Jules led me to a vortex where black and white streams of energy intertwined, occasionally flickering with flashes of lightning. It looked intense, yet I didn't feel anything at all.
"When those thirty-one people entered, Darren and I placed them in different time periods. That way, the impact of their arrival here would be dispersed. Go, Ethan Zhang. Gather the fragments—maybe then there will be a way."
I nodded. Jules slowly raised his hand and closed his eyes. A white stream of energy was drawn out from within, and after he opened his eyes, he wrapped the white stream around my body. My form gradually faded, beginning to disappear.
As soon as I regained consciousness, I saw that all around me, under the quiet moonlight, were vast fields of wheat stretching endlessly. In the distance was Outcast Village, home to seventy or eighty families. I couldn’t tell what era this was, but I must have entered a memory fragment.
Jules didn’t know why, but when I entered, I didn’t go directly to this point in time—instead, I existed within a memory fragment.
I looked around. Under the moonlight, the wheat seemed fully ripe, but something felt off. The fields looked stiff and unnatural, and the stalks were unusually tall. Then, in the distance, I saw figures appear. I kept quiet and moved closer, only to discover the truth.
Beneath the wheat fields lay layers of soil, and another layer of wheat below that—three layers in total, stacked one atop another. Looking closer at the wheat on top, I saw they were already withered and yellow, and had clearly been planted there by hand, one stalk at a time.
I also spotted a sign, and on it was written:
Mission from above completed. Standard met. Yield: ten thousand jin [about 11,000 pounds] per mu [about 0.16 acre].
Suddenly, I couldn’t help but laugh, almost out loud. I used to hear about this so-called ten-thousand-jin yield per mu, and I even looked it up myself. One mu of land, at best, produces a thousand jin of rice (mu is about 0.16 acre; jin is about 1.1 pounds). A yield of ten thousand jin—never mind fooling people, even a three-year-old wouldn’t believe it.
The figures I had seen earlier had already entered Outcast Village. They were likely members of the Ghost Burial Squad—four in total. I didn’t know which team they were from, but Jules was probably with Team Three. Jules must have separated all thirty-one members into different time fragments, one by one.
Suddenly, Outcast Village erupted with furious barking from dogs, followed by gunshots. Lights flickered on in every household, making it clear this wasn’t an ancient era. I drifted over, drawn by the chaos.
I saw many villagers dressed in blue-gray clothes, and even some with guns in green military uniforms. In the center stood four people—two men and two women—helplessly raising their hands.
"Speak! Are you here to steal grain?"
One of the armed men pointed his gun at a young soldier from the Ghost Burial Squad and shouted. I stared in shock—their clothing suggested this was the 1960s or 70s. Thinking it over, only in that era could such absurd things happen.
"We're just passing through. We mean no harm."
A man who looked about thirty stepped forward and spoke. He wore a friendly smile, his face round, and he seemed easygoing.
Though the armed men lowered their guns from the young soldier, they still locked the four up—confined behind Outcast Village, next to a cowshed.
"This place stinks! Damn it."
The four were trapped inside a shed full of cattle feed, their hands tied. After everyone left, an eighteen-year-old girl among them muttered, sniffing the air. Her long hair hung down, and her face was full of exhaustion.
"Faye, forget it. Untie us first. We need to figure out what's really happening."
I couldn’t wait any longer to learn everything about them. I had to find the fragments as quickly as possible—even if I had to force it. Resolute, I rushed over and thrust my hand into the chest of the middle-aged man who had just spoken.
Just as before, he immediately turned into white dust that began to scatter. The other three met the same fate, dissolving into dust as well.
But this time, even as the world twisted around me, the white energy didn’t sweep in. Everything began to break apart—this was the simplest and most brutal method.
I had always been conflicted, but now I understood completely: you can’t accomplish certain things if you always stick to your so-called self.
The whole world was collapsing and shattering, wind roaring. My Seven Ghost Souls flew out one after another. Yet even as the world splintered into fragments, I still couldn’t find a single shard from any of these four people.
I grew anxious. If this world completely vanished, I would be sent to the real time—and if I couldn’t find the fragments, gathering all the memory shards and rescuing the thirty-one Ghost Burial Squad members would fail.
Panic surged through me. Countless strands of specter web erupted from my body, instantly spreading across this shattered world.
"Don’t panic, Ethan. Calm your mind."
Zhu Tang and the others were still searching for the fragments. But just as this world was about to vanish completely, something different appeared in the distance—a swirl of multicolored light drifted toward the places that had already gone pitch black.
I saw it—a Spectral Serpent, clutching a crystal-clear object in its mouth. In an instant, I flew over. It was a Memory Shard. But as I reached it, a burst of flame erupted from the serpent, hurling itself at me.
With a bang, I shattered the flames. The serpent’s mouth held the Memory Shard, and it clearly didn’t want me to have it. Mist rose again—the power of a ghost. I could feel its resistance.
The Spectral Serpent, radiating multicolored light, was a manifestation of ghostly power. It didn’t want anyone to touch the shard, constantly interfering with me, while the world around us was nearly gone.
The serpent seemed to be searching for an exit, unleashing all sorts of powers to block me. My Seven Ghost Souls quickly floated over, blocking its escape route.
Suddenly, the serpent tilted its head and opened its mouth. The shard it held slipped inside—it wanted to destroy it. Alarmed, I transformed into a cloud of black energy and instantly appeared before it, reaching into its mouth and grabbing the shard.
But immediately, a chilling aura seeped out. A pale hand emerged from the serpent and gripped my throat, pressing down hard—but this force was far too weak compared to mine.
"Don’t worry, I won’t harm them. I’m here to help."
Time seemed to freeze. The fragments of this memory world dissolved into faint particles of light, drifting in the darkness.
The hand gripping my throat didn’t loosen at all. It seemed determined to live and die with the shard, refusing to let me have it even if it meant destroying it.
"Well then, sorry—but if we can’t communicate now…"
The long, multicolored Spectral Serpent before me began to bulge with tiny lumps, then suddenly exploded with a snap, unleashing a torrent of Deathbane Aura from its body.
I watched as the multicolored light flared. In a daze, I felt a surge of intense hostility directed at me. The pale hand transformed into a claw within the glow, reaching for me, trying to snatch the shard—yet it dissipated before it could reach me.
Clutching the sparkling, crystal-clear Memory Shard, I felt my Seven Ghost Souls return to my body. I instinctively wrapped the shard in my power and absorbed it, my consciousness beginning to blur.
The owner of this shard was Mason Wan—just an ordinary person. But his story began when he first entered university.
Mason Wan came from a wealthy family. His parents had left government jobs years ago to become merchants. Since childhood, Mason was cherished like a treasure.
Naturally, Mason Wan developed a bit of an arrogant streak. When he started university, his parents bought him a nice car. He flaunted it in front of his classmates, changed girlfriends frequently, and because he was rich, many friends treated him well on the surface but secretly disliked him.
He got into a nationally renowned university thanks to his parents’ connections. His grades were poor, but his family donated a large sum—considerable for that era—so Mason Wan was admitted.
Once at university, Mason Wan was idle and reckless, a typical spoiled rich kid. He spent his days with unsavory men and women, living extravagantly off his parents’ money.
His parents were constantly troubled by his behavior. Whether in business or official circles, they were well liked, but Mason kept causing problems, forcing them to ask for favors everywhere.
Helpless, they tried to make him change by taking away his car and cutting his allowance. Overnight, Mason Wan felt as if he’d fallen from heaven into hell.