TRYMBPIETM 133: When I went in the Past (15)

The red-robed young man’s gaze remained calm, his tone filled with indifference.

“So what if I marked him? He has managed so many yin temples and taken in so many ghosts that he’s been polluting me almost constantly. Am I not allowed to hate him?”

He paused, looking down at Shen Wenxu, who was pinned to the ground, and mockingly asked, “Or do you, as a human, think that I, as a dragon vein, shouldn’t or don’t have the right to take revenge on Qing Zhi, who is also human?”

“Ha.” Shen Wenxu let out a chuckle, his tone even more mocking than the other’s. “So you do understand that a dragon vein, when suppressed and polluted, can retaliate? Then have you ever thought about this—if anyone deserves a dragon vein’s revenge the most, wouldn’t it be you?”

The red-robed young man rolled his eyes at him, his face full of impatient disdain, as if he couldn’t be bothered to respond.

Shen Wenxu clicked his tongue. “Tsk, why aren’t you answering? Feeling guilty?”

The red-robed young man still ignored him.

Shen Wenxu didn’t find it boring at all—on the contrary, he was quite interested and continued, “You spent hundreds of years building so many yin temples, forcibly using incense offerings to stack yourself from a fierce ghost into a deity. When you first became a god, didn’t you feel like you were something extraordinary, like you had broken free from the fate of weakness and inevitable demise?”

The red-robed young man remained silent.

Shen Wenxu nodded. “Oh, I see. You did. Then, not long after, you suddenly realized that even becoming a god couldn’t help you escape karma, and that the sins you committed would still be settled by the heavenly laws. Did you feel utterly hopeless then, with no expectations for the future?”

The red-robed young man glared at him coldly. “What exactly are you trying to say?”

Shen Wenxu continued speaking as if he hadn’t heard him, “You racked your brain trying to free yourself and started pushing others to handle the affairs of the Wan Ying Temple, making them bear the karma. You gradually hid behind the scenes, but you didn’t really think that by doing this, you could escape judgment, did you?”

He glanced at the red-robed young man, his eyes clearly spelling out: You wouldn’t, right? You wouldn’t?

The red-robed young man was so furious that he couldn’t even speak properly.

“Shen Wenxu, is there something wrong with your brain?” he said bluntly. “I mean physically wrong. Have you finally been driven insane by that master of yours after all these years?”

Shen Wenxu lifted his eyes, glancing at the red-robed young man’s furious face, and clicked his tongue.

This guy sure was taking his anger seriously, as if he really thought Shen Wenxu was talking nonsense.

That calm and unshaken demeanor—was he just so sure Shen Wenxu had no proof?

Shen Wenxu found it amusing, so he laughed outright, completely unreserved.

So self-righteous.

If it were someone else, they might actually believe his nonsense and start doubting their own judgment.

Unfortunately, he had no doubts at all. After all, this was Chi Qingzhou’s theory.

Shen Wenxu grinned. “Tell me, do you think I know you better, or does Zhouzhou, who is similar to you, know you better? To be honest, I find it incredible that someone like you can exist in the world in a half-human, half-ghost state, just like Zhouzhou.”

He tilted his head back, staring into the red-robed young man’s suddenly darkened eyes, and laughed even harder.

“Your plan was actually quite good. You and Zhouzhou are very similar, right? Both abandoned by fortune, but strong enough to carve out a path as half-human, half-ghost.”

But they weren’t exactly the same.

Chi Qingzhou was favored by the heavenly laws—this red-robed young man, however, was not.

In terms of fate, he was actually more similar to Qing Zhi.

Shen Wenxu tutted, “So, that’s why you chose my master to take the fall for you, right? It’s much easier to manipulate someone with a similar fate.”

He didn’t know exactly how many shady things this red-robed young man had done, but it was obvious that his goal was to transfer karma.

Perhaps the moment this man realized he was entangled in karma, he had immediately thought of a way to deceive the heavens and shift the burden.

But everything in this world comes at a price.

Shen Wenxu was certain that even if this guy had found a way to escape karma, it wasn’t easy to pull off.

Finding people with similar fates to manage the Wan Ying Temple was probably the simplest and least consequential part of the plan.

Recalling the things Chi Qingzhou had done, Shen Wenxu’s gaze grew more and more knowing.

