Ch 93: The Cannon Fodder Won’t Play Along Anymore [QT]

“Not right.” Mu Xing’s senses were razor sharp.

He could feel it—besides the two men and the ghosts in front of him, there were still other gazes, peering through something, falling directly on him.

His eyes swept around, finally landing on Xiang Feicheng’s.

Xiang stared in shock as the dreamlike youth drew near, raising his hand—

Xiang could see that slender, cold-white arm like carved jade sliding from his sleeve, and even caught a faint, chilly fragrance at the tip of his nose.

Then, his vision flickered.

The icy aura still lingered around him, but the grotesque ghosts had vanished.

Xiang snapped out of the eerie dream, shuddered violently, and stared in terror at the boy before him.

His equipment—the one that let him see spirits—had stopped working.

But he could still see the youth before him. The ornate courtyard, the flowers releasing their fragrance beneath his feet—everything was so real.

Meanwhile, in the livestream chat, chaos erupted:

【What just happened? Why did the screen go black?】
【Help! I just saw that pretty boy brush his fingers across my eyes, then everything went dark!】
【Is the streamer in danger?】
【Who… who is that? Is he even a ghost?】
【I’ve already reported this to the Interstellar Enforcement Bureau.】
【You’re crazy! This site isn’t even legal.】
【Yeah, you want your account deleted, don’t drag us with you.】
【Is your account more important than a human life? The streamer’s fate is unknown—I reported it to the Net too.】

…

Xiang knew nothing of the quarrel in his chat. He was being questioned closely by Mu Xing.

What was this place? Why was he here? How could he see ghosts?

When Mu Xing admitted in front of them that he himself was a ghost, Xiang still managed to stay composed, but his young assistant was so terrified he nearly wet himself.

Ordinary spirits, however horrifying, existed in a different dimension from humans. They couldn’t touch anyone, so in the end they were like odd holograms to watch.

But this boy—he was real. Not only visible, but tangible. He could touch them, and he could hurt them.

That was terrifying.

Xiang didn’t know what this strange youth was, but he didn’t seem hostile. And Xiang, being easygoing and pragmatic, answered all his questions honestly.

After listening, Mu Xing’s eyes widened in disbelief. “So, you’re a ‘streamer’—you broadcast seeing ghosts. And your fans… they enjoy watching spirits of the dead in their various forms, taking pleasure in such horror?”

Xiang nodded.

Mu Xing frowned, unsettled. “And doing this… you don’t think it offends the dead?”

Xiang paused, then reflexively said, “The dead are just gone. These spirits are only remnants of magnetic fields left behind when someone dies. They know nothing—why would they care?”

Mu Xing pressed, “Forget others—what if among these spirits were your parents, your closest kin? And others used their souls as entertainment, as tricks for amusement. You wouldn’t mind?”

Xiang wanted to say it would never happen, but facing Mu Xing’s cool gaze, he could only shake his head honestly.

Mu Xing gave a cold laugh. “So you cannot accept such a fate for your own loved ones, yet you make fun of others’ as entertainment. And all this high technology, used for that—truly eye-opening.”

He turned to look at the garden full of spirits.

From what Xiang had said, Mu Xing understood: in this world, those who died with strong regrets left behind spirits.

And who had the strongest regrets?

Those struck by sudden misfortune, those who died unwilling.

He had experienced reincarnation himself, had walked the path of cultivation. Now, seeing these spirits—most had died unwillingly, unable to move on, trapped in this world, reliving the agony of their death.

And yet their suffering was being used for human amusement.

If only these spirits could be freed from their torment, he thought.

The thought alone stirred power. White light began to emerge from the ghosts’ bodies.

Blood, terror, and pain—all were stripped away, and they slowly returned to the forms they had in life.

Xiang realized that even without his equipment, he could now see the spirits clearly.

He held his breath, stunned along with his assistant, as they watched this miracle unfold.

Some spirits were still wrapped in glowing motes, while others had already transformed back into their human appearances.

“Thank you, my lord! Thank you!”

“I am finally freed!”

Many spirits wept with joy, though the dead had no tears to shed—only endless words of gratitude to Mu Xing.

Mu Xing too was dumbfounded. Seeing them kneel, he quickly stepped aside, waving his hands. “Don’t thank me, I didn’t do anything.”

A graceful woman in palace robes said softly, “My lord need not be humble—it was you who gave us release.”

