At that mont, having been used up, Yang Xiao collapsed to the ground as if all his strength had been drained in an instant, leaving only his eyes capable of movent.
His face was ghastly pale, and his makeup bizarre; these people resembled paper figures, marching with stiff strides at a surprisingly quick pace, carrying behind them a big red coffin all too familiar.
The funeral procession headed straight for the Daoist robe old ghost and, in the blink of an eye, was upon him, the big red coffin colliding violently with the old ghost’s body.
At the mont of impact, the Daoist robe old ghost disappeared, and, without pausing, the procession took a blunt turn, charging toward Yang Xiao.
This scene scared Yang Xiao witless. What was this, kicking a man when he’s down? No, after all, he, Yang Xiao, had put his life on the line for his sister. Without using his body, could the red-clothed female ghost have achieved a double kill so smoothly?
But under the overwhelming force, he had no chance to resist, and in the blink of an eye, the funeral procession was upon him.
With his eyes wide open, Yang Xiao saw the lantern-carrying girl at the front march on without a sideways glance, sprightly stepping over him and giving him a fierce stomp on the chest.
"Are you blind?! Don’t you have eyes?" That stomp nearly knocked the breath out of Yang Xiao, and he couldn’t help but curse loudly.
But what he hadn’t anticipated was that this was just the beginning. Nearly every ghost that followed stepped on him, so with such tiny steps they had to step twice. By the ti the dozens, even hundreds, of ghosts in the procession had passed, Yang Xiao was battered and bruised, barely clinging to life.
After what felt like an eternity, with the last of his waning consciousness, he caught a glimpse of an old figure sitting up from the ground in the distance.
The next second, his head drooped, and he completely lost consciousness.
...
There was light before his eyes.
Slightly dazzling.
Fluttering his eyelids after a struggle, Yang Xiao finally opened his eyes. As his blurry vision gradually cleared, the first thing he saw was a pristine white ceiling.
He was lying in bed, covered with a white blanket, in a room furnished simply with a quaint, hoy feel.
Right beside the bed, almost level with it, was a wooden table. From Yang Xiao’s perspective, he could clearly see items laid out on it: a silver horsetail whisk, a short stick, a mirror, a lantern, a kitchen knife, and... a big red Drama Robe!
This scene startled Yang Xiao. His Magic Artifacts were laid out as if soone had disard him. Everything else was secondary, but that Drama Robe was his lifeline. If anyone discovered the secrets on the robe, he would be...
But as he sat up abruptly from the bed, he imdiately beca alert. No, he couldn’t check on the Drama Robe right away. As fragnts of mory returned, he surmised he must have been rescued by an elder of the Academy. This place... was the elder’s territory. Showing too much concern for the robe might raise suspicion, and this venerable elder clearly knew sothing.
Yang Xiao reached out and picked up the Ghost Duster first, a Netherworld-level treasure, and naturally, what he cared most about.
Then the Human Bone Staff, the Soul-Capturing Mirror... He checked each item in turn, until lastly, he picked up the Drama Robe. This ti, however, the changes in the robe surprised him. There was no new pattern on the hem; instead, there was a circle of purple embroidery on the left sleeve. The exquisite needlework and design were remarkably similar to the battered Purple Gold Taoist Robe worn by the Daoist robe old ghost—without a doubt, the old ghost had been apprehended by his dear sister!
If it weren’t for the current circumstances preventing him, Yang Xiao would have imdiately liked to test the abilities this old ghost had given him.
A ghost that could trouble a Netherworld-level Apostle was undoubtedly horrifying, and according to Han Jun, that venerable elder was no ordinary Netherworld-level Apostle.
"Creak—"
While Yang Xiao was lost in thought, the door suddenly opened, and a figure walked in—a tall, thin elder dressed in a black long coat with a hem nearly dragging along the floor, his somber face as if always ready to attend a funeral.
"You’re awake. Get up and co with ." The elder’s glance at Yang Xiao was as indifferent as if he were looking at an insignificant dead thing, his hair gray and tied into an old-fashioned bun at the back of his head, an air of an unbending scholar about him. "Bring your things with you."
The elder’s deanor revealed he was no ordinary individual. Yang Xiao quickly got up, packed the Magic Artifacts into his backpack, hoisted it, and followed the elder out of the room.
Outside was a dark and deep corridor. After a short walk, they stopped in front of a door. The elder knocked gently and, upon obtaining permission, pushed open the door, stepping aside to allow Yang Xiao to enter.
Inside was a spacious and bright room, appearing to be a study. Tall bookshelves lined against the wall were filled with ancient texts with brown and dark blue covers, and there was a large solid wood desk, complete with writing materials and inkstones. An entire block of carved stone served as a tea table—an extraordinarily elegant arrangent. An elder stood by the desk, smiling at Yang Xiao.
It was the Academy elder from the mission!
"Venerable elder!" Joy spread across Yang Xiao’s face as he cupped his fists and bowed, "This junior has seen the elder and thanks you for saving my life!"
After waking, Yang Xiao had pieced together so fragnted images. He vaguely rembered being treated for his injuries by soone and being taken out of the mission world through a rift, aning he hadn’t been covered by the light of the Green Venerable Tourmaline. Consequently, his mory would be preserved.
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