Mysterious Revival

Chapter 904 - 871: The Confrontation Between Old and New

Chen Qiaoyang paid the price of three ghosts to hold down Yang Jian.

At least, that's what he believed.

The Yang brat may be fierce, but with the Coffin Nail out of his hands and two ghosts suppressed, it was impossible for him to muster the strength to strike again. And even if he had other tricks up his sleeve, Chen still had one ghost left to use.

Moreover, if he could just hang on for a while longer and retrieve that Coffin Nail to release the pinned ghost, the tide of this battle would instantly turn in his favor.

The action had to be fast.

Because this place wasn't far from the ancient mansion, and the Wang Family's third generation was still nearby. If they got involved, he'd really be done for.

Just freed from trouble only to die immediately? If the old hands in the business heard of this, they'd laugh their heads off.

"Chen Qiaoyang..."

However, a strange yet familiar voice suddenly appeared behind him, as if someone he knew was calling him from nearby.

In the middle of his movement, Chen Qiaoyang momentarily froze.

The voice was too similar, eerily similar to his late wife's. After so many years, the memories were hazy, yet the sound stirred something deep within him, compelling him to turn and look.

This was a ghost's trick: Ghost Call.

The name called by a Ghost Call sounded different to everyone. To Chen Qiaoyang, it took on the voice of his deceased wife.

But to Yang Jian, it sounded like the eerie, childish voice of the Ghost Child.

At that moment.

The Ghost Child hidden inside the Ghost Domain revealed itself, targeting Chen Qiaoyang at this critical juncture and calling out his name.

Just as Chen paused and instinctively considered turning around, the corner of his eye caught a glimpse of something chilling: a cold corpse dressed in Republic of China Period garb, its eyes shut and expression peaceful, yet deeply unsettling.

This was his last remaining ghost.

The instant the ghost's presence entered his field of vision, it snapped Chen Qiaoyang back to his senses.

His face abruptly shifted: "No, this isn't right. It's not my wife calling me—it's a vengeful ghost. This is another one of Yang Jian's tricks. He's still controlling other supernatural powers..."

Awakened to reality, Chen Qiaoyang quickly reined himself in, halting the unconscious act of turning around.

Cold sweat streamed down his back; he dared not look behind him.

Experience told him that Ghost Call, once acknowledged by turning back, could well spell certain death. He would never make such a fatal mistake.

"Chen Qiaoyang, Chen Qiaoyang, Chen Qiaoyang..." Yet the Ghost Child's voice rang out repeatedly.

Every utterance evoked a poignant memory within Chen Qiaoyang, representing someone dearest and most familiar to him. Despite knowing full well that it was a spectral trick, his body betrayed him, yearning to glimpse behind, inching closer to losing itself, his control slipping.

"Damn it, shut up."

Chen Qiaoyang forced himself to resist. Blood continued seeping from his wrist, thick and black, dripping onto the ground. Gradually, the blood formed three distorted, trembling characters.

The characters spelled his name: Chen Qiaoyang.

It was a supernatural disguise—briefly altering a ghost's killing pattern while simultaneously erasing his own identity.

By inscribing his name on the ground, Chen's identity transferred away from his body, leaving him an empty vessel untouched by the ghost's targeting.

Against spirits that lock onto names and identities, this trick often proved highly effective.

"Chen Qiaoyang..." The ghost continued to call his name.

But at that moment, Chen Qiaoyang no longer felt the effects. The blood-scrawled characters on the ground began to blur and disperse, losing their cohesion.

This method of identity erasure was clearly temporary, able to last only for brief moments.

Once the inscription faltered or the blood flowed away, the supernatural effect would fade, and the Ghost Call would again influence him.

"It worked."

Seizing this window, Chen Qiaoyang arrived at a cracked wall.

A golden, splintered spear had pierced through a haunting corpse, thrust deeply into the figure.

This supernatural weapon was no illusion conjured by Yang Jian's Ghost Domain—it was a real spear. As far as Yang Jian was concerned, fishing required tangible bait. The deceptions of the Ghost Domain might fool novice ghost handlers, but against seasoned veterans, Yang knew better than to rely on such tricks.

"So, in the end, I've won, haven't I?" Chen Qiaoyang gripped the golden spear, attempting to wrench it free.

If he could snatch it away and release the ghost pinned to the wall, victory was his—even without relying on the Coffin Nail.

After all, he didn't believe Yang Jian could fend off the assault of three ghosts. Suppressing two was already likely his limit.

"It won't budge?"

Chen Qiaoyang's expression twisted in confusion.

The fractured golden spear embedded in the wall wouldn't move an inch, no matter how much force he exerted.

This was impossible.

Chen had always believed his ghost-enhanced body was immensely strong. Removing the spear from such a shallow depth should have been a minor effort. Even if it were buried fully in the wall, he could still pull it loose.

The current scenario revealed only one possibility.

"A trap!"

Chen Qiaoyang immediately realized, his gaunt face frozen in a grimace.

The placement of this weapon—so conveniently nearby—was no oversight by that Yang brat, but deliberate. A calculated ploy laid out from the moment Yang began his attack.

But why? How could Yang predict that he would attempt to seize this weapon?

If he hadn't acted on this move, wouldn't Yang's gambit be utterly foolish—abandoning his own weapon?

Unless... he could foresee the future.

No.

Perhaps it wasn't entirely Yang's plan. Perhaps there was another accomplice at work here.

"Damn it."

Chen Qiaoyang frantically pondered, connecting dots in a flicker of thought. In that instant, clarity washed over him, leaving room for only one reaction.

Escape!

He had to flee immediately; staying meant certain death. Yang seemed to have calculated every step, from the moment he first revealed himself.

Chen Qiaoyang released his hold and began retreating, intending to slip away with his last remaining ghost and leave Dadong City.