“You must have found quite a few people similar to Qing Zhi, right? You had them manage the yin temples, transferring part of the karma, and then you quickly abandoned your own divine statues.”

“You, more than anyone, understand that as long as you continue to rely on the incense offerings of the yin temples for survival, you will never be able to sever your connection with that karma.”

Seeing Qing Zhi’s subtly changing expression, Shen Wenxu chuckled. “So you needed a new identity. And a dragon vein, tied to the fate of the heavens, was your best choice. After all, people always crave what they lack.”

The red-robed young man unconsciously tightened his grip, his tone growing impatient. “Your mental state is seriously questionable. You really have been driven mad by your master, haven’t you?”

“Wow, how could you think that?”

Shen Wenxu mimicked Chi Qingzhou’s innocent blink, nearly making the red-robed young man sick with disgust.

Shen Wenxu laughed loudly, his tone carrying a hint of subtle disdain.

“There’s no way you could directly become a dragon vein. You lack the necessary traits and conditions, so the only option left was to forcibly merge with one—a solution that doesn’t truly address the root problem.”

But with his identity and everything he had done, how could a dragon vein ever accept him?

He wasn’t even like Xing Su, who had once suppressed the turmoil of the dragon vein and, as a human, transformed into a fierce ghost, gradually honing a power beyond human limits.

Shen Wenxu finally understood everything.

His gaze drifted into empty space, unfocused.

“So, your transformation into a dragon vein only happened in the past few years. You used the array formations in the Great Tomb of Jingming Mountain and the power stolen from Xing Su to find a severely weakened dragon vein and forcibly merge with it.”

Why had so many strange formations appeared on Jingming Mountain?

Why did the shaman suffer backlash? Why were the villagers attacked?

Why could only ordinary people avoid triggering the formation core?

Because these formations were originally set up to steal power.

And that power didn’t just include Xing Su’s strength—it also encompassed the aura of the dragon vein and the life force of cultivators.

The fact that the formation was still functioning could only mean one thing

The red-robed youth’s state was actually very unstable.

Even though he had successfully used Xing Su to fuse with the dragon vein, he was never truly a dragon vein himself and still needed continuous assimilation.

“That weak dragon vein comes from beneath our feet, and what you lack the most… is time.”

Shen Wenxu’s gaze refocused, falling on the red-robed youth’s cold face.

With a tone of sudden realization, he spoke strangely, “So what you really wanted to steal all along… was time.”

“Boom!”

A deafening thunderclap resounded outside the mountain god temple, lightning splitting through the sky, which had unknowingly been covered in heavy clouds.

Torrential rain poured down, the scent of damp earth gradually permeating the air.

Inside the main hall of the mountain god temple, the dim light grew even darker.

The two of them stared at each other. Shen Wenxu was the first to laugh.

Through the rain, the chirping of birds echoed, and peach blossoms suddenly bloomed on the pear tree outside the temple.

Near the film crew’s base camp, Chi Qingzhou glanced back toward the village entrance and curved his eyes into a smile.

The crew members, clutching props, hurriedly ran for shelter under nearby eaves, relieved.

Luckily, Teacher Chi had insisted on returning to the camp—otherwise, if the props had been soaked, they would’ve been completely ruined!

Several cameramen clung to their precious equipment, looking as if they had just survived a disaster.

Not only did they huddle under the eaves, but they also ran around asking other crew members for rainproof covers, their urgent shouts brimming with a peculiar kind of energy.

Chi Qingzhou followed along at an unhurried pace, looking in no rush at all.

Fang Mingge didn’t understand why he had insisted on returning to camp. After hesitating for a few seconds, he called out softly, “Teacher Chi.”

Chi Qingzhou turned his head with a smile. “What’s the matter?”

Fang Mingge asked, “Teacher Chi, the weather was fine just now, but it suddenly started raining… Did you know this would happen?”

Chi Qingzhou blinked and replied, “I don’t know. Director Fang, I’m human, not a god, and I’m not skilled in divination or face reading. Don’t think too highly of me.”

Fang Mingge looked unconvinced.

Chi Qingzhou smiled without arguing, simply saying, “Don’t worry, Director Fang. There’s no danger here, and we still have plenty of time.”

His “new friend” was certainly busy right now and wouldn’t have the time to bother them.

Fang Mingge was briefly stunned before instinctively asking, “What did you do, Teacher Chi?”

