Ch 94: The Cannon Fodder Won’t Play Along Anymore [QT]

Xiang Feicheng’s livestream, due to the abnormal incident, completely exposed the entire Spirit net. The site was shut down, all videos forcibly deleted, accounts suspended, and some streamers who had gone too far were even at risk of being sent to mining planets for “reform.”

The net was filled with complaints.

But more people… weren’t paying attention to that at all.

The half-protected zone that no one had cared about before was now sealed off under heavy guard, with large numbers of experts traveling by interstellar express to this remote corner.

As for Xiang Feicheng, he had long since “volunteered” to sit in the Enforcement Bureau’s district office, repeating the events of that night dozens of times.

The surviving video on the spirit net cut off abruptly right after Mu Xing appeared; nothing afterward had been recorded. But even that fragment—the strange phenomena and Mu Xing’s appearance—was enough to cause a shockwave.

Who was that mysterious youth?

What exactly had happened in that strange scene?

After death, could spirits really remain fully lucid and rational?

Experts monitored the mansion day and night while combing through every record of its history, from the year it was built to each of its owners, trying to deduce the boy’s identity.

And indeed, they uncovered a lead.

A white-haired, bespectacled historian said: “The earliest record of this mansion dates back 2,100 years, to the Qi Dynasty. Prince Yu, the youngest son of emperor Qi, was renowned for his beauty and gentle nature. The emperor loved him dearly, sparing no expense to commission master craftsmen to build a peerless residence for him.”

“It’s said Prince Yu was both handsome and talented, skilled at the zither, his reputation unmatched in Qin’s capital.”

But fate is cruel: born frail, even with all the tender care of the royal household, he lived only to eighteen.

Eighteen years.

Ancient people were smaller than modern folk, and he was weak from birth—looking younger than his true age was no surprise.

He was the first and most famous owner of this mansion.

History is filled with brilliant figures, yet this youth, who hadn’t lived to adulthood and never had the chance to shine, still left behind a few rare records—already remarkable.

And nothing more.

From what records remain, the boy closely resembles that same Prince Yu.

But this was still only speculation.

Besides—after a person’s death, could a spirit truly exist for two thousand years? If that were true, who could still call death the end? Wouldn’t it instead be the beginning of immortality?

If—by any chance—the youth really was Prince Yu…

Then his value was beyond measure.

*

What was Mu Xing doing?

He was questioning the spirits.

He didn’t completely believe Xiang Feicheng, but through the ghosts, he pieced together a rough understanding of this world.

He asked them: “Why are you all here?”

The one Xiang had stepped on earlier was a delicate-faced servant boy in blue cloth garb, dressed like a household page.

He said, “I don’t know either. I was muddled, but felt a powerful pull here, so I followed my instincts.”

“A pull?”

The boy nodded. “Yes, I just liked the aura coming from this courtyard. It felt… comfortable.”

In life, he had been a servant in a scholarly household. Because he was clever and pleasing in appearance, he was promoted beyond his station to become the young master’s page.

He was ambitious, diligently studying alongside his master, hoping one day to win distinction in the exams, so his descendants would no longer live as slaves.

But the young master developed a liking for men, and when the family discovered it, the lady of the house assumed the page had seduced him. She ordered the boy buried alive.

Recalling his past, the boy’s eyes showed no ripple—after hundreds of years reliving the suffocating agony of being buried alive, the memory no longer terrified him.

Grateful, he looked at Mu Xing, his form growing transparent. He had been freed of his obsession.

“I must take my leave.” His voice was joyful, at peace. His body wavered, shedding specks of light.

“Where will you go?” Mu Xing asked without thinking.

The spirit’s fading form looked like utter dissolution.

“Anywhere is fine.” The boy’s face was serene. “I died long ago, I should have left long ago. Whether it’s reincarnation or vanishing into nothing—what difference does it make? My life as myself already ended.”

Bowing reverently to Mu Xing, he dissolved into light and was gone.

Next came the palace-dressed beauty. Once, she had been a favored consort, enjoying days of unrivaled glory.

“Back then, I was so splendid,” she said, eyes sparkling with pride. “Whenever His Majesty received fine tributes, whether from officials or foreign envoys, I chose first. I had a chest filled with treasures worth kingdoms.”

