"Thirteen Guardians approach, mortals make way!" A headless ghost emerged first, the severed head cradled in its arms shouting the clearing announcement.
Then came a woman floating mid-air with a lolling tongue, a burly dark-faced brute, a frail-looking scholar, and a bride clad in crimson wedding robes—a procession resembling the Night Parade of One Hundred Demons.
The merchant caravan stood frozen in terror, but the man clutching his nephew suddenly dropped the boy and stepped forward. "The Thirteen Guardians! I know of you! Living deities! Save my nephew!"
All the vengeful spirits halted to stare at him. Not a soul dared breathe—who wouldn't be petrified under the gaze of such grotesque beings?
"Oh? Your nephew..." A figure in theatrical robes slowly stepped forth, feigning divination before frowning. "His mortal span isn't spent. Who dares stir trouble in our domain?" An icy aura erupted.
Several ghosts simultaneously pointed at the merchant group, whose members collectively turned to see a gaunt, towering specter materialize.
"You opera-singing..."
Fang Zhiyi scratched his ear. Were people and ghosts in this era all so linguistically bankrupt? Before he could command, the horde of monsters lunged forward—a familiar beatdown. This time, however, Fang Zhiyi didn't annihilate the ghost. He'd recently discovered that spiritual energy flowed similarly to his past cultivation world. These wraiths' resentment could be absorbed.
Mimicking Taoist priests, he produced a porcelain vial to capture the lanky specter—but it resisted. No matter; their solution was simple: if persuasion failed, violence would suffice.
As the ghost was pummeled, Bai Jingtian guided Wang Sanyuan's drifting soul back to its body, meticulously tucking it in.
With matters settled, Fang Zhiyi bowed to the merchants and departed with his entourage.
Among the merchants, Wang Sanyuan awoke with no memory of the ordeal. The ghostly maze had vanished—all was well.
In a dilapidated temple, the ghosts hesitated before the unappetizing black pellets before them. Only the drowned ghost picked one up, "accidentally" dropping it into its mouth.
"You don't wish to disperse, do you? Then eat!" Fang Zhiyi commanded.
"But we don't want to exist like this forever either..." Huang Shuren grumbled, swallowing the pellet crafted from the defeated ghost.
"Patience. It's in progress." Fang Zhiyi merely watched them through narrowed eyes, withholding his plans.
---
Ma Xiuyun's days had grown unbearable. She and He Wei rushed to every rumored haunting, only to find either frightened but unharmed victims or ghosts already purged by the Thirteen Guardians. This left He Wei's shop barren—occasional customers seeking talismans or feng shui consultations took one look at his youthful face and fled.
Her inquiries about the Thirteen Guardians yielded only hearsay: "A friend of a friend said..." Even her father, Master Ma, had lost faith, now feigning illness to avoid her visits.
The villagers of Qinghe Town had forgotten how she and He Wei saved them from ghosts, instead gossiping about their "shameless" relationship—though the rumors inexplicably pleased Ma Xiuyun.
One evening, while idly wandering, she spotted a man lowering a swaddled bundle into the river. Hiding behind a bridge pillar, she watched.
A baby's cry pierced the air.
"Quiet!" The man panicked, clamping a hand over the infant's mouth. "Blame your worthless gender! Next life, pick better parents!"
Many villagers witnessed this—Qinghe's residents were both nosy and heartless.
As the child hit the water, the man pressed down: "Let me help you die properly. Don't end up like Ma Xiuyun did."
The name jolted her memory—Fang Zhiyi, her savior. Where was he now?
"No, focus! Save the baby first." Ma Xiuyun shook her head. Snatching the child openly? Impossible—it'd doom her and He Wei, just like Fang Zhiyi's fate.
She resolved to retrieve the infant secretly after the man left, then find adoptive parents elsewhere.
But before she could plan, the man gasped.
Something gripped his wrists as a figure lifted the baby from the water, tenderly wiping its face until the crying resumed. Only then did the rescuer laugh.
Before the man stood a bloated "person," water gushing from every orifice, its lifeless eyes locked onto him.
"Gurgle, gurgle."
Fang Zhiyi glanced over. "He fainted. Dump him."
The drowned ghost obeyed, flinging the man onto stone pavement. The crack of breaking bones made Fang Zhiyi grimace before he sighed.
"Move out." A head-carrying ghost bellowed behind him: "Thirteen Guardians pass—mortals yield!"
Hearing the name, Ma Xiuyun sprinted forward. "Brother Zhiyi!"
Fang Zhiyi's gaze turned glacial.
"It's me, Ma Xiuyun!"
He sneered, emphasizing her surname: "Oh? Ma Xiuyun."
"My father acted foolishly back then! Spare him!"
Fang Zhiyi rolled his eyes. "When did I ever target him?"
Undeterred, she pressed on: "Your Thirteen Guardians are the vengeful ghosts, aren't they? Why keep harming people?"
The absurdity nearly made him kick her. Was she truly this dense?
Salvation came as He Wei charged from afar, waving a peachwood sword: "I sensed evil energy! Release that child!"
Once, Fang Zhiyi might have retreated. But now, having merged ghostly and immortal arts, he flicked his sleeve—sending the sword snapping in half. Another flick launched He Wei airborne.
"Consider this interest. The principal comes later."