After A Max-Level Celestial Master Transmigrated Into The Body Of A Sickly Beauty's Substitute - Chapter 8

A magical artifact usually requires blood to establish a binding contract. Lan Ting had been dormant for so long that he had not expected the sword to be plotting such a move.

Since his awakening, this was the first time Lan Ting felt truly provoked. His usual calm was shattered as he stared at the longsword in his hand, his eyes darkening. A sword forged for combat would not naturally be this rusted; it must have suffered some grave damage in the past.

A single drop of blood had caused the green rust to flake away and revitalized the blade. The method was simple enough, but Lan Ting found it utterly repulsive. In his entire life, he would only ever have one sword.

Even after the blood was forced out, the rust did not regrow. The tail of the blade revealed a pitch-black edge, a hue as deep as ink, devoid of any reflection or patterns. Lan Ting tossed the sword aside, wiping the ill-luck from his hands with unconcealed mockery. “Truly ugly.”

The sword no longer floated; it struck the floor with the force of his throw and lay silent, radiating an aura of utter hopelessness.

Lan Ting did not spare the sword another glance. As the final traces of the solar essence faded, his vision returned to darkness. The avian spell he used was tied to solar light and could not be fueled by moonlight, but Lan Ting felt little regret. He stretched, fully shedding his anger, and lay back on the bed, feigning sleep.

His sleep was light, and even the smallest sound could wake him. However, his nature was cautious, and without his former strength, this hyper-vigilance in an unfamiliar environment actually made him feel more comfortable. Once the surroundings quieted, every sound drifted into his ears: birds flapping their wings, a spider spinning its web in a tree, the soft rustle of an insect’s antennae navigating the path.

Mixed in with these was a growing, chilly Yin energy. It crawled forward, inch by inch, from a distant street corner, passing through the iron railings, skimming over the grass, climbing up the outer wall, and finally stopping at the window.

Lan Ting had opened his eyes long before it arrived and was standing behind the curtains. He reached out to pull back the billowing fabric, locking eyes with the wretched female ghost outside.

When a person dies, they become a ghost. If they die with deep resentment, their Yin energy undergoes a qualitative change, turning them into a malevolent spirit. Such spirits are divided into those who retain their sanity, knowing clearly who their enemies are, and those who do not, who kill indiscriminately.

The ghost before him had disheveled hair and a face caked with blood. Though wrapped in black mist, one could discern numerous bruised and purple wounds beneath. Beyond the blood on her face, there was a purple-black pallor radiating from within; this ghost had died by suffocation.

Though her scarlet eyes held the typical hostility of a malevolent spirit, her expression was relatively clear. Lan Ting stood at the window, staring back without blinking. Facing her horrific appearance, he relied on his blind persona to keep his expression entirely unchanged.

The ghost likely realized that staring down a blind man was somewhat foolish, so her eyes flickered before she spoke. Her voice was raspy and harsh, as if she had swallowed a mouthful of gravel. “Please help me.”

Only when she spoke did Lan Ting’s expression soften. To his senses, the human-shaped mass of Yin energy before him was extremely weak, her soul fractured and on the verge of dissipating. She had clearly fought another practitioner, lost, and fled to him.

Seeing Lan Ting remain silent, the ghost, who had witnessed his true abilities, twisted her face into a pleading expression. “A month ago, when I sought revenge on Gu Guixi, I was trapped by the jade Buddha he carries.”

She looked up. “If not for you shattering that jade Buddha and helping me take a drop of heart-blood, I would have dissipated long ago.”

As she spoke, she darted inside and knelt down, disregarding whether Lan Ting could see her. “They plotted to deal with you that time, and I knew of it but did not warn you. My crime is unforgivable. Please, forgive me!”

The ghost hated Gu Guixi to the core, but she also hated Lan Ting, who was Gu Guixi’s public boyfriend. Receiving his favor that time had not changed her opinion of him, and her silence had merely been a desire to see them destroy each other. She had not expected Lan Ting to be so powerful. The Daoist had abandoned the plan to deal with Lan Ting, nearly beating her to death instead. With nowhere else to turn, she had come to him.

She lowered her head, waiting in silence for a long time. Receiving no response, she grew panicked and finally looked up, only to find the youth gone. Lan Ting had already seated himself on a stool the moment she knelt, swinging his legs with casual indifference.

“Meddling in the karma of others brings me no benefit. Why should you think I would help you?” he asked, his tone merciless.

The ghost paused, hesitating. “You tapped your shoulder three times during the day. Was that not a sign for me to come to you at three in the morning?”

Lan Ting had been composed, but he found this response bizarre. “What are you talking about?”

“I was merely extinguishing one of his life-fires to add some amusement to my day,” he replied.