Chi Qingzhou said, “I didn’t do anything. You shouldn’t be asking me.”

Fang Mingge: “…” Why did it suddenly feel like Chi Qingzhou wasn’t speaking human language anymore?

Chi Qingzhou’s smile remained unchanged, showing no particular reaction.

In truth, he was still processing certain memories.

Last night, he had roughly sorted through his recollections, leaving many details unchecked. But just now, on the way back to camp, some memories naturally resurfaced.

The most important one was about Xing Shuangzhan’s disappearance four years ago.

At the time, Chi Qingzhou had just turned eighteen when Xing Shuangzhan suddenly vanished. He had spent great effort to uncover the real reason for his departure.

It was simple yet strange.

Several dragon veins near Jingming Mountain had shown signs of disturbance, triggering reactions from the tomb formations.

As the true center of these formations, Xing Shuangzhan had to return to handle the situation.

There had been similar incidents before, and with his vast experience, Xing Shuangzhan had judged that it wouldn’t take long to resolve. So, he hadn’t specifically mentioned it to Chi Qingzhou before leaving.

But accidents happen precisely because they seem too ordinary, too routine.

Even skilled swimmers drown.

Xing Shuangzhan had thought this was just another minor disturbance, never expecting that the moment he returned to the Great Tomb, the tomb’s formations would immediately suppress him into a coffin, forcing him into slumber.

A thousand years ago, Xing Shuangzhan had entered the Great Tomb voluntarily with a few subordinates to handle a dragon vein disturbance.

His tomb was less a final resting place and more a grand suppression site.

The Great Tomb was filled with countless formations, each serving a different function. Many formations, when activated individually, were beneficial to Xing Shuangzhan, but the tomb’s primary purpose remained suppressing and neutralizing dragon vein anomalies.

So, once certain core formations were forcibly triggered, everything changed.

The formations inside the tomb would link together as a whole—first, to defend against any external shocks, and second, to siphon Xing Shuangzhan’s strength to forcibly suppress the disturbed dragon veins.

That ghost deity was truly a formidable figure.

Only after refining himself into a deity using incense offerings could he withstand the vast and razor-sharp power of a dragon vein.

Chi Qingzhou speculated that from the very beginning, the deity had never expected the incense-gathering path to free him from karmic retribution—but he had no choice but to walk it.

Only by first becoming a god could he meet the requirements for merging with a dragon vein. Once he fused with the dragon vein, he could then discard his karma-ridden divine body, using it as payment to settle his debts and appease the heavens’ judgment.

The dragon vein’s anomaly stemmed from his theft of its power, and that anomaly, in turn, drew back Xing Shuangzhan, who was bound to fulfill his duty—providing the deity with the means and conditions to suppress the dragon vein and force a merger.

As for how he had deceived and activated the formations in Jingming Mountain’s Great Tomb, Chi Qingzhou suspected it had something to do with himself.

In other words, it was because of the ritual at the age of ten and became entangled with Xing Shuangzhan that the ghost deity was able to exploit the Great Tomb in the first place.

His fate, along with the half of his soul filled with ghostly energy, was likely extremely similar to the ghost deity’s original state.

Using this similarity, the god temporarily deceived the formation that identified intruders in the Great Tomb, forcibly activating its most crucial core and beginning to extract Xing Shuangzhan’s power.

It succeeded, but very quickly, the formation—despite lacking consciousness—detected the errors within the Great Tomb.

The ghost deity had no time to fully stabilize its condition and was forced to leave as soon as possible.

The formations in the Great Tomb memorized this type of power. That was why, later on, when Chi Qingzhou forcibly took Xing Shuangzhan away from the tomb, he was rejected and attacked by the formation.

In the records of the formation, he was the one who had intruded twice—no, after rescuing Xing Shuangzhan’s body, it should be counted as three times—and forcibly disrupted the Great Tomb.

To the Great Tomb, Chi Qingzhou was the most dangerous existence in this world.

“Boom——!”

Another clap of thunder rumbled.

Chi Qingzhou raised his head and looked at the overcast sky, the smile on his lips growing even sweeter.

“I can’t help but feel that the ghost deity’s goal isn’t just this,” he murmured to himself.

“Back then, when Bei Shen tried summoning a god, why was it me?”

