Chapter Forty-Eight: Returning Home
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"boom!"
Something had been smashed to the ground, and bright blood slid down his palm. The Taoist priest's nauseating voice rang in his ears.
Are you going to leave him?
He could hardly bear to listen any longer. Given all this, he was absolutely certain that Wen Zhuo's next choice would be to leave, and that would be the only option.
Wen Zhaoye's fingers trembled. He began to regret why he had let Wen Zhuo leave. He did have some health problems, but what did they have to do with Wen Zhuo? Why did he have to blame her like that?
His anger flared in his chest, cold sweat beaded on his pale face, and his cheeks flushed with rage. He stood up from the table, his fingers trembling as he gripped the corner. He had to find Wen Zhuo; he couldn't let her leave because of this. He would rather Wen Zhuo not love him, he would rather Wen Zhuo not want him. It couldn't be because of his forced departure.
He ripped off his headphones and threw them on the table, unwilling to listen to Wen Zhuo's answer. Why did she always choose a different answer?
He strode away, the wind he stirred up causing his clothes to sway from side to side, his fists clenched, his steps heavy on the ground.
***
"I already said I can't die anymore."
Frustrated, Wen Zhuo repeatedly declined his invitations. How could she dare to die? She had no memory of what he said back then, so how could she believe it? She pressed her finger to her brow, and a thought flashed through her mind. Could it be that Wen Zhaoye's unresolved issue lay here?
Wen Zhuo continued to inquire about Wen Zhaoye's physical condition: "Is he a human now? His obsessions can take form directly; only a ghost could do that, right?"
ghost?
ghost! !
Wen Zhaoye is at least half a ghost!
Wen Zhuo seemed to have been suddenly enlightened, and all the illogical points made sense: "No wonder normal people can't touch me, but Wen Zhaoye can. His gloomy ghostly appearance right now really is ghostly!"
The old Taoist priest sighed and stroked his non-existent beard: "Back then, Ono was determined to find you. You know he was born with a pair of yin-yang eyes. Ghosts love his blood and essence, but because of his yang energy, they can't get close to him. He tried many methods on his own, almost draining all his blood, but I don't know exactly what methods he used."
"In short, the yin energy eventually transformed his physique. Although he has the heart of a living person, he can also produce yin energy belonging to ghosts. As for how long he can live, I don't know."
Wen Zhuo's face darkened: "You didn't try to stop him?"
The old Taoist priest changed his serious expression and smiled at her with a wink: "Who can persuade him?"
He waved his wide sleeves, tossing a tattered book into her arms. He then dismissed Wen Zhuo, saying, "Since you don't want to die, then there's nothing more to it. Go now. Take a look through the book; everything you want is inside."
Wen Zhuo's figure disappeared instantly. He sighed again, walked to the bedside, picked up his phone, and unsurprisingly saw his stupid apprentice bombarding him with calls.
He slowly opened the chat software and replied to his message.
Xie Huai couldn't wait for his slow typing speed, and as soon as he saw the "typing" message appear above his head, he immediately made a phone call.
"Master, what are you saying?! Aren't you afraid of getting into trouble with Wen Zhaoye?!"
The old Taoist priest chuckled, hung up the phone, and added him to his blacklist.
This method was indeed found by Wen Zhaoye himself. After implementing it halfway, Wen Zhaoye was almost dead, so how could he continue? For his life, Xie Huai forcibly transferred his obsession to Wen Zhuo through another means. Only with obsession could she become a ghost, and only by losing this yin energy could Wen Zhaoye continue to live.
How can they be separated?
A short while later, a black man suddenly rushed in. He was tall and his white shirt was wrinkled, making him look rather disheveled. He scanned the room but did not find Wen Zhuo. His gaze then settled on the Taoist priest who was leaning against the bed playing on his phone.
He recalled the last conversation he overheard between them, his eyes widened instantly, and he rushed forward, his arm muscles taut and veins bulging beneath his shirt, slamming his fist into the bed next to the Taoist priest.
He was somewhat speechless, as if something was stuck in his throat, and his vision was blurry: "Where is Wen Zhuo?"
The Taoist priest didn't even look up: "I just left. You're too late."
"What?"
****
Wen Zhuo was slapped back by his sleeve, the scene around her blurred and stretched, and Wen Zhuo's vision went black again. When she opened her eyes again, she was already outside the familiar villa.
She stared at the book in her hands, sat down cross-legged, straightened her back, and read it carefully with the same rigorous attitude she would have towards a high school textbook.
She opened it and saw it was written in classical Chinese.
Wen Zhuo: "..."
Wait, wait, what are all these things?
She quickly took out her phone to check its meaning.
Under these difficult conditions, Wen Zhuo barely managed to figure out where her ritual with Wen Zhaoye had broken down and where things had gone wrong.
This ritual essentially bound their lives together. When Wen Zhaoye was about to place the formation on the two of them at the end, he for some reason did not continue. Wen Zhuo flipped through the book, recalling the scene at that time.
Wen Zhaoye only fed her his own blood as a means for her survival, but did not link their souls together through the formation.
Wen Zhuo took a few more glances at the patterns of the formation, trying his best to memorize them.
That works too. No matter where she is in the future, Wen Zhaoye will know that they will never be able to leave each other. A faint smile appeared on Wen Zhuo's lips, revealing the relaxation and ease of finally solving the problem.
Go home.
Wen Zhuo walked towards the villa, the cool moonlight bathing her, her black hair shimmering softly in the light, like a silver veil.
The iron gate outside the villa had been replaced long ago; it was so clean that not a speck of dust could be seen, and it gleamed with a metallic sheen in the light. Wen Zhuo noticed something was amiss; the gate was open.
A white figure swept across the courtyard and stopped at the villa entrance. Just as she was about to go inside, she was suddenly pulled back by something.
Wen Zhuo: "!!"
A hot body pressed down on her, a black-haired head brushing against her cheek before burying itself in the crook of her neck, and a familiar scent filled her nostrils.
It was Wen Zhaoye, and he had been drinking.
Wen Zhuoxin relaxed a lot, but her anger slowly rose from being startled. She snapped, "Brother! What were you doing hiding by the door? Were you doing this on purpose?"
Wen Zhaoye seemed not to hear her scolding, but simply held her tightly in his arms, his hands stroking her head and chest as if to confirm something.
He spoke rapidly in her ear, as if he were trapped in a terrible nightmare. He gently kissed her neck and pressed his palm hard against her heart. He was becoming increasingly panicked.
"Wen Zhuo, Wen Zhuo, why is your heart not beating?"
"You won't die, I won't let you die."
"If I can pull you back once, I can pull you back a second time."
"You won't leave me, you won't escape me."
It felt like liquid had dripped down and seeped into her collar, and Wen Zhuo froze.
"But brother, ghosts don't have heartbeats."
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