After the ghost-hunting master descended the mountain, his fame spread throughout the capital.

"You old bald monk! Without this clown body, let's see how arrogant you'll still be!"

Wang Dazhuang, who had been observing from the sidelines, seized the opportunity and shouted excitedly. He flew out of the paper figure and turned into a gray shadow.

Taking advantage of the brief moment when Abbot Hong'an's soul departed, he darted inside.

As soon as Wang Dazhuang's ghost entered Abbot Hong'an's body, the previously stiff body trembled violently.

Then, the eyes that belonged to Abbot Hong'an blinked, and when they opened again, the look in their eyes was completely different.

With a mix of bewilderment and sly excitement.

Wang Dazhuang, controlling Abbot Hong'an's physical body, first looked down at his old hands, which had loose skin but were full of strength, and then subconsciously touched his bald scalp.

Then, in Abbot Hong'an's aged voice, he exclaimed, "My goodness! This old monk is still quite hale and hearty! It's just that his bald head is a bit too cool!"

This absurd scene left Chu Jingyu and the Imperial Guards, who were barely managing to maintain their composure and watching the battle from afar, dumbfounded, almost forgetting their own injuries.

Meanwhile, Abbot Hong'an's spirit saw that his body, which he had cultivated diligently for many years and cherished as a treasure, had been possessed by a wild ghost that appeared out of nowhere, and was even making such a ridiculous and disgraceful move in public...

The soul shadow, already agonizing and twisted from the backlash, was now so enraged that it was almost about to be completely destroyed on the spot.

"You wicked creature! How dare you do this! Give me back my physical body!" The soul shadow rushed towards its own body without regard for anything else.

"Hmph, dream on!"

Jiang Dusheng was prepared. He endured the excruciating pain and dizziness caused by his internal injuries, and with a wave of his left hand, a soul-suppressing talisman enveloped the soul of Abbot Hong'an.

"Now this body belongs to the Wang family!" Wang Dazhuang, who had taken over the body, was smug. He made a face at Abbot Hong'an's body and stuck out his tongue.

Seeing this, Jiang Dusheng immediately shouted to Wang Dazhuang, "Dazhuang! Don't come out yet, stay inside! This body still has a great use! Wait until we bring that dog emperor down from his horse, then you can come out and enjoy yourself!"

Upon hearing this, Wang Dazhuang's eyes lit up, and he quickly nodded, stepping aside: "Understood! Master."

Jiang Dusheng took a deep breath, suppressing her surging blood and qi. She knew that she and Xie Jinchen were at their limit and had to finish the battle quickly.

She rapidly formed hand seals in front of her chest, uttering a clear shout. Though her voice was slightly hoarse due to her injuries, it did not diminish her authority.

"The Three Pure Ones, the Dao Ancestors, bestow upon me divine power!"

"Lord Thunder God, heed my command!"

As the incantation was recited, the bone flute in front of her floated up, emitting a hazy, clear light, pointing straight to the sky.

"Roaring thunder, vanquishing evil and destroying souls!"

"Imperial Edict!"

As soon as he finished speaking, the sky, which was already turbulent from the previous fierce battle, saw even more dark clouds gathering, with faint electric snakes darting through them.

A bolt of lightning, much thicker than before, seemed to be summoned, tearing through the clouds and striking the soul of Hong An, who was trapped in the net of light.

At the same time, Xie Jinchen also gathered his last bit of mind and strength.

He gathered all the scattered, malevolent energy around him, concentrating it on the tip of his sword, and uttered a low shout:

"Dust to dust, ashes to ashes!"

"The evil spirit leads to the void, the soul flies away—the spirit dissipates!"

As soon as he finished speaking, the sword light and the heavenly lightning flew towards Abbot Hong'an's soul shadow between his eyebrows almost simultaneously.

"No!! This old monk...is unwilling...ah!!!"

Under the combined attack of heavenly thunder and murderous sword intent, Abbot Hong'an's soul uttered a final, mournful, and desperate wail, shattering into tiny specks of light like broken glass.

However, in the final moment before the soul completely dissipated, a drop of light slid from the corner of Abbot Hong'an's soul eye.

Jiang Du, with his keen senses, mustered his strength and stepped forward, reaching out to catch the soul tear that was about to dissipate.

The moment the Soul Tears touched her palm, fragmented memories flooded into her consciousness like a burst dam.

Jiang Dusheng swayed slightly, his face paling even more. He forced himself to steady himself, closed his eyes, and focused his mind, letting the images piece together in his consciousness…

The beginning of my memory is a lush green forest with the distant sound of bells.

A monk, about fifteen or sixteen years old, sat on a smooth boulder by the stream.

He had handsome features, still retaining a touch of childishness, and his eyes were as clear as the stream by the river, untouched by worldly dust.

Holding a yellowed Buddhist scripture, he recited it softly, his voice peaceful and filled with a naive devotion.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves and fell on his worn monk's robe. A butterfly landed on his shoulder, and he smiled slightly, warm and clean.

The scene abruptly shattered, the colors faded, and it transformed into a dark meditation room.

Several older monks surrounded him, their words sharp and their eyes filled with disdain.

"Wuzhen, how can your daily indulgence in these illusory scriptures contribute to the temple's practical affairs such as incense offerings, land management, welcoming and sending off guests, and chanting sutras for blessings?" A shrewd monk was the first to challenge him.

Another tall, thin monk chimed in, his voice laced with sarcasm: "Yes, the abbot favors you greatly, allowing you to peruse many profound Buddhist scriptures. Could it be... simply because you have a handsome face and a sweet tongue?"

"Hmph, in terms of seniority, I entered the temple ten years earlier than you! In terms of cultivation, I attained enlightenment three years earlier than you! In terms of contributions to the temple, the dining hall I'm in charge of is always bustling with worshippers! What makes you think you have exclusive access to the scripture pavilion, and what makes you think you can receive personal guidance from the abbot?"

Another monk with a fierce face shouted gruffly, his fists clenched so tightly they cracked.

Wuzhen stood in the middle of the crowd with his head down, his fingers tightly gripping his monk's robe, his knuckles turning white.

He tried to explain, but his voice was drowned out by louder ridicule and rebuke.

For the first time, a crack was forcibly carved into that originally pure and innocent heart that was devoted solely to Buddhism.

Confusion, grievance, and resentment spread quietly like ink drops in clear water.

It turns out that even the pure land of Buddhism is not a pure land.

It turns out that talent and preference can also become original sins.

Time flies, and scenes change.

The darkness of the meditation room fades, and the scene keeps changing.

He was punished at the monastery by carrying water, remaining silent.

He debated scriptures with eminent monks at the Dharma assembly, citing numerous sutras and gradually revealing his talent.

He secretly memorized the evidence of his senior brother's affair with the pilgrim's wife...

He was no longer the novice monk Wuzhen who was bullied by everyone and only knew how to bury himself in scriptures.

The childishness in his eyes has been worn away by time, replaced by a more composed and mature demeanor, but also a profound and unfathomable depth.

A perfectly timed smile often graces his lips, but that smile rarely reaches his eyes.

His Buddhist name was also changed from Wuzhen to Hong'an.

The scene shifts to a magnificent, golden hall, filled with fragrant aromas.

The late emperor held an infant girl in his arms, his face beaming with the rare joy of having a beloved daughter.

In his arms, he carefully held a baby girl wrapped in a bright yellow brocade swaddling cloth; that was Princess Chu Mingzhu, who had just been born.