Ch 103: The Cannon Fodder Won’t Play Along Anymore [QT]

Xiang Feicheng bolted out of the old manor in a panic.

It was still broad daylight; the manor sat quiet and empty. But compared to the barren state of his first visit, it was clear the place had been carefully tidied up—obviously the work of the research institute.

After all, several “living relics” resided here now. Even if Mu Xing and the others didn’t care, the staff certainly had to keep things clean.

Before Xiang Feicheng could enter, guards stopped him. This was a heavily protected zone now, not just anyone could walk in.

Still, his face was known. Seeing his pale, frantic state, the guard asked his business.

Having gone sleepless through the night, dark circles under his eyes, Xiang Feicheng blurted out, “I’m here to beg the young master to save me!”

The guard shook his head firmly: “The young master doesn’t see anyone during the day.”

No visitors in daylight—so he’d have to wait until night?

Remembering what he’d seen the night before, Xiang Feicheng shivered violently.

“I really do have something urgent,” he pleaded.

The guard remained unmoved. “Spirits dislike the light. They rest during the day. You didn’t know that?”

Elder Yu had made it clear: everything here revolved around Mu Xing’s preferences.

So Xiang Feicheng raised his voice, shouting: “Young master, it’s Xiang Feicheng, I need to see you!”

The guard frowned, about to scold him—when the manor gates creaked open from within.

There was no one inside, and no wind; the door had opened by the master’s will.

Delighted, Xiang Feicheng cast a glance at the guard and hurried in.

The air inside was markedly colder, as though the sun above were fake, the whole place cloaked in chill shade.

The feeling made him think of the nightmare he’d had last night, and he shuddered again. Translated on Hololo novels.

Crossing the long-dry wooden bridge, he saw the palace concubine spirit with her fan.

She rolled her eyes at him. “Yelling out here? Don’t you know our young master needs rest in the day?”

Xiang Feicheng twitched at the sight of her but managed to ask, “Where’s the young master?”

“Asleep.”

He swallowed. “When will he wake? I have urgent business.”

“How would I know? When he’s had enough sleep, he’ll wake.”

“But I—”

“What about you?” she snapped, cutting him off. “I let you in only so you’d stop yelling outside and disturbing him. Quiet!”

But Xiang Feicheng being Xiang Feicheng, he couldn’t help but argue.

Before he could speak, the ghost calmly lifted her own head from her neck, cradled it in her hands, turned it slowly, and fixed him with those dark, glowing eyes.

“I can touch you now. Keep making noise, and I’ll let you experience what it feels like when your head comes off your body.”

Xiang Feicheng: !!

The nightmare returned in a rush. He shrank down like a quail, neither daring to speak nor look her way.

Only then was the ghost satisfied.

But out of his sight, her eyes grew pensive.

Spirits never tired.

Yet Mu Xing’s drowsiness had been plain, and even with all Xiang Feicheng’s racket, he hadn’t stirred.

There was only one explanation: the young master was close to leaving.

For a spirit, that was a blessing. Many in the manor had already faded away these past days.

The ghost looked at her own hands and sighed. She’d been happier these days than in life—freer, too. Hard not to feel reluctant.

She glanced at Xiang Feicheng. She knew exactly what he’d gone through last night.

And then she looked away, thinking: Serves you right.

—

From noon to moonrise, Xiang Feicheng waited.

Hungry and exhausted, yet remembering the horrors of last night, he couldn’t eat or sleep.

Not until deep into the night did Mu Xing stir, and the whole manor “woke” with him.

The ghost lifted her skirts joyfully. “The young master is awake.”

She didn’t spare Xiang Feicheng a glance. He had to force himself alert and follow.

He arrived to find Mu Xing eating—things other spirits had bought him from outside. Spirits didn’t feel hunger, but they could still taste.

“Young master—” Xiang Feicheng began anxiously.

“Shh,” Mu Xing hushed him.

Xiang Feicheng clamped his mouth shut on instinct.

One of the spirits, watching Mu Xing eat with doting eyes, glared at Xiang Feicheng. “Can’t you see he’s eating?”

Xiang Feicheng hunched his shoulders and dared not speak.

Then he realized how adored Mu Xing was here… by spirits.

They crowded around, bringing him treats and toys, pouring tea, chatting merrily.

It wasn’t fear or deference—it was the fondness of elders for a beloved child.

Sullenly, Xiang Feicheng thought: Even as the Xiang family’s only grandson of this generation, I’ve never been spoiled like this.

Finally, when Mu Xing finished eating, Xiang Feicheng seized the moment. “Young master, I—”

Mu Xing smiled at him, eyes narrowing playfully. “I know. You saw a ghost, didn’t you?”

Xiang Feicheng: ?

He stared blankly.

Mu Xing’s grin widened. “That’s what happened, right?”

As soon as the words left his lips, two thin trails of blood slowly slid from Xiang Feicheng’s eyes.

In that instant, the ornate courtyard turned a ghastly green. A sudden chill swept through, and the spirits who had been gathered around Mu Xing with doting faces revealed their true forms—grotesque and terrifying.

Countless pale faces fixed their hollow gazes on him.

Behind him, several blackened hands crept up at some point, clawing against his skin—

“Ahhh!”

Xiang Feicheng didn’t even dare turn his head. His eyes rolled back, and he fainted on the spot.

Mu Xing: “…”

The spirits: “…”

The courtyard shifted back to normal. Mu Xing clicked his tongue. “With courage like this, he dared to be a horror streamer?”

