Chapter 232: The Evil Qilin’s Ending

Something astonishing happened.

The Evil Qilin’s soul did not float up to the sky, nor did it journey to Hell. Instead, it slowly drifted down, landing in the Eight-foot Bride’s arms.

She cradled the small, transparent soul with utmost care, as if holding a fragile treasure, her face filled with heartache.

The soul glowed faintly in her palm, flickering on and off like a lamp about to be extinguished at any moment.

Jiang Chaosheng was somewhat surprised.

She had spent so long inside the Celestial King Demon-Suppressing Umbrella that she had been imbued with its power, gaining the ability to sever a mortal soul’s path to the Underworld.

The Eight-foot Bride turned around. Cradling the Evil Qilin’s soul as if it were a child, she knelt before Jiang Chaosheng.

Her shoulders trembled violently.

“Sir, please spare him!”

Her voice was mournful and desperate.

Jiang Chaosheng narrowed his eyes menacingly.

He did not like the Evil Qilin.

He had witnessed the Evil Qilin’s methods firsthand.

From Prince Heng to the Black God, from the Black God to Dream Island, it was one scheme after another, a constant barrage of deadly plots.

With the exception of the Sea Train incident, nearly every crisis he had faced was brought about by the Evil Qilin.

‘His abilities were indeed formidable.’

Jiang Chaosheng had even considered recruiting him into the Taboo Association.

‘But this person would not be so easy to control.’

‘Even if I bound him with the rules of Antique Shop Zero, it might not yield a satisfactory result.’

‘Because the Evil Qilin had his own conviction.’

Ultimate bliss for all under heaven.

He was a true Pursuer of the Dao.

The Eight-foot Bride looked up, her face streaked with tears, and spoke incoherently.

“Sir, my husband is already dead. His physical body is gone. He can no longer meddle in the affairs of the Human World. He won’t even have his wits about him. He can only exist as a muddled Ghost between heaven and earth…”

She paused, her voice dropping to a low tone that was both a plea and a prayer.

“I’m begging you, please let him go!”

Clutching the Evil Qilin’s soul, she kowtowed repeatedly.

Before her tears could even stream down her cheeks, they floated up, transforming into wisps of Yin Qi that dissipated into the rain.

Jiang Chaosheng remained silent.

The Evil Qilin’s Ghost Soul floated dumbly in her arms like a mindless marionette, its gaze vacant and expression numb.

‘Indeed, if I’m not just venting my personal anger, there’s no need to obliterate the Evil Qilin’s soul entirely.’

‘This little rat can’t cause any more trouble. It’s uncertain if he can even regain consciousness.’

However—

Jiang Chaosheng looked down, staring at the Eight-foot Bride.

His gaze was as cold as two daggers stabbing down from above.

The Eight-foot Bride felt that murderous gaze and trembled. Slowly, she raised her head.

She understood.

Mr. Dusk didn’t trust her.

He didn’t trust that she wouldn’t seek revenge, nor that she didn’t have a way to revive the Evil Qilin.

‘In truth… I really won’t seek revenge. I don’t have the power to do so, either.’

‘Besides, resurrecting the dead is completely impossible.’

‘Even the legendary Netherworld Water can only turn someone who isn’t fully dead into a living corpse.’

The Eight-foot Bride gave a desolate smile, her voice as faint as a wisp of smoke.

“Sir, I beg you not to kill me. It’s not that I, Li’Er, am reluctant to part with this life. It’s just that my husband’s soul and mine are already intertwined. If my soul is scattered, my husband’s life cannot be saved either.”

She suddenly remembered something and looked up to ask cautiously,

“That Sister Bai Hu from last time… is she doing well now?”

Jiang Chaosheng’s pupils contracted.

He was a man who found empathy difficult, yet he cherished emotional bonds.

Although he couldn’t grasp what Daji’s love for him truly felt like, he found himself treasuring her more and more.

This Fierce Ghost named Li’Er was somewhat similar to Daji.

‘But trying to use Daji to make him sympathize with her plight?’

‘That’s not very likely.’

When she received no response, the Eight-foot Bride continued on her own.

“I am a Tree Spirit, and Sister Bai Hu is a Demon Soul. If we forcibly enter a dream, we are bound to suffer some damage. The dreamscape my husband created on Dream Island that day was far more terrifying than a mortal’s dream… That’s precisely why I didn’t dare enter the dream to aid him.”

Jiang Chaosheng frowned.

Ever since the Dream Island incident, Daji hadn’t been in good condition.

‘It seems… she really did suffer severe damage.’

The Eight-foot Bride seemed to have made up her mind.

She slowly raised her hand and removed her red bridal veil.

“I’ve heard that you are fond of making deals, Sir. Can Li’Er purchase a life?”

A delicate, pretty face with the makeup of a Han dynasty bride was revealed.

Her willow-leaf eyebrows were like smoke, her lips like cherry blossoms, and the floral marking between her brows glowed faintly in the rain.

But the moment she removed the red veil, the color of her bright red wedding dress faded considerably.

Her entire body grew transparent, as if she would shatter with a gust of wind.

The Eight-foot Bride looked extremely weak, and her voice was much fainter.

“This red bridal veil was formed from the lingering obsession of Chen Ajiao before her death.”

Jiang Chaosheng knew the Eight-foot Bride’s origins.

In his later years, Emperor Wu of Han carried out a great purge over matters of witchcraft.

Empress Chen of Emperor Xiaowu was implicated. Unreconciled to her fate, she hanged herself from a pear tree in Changmen Palace.

The Celestial King Demon-Suppressing Umbrella was made from that very pear tree, and the Eight-foot Bride was its spirit.

