Chapter 35: Six Heavenly Ghost Gods, Nascent Soul Activation

“Jiang Lai!?”

Zhang Fan never imagined he would encounter Jiang Lai again in Yujing City, at Ye Buliang.

Three encounters within Zhenwu Mountain left a deep impression on Zhang Fan.

She was like the mist-shrouded mountain—mysterious and unfathomable, stirring curiosity and longing.

“You…”

Zhang Fan rose to his feet, ready to step forward.

At that moment, a young man walked in from outside, dressed casually, strikingly handsome, especially with his eyes and brows carrying a flowing breeze.

“Who is he…?”

“I’m Jiang Hu. ‘Three parts of bright moon illuminate the great river…’”

“Jiang Hu!”

The handsome young man stepped forward, grinning brightly, as if they were old friends, and greeted Zhang Fan with effortless familiarity.

“New colleague, right?”

“I… I’m Zhang Fan.”

Zhang Fan nodded, responding mechanically, but his attention was entirely fixed on Jiang Lai.

“Finally, a new face—now we won’t have to work like oxen and horses anymore.”

“Don’t you dare quit!”

Jiang Hu stepped closer, slinging an arm around Zhang Fan’s shoulder as if they’d known each other forever, his eyes gleaming with peculiar light, like a weasel that had stumbled into a chicken coop.

Ye Buliang had always been sparsely staffed, with no new hires for a long time; if this continued, even Daoist cultivators couldn’t endure working like beasts day after day.

There’s an old saying in the Daoist sects: smoking doesn’t reach the lungs, drinking doesn’t reach the stomach, living alone grants a hundred years, but working too hard cuts ninety years off your life—daily meetings might make you kneel right away.

With a new hire, at last they could breathe easier—maybe live two more years.

“…“

“I’ll work hard!”

Zhang Fan gave a forced laugh, his peripheral vision deliberately flickering toward Jiang Lai—but she acted as if she hadn’t seen him at all, returning quietly to her desk.

“Is she blind!?”

Zhang Fan muttered to himself, then found a moment to approach Wen He.

“Sister Wen, Jiang Lai…”

“What? You like the girl?” Wen He looked at Zhang Fan with an aunt-like smile, then whispered: “She’s the boss’s relative—she started just a week before you.”

“The boss’s relative!?”

Zhang Fan’s expression turned strange. After a brief hesitation, he walked over to Jiang Lai and asked softly: “Aren’t you on Zhenwu Mountain? How are you here?”

“Working,” Jiang Lai replied without looking up. No matter what else Zhang Fan asked, she refused to answer.

“What the hell!?”

Zhang Fan couldn’t help but glance toward Bai Buran’s office, his eyes filled with deep suspicion.

Back then, on Zhenwu Mountain, it was Jiang Lai who had greatly enabled him to enter the path of cultivation—this mysterious girl had saved him multiple times, and even his eventual appearance at Qingwei Palace, his awakening of the Three Pure Fires, and his fusion with the Zhenwu Jade Tablet—all seemed mysteriously tied to her.

When he descended the mountain, Zhang Fan had specifically asked Po Jie, but the latter claimed no such person existed on Zhenwu Mountain.

Now, Jiang Lai was openly appearing at Ye Buliang—and as the boss’s relative? This whole thing reeked of oddity. “How could such a coincidence exist?” Zhang Fan’s consciousness stirred restlessly, making it impossible to focus on work.

One time was coincidence, two times were chance—but this third, fourth time…

At lunchtime, Zhang Fan, burdened with questions and unease, went up to the rooftop for air.

“Hm!?”

As soon as he arrived, he saw a familiar figure.

“Jiang Lai!”

The wind on the rooftop brushed her shoulder-length hair, revealing a faint scar on the nape of her neck. She stroked her hair, her ethereal eyes unconsciously turning toward Zhang Fan as he approached.

“Don’t tell me you don’t remember me,” Zhang Fan said, stepping closer.

“I remember you.”

Jiang Lai slowly withdrew her gaze, gazing into the distance, her soft voice lingering in Zhang Fan’s ears.

“Who are you really? A Daoist from Zhenwu Mountain?” Zhang Fan pressed. “So you still don’t recognize me,” Jiang Lai whispered.

“Hm!?”

Zhang Fan froze, confused. His expression turned strange. “I do know you—Jiang Lai…”

“But I…”

Zhang Fan hesitated. He was deeply curious about Jiang Lai, but how could he phrase it? He couldn’t just ask a girl to lay out her entire history for him.

“We’ve met before.”

At that moment, Jiang Lai suddenly spoke.

“Met? You mean on Zhenwu Mountain?” Zhang Fan asked instinctively.

“Longer ago,” Jiang Lai said calmly.

“Huh? When? I don’t remember,” Zhang Fan frowned, his eyes filled with confusion.

“When you remember.”

Saying this, Jiang Lai turned and walked toward the stairs.

“Wait.”

Zhang Fan reached out to call her, following closely behind.

Hum…

At that moment, Jiang Lai spun around and lightly extended her right hand, striking Zhang Fan squarely on the chest.

Immediately, he staggered, losing his balance—and his Nascent Soul was forcibly ejected from his body.

“Six Heavenly Ghost Gods!”

Boom…

As Zhang Fan’s Nascent Soul emerged, the heavens darkened, stained crimson with blood. Six ancient palaces appeared before him, standing in six directions, their towering, terrifying shadows rising and flickering within—piled bones, corpses hanging from trees, fierce malevolence surging, chilling malice rising.

“Nascent Soul Outer Vision!?” Zhang Fan’s heart trembled.

For Daoists, cultivation hinges on four words: Nascent Soul Activation.

Once the Nascent Soul activates, one perceives myriad outer visions—especially when casting spells, where reality blurs between true and false: ghostly deities, monstrous realms, divine Buddhist artifacts, falling flowers of heaven, chaos stirring the mind.

“Man rules by day, ghosts walk by night.”

“Yin and yang are distinct, each with its domain.”

“Great rebellion, punishment, calamity—Six Heavenly Ghost Gods.”

“…“

A chorus of low chants echoed around Zhang Fan’s Nascent Soul, like incantations of secret words. The outer vision loomed terrifyingly: the six ancient palaces stood in six directions, their dormant shadows stirring, radiating dreadful energy.

At this moment, Zhang Fan’s Nascent Soul bore unbearable pressure, every inch of it feeling as if it would burst apart.

Boom…

At that instant, Zhang Fan’s Nascent Soul violently shook—and his vision plunged into utter blackness.

Torrential rain, thunder crashing.

In this moment, he felt as if he had returned to that night ten years ago.

The night his mother died in a car accident.

Twelve years old, he knelt in the pouring rain, eternal night, everything around him a blur—he frantically rubbed his eyes, but saw nothing.

“Aaahhh…”

Suddenly, a piercing scream tore through this dark, silent world—like a cry from hell.

“Fall back… fall back… don’t treat him like an ordinary ghost.”

“Don’t fight him with your Nascent Soul… you can’t win… this ghost cultivates the Divine Demon Sacred Embryo too!”

Sharp voices echoed through the black, silent world, laced with restless dread.

Boom…

A bolt of lightning split the sky—and all the clamor ceased abruptly.

Zhang Fan snapped his eyes open, finding himself still standing on the rooftop, his clothes soaked in sweat. He looked around—Jiang Lai was gone, as if nothing had happened.

(End of Chapter)