The Player 012

"Could I have been wrong?" The hour of Zi had arrived, and Fang Zhiyi's Thirteen Guardians had all assembled. They couldn't see Little Hei, but seeing Fang Zhiyi standing there staring at the ground, they had no idea what he was doing.

Fang Zhiyi's expression was grave, and none of them dared to speak. They both admired and feared their leader from the bottom of their hearts.

Time passed minute by minute.

"Little Hei?" Fang Zhiyi called softly.

Little Hei didn’t respond, but its body trembled slightly.

Fang Zhiyi steeled himself and reached out to pull it back—he couldn’t afford to let his speculation crash the system.

But the moment he touched Little Hei, the creature, which had already taken on a humanoid form, suddenly shrank. Its facial features vanished, its limbs retracted, and in the spot where it had stood, a hole appeared, emanating a chilling aura.

As Little Hei was about to be sucked into the hole, Fang Zhiyi lunged to grab it but caught nothing but air. Then, he himself was dragged into the abyss.

"Boss!"

Without hesitation, the ghosts followed, one after another, disappearing into the hole.

In the blink of an eye, Fang Zhiyi found himself standing in a vast hall. Bronze lamps lined the walls, casting an eerie green light. At the far end stood a throne, strikingly similar to the dragon throne he had once occupied.

The other vengeful spirits materialized behind him, their eyes scanning the surroundings with curiosity.

Fang Zhiyi turned and walked toward the exit. When he reached the hall’s entrance, he froze in shock. A mist-shrouded city stretched before him—completely deserted, yet complete with houses, bridges, and even a dimly glowing sun hanging in the sky.

"Host..."

Fang Zhiyi looked down. A small sphere emitted a faint voice.

"I connected that path to this place. Heh... I need to rest for a while." Little Hei said nothing more.

Fang Zhiyi nodded and carefully carried it to the throne inside the hall, placing it there. His heart swirled with emotions—shock, joy, guilt, and... confusion.

Was Little Hei really the Heavenly Dao? What would happen in the end? What would become of him? Of it?

"Boss, where is this?"

The headless ghost wandered around, touching everything in fascination.

"The Underworld."

"What?" The ghosts gasped. They had heard of the Underworld in life, but after death, they had discovered it didn’t exist. Yet now, Fang Zhiyi was telling them this was the Underworld?

"Holy—then what about the Judges from the operas?" The headless ghost, acting like a tourist, had its detached head grinning excitedly from its waist.

Fang Zhiyi paused, then pointed at Bai Jingtian. "Him."

Bai Jingtian, who had been staring at the black floor tiles, looked up in confusion. "What’s wrong?"

The Underworld Corporation was established in Year 139, its incubation base relocated from a free-for-all abandoned temple to the underground.

With such a massive enterprise, there was no shortage of work. Fortunately, aside from a few exceptions, the Thirteen Guardians were capable enough to handle things. They began capturing ghosts for training—those with blood on their hands were imprisoned, while the lost and confused were subjected to rigorous training and persuasion, successfully recruiting them into the company.

Meanwhile, the Five Paths Alliance had united every force they could. Not because they were well-regarded, but because the Thirteen Vengeful Spirits had grown increasingly brazen. Some of their subordinates had even broken into temples, stealing jars sealed with malevolent ghosts.

A grand campaign of retribution began. Nearly every Taoist priest, monk, feng shui master, and occultist joined the fray—except for those who practiced genuine cultivation.

Ordinary people, of course, remained oblivious.

The Five Paths Alliance’s plan was simple: Fang Zhiyi, leader of the Thirteen Guardians, had once saved Ma Xiuyun and died because of her. Using her as bait to lure him out was the best strategy. If they could concentrate their forces to seal him away, victory was practically assured.

Their investigations revealed that without Fang Zhiyi leading them, the other vengeful spirits would collapse into disarray.

The plan proceeded smoothly.

Ma Xiuyun was eager to help. She tracked down recent sightings of the Thirteen Guardians, combing through abandoned temples and desolate graves until she finally found Fang Zhiyi.

At that moment, Fang Zhiyi was dressed in opera robes, singing a haunting ballad of life and death on a village stage, the audience enthralled.

"Brother Zhiyi!" Ma Xiuyun exhaled in relief. She had finally found him—this time, she would make sure he left the mortal world!

Fang Zhiyi ignored her, continuing his sorrowful, resentful melody, each note cutting like a knife into the listeners' hearts.

Ma Xiuyun didn’t care. She stormed onto the stage. "Brother Zhiyi! Stop this!" She turned to the crowd. "Run! I’ll hold them off!"

But when she looked back, her blood ran cold. The audience wasn’t human—it was a sea of vengeful spirits. The air around the stage was thick with bone-chilling malice, and every ghost glared at her with twisted fury for interrupting Fang Zhiyi’s performance.

"You... you..."

"Hahahaha! Excellent!" A thunderous laugh erupted from the distance as the main force arrived.

"These demons have gathered in one place—saves us the trouble of hunting them down!"

The Five Paths Alliance’s leader stroked his goatee. "Old friend, it’s been a while. Has your Thunder Technique improved?"

The tall, gaunt elder beside him didn’t answer. With a cold snort, he formed a hand seal and pointed forward—a bolt of lightning split the sky!

"Damn, hand-summoned lightning?" Fang Zhiyi was surprised. There really were experts among them. He flicked his water sleeves, summoning a cloud of black mist that shielded the stage, deflecting the strike.

"Not bad," the elder sneered. He continued his assault, but Fang Zhiyi merely raised his hand, keeping the black mist in place. It withstood three more lightning bolts.

The elder panted. "This ghost’s power is immense—it must be a Ghost King!"

The Alliance leader roared, "Charge!"

He Wei was the first to leap forward. The sight of the opera singer filled him with disgust. He rushed in, shouting—only to be seized by two vengeful spirits, beaten mercilessly, and thrown back.

The righteous cultivators felt deeply humiliated.

Every attacker was effortlessly subdued. Under the cover of the black mist, talismans failed, sword techniques fizzled, cinnabar was useless, and even formations had no effect. They were left fighting these ghosts with nothing but their mortal bodies.

Yet the ghosts refused to kill them—they only beat them senseless before tossing them aside.

Finally, the elders at the rear exchanged glances and stepped forward in unison. "Heavenly Venerable above! Your disciples are powerless. Today, we face a Ghost King blocking our path! We beg our ancestors for aid!" Each performed a different ritual, biting their tongues and spitting blood into the air.