Xiang didn’t recognize her, but her clothing looked familiar—she was the very same female ghost that had been hanging from the tree.

So, that terrifying specter… had once been such a beautiful, elegant woman?

He couldn’t help but look at Mu Xing again. What was this youth? The spirits, after seeing him, had all regained their living appearances?

Even as confusion lingered, excitement surged through him: this had never happened before! If he could be the first to broadcast this, imagine the traffic it would bring!

If this youth’s methods could be studied, the nation’s research in this field would surely make tremendous progress.

And if, after death, people could remain clear-headed like this—wouldn’t that be no different from not dying at all? Could humanity gain another form of immortality?

Thoughts raced chaotically in his mind—until a cold hand touched the back of his neck.

Beside his ear came a giggle: “Let me see. This young man’s skin is so fine and tender… he must taste delicious, right?”

As she spoke, something cold and slimy brushed across his neck.

Goosebumps instantly covered Xiang Feicheng’s body, and he shivered violently, stumbling forward a few steps, staring in terror at the beautiful woman before him.

That touch… he had clearly seen this ghost before—the hanging ghost, with that long, lolling tongue.

The thought of it alone nearly made him faint.

He stammered out, “You… you… we have no grudges between us, please don’t joke with me.”

“No grudges?” the ghost said bitterly, her voice cold. “When I was choking, suffering, you crouched in front of me, swaying back and forth. By your words, you were… what do you call it, livestreaming my misery for others to watch? Weren’t you proud?”

Xiang gasped in horror. “You knew? You were conscious?”

“Of course.” The ghost rolled her eyes.

She understood everything that had happened around her. But her soul had been shackled, forced to endlessly relive the moment of her death, unable to escape, unable to respond to the living.

She couldn’t touch anyone.

But here in this courtyard, she was freed—released from endless pain, able to control herself freely, even reveal her form before the living.

For a moment, Xiang forgot even to be afraid.

He thought back to the countless ghosts he had seen these past two years. He had always regarded them as nothing more than moving images, never knowing they had awareness. Their twisted appearances were because they were trapped in perpetual death-agony.

Guilt showed on his face.

The ghost glanced at him a few times, but said nothing more.

Mu Xing was about to speak, when suddenly he lifted his head and asked Xiang: “What did you do?”

Xiang blinked. “What…”

Before he could finish, a searing white light illuminated the entire world.

Xiang looked up. Several warships hovered overhead, a commanding voice calling: “Xiang Feicheng! Xiang Feicheng! Respond if you hear this.”

Xiang instinctively looked at Mu Xing.

Mu Xing said nothing.

Relieved, Xiang shouted loudly: “I’m here!”

*

On the main holoscreen aboard the Blue Star Enforcement flagship, the courtyard below was displayed in perfect clarity. The figures within—including Mu Xing and hundreds of spirits—were shown plainly before them.

On the holoscreen, aside from Xiang and his assistant, everyone else glowed with a faint red aura.

They weren’t human. They were spirits.

And yet… they looked so much like humans.

One enforcer drew a sharp breath. “What… what is going on?”

The captain stayed calm. “Report immediately to higher command. Also, these spirits don’t appear hostile. Our first priority is to rescue the two trapped men below.”

As the enforcement ship descended slowly, Mu Xing suddenly turned to Xiang. “Go.”

Xiang: ?

His heart leapt with hope and fear. Carefully he asked, “I can leave?”

Mu Xing smiled. “You always could.”

He bore no grudge against this man—why would he keep him?

As for Xiang’s misdeeds, whether intentional or not, whoever was wronged would come to settle it with him eventually.

Xiang and his assistant spun on their heels and bolted, but after only a few steps, the world went dark.

The white light overhead remained, but the magnificent dreamscape around them receded like the tide, color draining away bit by bit.

The ornate carvings, rare flowers, the garden full of spirits, and the mysterious youth—vanished in an instant.

All that remained was a crumbling old mansion, gravel crunching underfoot, weeds pushing through the cracks.

Xiang couldn’t help but look back, dazed. Had it all been real—or just a dream he had conjured?

Suddenly, a stabbing pain flared in his arm.

Xiang hissed and turned angrily to his assistant. “What are you doing?”

The assistant looked sheepish. “Brother Xiang, did that hurt?”

Xiang snapped, “If I slap you, you’ll know if it hurts!”

The assistant mumbled dazedly, “Then… it really wasn’t a dream.”

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