I and countless versions of myself simultaneously travel through time.

A mysteriously resurrected world.

A haunted place.

A chilling wind swept through the cemetery, and the rotting earth churned as if alive.

Ye Yan knelt before the grave, cradling his head in his hands, and skillfully removed it.

The white brain matter inside the cranial cavity swayed slightly, like semi-solidified tofu pudding, sweet and delicious.

His body remained kneeling, his back stiff, but after his head was separated from his torso, he felt an indescribable tingling sensation, like an electric current flowing through his severed neck, connecting every inch of his remaining senses.

The feeling of separating the head from the body was actually not bad.

He emerged from that damned shared space once again, his mind still reeling from what he had just witnessed: a cross-dressing man, an eyesore.

He wasn't interested in matters of the lower body, but he did see a talisman stuck to some unlucky guy named Ye Yan.

The [Same Wear Panel] finally gave us some good news today: his [Life Status] has been activated.

"Ninety-nine worlds in total, not too many," Ye Yan muttered to himself. "The Duke world, with its mix of Marvel, Naruto, One Piece, A Certain Magical Index, and Ultraman, is just a bit long to wait for."

He remained uneasy.

Kneeling around in this godforsaken place, what does he think he is?

To be a slave to ghosts?

His only source of happiness was the whip in his hand.

The body was still mechanically bowing towards the tomb, the forehead hitting the cold, damp earth, again and again, as if being pressed down by an invisible hand.

The corpse in the coffin remained motionless, enjoying the submission of its body.

His head rolled to the ground, his mouth opened, biting the whip handle, and he swung it violently to the side.

"Snapped!"

Rotten burlap shards flew everywhere.

It was a female corpse, half of her body crawling out of the ground, wrapped in coarse, blackened burlap, but with a smiling face on her face—the kind of smiling face that paper shops paste for the dead. It looked incongruous on the rotting surface, and there was a mourning dress on the outside.

She kept crying.

It wasn't wailing, but rather a kind of intermittent sobbing that seeped from deep in the throat, like a clogged sewer bubbling and gurgling.

She cried for a whole day and night, never stopping ever since Ye Yan knelt here.

"You cry all day long," Ye Yan's head hovered in mid-air, a whip between his teeth, his words muffled but fierce, "What are you crying for?!"

The female corpse turned her head.

A corner of the burlap sack slipped down, revealing half a face. It wasn't a beautiful face; it was rotten, or rather, completely black, a bottomless abyss.

The white skin was swollen as if it had been soaked in water, its whiteness resembling that of a dead fish belly, with patches of bluish-purple lividity beneath the skin like mold spots.

His eye sockets were sunken, and one eyeball was hanging out, connected to several strands of rotting flesh, swaying precariously.

His lips were rotten and gone, revealing two rows of yellow teeth, black gums, a swollen tongue, and maggots crawling on the purplish-black coating.

She was still crying.

There were no tears, only pale yellow bodily fluid flowing from her eyes, running down her cheeks and dripping onto the burlap, sizzling and burning small holes in it.

The smiling paper was still pasted on the other side of the face, contrasting with the half-rotten face, like a living person split in two, one half smiling, the other half rotting, but the face was completely black, and the hole was very deep.

Ye Yan's head flew past, his mouth loosened its grip on the whip, then tightened its grip again, lashing her cheek hard.

"Slap! Slap! Slap!"

The female corpse stood up, and Ye Yan instantly returned to the male corpse's grave. The female corpse then stood up again.

His only pleasure was whipping female corpses.

He hit her again, she stood up again; he hit her again, he stood up again.

Ye Yan didn't know how many times he had hit him.

It has happened at least tens of thousands of times.

There were no soft moans from the BDSM community, just a series of terrifying cries, like the mournful sounds of a dead person's loved ones, heartbreaking and distressing. But to Ye Yan, it was like a mosquito buzzing 24 hours a day, a truly irritating experience.

Ye Yan had a stern face, his complexion was as pale as paper, his features were regular, but his clothes were tattered, as if he had crawled out of a grave.

