Chapter Eleven: Battling Life and Death with Ghosts and Spirits
Lost!
Shen Lin’s face darkened so deeply it seemed to drip with gloom.
He had tried to awaken more powers by stimulating his ghost visage, but in the recent clash within the ghost domain, he was utterly defeated.
A faint white mist began to seep into the neighborhood—not dense enough to obscure vision, yet persistent enough that eventually, everything would be engulfed.
An unease swelled within Shen Lin, as if something ominous was about to arrive.
The faint spectral glow on his chest flickered, seemingly struggling to resist.
This was a deadly tug-of-war among vengeful spirits; a single misstep could plunge Shen Lin into the abyss.
From the thin mist came faint footsteps, directionless yet seeming to close in from all sides.
The revival of his ghost visage threatened to consume him whole; the paintbrush of his spectral form on his chest had evolved from a crude sketch into a vivid, lifelike portrait.
No ordinary person could endure this—feeling as if hell itself was swallowing you was enough to drive one to madness.
They were coming!
A pair of ghastly pale hands materialized behind Shen Lin. His own hands were shrouded in a grayish radiance, and with immense force, his right hand swung backward like a mountain crushing down.
The hand before him was shriveled, pale with a tinge of cyan, nails unnaturally long and wrapped in dark, sinister energy that sent chills down his spine.
The contact unleashed waves of agony through Shen Lin’s body. Fear no longer mattered; he had embarked on this path with a do-or-die resolve, leaving no room for trivial doubts.
He had only two aims:
Either to kill that ghostly entity,
Or be killed by it.
The ghost visage granted Shen Lin a power sharing the same root as his adversary. He needed to wield his now severely compressed ghost domain like a razor, piercing a gap in the opponent’s domain.
Just one opening, one fleeting moment, and Shen Lin could seize his chance to escape.
Humans could never truly fathom the mindset of terror—or if such a thing even existed.
Like the hands before him, unaware of Shen Lin’s intentions, those two hands suddenly joined together.
Cold. Piercing.
Yet, contrary to expectation, they failed to break through the ghost domain. At the instant of contact, Shen Lin’s expanded ghost domain shattered like fragile glass, layer upon layer.
The sight stunned Shen Lin beyond words.
He froze on the spot.
“Damn!”
He couldn’t help but shout. He had anticipated setbacks, but never imagined such a vast gulf—just the terror radiated by a pair of hands was enough to crush hope.
Shen Lin never expected his carefully laid plans to end so dramatically—they hadn’t even begun.
He had been singled out!
His situation was worse than he could imagine.
The golden coffin was gone, his ghost domain suppressed; the disparity so great that Shen Lin swallowed any thought of victory.
“Fight? Or retreat?”
His mind raced.
Retreat! No way could he confront this head-on—that was suicide.
The hands came swiftly and retreated just as fast, as if responding to Shen Lin’s thoughts. After lightly breaching his ghost domain, the adversary didn’t press the attack, but vanished like a wisp of smoke.
A chilling laugh echoed—a woman’s voice deliberately hoarse, piercingly clear.
Shen Lin’s expression shifted subtly. He couldn’t grasp what the current situation meant. The spectral glow cloaked his ghost visage again as he scanned all directions, but saw nothing.
The ghost domain was supposed to be under the ghost master’s control, yet now he saw nothing—eyes without sight, unable to pierce the mist hiding that ghost.
That woman ghost!
“What level is this? Even when the ghost visage is near revival, it’s suppressed to this extent. Then what is it waiting for? Why not kill me outright? Is it because the rules haven’t been triggered?” A chill of dread crept deep into Shen Lin’s soul.
Compared to killing him, the opponent seemed to be testing him.
What was this? The gap was so huge that he was nothing more than an ant ready to be crushed—why test?
Unless...
His eyes brightened as he looked down at the ghost visage on his chest.
Was the enemy wary?
By transforming the myriad forms of beings into himself, the ghost visage in theory could mimic the woman ghost’s powers.
But such a mechanism had limits.
First, the opponent’s level was too high, so perhaps only partial abilities could be copied.
Second, the ghost visage’s revival was incomplete, and as a controlled spirit, it couldn’t exert full strength.
Had he unknowingly grasped some ability to counter the woman ghost?
He had to find out! This was Shen Lin’s only chance of victory.
Under crushing pressure, forced choices pushed Shen Lin to his limits, squeezing every ounce of potential.
Somehow, this seemed to trigger a switch within his body—he felt something awaken.
