138: Chapter 138 The Soul Imprisoned for Thirty Years

Lins Funeral Shop, front hall.

Lin Ye hung the century-old lightning-struck peach wood sword on the left side of his waist, and on his right was the soul-suppressing copper coin sword that had drunk deeply of Pure Yang True Blood.

Leng Yue walked quietly up to him.

She reached out her pale, icy, slender jade hands and slowly zipped up the collar of Lin Ye's black windbreaker.

Her fingertips inadvertently brushed across Lin Ye's collarbone, bringing an extreme, bone-chilling cold that sent a shiver straight through him.

"Husband, that female streamer reeks of the living, and she carries a heavy stench of bad luck."

Leng Yue lowered her head slightly and whispered in Lin Ye's ear with her cool, metallic voice.

Her dark gold eyes peered through her fallen silver hair as she cast a cold glance at Ms. Jiang, who was sitting limp on the floor.

Just a single glance.

Ms. Jiang felt as if an invisible, icy hand was squeezing her heart tight. Her breath hitched, and she quickly lowered her head, not daring to look directly at her.

Leng Yue was very satisfied with this fearful reaction.

She leaned close to Lin Ye's ear, her fragrant breath carrying a soul-freezing chill: "Should I tear off one of her arms first and bleed her a little to get rid of the bad luck?"

Lin Ye felt a bit helpless and pinched Leng Yue's completely cold cheek.

After this Thousand-Year Red Hou evolved into a Drought Demon, not only did her strength skyrocket, but her possessiveness and food-guarding instincts grew stronger as well.

In her eyes, aside from the few people in the Funeral Shop...

Living people on the outside were basically equivalent to "breathing ingredients" or "potential threats."

"Stop it. This woman just transferred five million into our account; she's a top-tier VIP client of our Lins Funeral Shop."

Lin Ye casually patted the lace defensive robe on Leng Yue's lower back.

"When dealing with cash machines, we need to have basic business ethics."

Leng Yue nodded obediently and stopped talking, quietly stepping back half a pace to resume her aloof, untouchable queenly posture.

Lin Ye turned around and looked down at Ms. Jiang, who was still sitting on the ground.

"Big Streamer Jiang, I've accepted your money, so naturally I'll save your life. The floor is cold, get up and lead the way."

Ms. Jiang woke up as if from a dream and scrambled up from the carpet using both hands and feet.

The way she looked at Lin Ye now was like a drowning person looking at a final lifeline.

"Master Lin, Little Chen... he's left here alone, are you sure he'll really be okay?"

Ms. Jiang glanced at the cameraman lying inside the Three Talents Evil-Locking Array, a yellow talisman stuck to his forehead, his breathing faint.

"With Ayugu and Frost Star watching over the shop, no clueless evil spirit in Jiangzhou City would dare to cause trouble here."

Lin Ye grabbed his tactical backpack and slung it over his shoulder.

"Cut the nonsense. There are less than two hours left until the Zi Hour. If we miss the hour, you'll just have to hold his funeral feast early in front of his twenty million fans."

...

Ten minutes later.

The black george patton SUV let out another low, beastly roar, tearing through the late-night rain and fog of Jiangzhou as it sped straight toward the western suburbs of the city.

The lights inside the vehicle were off; only the dashboard emitted a faint, eerie blue glow.

Lin Ye held the steering wheel with one hand while playing with the dull-glowing Five Emperors Corpse-Suppressing Coin in the other.

Ms. Jiang cowered in the spacious leather seat in the back, wrapping her arms tightly around her shoulders.

Even though the heater was on, she felt an inescapable, chilling aura seeping right into her bones.

It was the pressure unintentionally emitted by Leng Yue, the Drought Demon sitting in the passenger seat.

"Master Lin... what exactly is that Paper Substitute Soul Technique?"

Hoping to ease the suffocatingly oppressive atmosphere in the car, Ms. Jiang gathered her courage to ask.

Lin Ye watched the streetscape receding outside the windshield, his tone as calm as if explaining basic common knowledge.

"There's an old folk saying: 'Stepping on a shadow is like stepping on a soul.' A living person's shadow is the projection of their Three Souls and Seven Po under the sun. Ordinary wandering ghosts don't have enough cultivation; touching a living person's shadow would burn them with Yang energy."

"However, some entities that died unnatural deaths carry too much resentment. They know how to use tools from their previous lives as a medium to 'keep' a living person's shadow."

Lin Ye stepped on the brakes at a red light and glanced back at Ms. Jiang in the rearview mirror.

