of Xiulian was born.
Yet she dared not seek revenge. Butcher Zheng’s aura of violence was too strong; she couldn’t even get close. So she became a wandering ghost, hiding in the wilderness, yearning to kill passersby to soothe her resentment.
But before she could act, she encountered Fang Zhiyi.
Fang Zhiyi already knew her story through Little Hei and was aware she would later die at the hands of the female lead.
"Let me tell you something," Fang Zhiyi said, hands on hips. "Is Butcher Zheng your only enemy?"
Xiulian blinked in confusion. "Isn’t he?"
"What about the Peddler?" Fang Zhiyi poked her forehead. "And your opium-addicted father and useless mother?"
Seeing Xiulian’s blank expression, Fang Zhiyi rolled her eyes. "Listen to me, and I’ll help you settle all your grudges. We’re all about payback—eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth."
Xiulian hesitated, glancing at Fang Zhiyi’s hand before lowering her head.
Suddenly, Little Hei called out, "Host! Host! Number Two has appeared!"
Fang Zhiyi didn’t waste time, grabbing Xiulian and vanishing with her.
Outside Xiaowang Village lay a wide river where smaller streams converged. Building a bridge was difficult, so crossing required a ferry—hence the profession of the ferryman.
But it was now midnight.
A man dressed in Western-style leather shoes sat on the raft. "Perfect! I thought I’d have to wait till dawn. Ferryman, I’ll give you extra coins later."
The oarsman didn’t reply, mechanically repeating his motions.
"Why are you still out here so late?" the Western-dressed man asked, then laughed. "Ah, Old Master Wang must’ve arranged this! Did you know? Old Master Wang of Xiaowang Village is my uncle! Hahaha!"
The oarsman paused, his teeth grinding with a hideous sound.
"Why’d we stop?" The man grew uneasy. Grabbing an oil lamp, he shone it forward—only to see a drenched figure standing there, skin deathly pale.
"Y-you… what do you want? I’ve got no money!" The man trembled in fear.
The figure didn’t speak, advancing step by step, leaving muddy footprints on the raft.
Terrified, the man squeezed his eyes shut—but death never came. When he dared to look again, the ghoul was gone. The raft drifted downstream with the current.
"Hey! Come back! If you’re not killing me, at least take me to the other side! Hey?"
Fang Zhiyi watched as the man fumbled with a pole, struggling to steer the raft ashore. Then she turned to the water ghost she held.
The ghost stared blankly at her, then at the young woman behind her, utterly bewildered.
"Fu, right?" Fang Zhiyi seemed to realize the ghost couldn’t speak.
Fu hesitated, then nodded slowly.
"Rumor says you were drowned by Xiaowang villagers for stealing their ferry business. True?"
Fu tilted his head.
Fang Zhiyi flipped him upside down, shaking him hard. Water gushed from his orifices, and when she righted him, his eyes seemed clearer.
"Your brain must’ve been waterlogged," Fang Zhiyi sighed. "Fine, I’ll avenge you. Stay put."
Fu seemed to understand, nodding again—sending more water splashing out.
"Damn weather! Now rain? NO!" The Western-dressed man’s shouts echoed below.
The next day, rain fell relentlessly.
"Did you hear? Qinghe Town has a young master of the occult," a cart-driver boasted to his drinking companions.
"Is he young or a master?"
"Can’t he be both? They say he’s powerful—even Ma Xiuyun of the Ma family became his disciple."
"Who’s Ma Xiuyun?"
"You know Squire Ma? Now called Master Ma." The cart-driver launched into an elaborate tale, as if he’d witnessed it himself—the actor’s vengeful ghost, the epic battle with the Taoist, hundreds of clashes across heaven and earth, until Ma Xiuyun’s help secured victory.
The listeners were spellbound—until thunder cracked, making them flinch.
"Maybe we should get a protective charm too?"
Pleased with his storytelling, the cart-driver donned his raincoat and set off. The goods had to be delivered before dawn.
But at daybreak, villagers found him dead by the roadside. His horse had freed itself, grazing peacefully, while the driver lay with his mouth gaping, filled with dirt—maggots wriggling from the corners.
The town’s officers arrived, gave a cursory inspection, and hauled the body away for burial. These days, death was nothing unusual.
Fang Zhiyi’s entourage had grown to ten—a motley crew of oddities, with only Xiulian and a white-robed youth resembling humans.
"Brother Fang…" the youth in white spoke. "Who do we seek next?"