He carefully pressed the scalp back onto the top of his head, then scooped the brain matter back into the cranial cavity, his movements as practiced as putting on clothes.

When his fingertips touched the sticky substance, a tingling sensation ran through his head. The instant his nerves reconnected, the [Life Status] before him stunned him.

[Life Status: Unconditional probability of controlling vengeful spirits]

Are you kidding me?

Unconditional?

Probability?

Commanding vengeful spirits?

The "Same Wear Panel" seemed to have finally given him a glimmer of hope, but Ye Yan quickly calmed down.

This kind of thing is like dice on a gambling table. The word "probability" is the most deadly. You can either control it or be controlled by the other party. Ghosts are all puzzle pieces. Hey, if you're not dead, just become a slave if it's really not suitable. At worst, you'll just die.

Our primary goal now is to get out.

This is a supernatural place caught in the cracks of reality.

The mountains stretched across the wilderness, and at their foot a paved road wound its way through the landscape. By the roadside sat the ghost bus, its gray body covered in dust, its windows tightly shut, with a few figures occasionally flashing by inside.

That car had stalled once, and a ghost-tamer died on the road; his body was dragged into the car and never came out again.

He wanted to get on the bus too.

But I can't get up there.

Ye Yan's gaze swept towards the distance not far away.

The red figure reappeared—the dried-up corpse bride, a vengeful ghost in a bright red cheongsam. Last time, with a wave of her hand, ghosts from all over the mountains gathered, a dark, dense mass, like a bustling market, all crowding forward.

But he couldn't leave, because the male corpse in this tomb was even more powerful.

Grade A, at least Grade A.

It might even be an S-class.

He was no match for it, he didn't even have the right to resist, he was just an ordinary ghost servant kneeling here and kowtowing to it.

A pattern of murder?

It meant nothing to him.

He had seen the mummified bride in Chapter 308 of the original novel. She was always floating around, and a pale face could be vaguely seen under the red veil, as if she was looking for someone to accompany her to her wedding.

And next to her was Tong Qianzhong's crying, a female corpse with a mournful face all day long, with a paper smiling face pasted on her face, crying incessantly day and night.

When Ye Yan was bored, he would whip her.

He made the whip himself, using scraps from the cemetery, and the craftsmanship was so rough it looked like a child's craft project.

Strangely, the more this thing was whipped onto the ghost, the more painful it became, as if the ghost was absorbing supernatural power.

Ye Yan gave it a name: Black Man's Whip.

Or change the name to "Female Corpse Whip".

The wailing ghost was whipped more and more severely, and its crying went from wailing to sobbing, and then from sobbing to quiet whimpering.

She neither resisted nor could resist; in the order of the Ghost Lord, the Crying Ghost was of a lower rank than him.

"Alright, it's time to go out."

Ye Yan twisted his body 360 degrees, his bones cracking.

His knees were numb from kneeling, or rather, worn out from kneeling, day after day kneeling before this grave, kowtowing to the male corpse, like a wound-up machine.

The wailing ghost next to me started crying again, sobbing and whimpering like a clogged sewer.

He had tried to resist before.

The result was that they were forced back down by an even stronger supernatural force, kneeling even deeper and kowtowing even harder.

The hierarchy of vengeful spirits in this world is as rigid as a feudal dynasty, ranging from S-level to C-level, from city-destroying level to restricted level, with each level being an insurmountable barrier.

Even Yang Jian, who controlled Ghost Dream and Ghost Lake, was indirectly killed by several ghosts and had to restart time to save himself.

Who does Ye Yan think he is?

A ghost slave kneeling on the ground.

But today is different.

The golden touch has arrived.

They've all established their own countries.

Even ghosts can rise to power?!

Ye Yan gripped the black whip, his fingers tightening.

A faint black, supernatural power flowed along the whip, like the blood vessels of a living creature.

He took a deep breath, if he still had lungs.

Then he suddenly stood up.

The moment his knees left the ground, the supernatural forces throughout the entire cemetery stirred.