"That cameraman of yours has a weak Eight Characters and low luck. Stepping on that bundle of black hair representing the deceased's resentment was equivalent to walking willingly into someone else's trap."

"The thing inside that sewing machine used a red thread soaked in corpse blood to forcibly sew his shadow onto the pedal."

Ms. Jiang felt sick to her stomach hearing this, her face growing even paler.

"Once the Zi Hour passes and Yin and Yang shift, reaching the peak of Yin energy, his shadow will be completely assimilated by that sewing machine, becoming a substitute for that female ghost."

"As for him, hundreds or thousands of mouths will bite through his neck in his dream."

Lin Ye casually pronounced Little Chen's impending cause of death.

"Then if we go now... can we snip the shadow free?" Ms. Jiang's voice trembled.

"That depends on whether the thing behind the sewing machine is willing to spit back out the meat it swallowed," Lin Ye sneered and stepped hard on the gas.

The SUV roared as it burst out of the brightly lit city streets and onto an abandoned, streetlight-less road flanked by wild weeds.

Thirty years ago, the Red Star No. 3 Textile Factory was the largest state-owned enterprise in the western suburbs of Jiangzhou.

Later, a catastrophic fire that claimed over a hundred lives turned this place into a completely neglected dead zone.

Even the surrounding villagers had moved away long ago; not a soul could be seen within a radius of several kilometers.

The headlights swept over the dilapidated scene ahead.

Two rusty, crooked iron gates came into view.

The concrete sign above the gate reading "Red Star No. 3 Textile Factory" was half-broken, its lettering eroded and blurred by wind and rain.

Lin Ye parked the vehicle several dozen meters away from the gate and turned off the engine.

The surroundings were deathly quiet; even the usual night insect chirping of autumn was absent here.

Only a few unknown night birds uttered mournful cries on withered trees in the distance.

"Get out," Lin Ye pushed open the car door.

Stepping onto the muddy ground, a bizarre odor immediately drifted through the air.

It was a stench combining years of old engine oil, moldy cloth, and the burnt smell of some meat buried long in the earth.

Ms. Jiang trembled as she got out, and upon smelling it, immediately held onto the car door and dry-heaved.

Lin Ye ignored her and pulled out the newly repaired bagua soul-fixing mirror from his pocket.

At this moment, a warm cyan light flowed across the surface of the soul-fixing mirror.

Lin Ye aimed the mirror face at the textile factory gate ahead, his pupils shrinking abruptly.

Reflected in the soul-fixing mirror, the void ahead was not a dilapidated factory at all.

Above the entire textile factory hung a layer of black resentment as thick as ink.

This resentment was like an inverted giant black bowl, sealing all the buildings inside.

And at the top of that black bowl, a dark red fire flickered faintly, looking like a monster crouching on a pile of ash and sucking blood.

"What ruthless methods."

Lin Ye put away the soul-fixing mirror, his gaze turning cold.

"Husband, did you see something?"

Leng Yue walked to Lin Ye's side; she too could sense the uncomfortable aura ahead.

"A Fire-Roasted Yin Furnace Array," Lin Ye pointed at the terrain of the textile factory.

"This place is surrounded by mountains on three sides with only one exit—a classic pocket formation. That big fire back then burned over a hundred female workers to death, and they died inside with extreme resentment and agony."

"With nowhere to vent, this resentment has been locked inside this pocket for thirty full years. Accumulated day by day, the Yin energy mutated, forcibly turning this place into a Yin furnace capable of refining souls."

Lin Ye turned to look at Ms. Jiang, who was still dry-heaving, and warned sternly, "Once we're inside, no matter what sound you hear or who calls out to you, you must never look back, and under no circumstances should you answer."

"You have three Yang fires on your shoulders and head. Once you turn back and the Yang fires are blown out by the Yin wind here, you will immediately be dragged into the wall to become a sacrificial scapegoat. Do you understand?"

Having finished dry-heaving, Ms. Jiang nodded frantically, tears brimming in her eyes.

She regretted it deeply now; why did she have to greedily chase that 200,000 yuan tip to explore such a damned place?

Lin Ye walked over to the two rusty iron doors.

Hanging on the door was originally a copper padlock the size of an adult's fist, but now it was wrapped in coils of blackened red cotton thread.

"To dare flaunt such petty tricks in front of me."

Lin Ye reached back and drew the soul-suppressing copper coin sword from his waist, its blade cutting through the air in a streak of dark red light.