I looked at Tony Tang in surprise. He seemed puzzled by the fried chicken pieces in Dean Ding’s hand, and also by the bottled alcohol. It was as if he hadn’t visited the living world for a very long time.
"Tell me, Old Yao, just how long has it been since you last set foot in the living world?"
Tony Tang smiled and shook his head.
"It’s been decades, I suppose. Except for going to the bridge, I spend my days in the Shadow Realm. I haven’t left."
"So you’re basically living a life cut off from the world? Don’t you know anything about what’s going on outside?"
I asked in astonishment. Tony Tang turned his head, his expression softening.
"I really can’t believe you, Old Yao. You never even go out to take a look? You don’t know what your people are doing? If it weren’t for that little girl stumbling in by accident, I wouldn’t have found you at all. The Yin-Qiu group should be arriving soon."
I looked at Dean Ding in confusion, then walked over to stand beside him.
"Are you hiding something from me?"
Dean Ding looked up, grinned foolishly, and shook his head.
"No, that's for sure. The whole reason we're here is to find you, Tony. Now that you've shown up, I sensed your presence the moment you arrived. John Chou and the others probably know too—it’s only a matter of time before they come."
Tony Tang’s face tightened with anxiety, a tortured look twisting his features.
Watching Tony, I’d thought he was a loner at first. But as time passed, the icy mask faded—he was clearly talkative, just weighed down by something I couldn’t understand.
Especially when chatting with Dean Ding, Tony managed a faint smile.
"Maybe we should’ve listened to Ethan Zhang back then. Honestly, Dean Ding, I’m suffering now. I have no purpose, no thoughts—every day I just want to be alone. What’s the point of these endless, empty days?"
Dean Ding clapped Tony’s shoulder, bursting into hearty laughter.
"Meaning? Why do we ghosts need meaning? I don’t get why you scholars have so many questions. If you can live freely, eat, drink, isn’t that enough? Why bother with all that? You’ve been alone too long. Come with me—we’ll drink for days, and you’ll forget all that crap about meaning."
I blinked, watching Dean Ding haul Tony to his feet. Tony seemed lost, shaking his head.
"Dean Ding, forget it. I’m better off like this, really..."
Suddenly, Dean Ding swung a fist at Tony without warning.
A thunderous boom split the air—Ghost Aura surged wildly, shredding the falling snow. Two streams of green Ghost Aura tangled and collided; I’d already risen and retreated. In this violent clash, I couldn’t tell which was stronger.
"If you truly didn’t care about anything, how did you grow so powerful after centuries? Tony, I thought you’d lost your way, but now I’m sure. I’m not even confident I can beat you completely. But..."
Suddenly, Dean Ding roared and lunged forward. Raging Ghost Aura tore Tony’s clothes apart; with a deafening crash, the bridge collapsed. I leapt back, wings unfurled, escaping the epicenter of their collision.
A ripping sound echoed—Tony’s clothes shredded bit by bit. He stood motionless, one hand pressed to his chest, gripping Dean Ding’s hand. Sizzling energy crackled. Glancing back, I saw crimson flames behind me; in this thick Ghost Aura, the world was turning inside out.
The power I released was turning black, devoured by Ghost Aura. I beat my wings, landing on a distant hill before they broke. The two stood on the ruined bridge; the river had stopped, frozen still, and snowflakes shattered the instant they touched the air.
"See, Tony? You say there’s no meaning, but what are you really doing in secret? Whether you’re alive or dead, you should face yourself honestly."
Tony’s face grew colder. In his other hand, a green light flickered, revealing a spear—the Nine-foot Linked Spear, with its tiger-head motif, diamond tip, serrated edges, and crimson runes. The shaft was pitch black.
"Finally showing some fighting spirit, Tony. Even bringing out the Nine-foot Linked Spear."
With a thunderous crash, the two broke apart. Dean Ding twisted his neck, bones grinding audibly. Black mist swirled in his hand, forming the Green Wraith Staff—red protrusions at both ends, green in the middle.
Wind howled as Dean Ding moved; the staff spun in his grip.