Realizing she had misunderstood, the ghost fell silent in embarrassment. The atmosphere remained heavy for a moment before Lan Ting began to rock his chair back and forth, tapping his fingers on the armrest. After a long pause, he finally spoke.

“Everything in this world comes with a price. I can help you, but the cost will be significant.”

The ghost answered without hesitation, “I am willing to pay anything!”

She looked terrifying, her eye sockets bleeding as she spoke. “What do you want?”

Lan Ting turned to her. “Your merit.”

“Do not rush to agree,” Lan Ting chuckled. “What I want is all the merit from your past three incarnations. If you agree, I will take the merit first. Because you lose it, your next life will fall from the human realm into the animal path.”

The ghost looked up at him, her tone unwavering. “As long as you help me get my revenge, even if I become an animal in my next life, I am willing.”

Lan Ting laughed suddenly, then waved his hand, using spiritual energy to cast the ghost out the window. In an instant, the ghost felt as if she had lost something, her form becoming incredibly heavy. As she hovered outside, Lan Ting walked over, slowly closed the curtains, and dropped one line:

“The deal is made. I will come to find you in three days.”

After hearing this, the ghost was involuntarily forced away. To earn merit, one usually needs to perform many good deeds, yet to steal it, one only needs a contract this simple. How ironic.

Lan Ting twisted the pale golden mist in his hand into various shapes, wrapping it in his spiritual power, but after a long while, it had no effect.

“As expected,” he said, unsurprised. “The soul and body do not match; merit cannot be accumulated.”

He tossed the mist aside as if it were a ball, with no attachment. “Wei Yue Yan.”

The stars in the sky brightened. The youth snapped his fingers, and the merit split in two, with half flying toward the stars. Lan Ting looked up, indifferent. “Too weak.”

Listening to the sounds downstairs, Lan Ting curled his lip and returned to bed.

The Lan family’s banquet was organized quickly but not in a rush. After spending time with him, the Lan family realized that Lan Ting was not overly pained or concerned about his white hair and blindness. After discussing it, they decided to announce the news to the public.

As expected, all of Jinchuan was shocked: the young master of the Lan family had gone blind while in a relationship with the Gu family.

The news spread like wildfire. When Mu Chun arrived at the banquet that day and confirmed the facts directly from Lan Lin, he nearly fainted from grief.

There were many guests. In the past, the original owner would have felt awkward and dislike seeing so many people. Taking this into account, along with Lan Ting’s health, they let him enter the banquet late.

The first thing he did every day upon waking was to draw in solar essence and open his spiritual eyes. Lan Ting was currently in front of a full-length mirror. He was not as the outside world rumored, stumbling about in his blindness.

He was wearing a unique outfit: an orange-red hue, with ribbons tied at the cuffs of wide sleeves, a large collar turned outward, and a short jacket over a long robe. It resembled traditional Tang attire but was strange and distinctive. Moreover, Lan Ting had combed his white hair, which reached his back, into a high ponytail, and he wore a single red earring on his right earlobe.

This outfit was made according to Lan Ting’s detailed descriptions, about eighty percent similar to what he had loved to wear in the past. Once dressed, the person in the mirror no longer looked seven-tenths like the original owner, but entirely like Lan Ting.

Footsteps approached the door, and the person pushed it open without greeting. Stepping inside, they saw Lan Ting dressed in this manner. The youth glanced sideways, his legendary “blind” eyes casting a look of detachment.

Mu Chun stood frozen in the doorway, mid-motion. He had a baby face, twenty-four or twenty-five, but looked like an undergraduate who had not yet graduated, his suit looking strangely childish and comical.

Lan Ting withdrew his gaze a second later and asked, “Who is it?”

Mu Chun snapped out of his daze and trotted over, still sporting tear streaks from his earlier weeping. “Damn, this outfit looks surprisingly good on you.”

He smacked his lips, contemplating. “You look like a high-level master stepping out of an ancient drama.”

With his aura instantly retracted, Lan Ting curved his eyes in a smile, though the warmth did not reach his eyes.

“What are you here for?”

Mu Chun remembered his purpose. “Your dad and brother have put out the word: whoever finds a way to cure your eyes gets to partner with the Lan Corporation on the Chengchun Garden project.”

“Are you trying to pull strings?” Lan Ting looked sideways.

Mu Chun shook his head like a rattle-drum. “How could I? My family deals in funerals; why would I get involved in that? No, there is a young man at the door. He dresses like a con artist, claiming to be a Daoist from some mountain, insisting he can cure you.”

Mu Chun had intended to share this as a joke to cheer up his friend. However, to his surprise, Lan Ting seemed genuinely interested.

“Oh? I suppose I should take a look.”