“Groom, this is the exit. You may leave on your own,” Wang Nima said.

Exit?

Zhong Cheng stared at the wall before him, utterly bewildered. *This* was the exit? Wasn’t it a dead end?

He turned back, studying Wang Nima’s face carefully—trying to read if it was messing with him.

Pale round face. Bulging, unfocused eyes. A smirk caught between smile and sneer. Honestly? He couldn’t decipher a ghost’s expression to save his life.

After a brief pause, Zhong Cheng decided to try. He stepped forward, reached out—and his hand passed through empty air. Off-balance, he stumbled two steps, nearly falling.

Regaining composure, he realized half his body was already *inside* the wall. Yet felt nothing.

He stepped back. Walked through again. Still smooth.

The wall was fake! Unbelievably realistic—even the latest holographic tech couldn’t match it.

Damn!

Good thing Wang Nima guided him. Otherwise, Zhong Cheng would’ve never found the exit in his lifetime.

Who’d think a wall could be the exit?

He caught Wang Nima’s glance—like watching a country bumpkin, clueless and overreacting.

*You’re* the bumpkin.

Zhong Cheng cleared his throat lightly. “I’m leaving. Don’t disturb the Ghost Emperor’s rest. Last night was an eight-hundred-round battle—we tried every position. She’s exhausted. Needs rest. Understood?”

“Understood,” Wang Nima replied earnestly.

Zhong Cheng gave a slight nod of approval, turned, and strode confidently into the wall.

Ripples spread across the surface as his body passed through—until he vanished completely.

When the blur cleared, Zhong Cheng stood outside.

Relief.

No gloomy netherworld scenery. No eerie green flames. Just the sunlit, ordinary world of the living.

Bright daylight flooded his eyes. He squinted, momentarily blinded.

Vision adjusted after a few seconds.

He was inside the Ancient Shrine—crumbling, dusty, the air thick with decay.

On a massive stone altar sat two portraits.

Sure enough, the groom’s portrait—supposedly burned—had returned.

He wasn’t even surprised anymore.

Zhong Cheng glanced back. The wall’s ripples had stilled.

Yesterday, searching for the entrance, he’d touched this very wall. Back then, solid. Normal.

Never imagined the entrance was right here.

He reached out again—*thud*. Solid. Blocked.

Utter disappointment.

Like a rookie fumbling for the hole. Seriously awkward. Partner would totally judge him.

[Groom, if you wish to enter, simply speak to the wall. A ghost will open the door for you.]

Wang Nima’s voice echoed suddenly.

Damn.

It hadn’t left. Could still see him. He saw nothing.

Like standing before a two-way mirror—being watched unseen. Deeply unsettling.

“No need,” Zhong Cheng said firmly.

This place? No longer safe. Time to scram!

He spun around and marched out of the Ancient Shrine.

Even past the threshold, he didn’t slow. Pace quickened—then broke into a full sprint. Hundred-meter dash speed.

Racing full-tilt toward the ancestral home.

When he stopped, he stood panting at the gate, hands on knees, drenched in sweat.

Two kilometers. Before, he’d be tired—but not *this* wrecked.

Yang energy drained by the Ghost Emperor. Not recovered. Stamina shot.

That middle-aged, utterly drained feeling.

Inside the ancestral home, he nearly bumped into his grandfather stepping out.

“Where’ve you been so early?” Grandfather asked, surprised.

“Grandpa, urgent matter—I must leave now. Take care of yourself and Grandma. Call if anything happens. And stop visiting the Ancient Shrine—it’s thick with yin energy!”

Hearing Zhong Cheng’s solemn, almost farewell tone, Grandfather frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Zhong Cheng didn’t answer. Already hurrying toward his room.

Grandfather glanced back—froze. Those slippers on his grandson’s feet? Double-happiness slippers!

They didn’t own such slippers.

Where did his obedient grandson get them? Combined with the warning about the shrine…

Could it be…?

Heh. Overthinking. Superstitious, yes—but not senile. Legends aren’t real.

Praying was just for peace of mind.

Unless he saw it himself? He wouldn’t believe it.

Zhong Cheng entered his room.

Everything normal. As if last night never happened. No ghosts.

Phone still plugged in. Fully charged.

Perfect. Phone charged = world conquered.

He sat on the bed, peeled off the effeminate double-happiness slippers, swapped in sneakers, hastily packed his backpack, and left.

Broad daylight. Sun blazing. Ghosts couldn’t roam. His only chance to escape the mountains.

Now or never.

He couldn’t endure this hell another second.

“Grandpa! The charger in my room belongs to Tie Niu—return it later. And burn those double-happiness slippers. Goodbye!”

Meticulously tying up loose ends… Wait. *Afterlife* affairs?

Ah. Virgo nature. Thorough to a fault.

No lingering. He ran toward the village entrance.

Villagers greeted him—ignored.

A naughty kid lunged for his phone—too slow.

Moments later.

Zhong Cheng had cleared Bao Hua Village, descending the rugged mountain path.

Steep. Slippery. Must tread carefully. Tumble down? Disastrous.

Dying not by Ghost Emperor’s hand—but a mountain fall? Absurd.

Even a silly web drama wouldn’t script that.

Safety first—that’s the golden rule.

Conveniently, he was too winded to run. Walked slowly.

Far from the Ancient Shrine now. Sun high. Zhong Cheng felt safer.

Never appreciated sunlight like this before.

Used to complain about the heat. Never valued it.

Today? He vowed to cherish this hard-won light.

Sunlight fuels life through photosynthesis.

Sunlight banishes darkness, brings hope, fights gloom.

Sunlight is justice—keeping foul things at bay by day.

Everyone: Praise the Sun!

He could do it.

He *would* escape.

This was just a false alarm.

Zhong Cheng glanced back toward the Ancient Shrine—and flipped the bird.

Ghost Emperor probably still asleep. By the time she noticed? Too late.

With a casual wave, leaving no trace, he turned and walked on—his path in the world of the living.

Rustle… rustle…

A sound stirred the surroundings.

At first, he ignored it. Wind in leaves? Normal.

But the rustling grew louder—like a gale.

No wind. Treetops still. Where from?

“This sound… familiar. Could it be—”

A chill shot through him. He dared not finish the thought.

Quickened his pace down the mountain.