Chapter 118: Zhenming Youjing

Ning Zhe held Ji Taimei’s severed head and turned back to look along the path they had come; from the distant intersection, four shadowy figures drifted slowly toward them—fat and thin, old and young—each face brimming with vivid, conflicting human emotions: joy, rage, resentment, hatred, all rendered with uncanny clarity.

“What are those? Ghosts?” Feng Yu shuddered, pressing her body close to him and stepping in front of Ning Zhe.

She was much shorter than Ning Zhe, even in thick-soled sandals, still half a head lower—but the flickering firelight from the ginkgo tree fell upon Feng Yu, casting behind her a vast, twisted, monstrous shadow as dark as ink, like a god nailed to a cross.

Lei Te stirred with Feng Yu’s rising tension, restless, eager to lunge forward and slaughter each approaching shadow.

But Ning Zhe stopped her.

“They’re not ghosts,” Ning Zhe said, raising his hand slightly; before him appeared a girl dressed in red makeup—but this time, she was visible not only to Ning Zhe: Feng Yu saw He Nianjun too.

“Is this… from Hejia Village?” Feng Yu asked, startled.

“Of course—if you’re here, then even you can see Zhao You,” Ning Zhe nodded lightly, gesturing for He Nianjun to approach, then added: “Those things around us aren’t ghosts. They’re people whose lives have reached zero. But due to the rules of Yanglao Village, even if killed here, one cannot die properly—only drift half-dead through this… Zhenming Youjing.”

Look at the shadows emerging from the alleyways: some joyful, some sorrowful, emotions overflowing their faces—a white-haired old ghost with a grin plastered on his face, a gaunt specter dragging a human foot, limping forward, murmuring as they drifted closer.

After surviving several bizarre incidents, Feng Yu’s courage had improved considerably; though her heart still tightened at the sight of shadowy figures closing in from all sides, she no longer lost her composure.

She pressed against Ning Zhe and whispered: “Zhenming Youjing… what is that?”

“A folk tale,” Ning Zhe replied, unmoved, dismissively.

“Legend says there was once a scholar, born in no known dynasty, who one night lit a lamp and read late into the night. Exhausted, he fell asleep. In his dream, he opened his eyes to find two spectral figures—a black one and a white one—standing in his room, chains in hand, declaring his mortal time had ended and ordering him to follow them to the underworld.”

“The Black and White Impermanents bound the scholar’s soul with iron chains and dragged him toward the Ghost Gate. But his mortal lifespan had not yet expired—the Impermanents had mistakenly claimed a living soul. Their path to the underworld went awry; instead of entering the Ghost Gate, they wandered into a strange place called Zhenming Youjing.”

“The Impermanents missed their deadline. When the Underworld Judge realized the scholar’s life was still intact, the man was already on the brink of death, his breath faint. Fearing grave error, the Impermanents hastily returned his soul to his body—but forgot to erase their memories of the journey, so he returned to the mortal world carrying visions of the netherworld.”

“After reviving, the scholar painted a picture titled ‘Zhen Yi Xiang Tu’—depicting the strange realm he had mistakenly entered on his way to the underworld.”

“Zhenming Youjing is neither in the Underworld, nor in the mortal realm.”

“Its realm is dark as ash, cold as water, vast as the sea, deep as an abyss… within it drift malformed spirits—neither human nor beast—known as ‘Zhen.’”

“Ancient texts say: when a human dies, they become a ghost, and humans fear them. When a ghost dies, it becomes a Zhen, and ghosts fear it; ghosts dread the Zhen as humans dread ghosts.”

Ning Zhe’s heart was large—he still had the leisure to tell his aunt a folk tale in this environment, not merely from confidence in his own abilities, but because he was already certain of their situation.

“Zhen…” Hearing Ning Zhe’s description, Feng Yu recalled the human-bone serpent that had crawled from Ji Taimei’s grandmother’s corpse.

She whispered, voice low: “So Ji Taimei’s grandmother… died and became one of those malformed spirits called ‘Zhen’?”

“So we’ve entered the Zhenming Youjing inside the ‘Zhen Yi Xiang Tu’?” “No,” Ning Zhe said plainly. “Zhenming Youjing is on Level -1. We’re on Level 0 now.”

“Deeper?” Feng Yu froze. “Then how do we get to… that Zhenming Youjing?”

Ning Zhe turned his head and gave her a clear smile. “It’s simple—we both die together.”

As he spoke, the ghostly shadows had drawn near, murmuring in a slightly lisping Central Plains Mandarin, like whispers brushing against the ear. The ginkgo tree behind the Tudimiao burned, yet the air was chilling. A sense of danger rose in Feng Yu’s chest—then Ning Zhe took her hand.

“Let’s go to the next level.” He guided her hand to the red-dressed girl’s chest and turned a page of the yellow almanac.

The next instant, both of them died.

The ancients said: when a human dies, they become a ghost; when a ghost dies, it becomes a Zhen.

What is a Zhen? If you write this character in seal script and paste it on your door, all ghosts and demons flee a thousand li away—that is what ghosts fear.

As Zhao You’s instant-death rule triggered, Ning Zhe and Feng Yu both died—but here, in Yanglao Village, death is not the end.

Sensing her consciousness once again crossing the boundary between life and death, Feng Yu’s mind spun dizzily. When she opened her eyes, everything appeared unchanged: the same ginkgo tree, the same Tudimiao, the same shadowy figures drifting through the gray village—as if nothing had altered.

No, something had.

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Feng Yu lowered her gaze, seeing only deep black, snow-white, and ash-gray—as if the entire world had lost its color. The two of them had stepped through death into a faded old photograph; all around was barren, desolate.

Before she could examine this “faded” world, a long white-bone serpent with a human face and an aged head suddenly lunged from nowhere, its ribcage splayed wide toward her face.

Its venomous gaze, wrinkled skin—identical to Ji Taimei’s grandmother—undeniably the same human-bone serpent she had just killed.

Feng Yu’s heart leapt; instinctively, she reached for Lei Te to kill it again—but once more, Ning Zhe stopped her.

“You can’t kill it. You’ll only send this ghost thing deeper.” His voice was soft, yet every word rang clear, calming her instantly.

Ning Zhe ignored the returning human-bone serpent. He turned another page of the almanac, letting Zhao You kill him again.

The ancients said: when a human dies, they become a ghost; when a ghost dies, it becomes a Zhen; when a Zhen dies, it becomes Xi.

What is Xi? The Dao De Jing says: “Heard but not named—this is Xi.”

(End of Chapter)