Was the idol Bei Shen worshiped really connected to him?

Or was it… just a tool the ghost deity used to divert karmic consequences?

Their fates were so similar. If they both ended up forcibly becoming gods as half-human, half-ghost beings, wouldn’t that make him the perfect vessel to bear the consequences?

“Good friends should help each other.” Chi Qingzhou chuckled softly. “But this kind of help… I haven’t acknowledged the ghost deity as a kind friend just yet.”

He had had many, many friends before.

All kinds, with all sorts of personalities.

Some were kind, some were not.

The kind ones were still his friends, but as for the unkind ones…

Where did they all go?

—

“Boom——!”

A blinding flash of lightning was followed by an even more deafening clap of thunder.

Shen Wenxu gripped the red-robed youth’s wrist, slowly forcing his fingers apart.

Amidst the light creaking of bones, Shen Wenxu laughed again.

“I don’t know your name,” he said, “but you’re truly gifted in Star Divination. Cheng Shang can’t compare to you at all.”

“You’ve planned everything too thoroughly, too meticulously—even Zhouzhou has fallen into your trap before.”

“That’s exactly why I hate people who walk the Star Divination path.”

The red-robed youth didn’t struggle against his grip. Instead, he looked at him with pity and sighed.

“Shen Wenxu, since you’re also Zhouzhou’s friend, I won’t hold this against you. But you… you really have persecution delusions, don’t you?”

Shen Wenxu let go of his hand and got up from the ground.

He didn’t care at all about the persistent pain in his ribs. He just grinned at the red-robed youth.

“Whether I have persecution delusions or not, what does that have to do with you?” He tilted his head. “Why don’t you take a guess—if I hate you so much, why am I still standing here talking to you?”

The red-robed youth hesitated for a moment, his brows furrowing slightly.

Shen Wenxu was still smiling. “You know the saying ‘a villain dies from talking too much’?” He squinted. “You don’t seem like the talkative type. But that’s okay—if you don’t talk much, I can do the talking instead, right?”

His tone was filled with an even stronger sense of pity and disdain than the red-robed youth’s.

The red-robed youth’s expression darkened instantly.

He glared at Shen Wenxu, a murderous glint appearing in his eyes.

“Ha! Hahaha!”

Shen Wenxu burst into wild laughter.

“Oh, judging by your face, could it be that Zhouzhou was right? How interesting, this is really too interesting.”

He looked at the red-robed youth with an odd expression and enunciated each word clearly.

“I’m really curious about one thing—have you never read web novels? Or watched movies and dramas? Do you even know there’s a genre called ‘spiritual energy revival’?”

The red-robed youth glared at him, annoyed, but didn’t answer.

“Guess not,” Shen Wenxu nodded, feigning understanding. “I get it, I get it. An old relic like you—how could you possibly keep up with the times? You’ve lived for so many years, your mind must have already solidified.”

“Isn’t that right, you old fossil?”

“You—!”

The red-robed youth froze for a second, his eyes widening in shock. He stared at Shen Wenxu for a few seconds in disbelief before his face suddenly turned red with fury.

Shen Wenxu raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms, and smirked in utter mockery.

The red-robed youth’s face twisted, a mix of anger and embarrassment flashing across it. His gaze darkened, and he lifted his hand, ready to attack.

“Boom!”

Thunder roared outside the Mountain God Temple, and in an instant, the entire structure trembled.

The bone pagoda behind the main hall shook violently, cracks spreading across its walls.

Thick, resentful energy surged out along with the chilling yin aura, rushing madly toward the dragon vein beneath them.

The red-robed youth froze in place.

Amidst Shen Wenxu’s manic laughter, he slowly turned his head and looked at Qing Zhi, who was sprawled motionless on the floor.

At some point, Qing Zhi had stopped breathing.

His chest no longer rose and fell, and his already weak heartbeat had completely disappeared.

In his desperation to survive, he had struggled violently, causing many of his wounds to reopen. In the end, fresh blood spread across the floor, silently filling the remaining gaps in the formation.

The torrential rain drowned out too many details, preventing the red-robed youth from realizing something was wrong right away.

Guided by blood, Shen Wenxu’s formation had already taken effect.

The red-robed youth stared at the formation on the ground, his face darkening with fury.

“Chi Qingzhou, Shen Wenxu—you two are completely insane!”