Chapter 662: The Fantasy Land Amusement Park Plan (Mist)

“I heard you went to the New York from another horror movie?”

Tony Stark removed his sunglasses, facing Zhang Zhen, who was nearly prostrate on the ground, face ashen.

“Zhang Chulan, are you alright?”

"I'm fine with three kilos of squid."

Zhang Chulan, still shaken, pushed himself up and said:

“Just some bald black guy driving at high speed while spraying me with a shotgun, cursing ‘sunshine bitch’ the whole time.”

“Just some Dalao like the God of the Dead, fed up, personally chasing us for a full day and night, dragging every Lunhuizhe into it.”

“Just that New York erupted in a plague of the dead, turning from a horror world into a fantasy one.”

Aside from that, everything was normal.

Zhang Chulan couldn’t help questioning himself: why did he even follow Song Shu into this Fuben ?

He remembered—he’d boarded just to exploit Song Shu’s passive benefits, harboring petty calculations, hidden schemes, and small tricks.

He’d thought that as long as he avoided traps, didn’t act recklessly, and didn’t provoke trouble, he could hide until the end.

Zhang Chulan glanced at Penglai Mountain Huiye, who stood there fuming, visibly irritated—she’d just returned from the Lunhuikongjian .

Big mistake—this one’s the type who dances on minefields.

“Looking up at the sky!” Song Shu sighed to the heavens: “Lost again.”

Bai Zunzhe smiled faintly: “Shuhang, did you enjoy this trial?”

“White Senior, this wasn’t fun—I nearly died.” Song Shu sighed deeply.

At first, it was just accidents and coincidences—traffic incidents, that sort of thing.

Then came “accidental” encounters with deep-sea monsters and lab-made biochemical weapons.

The world’s weirdness level gradually escalated to gas explosions, methane leaks, lightning storms.

During that time, a bald black man kicked open the door of the room where everyone hid, charging in with a shotgun.

Finally, it seemed he’d reached his limit—when Song Shu had fewer than nine resurrection artifacts left, and Penglai Mountain Huiye had revived countless times.

The law of harvesting lives manifested, warping the world’s aesthetic into something grotesque.

All Lunhuizhe in the Fuben abandoned fighting and banded together to escape—but the world had activated a virus-killing mechanism, systematically hunting down outsiders.

“How did you survive?” White Senior asked curiously. “Are Zhang Heng and the others alright?”

“Huiye made a pact with the Death God—we left voluntarily, and they spared the remaining Lunhuizhe .” Song Shu’s expression was complex.

“Damn it! We never even got the hate priority up!”

Penglai Mountain Huiye kicked a small stone on the ground, sending it flying straight into Song Shu’s head.

[Failed to penetrate enemy armor]

After much confusion, Huiye finally understood why Song Shu always died first.

“The problem is you saved too many people at the start—unless you’re eliminated, the plot can’t proceed in order!”

And on top of that, Song Shu had a hundred resurrection artifacts, triggering a full plot meltdown.

“Saving one life builds a seven-tier pagoda.” Song Shu opened his wallet, specially stocked with resurrection artifacts, and burst into tears.

“Woof!”

Dou Dou couldn’t take it anymore.

“Why don’t you just stop carrying so many resurrection artifacts? Don’t you know your own constitution?”

The setting clearly stated this, yet Dou Dou still couldn’t understand why Song Shu didn’t cut his losses—instead, he kept investing even more resurrection artifacts.

Could this guy have awakened some kind of Tizhi ?

He says he doesn’t want it, but his heart is honestly enjoying it.

“I feel like your gaze is off somehow,” Song Shu shook his head and explained:

“Has anyone considered that maybe it’s not because I brought so many resurrection artifacts that I’m unlucky?”

No—it’s precisely because you have too many resurrection artifacts.

No one spoke, but Song Shu understood the meaning behind their stares.

He felt he had to rebut this absurd setting:

“Is it possible that I was always destined to die this many times—and the resurrection artifacts just helped me dodge those fates?”

Since sharing fortune and bearing hardship falls on Song Shu, he must prepare even more resurrection artifacts for emergencies.

There’s never been an attribute called “Never waste a single resurrection artifact”—behind every one used is a karmic burden it absorbed for him.

“So, White Senior,” Song Shu asked hesitantly, “could you lend me some spirit stones to buy more rebirth pills?”

Genius.

Li Huowang, passing by, glanced over: “Get discharged.”

“I’ll take my leave then.”

Zhang Chulan rose, dragging his weary body—he just wanted to go home, crawl into bed in a world without danger, and sleep.

“Chulan.”

Zhang Chulan turned at the voice and saw Meng Qi standing nearby.

