Ling Ye had one word for his whole life: reckless.
He was reckless when alive, and his sworn brother pushed him from the thirteenth floor.
He was even more reckless after death, smashing three ghosts’ heads the moment he landed.
Ergouzi said this was the lowest level of the City of Wrongful Deaths, where ghosts ate ghosts, and only the ruthless survived.
Ling Ye said they’d see who ate whom.
A talisman blade from a netherworld enforcer had been stuck in Shi Hang’s back for thirty years, and nobody dared pull it out.
Ling Ye reached out and yanked it free. Black blood sprayed all over his face.
Shi Hang fell to his knees. “From today on, I’m with you.”
Cui Ming had been hiding in a ruined temple for fifty-seven years. He didn’t even look up. “Let’s not cause trouble.”
Ling Ye slapped the talisman blade down in front of him. “Too late. We already have.”
In three months, the Yellow Springs Road took the surname Ye.
In one year, Fengdu City ran red with blood.
The wicked ghosts of the Eighteen Levels of Hell knelt before him, calling him the “Night Demon.”
But he still wasn’t satisfied.
Because he hadn’t found the brother who used to call him “Brother Ye.”
Zhang Lei, just you wait.
This time, I’m the one who’ll push you.