“It was because I was moved by that obsession that I developed emotions, separated from the pear tree, and became a ‘spirit’.”

The Eight-foot Bride looked down at the red veil in her hand, her fingertips gently tracing the patterns on it.

“Over the thousands of years this red veil has accompanied me, it has long since become my essence.”

She looked up at Jiang Chaosheng, her eyes full of pleading.

“Sir, you can take it. For one, it can save Sister Bai Hu and even greatly advance her Cultivation. It can also… also be considered atonement for my husband’s wrongdoings. And for two…” Her voice trembled slightly.

“You can rest assured, Sir. From this day forward, I am just an ordinary Ghost, and I must expend a huge amount of energy to sustain my husband’s soul. Who knows when my husband and I might be scattered by the wind or melted by the sun.”

Jiang Chaosheng was slightly moved.

The rain continued to fall, landing between them, landing on the red veil.

He reached out and took the red veil.

“The transaction is complete.”

Jiang Chaosheng did indeed want this red veil.

‘Kill a ghost and take its things?’

Jiang Chaosheng couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Under these circumstances, he couldn’t kill a female ghost so full of deep love just to snatch her red veil.

‘Doing that… would be too despicable.’

Besides, the Evil Qilin and the Eight-foot Bride were already crippled.

‘Actually…’ Jiang Chaosheng thought, ‘it’s a good thing the Evil Qilin didn’t go to Hell.’

‘Who’s to say that if the Evil Qilin ended up in Hell, he wouldn’t be appreciated by Satan?’

‘Mm… next time I kill someone, I mustn’t forget to bring the Soul-Sealing Demon Jar.’

‘I’ll either shred the soul directly with the Scythe of Death, or I’ll put it in the Soul-Sealing Demon Jar as a monthly offering for the Taboo Sculpture.’

The Eight-foot Bride was ecstatic, bowing and kowtowing repeatedly.

“Thank you for your mercy, Sir! Thank you for your mercy!”

The Eight-foot Bride knew that Mr. Dusk could have easily killed her and forcibly taken the red veil.

Jiang Chaosheng said no more.

His figure floated into the air and vanished deep within the dark clouds.

The umbrella, the throne—both disappeared with him behind the clouds.

All that remained was a messy scene of rainwater and mud.

…

The Eight-foot Bride stared at the sky, watching the dark clouds recede further and further away. Suddenly, fear appeared on her pale, pretty face.

‘If the dark clouds leave, the sun will come out.’

‘Before, I was protected by my Yin Qi, but now…’

Her formidable Yin Qi had been taken away by Mr. Dusk.

The terrifying sunlight could take both her life and her husband’s.

“Amitabha Buddha.”

A Buddhist chant rang out from behind her, ancient and steady.

The Eight-foot Bride quickly turned to look.

From beneath a distant earthen slope, an old monk emerged.

He had white eyebrows and a white beard and looked to be of venerable prestige, though he wasn’t looking his best at the moment.

Bits of grass clung to his beard, his kasaya was covered in dust, and a dry leaf was stuck to his sleeve, as if he had just crawled out of a hole in the ground.

The old monk gazed at the sky, his face filled with shock and lingering fear.

He stood there for a while before slowly retracting his gaze and murmuring to himself,

“I was worried about that young master, so I followed him and hid over there… I never imagined something so bizarre could exist in this world.”

He paused, as if confirming something with himself.

“I just don’t know, if there are immortals and gods in the world, then does that mean the Buddha truly exists as well?”

The Eight-foot Bride had no idea what to do. Upon seeing the old monk, she felt as if she had grasped a life-saving straw, and her voice was choked with sobs.

“Master, save me!”

The old monk looked at the Eight-foot Bride and the Evil Qilin’s soul in her arms, his face full of emotion.

“This old monk is truly fortunate to have been able to witness figures such as you, Patron, and that young master in my lifetime.”

He took a deep breath, his gaze becoming resolute.

“Do not panic, Patron. This old monk will think of something!”

He looked around, and his gaze fell upon a peach tree.

The peach tree wasn’t large. It was in full bloom, its pinkish-white blossoms swaying gently in the rain.

“According to the ancient texts, peach trees belong to Yin.”

The old monk pointed at the peach tree and spoke quickly,

“Patron, why not try to enter the peach tree to take shelter from the sun?”

The Eight-foot Bride didn’t know if this would work, but at this point, it was a desperate measure she had to try.

She grit her teeth, and clutching the Evil Qilin’s soul, transformed into a streak of red light and shot into the peach tree.

The branches of the peach tree trembled violently, and petals rained down.

The old monk looked at the dissipating rain clouds, then back at the peach tree.

His heart filled with compassion, and fearing that the ancient texts might be unreliable, he took off his kasaya, stood on his tiptoes, and did his best to shield the peach tree from the sun.

The sun came out.

Sunlight pierced through the clouds and spilled onto the hillside, making the rain-drenched grass and trees glitter.

The kasaya wasn’t large enough to cover the whole tree, so the old monk stood in front of it, holding the robe up and using his own body to block the harshest rays.

He stared at the peach tree anxiously. After a moment, he asked tentatively,

“Patron, are you still there?”

No sound came from within the peach tree, but its branches trembled lightly, as if in response.

The old monk felt relieved. He let out a long sigh, a gratified smile appearing on his face.

“This old monk will go find someone to move this peach tree into Anshan Temple.”

He put away his kasaya, draping it back over his shoulders, his voice gentle but firm.

“I hope the incense and worship within the temple will make you and the young master a little more comfortable.”