As he reached to touch this switch, the thin mist thickened instantly. The pale cyan hands reappeared, long nails like bone scythes slicing his ghost domain in two.
Gray radiance flickered; under such suppression, the ghost visage’s power was severely limited, his ghost domain rendered almost useless.
Still, it was a success. Shen Lin’s body shifted back a few steps, narrowly avoiding the sharp claws.
A desperate fight for survival, Shen Lin endured with all his might.
The scene unfolded just as he had feared. He knew clearly that only by exhausting himself could he cling to life—there was no room to talk of control.
It was effective!
The opponent’s agitation confirmed his guess was right. But it wasn’t enough; something was still missing within his body’s switch, like a giant lever before him he lacked the strength to pull.
The ghost visage’s revival was insufficient to fully manifest such an ability.
The hands vanished again. From the mist came eerie laughter from all directions, impossible to pinpoint.
Shen Lin’s ghost domain condensed once more, but despite his utmost effort, it expanded only three meters around him.
He deliberately shrank it to a radius of one meter.
A safe distance—barely enough for self-preservation and counterattack.
What followed was endless silence.
One minute, two minutes, five minutes.
Silence! Terrifyingly silent!
The dense fog seemed to spread the essence of the abyss, as if the entire world was swallowed.
Shen Lin remained motionless, like a statue, eyes fixed on his surroundings.
This ordeal was far from over; Shen Lin knew well this was the calm before the storm.
The enemy waited—for a single blow that would kill him outright, leaving no chance of a comeback.
Even a slow, grinding wear-down could finish him off!
Shen Lin understood this perfectly.
The mist thickened; he could barely make out buildings, the cold creeping in waves.
It was no ordinary chill, but a bone-deep cold born of spectral terror, seeping from the netherworld itself, bringing despair.
Several more minutes passed.
As the fog grew denser, Shen Lin’s expression shifted.
He felt the bloodthirst of his ghost visage; prolonged use of his vengeful spirit’s power had pushed it to the brink of awakening.
It was a trembling agony of life itself, as if the next moment he would be swallowed by the wrathful ghost.
He could wait no longer—the enemy could outlast him, but he could not.
His gaze hardened toward the nearby neighborhood committee office.
“I’ll give you a chance to kill me! The moment you strike will be the moment I strike back.”
This was a deadly game of mutual destruction.
He relaxed the manipulation of his internal switch. As expected, the mist around him darkened, black as ink.
Shen Lin strode toward the committee office.
He sought life amidst death, fighting for a sliver of hope.
The thick fog was like nightfall—deep and impenetrable. At the end, Shen Lin barely compressed his ghost domain into a thin line to avoid losing his way. Beyond that, he could neither hear nor see anything.
The ghost visage flickered wildly, glowing faintly. It was eager to devour him.
The mist swirled, as if heralding something. Yet Shen Lin’s journey was smooth; he encountered no attacks.
Upon reaching the committee office, the fog mysteriously parted.
Shen Lin’s expression twisted as he eyed the old-fashioned telephone.
Had he guessed right? Another ghost was here. The woman ghost’s influence was limited in this place—she was being checked.
As if to confirm this thought, countless ghostly shadows appeared around him—hundreds of pale-faced women from the Republican era.
They closed in on Shen Lin!
“Trying to confuse me?”
Sweat beaded on his brow as he stared at the dense mass of ghosts, stepping back several paces.
He knew only one was real; the rest were likely ghost slaves creating illusions within the domain. The enemy was clever, blending himself within the crowd like a wolf waiting to strike his throat.
This was a one-sided battle against a vengeful spirit—Shen Lin was always at a disadvantage.
From the mist, a pair of pale hands reached out and swung at him. Shen Lin could almost feel the bone-chilling cold radiating from them.
His ghost domain had been weakened to a mere film of glass; this strike would surely be fatal.
Should he strike back, risking awakening that switch?
No—the gap was too vast. Even with the ghost visage reviving, success was unlikely.
Wait, wait!
Shen Lin forced down his growing panic. He bet the enemy wouldn’t be so reckless.
This was just a test!
The swinging hands shattered upon contact with his ghost domain, as if they never existed.
Shen Lin gasped sharply. He had guessed right.
This was a decoy; the real fatal blow was yet to come.
As if responding to his thought, countless hands surged toward Shen Lin.
Within the mist, he sensed the eerie aura of the pale cyan hands.
Now!
Shen Lin laughed, wild and unrestrained.
He was like a desperate madman at the end of his rope.
At the moment those countless hands closed in, he suddenly thrust his right hand forward.
He grasped the black telephone.