The ghostly consort snapped her fan open with a scoff. “He only dared because he thought spirits couldn’t touch him, that we couldn’t hurt him. In his eyes, we’re nothing but paintings or holograms—dead things. That’s why he wasn’t afraid. But now he’s discovered the figures in the ‘painting’ can move, can even come looking for him—how could he not be scared?”

She despised Xiang Feicheng.

When it came to reading men’s thoughts, no one was sharper than a former imperial consort. She had seen through Xiang Feicheng’s fleeting desire toward Mu Xing immediately.

Hmph. That cowardly, useless mutt of a man dares to covet the young master?

She stepped up to his prone body and nudged his face with her foot until he stirred awake.

Blinking groggily, Xiang Feicheng opened his eyes—only to see her ghastly visage inches away. He jerked like a fish out of water, earning another derisive laugh.

Terrified, he stared at the circle of hostile ghosts. His teeth chattered. “W-what do you want?”

Mu Xing gave him a gentle, almost affectionate smile. “Don’t be afraid. We mean no harm. It’s just—you seemed very interested in spirits during your streams. Since you’re so curious, we should of course oblige you, help you really, thoroughly understand us.”

Xiang Feicheng stumbled backward, stammering, “N-no need. Actually, I’ve realized I’m not that interested in spirits after all…”

He turned to flee.

But in this manor, where could he possibly run?

The doors slammed shut. Led by the ghostly consort, the spirits began closing in.

—

That night was… unforgettable, to say the least, for more than a few people.

Xiang Feicheng fell gravely ill afterward. When he finally woke, he looked emaciated, his entire demeanor altered. Word spread that he had become strangely “Buddhist,” suddenly devoting himself to studying ancient Buddhist and Daoist traditions. He couldn’t even bear to hear a single word about spirits.

Meanwhile, countless others took to the StarNet, weeping in repentance:

【I was wrong. I was so wrong. I shouldn’t have desecrated the dead, shouldn’t have chased cheap thrills or pried into the pain and suffering of the departed. I shouldn’t have laughed at their tragedies, judged their lives like entertainment…】

Onlookers were baffled—only then realizing just how many streamers and viewers had been using the misery of spirits as spectacle.

【I don’t know what happened to you people, but honestly, serves you right! Just imagine—if one of my family members died and some idiots treated them like content for jokes and comments—I’d be ready to kill.】

【Wait… thinking of recent events, could this have something to do with the young master?】

【I don’t know… but Mu Xing comes and goes freely, he’s a spirit with no physical body. Leaving such an unpredictable factor around us—are we sure it’s safe? Won’t he be a threat to ordinary people’s safety?】

【Ugh, just revolting. What a sick hobby. I hope you all meet the same misfortune after death!】

—

Not long after, Mu Xing appeared on stream again.

Viewers asked if the wave of public confessions and apologies on the net was his doing. Mu Xing only smiled mysteriously. “All I can say is—karma always comes full circle. Don’t casually trespass against the dead.”

He left it at that.

Afterward, his broadcasts returned to lighter, more cheerful content.

He would share everyday amusements from the Qi dynasty, or describe treasures he had once seen. Using a touch of spiritual power, he could conjure vivid illusions of them at his fingertips.

Viewers were stunned—witnessing the exquisite craftsmanship of artifacts from over two millennia ago, colors still vibrant, details flawless.

The more they saw, the more regret they felt, knowing such treasures had long since been lost to time.

For ordinary audiences, it was bittersweet. For Elder Yu, the historian, it was torment—seeing them, yet unable to truly study or preserve them.

Mu Xing’s streams even sparked a retro craze.

Games and fashions he mentioned became trendy; with ready-made reconstructions to copy, young people began dressing in Qi dynasty styles, filling the streets with ancient flair.

That, Mu Xing never would have expected.

But during his last broadcast, his face looked paler than ever.

Even the viewers noticed something was wrong:

【Why does he look so pale today? Is he unwell?】

【The lighting’s odd… it’s like he’s turning transparent.】

Mu Xing said softly, “Today, let me show you a performance. Once, my father and mother invited a shamaness from a southern tribe called Yawu to dance a blessing for me—to ask the gods for protection.”

As his words fell, a grand tableau slowly unfolded before everyone’s eyes.

Shamanesses clad in multicolored ritual garb, branches of fusang wood in hand, began a ceremonial dance, beseeching the gods to bless their young prince.

The resplendent palace hall, the ancient, mysterious drumbeats, the graceful, otherworldly movements of the dancers—together they seemed to draw the audience back into the vast and enigmatic dynasty of two thousand years ago.

Mu Xing’s figure was growing ever more transparent.

What a pity. He gazed at the breathtaking ritual dance.

It was only an image conjured from Prince Yu’s memories.

The Emperor of Qi had once paid dearly to invite shamanesses from the south to perform such a blessing for his youngest son’s seventeenth birthday.

But Prince Yu had never lived to see that birthday.

This dance—he had never witnessed it with his own eyes.

“Little Prince!” Qu Shao suddenly cried out, staring at Mu Xing in shock.

Before her, his body was fading to transparency, motes of light spilling gently from him.

“As I told you all before,” Mu Xing said softly, “a spirit lingers because of obsession. When the obsession fades, so too must the spirit.”

He smiled serenely at the countless viewers. “To be able to let go, to have seen this wondrous new age, and to have met all of you—Prince Yu is happy.”

“Goodbye, everyone.”

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