"Benefactor Zhang, please don't take offense at my words. Your intentions are good, so I do not see fault in your actions within the Spirit Realm. I only hope that your true nature remains unchanged. That is all I will say."
As he spoke, the two people in the scene suddenly began to move again.
"Hmph, little monk, you've been following me all this way—are you trying to pursue me?"
Yuna Ji joked, giggling.
"Benefactor Ji, I am merely trying to persuade you to do good. Along the way, you have already harmed thousands of lives."
"Then why didn't you try to stop me? Little monk, you just watched them die by my hand."
Master Richard Ming sat cross-legged on the ground and began chanting in Sanskrit.
"Hmph, let's see how long you can keep up with me, hmph..."
At that moment, the surrounding scene vanished, and in an instant, I was back in the Cao Family Courtyard. A furious roar rang out—it was Cao Wanzhi, tied to a wooden stake. Although it had rained heavily earlier, it only lasted a short while. Now the scorching sun had reddened his face.
I saw people continuously bringing water to Cao Wanzhi.
Cao Wanzhi’s father spoke, shaking his head and sighing, his hands clasped behind his back as he walked away.
No matter how much Cao Wanzhi shouted and tried to explain, it seemed no one at home was willing to listen. Ever since his camera had been smashed months ago, he grew more withdrawn, ignoring everything at home—his wife, his parents, and the world itself.
He never cared for the family business. Even when his father tried to teach him personally, he would only respond briefly. Cao Wanzhi had begged his father to give his camera back, but his father stubbornly believed his son was possessed by something evil, which was why he acted this way.
Cao Wanzhi cried out to heaven and earth, but received no answer. He didn’t know what he’d done wrong. I stood to the side, watching him suffer under the scorching sun. By now, his skin had begun to peel; at night, the pain was so great that he couldn’t eat, and he could only silently shed tears.
Yet in Cao Wanzhi’s eyes, I saw no sign of surrender.
On the third day, Cao Wanzhi’s father could no longer bear it. His son’s face was raw and purple from the sun, and his mother had cried herself nearly to death. But in the end, his father decided to follow the fake Taoist’s instructions—today would be the last day, and he didn’t want all his efforts to go to waste.
After the third day, Cao Wanzhi was barely alive. His father ordered the servants to feed him some nourishing soup. Cao Wanzhi lay quietly in the woodshed, his gaze unfocused, like a soulless corpse. I could tell he was at his limit.
Just as the fake Taoist had said, Cao Wanzhi had grown up in comfort as the family’s only heir, never knowing hardship. Even when he went abroad, he suffered little. This torment was a first for him, and naturally he couldn’t endure it.
On the evening of the fourth day, just after sunset, the Cao household was brightly lit. Cao Wanzhi, barely clinging to life, was tied to a chair. The fake Taoist, dressed flamboyantly and looking slightly drunk, arrived at the house, carrying many talismans and ritual implements—most of them fakes.
“You there! What kind of demon dares appear before me, Daoist Huang? Show your true form at once...”