I Am Your Natural Enemy Chapter 296 - 135: Anatomy Teacher, King Guilong Temple (5k)

"What were his last words?"

Old Zhao thought for a mont.

"I didn’t quite get it, sounded like he said, if he beca so kind of anatomy teacher, he’d leave so kind of Easter egg for the students, sothing about him having two rotten tails."

"Appendices?"

"No idea, that’s more or less what he said."

Wen Yan couldn’t help it—he laughed out loud. This guy must’ve been a riot when he was alive.

His soul is shattered to bits, can’t even rember how he died, but still clings to the fact about becoming an anatomy teacher, and the last thing he rembers... is that he had two appendices.

The more Wen Yan thought about it, the cooler it seed. If any student found that Easter egg, they’d probably start doubting themselves and fall into a full-blown existential crisis.

First day in d school, and already served a reality check.

That episode would definitely be burned into that student’s mory forever.

Thinking back, Wen Yan rembered hearing soone say back in college, there was this anatomy teacher at the neighboring d school—also super cool. No skin left, but still rocking a killer manicure, nails done so nicely everyone rembered it.

Wen Yan only heard the story once, but never forgot it.

He was certain, if this guy beca an anatomy teacher, loads and loads of students would rember him—the anatomy teacher with two appendices.

And maybe, that class would leave a mark that those students could never shake, no matter how hard they tried.

This ghost’s wish would definitely co true. Even among the anatomy teachers, he’d absolutely be one of the most morable.

Old Zhao noticed Wen Yan looked genuinely happy and couldn’t quite get it.

"What did that ghost an? Was it that funny?"

"Nah, I’m just happy for him."

"He’s already gone, and you’re happy?"

"You don’t get it. His last wish was totally fulfilled. Even after fading away, you gotta celebrate that."

Old Zhao couldn’t figure it out, but Wen Yan was already walking off.

Once ho, Wen Yan didn’t bother practicing his martial arts—he pulled out his Scorching Sun Departnt-issued phone, used his clearance, and searched for the keyword ’Dragon King Temple’ in the Scorching Sun Departnt database.

Then he started looking for the one with a ’gui’ sound in its na.

When Old Zhao translated, he had that trademark accent, so he could only confirm the sound, not the tone.

Wen Yan took a look—not too much hassle—soon enough, he found it: King Guilong Temple.

Only this one matched. Plus, the Dragon King at King Guilong Temple was connected to the West River water system.

Records showed, back in Luoyue County, there was a King Guilong Temple.

Back then, the temple stood by the riverbank. Then the West River changed course, flooded a bunch of farmland, washed away livestock, even drowned several villages.

That pretty much spelled the end for King Guilong Temple. Later, when the river shifted back, the flood swept the whole temple away. After that, King Guilong Temple was never rebuilt.

People are pragmatic—after that first river change trashed everything, nobody wanted to worship there anymore.

Second ti the river ca back, the temple got wiped out for good, so of course nobody bothered building a new one.

And since then, nothing left to trace—temple, gone, case closed.

The West River water system has always been a tangled ss. In the really early dynasties, before developnt shifted south, even written records were scarce.

There were plenty of places called Dragon King Temples, tons with only a snippet of a record. And sotis, the sa Dragon King would have wildly different nas in different spots—sotis, not even called Dragon King at all.

The Scorching Sun Departnt’s never been able to pin down exactly who the Dragon God in the West River is, all because of this.

But now, Wen Yan figured he could be pretty sure.

To make a ghost scatter like busted porcelain, soul all in shards, and then sohow piece itself back together again—

In the whole West River water system, the only one even remotely active and connected to a Dragon King Temple at all is this Dragon God.

But there’s an even thornier part: that ’master’ the ghost ntioned. To ss up a regular ghost so bad and not have it utterly erased... definitely not your run-of-the-mill type.

And judging by the looks of things, the two of them seem like they’re not exactly getting along.

Wen Yan was starting to get a headache. He figured he’d better remind the curator not to assign him any more jobs—every ti he got assigned sothing, it was never anything good.

No matter how simple the job seed, it always spiraled into a ss.

Wen Yan checked his watch—it was past midnight, almost one in the morning.

He dialed Cai Qidong’s number.

One ring—call hung up. He called back—blocked. Then, Cai Qidong called him back. The standard routine.

"You’d better have a damn good reason for calling at this hour!"

"King Guilong Temple."

"Huh?"

"I went to the hospital today, dropped off a body donor..."

Wen Yan recapped everything that’d happened during the day, plus what he’d just experienced with the ghost.

"That’s about it. I snapped a photo, sent it to you."

I can’t make heads or tails of it. Gotta find an expert in this field, see if anyone recognizes that chain.

I checked just now—the West River water system did have a King Guilong Temple back in the day.

Odds are, that’s the Dragon God in question.

Anyway, Minister, don’t worry. If anything else cos up, I definitely won’t call and bother you in the middle of the night again.

This is absolutely the last ti, I promise. My bad, I know it.

Cai Qidong lost his temper, then had to switch to comforting Wen Yan instead.

"You’re still young—don’t pick up those slick old-tir habits, sniping and acting all passive-aggressive."

If anything happens, just call whenever. Seriously.

No matter wha—

Uh, you’re not recording this, are you?"

"Minister, if you want to curse out, just say it! No need for the song and dance!"

Click—Wen Yan hung up.

Then he changed the automatic title of the call recording to "Call Anyti For Anything."

Over on the other side, Cai Qidong listened to the dial tone, more than a little awkward.

Now every so often in the Scorching Sun Departnt, he’d overhear so bold bastard using his ridiculous ringtones—clips of his voice—as their own. It was making him paranoid.

Afraid that if he slipped up and said sothing dumb, Wen Yan would catch it on a recording again.

And co to think of it, the whole recording thing? That had been his idea in the first place.