I Am the Confucian Ghost Sage, with Three Thousand Disciples from the Start

My name is Meng Yuhe. I'm a direct descendant of the Meng clan of Confucian Daoism. A portrait of someone claiming to be the Meng family patriarch never stops nagging me to find his real name.

The portrait seems to be made of human skin. Every sunny day at noon, it bleeds as if its guts have been ripped out.

In the dead of night, thousands of terrifying ghostly eyes appear around it, gazing at it with fervor and utter devotion.

When the strange horrors besiege the city, he always puts on a show of weeping for the suffering world. But I know he's just enjoying the spectacle.

I've tried throwing him into the depths of the forest, abandoning him in a fire, cutting him to pieces, and sending him into a high-voltage electric fence.

But without fail, he always returns the next day, accompanied by an innocent person who has gone missing, turned to ashes, been reduced to shattered bones, or died by lightning strike.

I can no longer endure this nightmare of a life.

I decided that once I turn eighteen, I'll hand him over to the authorities.

This novel and its characters are entirely fictional. Any similarities are purely coincidental. Do not imitate.