But then.

The wall ahead began to shift and crumble.

The golden, splintered spear moved as well.

Behind the impaled corpse, the silhouette of a humanoid shadow rapidly emerged.

The shadow spread, snaking around the golden fractured spear like an outstretched hand.

In the dim light.

A crimson ghost eye observed everything.

Chen Qiaoyang's pupils contracted sharply as he watched the shadow seize the fractured spear and wield it, slicing toward him. He also noticed the spear tip was wrapped around a rusted, sinister Firewood Knife.

Not good! Not good!

He knew all too well the outcome of being struck by that blade. The Firewood Knife's curse was overwhelmingly powerful and came with devastating side effects. It was wholly unsuitable for use by the living—its sole effect was dismemberment rather than outright slaying. In Chen's view, the Firewood Knife was second-rate, far inferior to the Wang Family's ancient mansion clock.

Yet as the knife struck, Chen had no way to dodge.

He lacked a Ghost Domain and couldn't teleport to safety.

The knife descended swiftly.

Despite its rusty blade and chipped edges, incapable of cutting through wood, it sliced through supernatural entities as if cleaving tofu. The eerie corpse was bisected effortlessly.

"Thud!"

Something heavy hit the ground and rolled into the roadside gutter.

A human head.

The terrifying ghost dressed in Republic garments now stood before Chen Qiaoyang, blocking the deadly strike.

The fourth ghost, the most menacing of his four—a trump card reserved for key moments—was dismembered before displaying its true power, a massive loss.

Pain churned through Chen Qiaoyang's chest. Furious and distressed, he dared not utter a threat and turned to flee.

As long as he survived, the Ghost Shepherd could rise again.

This was his final window for escape, as Yang Jian—having unleashed the cursed blade—would surely suffer its effects. Even if he didn't perish, he'd undoubtedly be in bad shape.

But after taking only a few steps away, without even leaving the street, the scene unfolding before him left him dumbfounded.

"I told you, no need to rush away. Our duel isn't over yet—welcome to round two." Yang Jian's figure reappeared in front of him.

Not a single wound scarred him—those near-melting injuries were gone, his condition seemingly impeccable.

"You brat." Chen Qiaoyang's fury surged as his eyes fixated on Yang Jian's neck.

By all logic, the curse from the Firewood Knife should have decapitated him. How could he remain completely unharmed?

Yang Jian, noticing his puzzled stare, touched his neck and said, "You find it strange, don't you? It's really quite simple. Just like during the ancient mansion event—I slightly fast-forwarded my own time. Right now, I'm Yang Jian from one minute ago. One minute ago, I was perfectly fine."

"I call this phenomenon 'self-restart.'"

"Self-restart?"

Chen Qiaoyang wasn't stupid; Yang Jian's explanation quickly hit home, and he roared, "That's impossible. How could you achieve this on your own? Your father couldn't do this when he was alive. You've been in the game for less than a year—how could you reach this level...?"

Fear gripped him.

For the first time, Chen realized Yang Jian had attained a place beyond imagination.

This was the realm of the most terrifying vengeful spirits.

Living humans should scarcely be capable of wielding such power. In his memory, only one individual had ever demonstrated such a feat: a mysterious figure surnamed Qin, rumored to have survived from the Republic of China Period.

"Some truths are hard to explain to you. Time is short, so let's cut to the chase." Yang Jian's gaze hardened.

This battle had pushed him to deploy every deadly move.

Five layers of Ghost Domain had been countered; six layers plus the Coffin Nail had merely subdued one ghost; seven-layer Ghost Domain's self-restart had come into play.

The full force of his Ghost Shadow, Ghost Hand, and Coffin Nail were all engaged in the struggle against spectral forces. His final strike had been reserved specifically to dismember the fourth ghost by Chen Qiaoyang's side—failure would have spelled defeat.

Yang Jian's gaze briefly drifted toward the decapitated ghost.

At the moment, it remained motionless.

This was expected.

Chopped apart by the cursed blade, the ghost temporarily fell into stasis. Its fragmented state reduced its Terror Level and hindered its revival. But once it recovered, it would reconstitute and spring back to action, undeterred by its dismemberment.

That ghost was the most dreaded adversary.

Always kept close to Chen Qiaoyang and never utilized.

Even a fool could see this was the deadliest of the four ghosts, forcing Yang to reserve his cursed knife strike for it with no hesitation.

Cold sweat trickled down Chen Qiaoyang's brow.

Though Yang Jian merely stood there in silence, his presence was oppressive, suffocating.

The brat was proving even more troublesome than his father in his heyday. Most confounding of all, Yang seemed to possess none of the supernatural powers inherited from his father.

"No, something's terribly wrong."

Soon after, Chen noticed his legs were rapidly losing sensation. A chilling, ghostly energy began invading his body.

The Ghost Shadow, though suppressed, wasn't completely neutralized.

With no other ghost beside him to stave it off, Chen had no way to counter the invasion.

If the shadow reached his head, it would steal his memories—and if Yang Jian so desired, it could overwrite them entirely.

This ability wasn't purely derived from the Ghost Shadow but incorporated the powers of that bloodstained old newspaper as well.

"Victory's ours, ours! Xiao Yang, don't forget this was all thanks to your Daddy Xiong! Without me, you'd never have beaten this old bastard. Make sure to give me a raise when we're back!"

Seeing the tide turn, Xiong Wenwen emerged from some unknown hiding spot, hands on his hips, gloating triumphantly.

"Can that kid really predict the future?" Chen Qiaoyang struggled against the ebbing control of his body, glaring venomously at Xiong Wenwen with a murderous intent.

Top-tier ghost handlers were already a nightmare, but adding precognition into the mix made for an unbeatable team.