Pay it back before you die

Seeing a dead man standing alive before them, their scalps tingled with terror. They had seen it themselves—how Ye Feng was buried. The body was stiff, reeking of decay. In other words, the man in front of them was a ghost!

“Ghost! There’s a ghost!”

“Run! Run for your life!”

“It’s the seventh day—the head seven! Senior Brother Ye is back for revenge!”

In an instant, Zheng Fei’s underlings didn’t hesitate. They fled the tavern at full speed, tumbling over each other in panic—not even glancing back at their boss.

At the mere mention of a ghost, the surrounding tables emptied in a flash.

Coincidentally, today was Zhongyuan Festival—the night the gates of hell opened. People were naturally wary of spirits.

And those fleeing men were shouting it was *head seven*—the day when a ghost’s resentment peaked.

You damn brats… you actually ran?!

Now, Zheng Fei stood alone, trembling, facing the resurrected Xiao Yu, utterly helpless.

Hearing his underling’s cry snapped him back to reality. Staring at Xiao Yu—the one he’d been gripping by the collar—Zheng Fei forced out a strained smile.

He carefully released his grip, smoothed out the wrinkles on Xiao Yu’s collar, and straightened it.
“Yes, long time no see. Never thought Senior Brother Ye would return from the underworld. That said… I just remembered my wife and kids are waiting for me at home. I should go.”

Zheng Fei turned to flee—but a hand landed on his shoulder, stopping him.

“Wait. Didn’t you say you weren’t married yet, Zheng Shidi?”

Xiao Yu smiled faintly. Since he’d been recognized, no point hiding. Perfect chance to get some answers.
“And speaking of dinner—long time no see. How about treating me to a meal?”

In the tavern, watching others eat while he sipped tea diluted beyond recognition, Xiao Yu had long grown hungry. Zheng Fei arrived right on time—like warm soup in winter.

……

After a hearty meal, Xiao Yu let out a satisfied burp.

During the meal, he learned from Zheng Fei about Xuanling Sect’s current state—and Li Yunshang’s vow to remain a widow for life.

This drastic deviation from the original plot raised red flags.

Clearly, to find out how protagonist Ye Feng died, he needed to speak with Li Yunshang—the last person who saw him alive. She was the one who brought back the body. The clues must lie with her.

Next stop: Xuanling Sect.

Meanwhile, Zheng Fei sat across from Xiao Yu, shivering uncontrollably. A grown man, now trembling like a frightened girl.

Was he really that scared?

Xiao Yu gave him a puzzled look. Did he lack a shadow? Was his body temperature not registering?

Under that gaze, *thud!* Zheng Fei dropped to his knees.

“Senior Brother Ye, every debt has its due. I did bully you back then—I admit it. But didn’t you already get back at me? I’m just a lowly outer sect disciple. What do you want from me? Go after Li Yunshang! Maybe she’s the one who killed you. Yes—it must’ve been her!”

Xiao Yu: “…………”

Look what fear’s done to this kid.

“Alright. You can go.” He waved dismissively. Can’t blame someone for being blind to shadows.

Zheng Fei sighed in relief, immediately kowtowing three times.

The sound echoed loudly—klang klang klang. Xiao Yu winced.
Dude, I’m not dead yet!

“Thank you, Senior Brother Ye, for sparing my life. Next time I visit your grave, I’ll burn extra paper money—send down some paper beauties to keep you company. Ghosts forgive, ghosts forgive.”

Muttering, he scrambled out of the tavern.

Can’t fault him. Xiao Yu’s appearance was too perfect—a fresh burial, the middle of Zhongyuan Festival, and the seventh day.

As a cultivator, Zheng Fei scanned Xiao Yu with his spiritual sense—nothing. It was like staring at empty air. Even a ghost would leave traces.

Who wouldn’t be terrified? Especially since earlier, angry and bitter, he’d cursed at Ye Feng’s grave.

Though most cultivators don’t become ghosts after death—only those with deep resentment or unresolved attachments—still, the possibility existed.

But thanks to the system’s Concealment Talisman, even spiritual sense couldn’t detect him.

Sigh.

Watching Zheng Fei disappear, Xiao Yu pinched the bridge of his nose, slightly troubled.

Li Yunshang ranked second only to Xia Nianmo as the most troublesome heroine. If not for needing answers, he’d never approach her. And he’d left with a deliberate punch to her gut—wonder if she still remembered.

Seriously, getting three kowtows before dying—would that shorten his lifespan?

Xuanling Sect.

“Waaah… Senior Brother Ye, how could you die so tragically!”

Thud thud thud!

Three more kowtows.

Having sneaked into Xuanling Sect and hidden behind a mound of dirt beside the tombstone, Xiao Yu’s eyebrow twitched violently.
Damn, feels like my virtue points are draining.

Before the grave knelt a man with weathered features, snow-white hair, dignified aura, wearing Xuanling Sect robes.

“Senior Brother Ye!! We’ve been fellow disciples for years. You were so young, with such a bright future—how could you go like this?

Remember when we went down to the town to enjoy music and pleasure houses? You recited that poem: ‘Spring wind swift, horse hooves light, in one day I saw all the flowers of Chang’an.’ I laughed and said, ‘Careful—you’ll die between a woman’s thighs!’ Never thought you’d die before even sleeping with one. I mourn for you!”

A faint smile touched the white-haired man’s face as he recalled their shared memories. He gazed at the black-and-white photo on the tombstone—a smiling, youthful Xiao Yu in white robes, giving a peace sign.

Tears fell. The already white-haired man seemed to age further in an instant.

Hidden behind the grave, Xiao Yu felt a pang. Though he’d lived these moments as a stand-in protagonist, the emotions had been real.

Drinking together. Sneaking peeks at female disciples bathing. Fighting new juniors for food. Running beneath the sunset—those were their lost youth.

The name on the tombstone was Ye Feng. But the photo was of *him*.

Why use *this* picture? Xiao Yu covered his mouth. He was actually touched.

“What a tragedy—white hair burying black hair! Now that you’re gone, what am I supposed to do?!”

The white-haired man broke into sobs again, even banging his head against the ground.

Hmm… “white hair burying black hair” doesn’t quite fit here.

Ah well. Xiao Yu smiled faintly. For crying so hard, I’ll let it slide.

“Brother! Why did you have to die?!”

The man suddenly roared, clenching his fists and slamming the ground.

“You still owe me dozens of mid-grade spirit stones! Why didn’t you pay me back before dying?!

That was my money for a new spirit sword! Who’s going to repay me now?!

Damn it! Dozens of mid-grade stones—that’s a month’s salary! You promised to pay me when you returned. You bastard! I’ll be eating dirt this month!”

“…………”

Xiao Yu remained silent.
Right. He’d borrowed that money.

Thinking back—he *had* borrowed around that much before setting off to find Li Yunshang. Promised to repay upon return.

But now? He’d retired. The real protagonist was mysteriously dead. No one would repay it.

“Waaah… Senior Brother Ye…”

The white-haired man sobbed again. Whether mourning his friend’s death or his lost spirit stones—unclear.

Before the tomb, wind rustled through the trees. Leaves drifted down. The man’s eyes were genuinely red.