Cheng's father told him he was getting remarried—to a wealthy woman. Cao Cheng realized his time had finally come: he was about to become a second-generation rich kid. Sure, it might be a watered-down version, but hey, at least he'd have status now, right? The wealthy woman also had four daughters!! Which meant, starting today, Cao Cheng gained four stunning older sisters?? But that wasn't even the whole story... "My name is Cao Cheng—'Cheng' as in 'honest, smooth-talking gentleman'!"
nd fell into a coma while saving his younger sister from an out-of-control car. He became a vegetable. No one knew that his consciousness had crossed into a world of cultivation. Over the course of sixty years, he began as the lowest kind of mine slave, struggling to survive amid mountains of corpses and seas of blood. By sheer chance, he eventually obtained the complete memories of a fallen Immortal King. Alchemy, medicine, formations, feng shui, physiognomy, artifact forging… Every great inheritance of the cultivation world was now his. But when he opened his eyes again, he discovered that ten full years had passed in the modern world. To pay for his treatment, his father had sold the family’s shop and house, leaving himself covered in lasting injuries and illness. His mother had cared for him day and night, and more than half of her hair had already turned white. His younger sister, who had been only fifteen back then, was now twenty-five. To help repay the family’s debts, she had been forced to lower her head and put on a smiling face in places of glittering lights and endless revelry. Only then did Chen Xuan understand that what he had lost was not merely ten years. He had lost the life his entire family was meant to have. The good news was that he had brought back the memories of an Immortal King’s entire lifetime. The bad news was that his soul had returned alone—his cultivation had not come with him. Spiritual energy was scarce, resources were depleted, and the modern world still had firearms, surveillance, capital, and laws. If he wanted to protect his family, break free from everyone’s control, and become truly invincible beneath the heavens, he would have to start all over again.
s the Eldest Princess, renowned for her cold and aloof detachment, became the most docile of lambs, obeying his every command without question. But when the final move was played on the chessboard, as Gu Chenghan seized everything and ascended on the verge of apotheosis, that very Princess suddenly embraced him from behind, her tone carrying a dependence never heard before: "Wait... you haven't yet... commanded me to love you forever." Gu Chenghan froze abruptly. She... hadn't been hypnotized?! ... [The Eldest Princess's Diary] [When my soul was extracted, becoming the sole spectator outside my own shell] [At first, there was overwhelming fury, until I saw] [How he used my sword to effortlessly shatter my inescapable doom] [How he wielded my authority to eradicate fatal conspiracies I had never even detected] [Like a deity, he rescued me from the deep mire I was trapped in] [If not for those annoying vixens, he and I would be a match made in heaven] [I think I am ill, gravely ill] [My deity should belong to me alone] ... "Hypnosis? Oh, it succeeded, my dear Master." "Only this time, it's my turn to hypnotize you."
transmigrates into the world as the sect master of the Heavenly Yan Sect, which is on the verge of being wiped out. He binds a system that grants him cultivation power based on the number of disciples he has: for each disciple, he automatically gains a year's worth of cultivation every single day! Take one disciple: every day he gains 1 year of cultivation power. While others struggle through a year of bitter training, he gets the same just by sleeping through a single night. Take ten disciples: every day he gains 10 years of cultivation power. Foundation Establishment, Core Formation, Nascent Soul—he breezes through all bottlenecks without lifting a finger. Take one hundred disciples: every day he gains 100 years of cultivation power. Even a Soul Transformation Venerable before him can’t survive a single blow. Take ten thousand disciples: every day he gains 10,000 years of cultivation power! With a wave of his hand, he topples empires. With a single step, he crushes the sacred grounds of the universe. ... While others fight tooth and nail for secret techniques, Lin Yan casually hands out Nascent Soul-level cultivation manuals as beginner textbooks. While others strain to find talented recruits, Lin Yan opens his doors to anyone—so long as they’re human. In just three short years, the Heavenly Yan Sect went from a backwater sect made up of three crumbling huts to a sacred land that every cultivator under heaven would kill to enter. ... One day, otherworldly demon gods invade, with a million demon soldiers pressing down upon the realm. Lin Yan, yawning, rises from his lounge chair and glances at the system panel: [Current Disciples: 1.28 million] [Daily Cultivation Increase: 1.28 million years] He waves his hand casually, and the countless demon soldiers are reduced to ashes in an instant. “So noisy… interrupting my fishing.”