The earth trembled, and the soil on the grave mound fell in a rustling sound. A deep rumble came from the coffin of the male corpse, like an ancient beast awakened. Supernatural power surged in like a tide, trying to push him back down.

Ye Yan gritted his teeth and lashed the ground with his whip.

"Snapped!"

Where the whip struck, the soil churned, and supernatural power was scattered in all directions.

But the male corpse was stronger, pressing down like a mountain, and Ye Yan's knees began to bend again.

In this worldview, ghost slaves will always be ghost slaves, and can never rise up to become masters.

After being branded with the Ghost Slave Mark, one's life and death are controlled by the Ghost Master. Wang Shanshan is the best example. From the Ghost Infant arc to White Water Town, the Ghost Slave Mark is always a sword hanging over her head.

But Ye Yan is different.

He has the protection of the [Shared Space Panel] and the [Shared Space]. He can maintain his humanity, chat with his counterparts from other worlds in the shared space, and regain his ghostly thoughts and human consciousness in reality.

The mind is free, but the ghost's body is suppressed by the corpses in the graveyard.

This is enough.

Ye Yan decided to use his Ghost Shoutman.

So, open the box and start!

"Inquire," Ye Yan said in a low voice.

[Do you want to use 20 Fate Points to search for the name of the local tomb owner?]

Ye Yan clicked "confirm".

[Unidentified male corpse]

Ye Yan: "..."

Could this be Li Qingzhi, one of the Seven Elders of the Nation?

That old monster who once turned the entire paranormal world upside down?

The tall male corpse next to Xiao Yang, who was told to stand aside?

"Li Qingzhi," he tried to pronounce it.

The supernatural force remained completely unmoved.

"Li Qingzhi," he said again.

The power increased instead of decreasing; the rumbling in the coffin turned into a roar, and the entire cemetery trembled. Yan's knees bent even more, and his bones creaked. Ye Yan sensed something was wrong; the Ghost Slave Seal was being activated.

Just then, the nearby grave began to move.

She raised her head, and the rotten face covered with a smiley face burlap turned towards the male corpse's grave. A howl welled up in her throat. The howl was not as annoying as before, but carried a kind of supernatural confrontation, like two sound waves of different frequencies colliding and exploding into a visible ripple.

Ye Yan's brain was in excruciating pain under the dual pressure of the crying and the corpse energy, as if countless needles were piercing it from the inside out.

The wailing of the ghosts piled up, layer upon layer, growing sharper and more piercing.

"Damn it, it's so noisy!"

Ye Yan let out a low roar and directly activated [Life State].

Unconditionally and probabilistically control fierce ghosts.

He didn't know the odds of success this time, nor did he know which ghost he was controlling.

But the moment that power surged from the depths of his body, he felt his consciousness like a knife, cutting through the supernatural shackles that the male corpse had placed on him.

The wailing ghost instantly fell silent.

She sat upright, the paper smiley face under the burlap sack crooked, as if held down by an invisible hand.

Ye Yan felt his consciousness extend outwards and touch something cold, enormous, and not human, and he grasped it.

The cemetery was quiet.

The coffin containing the male corpse stopped shaking, and the supernatural power receded like a tide.

Ye Yan stood still, his knees no longer bending.

He looked down at his hands; beneath the pale skin, faint black lines flowed. Then he looked up at the grave of the male corpse.

"If you kowtow one more time, I'll admit defeat."

next moment.

He felt his consciousness gradually fading away, like the tide engulfing the last isolated island.

A tremendous supernatural power surged forth, forming a cold, murderous pattern among ghosts. The male corpse in the cemetery sensed his resistance and did not want him to escape. That power transformed into an invisible hand, gripping his consciousness and forcing him back into a kneeling posture forever.

"What a joke?!" Ye Yan was dumbfounded.

His consciousness was gradually fading, and the marks on the ghost slave's body emitted a black light.

"No, I still have a chance. I can't give up like this."

Ye Yan's consciousness was slowly fading away. This damned, bizarre world, the ghost servant could never be the master. He was suffering a severe backlash from the supernatural.