Morning light broke through; the silhouette of Longhu Mountain gradually sharpened in the dawn glow.

Rolling peaks, ancient trees towering, dense green canopies like a colossal emerald dragon soaring through mist.

Incense curled within the Three Pure Ones Hall, worshippers praying devoutly, smoke slowly dispersing in the air; outside, the Grand Celestial Master—tall, upright, with long beard and eyebrows, narrow eyes—was taking photos with tourists.

After giving a victory sign, he turned and walked toward the other direction.

Lu Jin, hands in his pockets, teased: “Old man, you seem in better spirits than before.”

“When the younger generation thrives, my mood naturally improves—but,” Zhang Zhiwei pinched his beard, frowning, “seeing you instantly ruins it.”

“Heh.” Lu Jin blew his beard irritably:

“You know why I came here.”

“I’ve heard rumors lately about some yiren causing trouble?” Zhang Zhiwei clicked his tongue.

“Young people are impulsive—given how popular the internet is now, a moment of frenzy is understandable.”

“Since the Chen Duo incident, rumors of a living Buddha descending have persisted,” Lu Jin said seriously.

“That toilet in Japan exploded, Behemoth suffered an unknown attack, someone flew on a sword racing fighter jets, and mysterious figures showed up at the Feng family’s spirit-binding ritual to force-buy and force-sell...”

“Company surveillance even captured what looked like Wu Gensheng’s silhouette.”

“In this turbulent season, don’t add any more chaos.”

Zhang Zhiwei listened silently, nodding occasionally, appearing thoroughly cooperative.

He knew some of these things were done by Zhang Chulan—but many matters didn’t require intervention yet.

Just as Zhang Chulan had never asked him about certain things.

That child knows his limits.

“I have a feeling the world’s about to fall into chaos,” Lu Jin said anxiously.

“It won’t.” Zhang Zhiwei said. “You’d be better off going home to spend more time with your granddaughter. You’re old—stop wandering around.”

Lu Jin fell silent for a moment, then asked: “Old man, do you really believe immortals exist in this world?”

Zhang Zhiwei smiled: “There aren’t any...”

“Grandmaster, look who I brought you!”

Zhang Chulan walked in cheerfully, followed by a young man in white robes, bright-eyed and strikingly handsome.

Ssssshhhhhh!

Zhang Zhiwei’s throat suddenly emitted a dry, rasping sound; his facial expressions flickered through several changes, yet he maintained overall composure.

Only his eyes—once calm—now glowed like flickering lightning, leaving Lu Jin utterly baffled.

“Lu Lao Ye is here too,” Zhang Chulan quickly bowed respectfully.

Before Lu Jin could speak, Zhang Zhiwei pulled him back and stepped forward himself, yet struggled to find words.

“The Celestial Master is Chulan’s elder, so I thought it best to deliver this wedding invitation in person,” Meng Qi said calmly, steering the conversation.

Zhang Zhiwei took the red wedding invitation: “Marriage?”

“There’s still time. I’ve come also to discuss another matter,” Meng Qi transmitted a mental message to him.

He didn’t stay long; after brief pleasantries, he glanced at the statues in the Three Pure Ones Hall, then nodded slightly and took his leave.

After a moment of thought, Zhang Zhiwei tucked the invitation into his sleeve and asked: “Do you understand internet promotion?”

Lu Jin: “?”

“No, let me think about how to do this...” Zhang Zhiwei shook his head.

Lu Jin stared at the frowning old Celestial Master, his gaze sweeping over the young man who had come with Zhang Chulan—and left with him.

He had never seen the Grand Celestial Master wear such an expression.

“Who is that?”

Zhang Zhiwei walked toward the inner hall; Lu Jin hurried after him, pressing:

“Your Linglong still doesn’t have a partner, right? I think Chulan’s a fine boy—you...”

“Don’t you dare change the subject!!!”

Lu Jin knew this old man’s nature—but as he slipped between crowds of pilgrims climbing the mountain, a sudden intuition struck him; he unconsciously glanced at the Three Pure Ones statue.

From the majestic, five-bearded Yuan Shi Tianzun, to Ling Bao Tianzun and Dao De Tianzun—all seemed different from his memory.

All now had streaks of gray at the temples, eyes deep and bottomless, profound enough to contain all things.

Serene and otherworldly—just like the young man who came with Zhang Chulan...

Lu Jin’s eyes widened, and he quickly shook his head, as if trying to shake off the thought.

Outside the hall

Meng Qi watched Zhang Chulan vanish into the crowd, then turned back to the statue and murmured: “Legend…”

To open the door of legend, one must understand “I am I,” and sense the “other selves” scattered across countless worlds.

