Chapter 88: The Soul Fails to Govern the Spirit

I see. Having heard this, Wang Zhenling already had some suspicions, and finally, he began to take an interest in the matter.

He said, "Since Mrs. Ma trusts me, I shall give it a try. However, I cannot stay here for too long."

The implication, of course, was that he could not spend months in a hospital waiting for Mr. Ma to breathe his last.

Mrs. Ma let out a sigh of relief, though a look of sorrow clouded her face. "My husband has been struggling to stay alive only because he fears turning into an evil ghost after death. Since you have come, Master, he can depart in peace. He has already signed a voluntary euthanasia declaration; it can be done today..."

Wang Zhenling fell silent for a moment. It was true; dragging out a life in such a state offered no hope. Moreover, living another day likely meant suffering another day of agony. It was no wonder he chose voluntary euthanasia.

However, the idea that he would turn into an "evil ghost" after death was impossible. An evil ghost must have condensed ghost energy, consumed flesh and blood, and perhaps even possessed a degree of intelligence. That was far beyond what an ordinary spirit could achieve. Those who died from genetic conflict and bodily collapse, no matter how painful their passing or how immense their resentment, would at most become a vengeful spirit. And in this age of declining spirituality, it was even more likely they would simply become a wandering, resentful ghost.

Soon, doctors entered to remove the various needles, tubes, and the ventilator attached to Mr. Ma. Without this life support, given the state of his body, death was inevitable.

"Master, will my husband turn into a ghost tonight? If we cremate him right now, would that prevent it?" Mrs. Ma asked, trembling as she watched her husband draw his final breath.

Wang Zhenling shook his head slightly. "After death, the soul disperses. To coalesce into a ghost takes at least several days; he cannot become a ghost tonight. Besides, if Mr. Ma were truly destined to become a vengeful spirit, burning his corpse would be of little use."

In truth, Wang Zhenling already had his suspicions. A person consists of three souls and seven spirits. The three souls belong to the spirit, while the seven spirits belong to the body. Before death from old age or illness, the seven spirits depart one by one, and only upon final death do the three souls scatter. What are known as "jiangshi" or zombies occur when the three souls scatter, but the seven spirits, due to terrestrial energy or dark arts, remain trapped in the body—a body without a soul, a walking corpse.

From a magical perspective, if the seven spirits collapse and only the three souls remain, stimulated by immense pain and the resentment of death, they become vengeful spirits. Although this was an era of declining spirituality where such spirits could not persist long before dissipating, a minor mistake could still trigger supernatural incidents. Thus, it was indeed possible that Mr. Ma might become a vengeful spirit after death.

Interesting, very interesting! If Wang Zhenling’s hypothesis were correct, how many genetic modification surgeries had the Titan Corporation performed? How many had failed? Had they all become vengeful spirits? If so, how had the Titan Corporation resolved these problems?

This chain of thoughts followed, making Wang Zhenling increasingly intrigued. Usually, it takes several days for a spirit to form after death, and by the seventh day, it might recover some memories and intelligence, perhaps returning to the place most meaningful to it. This was the origin of the "Return of the Soul" on the seventh night.

Wang Zhenling, however, had methods to force the soul to coalesce into a ghost prematurely—provided the soul was strong enough to persist in such a spirit-starved world. If the soul were too weak, it would simply dissipate upon death, and even with all his power, there would be nothing he could do.

As night fell, all irrelevant personnel were cleared from the vicinity of the ward—a feat easily accomplished by the wealthy Ma family. Wang Zhenling formally set up an altar and lit the soul-summoning incense. Mrs. Ma watched from the side, a mix of agitation and fear on her face, while Liu Yun, though attempting to comfort her, craned his neck to peer at the altar.

These peripheral disciples of the Juntian Dao, though not possessing profound skills, were well-versed in the craft, which was why they held such a reputation in various circles. It was this reputation that led wealthy families like the Ma’s to believe Liu Yun was backed by a true master. This had led to the pressure on Liu Yun to contact Zhenyunzi. Yet, Zhenyunzi had long since died, and now it was Wang Zhenling, the "Zhenlingzi," who had taken his place.

*Strange, I never knew there was a Zhenlingzi in the temple before...* Liu Yun thought, puzzled. However, the Juntian Temple was mysterious and acted in secrecy, so it was not entirely strange that there might be other disciples unknown to the public. He would just have to see what Wang Zhenling was capable of.

He did not know that when Wang Zhenling had transmigrated, his cultivation level was roughly the same as that of Zhenyunzi—both having one foot in the Out-of-Body realm.

Now, as the three sticks of soul-summoning incense burned, a gust of wind suddenly howled through the room, causing the temperature to plummet. The lights in the hospital ward dimmed significantly. Mrs. Ma, already tense, felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end as she heard Liu Yun whisper nervously, "It’s here... it’s here..."

"Indeed," Wang Zhenling muttered to himself. For him, a ghost of this caliber was nothing, but it confirmed his hypothesis. These scattered souls, when gathered, carried such intense resentment that it was clear that within a few days, they would coalesce into a vengeful spirit. It was no wonder Mrs. Ma had insisted on hiring him to perform a ritual for the dead.

It would be easy to simply scatter Mr. Ma’s soul, returning it to the heavens and earth, but performing a true ritual of salvation would be difficult. In his estimation, the underworld of this world had likely collapsed, making salvation a near impossibility.

*Forget it,* he thought, *I’ll just scatter his soul; it’s simple and saves time. The laypeople wouldn't know the difference anyway.*

Having verified his theory, Wang Zhenling made up his mind to disperse the soul. Suddenly, he frowned and looked toward the window. An unsettling feeling washed over him. The surroundings were far too quiet. Even though the hospital ward had been cleared, this silence was different—it was a dead, ominous stillness that made one’s skin crawl.