Chapter 545: Soul Returns to Hometown

Run ahead, chase from behind.

Starlight illuminates the mountain path; people and ghosts dart like wind.

Wu Xian’s legs churned rapidly, the dagger inside the leather sack clinking as he ran, his face neither flushed nor breathless, even finding moments to glance back.

The ghosts, laden with bitter resentment, climbed the mountain, sending countless snakes, insects, and birds scattering in terror.

After running for a stretch like this.

Wu Xian turned to look down the mountain and saw the ghosts still far behind him.

Thanks to his slightly superior physique as a juan person and the latent potential of "accumulated toil becoming a ghost," Wu Xian's running speed actually surpassed the drifting pace of these ghosts.

“If it’s just this, passing the minor exam won’t be hard.”

“Since I’m already here, why not test whether these ghosts can drop Spirit-Plague Incense?”

As Wu Xian pondered its feasibility, he turned back—and suddenly stopped, for a woman dressed in red had abruptly appeared on the mountain path! Her face was lovely, cheeks painted with rouge, eyes milky white and vacant, feet semi-transparent, body hovering three fingers above the ground, pale and tinged with a faint greenish hue.

As the red-clad woman appeared, the surroundings twisted into unreality: stones quivered like jelly, trees swayed like seaweed in the ocean, weeds fluttered like wind-tossed hair.

The woman’s face was filled with terror as she pleaded with Wu Xian in a strange tone.

“Can you help me?”

“I—I was just shot!”

“The gunshot wound keeps bleeding; if I don’t stop it, I’ll bleed to death!”

“I’m only twenty-two, I haven’t found a husband yet—I don’t want to die, so can you help me find the gunshot wound on my body?”

“I can’t see, so I’m begging you—I’ll cooperate no matter where you need to look.”

“Once you find the gunshot wound, you can leave.”

After speaking, the blind red-clad ghost lowered her head, as if shy.

“Alright.”

Wu Xian readily agreed, pulled out his pistol, his expression turning demonic, killing intent coiling around the barrel as he jammed it into the woman’s eye socket! “I found the gunshot wound!”

“The gunshot wound is right in your eye socket!”

The ghost clutched her eye and screamed with venomous agony; the surroundings gradually returned to normal.

When the environment fully stabilized, Wu Xian swung the Blood-Stained Silk Dagger, his face fierce, and lashed it across the blind woman’s face until she was utterly obliterated.

This ghost was likely a special variant among the horde below, meant solely to delay Wu Xian.

The spatial distortion was a low-grade ghostly illusion, and her question was the key to escaping it.

How to handle such a situation was precisely what he’d been taught in physical education.

Wu Xian calmly thought for two seconds.

He realized her question was far too vague—simply finding the gunshot wound on her body would suffice.

Why bother searching for the original wound? Why not just create a new one? The bullet wasn’t enchanted; firing might not work—but if he treated the pistol as a cold weapon and used “Innate Killer” to empower it, it would definitely work! Who said you needed to fire to kill? A wound forced by brute force was still a gunshot wound!

The ghost burned to ash, leaving nothing on the ground—meaning this weak spirit could not grant Wu Xian any Spirit-Plague Incense.

Wu Xian shook his head in disappointment, abandoned the idea of sniping the horde below, and kept running toward the summit.

But the brief delay had already narrowed the distance between him and the horde below—more tricks might appear any moment…

A trick appeared!

After running a short distance, Wu Xian found the path ahead gone—a ten-meter stretch had collapsed into a terrifying abyss.

But Wu Xian clearly remembered: when he drifted downward, this spot had a path, albeit narrow.

Wu Xian thought for a moment, then summoned from his deck of cards the “Blood-Soaked Old Wolf Brush,” five meters long—perfect for probing.

After a few attempts.

He realized the path hadn’t vanished—the abyss below was merely an illusion cast by ghosts.

So Wu Xian gritted his teeth and stepped forward.

His steps were slow; each footfall was tested first, only pressed down once confirmed solid before advancing further, like walking a tightrope between skyscrapers.

Though Wu Xian knew it was safe, survival instinct forced him to tread with caution. In the real world, glass walkways on high mountains exist—thick glass shielding them, others walking ahead—and still some dare not step. How much more so here, where he saw nothing?

After crossing the nerve-wracking ten-meter chasm.

Wu Xian encountered no further danger, at most a ghost or two suddenly lunging from the side to startle him.

Finally.

Wu Xian reached the Tudimiao; the ghost horde behind him was nearly upon him.

The stone statue of the Earth God had vanished.

But above the tunnel entrance, a blood-drenched, flesh-mangled spirit crouched.

The spirit stretched its limbs wide, head raised toward Wu Xian, glaring with madness as it roared.

“No entry! Not allowed! Peach Blossom Spring does not welcome you! Get out, get out!”

Outside, encountering such a spirit, Wu Xian would have investigated before acting.

But this was the physical education minor exam.

From Guo Xiaodong’s PE curriculum, the test clearly assessed whether students possessed the courage to strike at spirits.

So Wu Xian kicked the spirit square in the forehead.

As expected.

The spirit was extremely fragile.

Even an unenchanted strike made it howl in pain; within moments, it fled in disgrace, warning Wu Xian as it retreated.

“Never enter Peach Blossom Spring—you’ll regret it!”

Wu Xian turned, looked at the horde now snarling within twenty meters, ignored the spirit’s warning, and leapt into the tunnel entrance.

Plop! Wu Xian landed in blood, splashing crimson.

The blood formed words midair, leaving him a message.

“Physical education minor exam concluded. Language minor exam begins.”

Wu Xian looked up.

Countless ghostly heads crowded the entrance, none daring to enter the tunnel—he had temporary reprieve.

The scenery here, Wu Xian had seen before—just a pitch-black tunnel.

At first narrow, barely wide enough for one person; only after walking a stretch did it widen.

Wu Xian had taken only a few steps.

When he heard metallic clanging—several yin officials in tattered black robes shuffled toward him.

Only one official’s robe was half-intact; he held a broken gong and weakly chanted.

“Yin officials on patrol! The living, make way!”

The tunnel was too narrow to avoid; Wu Xian pressed himself against the wall, turning his face away, trying not to look at the yin officials.

The yin officials passed him; their robes even brushed against his—but since Wu Xian offered no offense, no conflict arose.

After walking further, Wu Xian heard gongs and drums again.

This time, the sound came from behind.

Wu Xian sighed, had to move aside again—but this procession was much longer.

In his peripheral vision, he saw the ghosts who had chased him now obediently trudging behind the yin officials, heads bowed…

When all had passed.

Wu Xian shook his head and sighed.

“Though you cannot return to your homeland, at least you may return as spirits—may this fulfill your wish…”

(End of Chapter)