The normal process involves projecting and mapping the true world to generate countless realms, gaining the power of innumerable universes, so that one’s Kuhai never sinks and one cannot be killed.

But what if one’s own arrangement lies within the layered multiverses of the void dimension?

“Marriage? The Great Zhou?”

Su Lin, seated in his wheelchair, and the others each stared at the wedding invitations in their hands—they had never expected Meng Qi’s invitation to arrive so suddenly.

“Look at them—then look at you lot!”

Su Lin pointed at Lu Mou, Xiao Mou, Ke Mou, and Wei Mou—the anonymous ones—with a look of exasperation.

Xiao Yan’s mouth twitched: “I’ve got kids who can go buy soy sauce now.”

“Feels like old Meng is up to something,” Ye Fan pondered a moment, then said: “He chose Gao Lan’s imperial palace for his wedding.”

“If he doesn’t make it known to everyone, what’s the difference from parading in silk at night?” Su Lin shook his head, puzzled:

“What about Jiang Zhiwei and Ruan Yushu?”

Is that the point?

“He’s serious?” Lu Mingfei stared blankly at the words: “Sincerely inviting Lu Mingfei and his entire family.”

It’s like a brother keeps telling you every day: “After this battle, I’m going home to get married.”

Then he actually does it.

“At this current timeline, the legendary adepts have not yet returned. Meng Qi’s current strength can rightly be called the strongest in the world.”

Zhongli thought for a moment, then stood: “I must return to Liyue to prepare some modest gifts.”

Holy shit, wedding gift money

Su Lin sucked in a sharp breath.

During those dorm years, to get Meng Zhen to go on blind dates, he’d made plenty of grand promises.

Phrases like “I’ll give you a huge gift if you get married” were everywhere.

“Eight hundred okay?” Su Lin asked.

Leaning against the doorframe, Meng Qi—returned at some point—squinted, arms crossed: “Do as you like. We’re brothers. Why talk about that?”

A thousand. No more.

Su Lin grimaced and scratched his head.

He instinctively wondered whether to hedge his wedding gift risk—Meng Zhen had once thought he was gay and pushed him to find a girlfriend.

He glanced at a certain shrewd witch and noticed her gaze had shifted from her invitation to him.

In that instant of eye contact, both looked away simultaneously, abandoning a certain thought.

But at that moment, Su Lin saw Star.

“Hey, I’ve got a great idea!” a male explorer in a gray-haired, gold-eyed jacket persona spoke inside Su Lin’s mind.

He pulled out a bag of golden trash bags.

“Start with the Azure Void Sword,” Meng Qi smiled.

“Someday I’ll turn the Emperor’s Absolute Knife into a sword maiden—see if you still stare at my sword,” Su Lin yanked off his gray wig.

Star walked over with the invitation: “Qiong, have you decided?”

Su Lin: “Huh?”

“With us,” Star deliberately paused.

“?”

“Star Rail x Type-Moon Universe crossover.”

“Wait for the next update.”

“Yay!”

Ever since Su Lin brought the Type-Moon Universe into Marvel, this guy had been fixated on a crossover.

“What a pity—I was just about to give you a bonus wedding gift,” Meng Qi waved his hand: “I offered you the chance, but you blew it~~~”

Tsk.

Su Lin gripped his wheelchair, planning to head to the system shop for something worth around ten million.

After all, the long night stretches on—only the sword keeps him company.

No one knows how many times the legendary swordsman and qin master, Great Master Meng, will marry in the future.

“I discussed it with Master Yao and Doctor Yi,” Yan Sen smiled, hurrying over:

“Perhaps the multiverse I created did not arise naturally—this latent factor may have affected your absorption.”

“So this time, I’ve switched to pure creation principles.”

“Come, try it quickly.”

Su Lin stopped and locked eyes with Yan Sen, sensing the man’s eager anticipation.

He suddenly understood one thing: Yan Sen…

Was treating him like a lab subject.

“What’s wrong?”

“No.”

Fine, I’ll try it.

This time, Su Lin snatched the pure principle of Dao and Li entwined from Yan Sen’s hands—instantly—

It split open.

“Better find a proper doctor,” Su Lin used his Heavenly Dao to erase the conflicting principles.

At that moment, someone else appeared behind him, pushing the wheelchair.

"I'll take it first~" Penglai Mountain Huiye looked at Irene, and before her appeared a teleportation gate opened by a cross-realm talisman.

“Just remember to return it.”

Irene smiled faintly, giving the woman a meaningful glance.

Huiye felt the smile was odd, thought for a moment, then shoved the wheelchair hard.

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