A modern man with glasses and dark eye bags asked curiously, “Then why did you choose to hang yourself?”

The ghost’s face dimmed, her sigh soft and melodic as a songbird: “Did you think I chose it? An emperor’s love is fickle. Though I was favored for years, I bore no child. No other concubine’s pregnancy lasted long. And then they accused me—said it was my hand that killed them.”

“Day and night he whispered sweet words to me. I thought I was the only one in his heart. Then he believed the so-called evidence, said he had misjudged me, said he was disheartened, and granted me this so-called ‘dignified’ death.”

The female ghost rolled her eyes. “Heh, I finally see through it—men, that’s just how they are.”

Then she realized something, quickly forced a coquettish smile at Mu Xing. “Of course, young master isn’t the same. You’re different from those filthy men.”

Mu Xing studied her. She was natural in bearing, and unlike the servant boy earlier, she hadn’t disappeared.

Every ghost in this courtyard had a story.

Mu Xing had guessed right: in this world, those who lingered as spirits after death were all people whose hearts held resentment at their end. That obsession condensed into a breath that bound their souls together, unwilling to scatter.

Indeed—he had already probed it—this world had no normal souls, and almost no spiritual energy to cultivate.

There was no reincarnation.

When a person died, they were gone. Nothing remained.

Those who survived thought of this “immortality,” but in truth it was only endless pain on repeat.

To be scattered completely—“soul gone, spirit dispersed”—was, in fact, a kind of release.

This woman hadn’t disappeared yet because she had let go somewhat, and with the protection of the mansion’s spirit, she could linger for a while. But sooner or later, her obsession would fade and she too would vanish.

And that “mansion’s spirit”—was himself.

The body he now occupied must also have belonged to someone with a story. After death, their obsession lingered, keeping them tied to this house. Somehow, by some chance, his soul had formed a strange bond with the mansion.

Now, he was not merely a ghost—he was the spirit of the ancient house.

That was why he could make the mansion bloom and wither in an instant, why within its walls he could shield other souls.

But he was still a spirit.

In this world without reincarnation, he too would one day fade.

As for when—that might depend on uncovering the obsession of this body.

*

The special department watching the mansion discovered something: the house had changed.

With the moon high overhead, right before their eyes, the ruined, desolate residence transformed into an ornate, magnificent estate.

Carved beams and painted rafters, gardens of mountains and streams—the splendor of a thousand years past revealed itself alive again.

The beautiful youth appeared once more, robed in solemn black, hair bound with a jade crown, his features exquisite.

His gaze landed precisely on a hidden corner, straight through the surveillance drones, locking eyes with the special agents: “If you wish to know something, why not come and ask me directly?”

“This…” The surveillance officer, faced with such a direct invitation, hesitated.

He couldn’t decide. He sent a communication straight up to his superior.

The superior was in discussion with a historian when the words came through. Before the officer in charge could even respond, the elderly scholar—hair white, dignified and refined—nearly leapt to his feet at the holo-projection:

“What are you waiting for? Go! Accept his invitation! Tell me when—I’ll set out immediately!”

The superior, cut off in a flood of excitement, didn’t get angry, but said hesitantly, “Master Yu, we don’t even know what this person is. His methods are strange and unpredictable. If we rush in, what about safety—”

“I’m already old, half a foot in the grave. A few years more or less makes no difference. But the chance to converse with someone who might be a figure from a thousand years ago—such a chance will never come again.” The old man, Master Yu, glared. “I don’t care. You accept for me, I’m coming now. Sign any waivers you like—life or death, any mishap, I take full responsibility.”

“…”

The old man moved quickly. In less than an hour, he arrived at the mansion gates with a large entourage.

Polite, he stood before the gate with a very earnest bearing. “Greetings, we’ve come as invited.”

The grand red-lacquered doors creaked open.

Everyone else tensed instantly, but Master Yu only gazed in wonder. “Look at that! Such vivid, pure colors preserved for over a millennium? And this wood… is it South Qiao jadewood? One tree worth a hundred gold pieces. Such extravagance! Truly extravagant!”

Mu Xing: “…”

He could only watch as the old man strode in first, exclaiming at every detail he saw, lecturing his companions with scholarly commentary.

Anyone who didn’t know better would think he was simply touring a historical site.

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