I Just Wanted To Live but I Somehow Became Better Than the Protagonist

In short, Ye Yong might misidentify the heroine, but he would never mistake the protagonist.

Fortunately, the aura-enhancing trinket worked its magic, and the old immortal wasn’t just idly watching over the protagonist; he needed rest too. Long Tian remained oblivious to Ye Yong, as they brushed past each other, separated by a few passersby.

“What’s wrong?” Qin Shidong was sharp, noticing Ye Yong’s distracted demeanor.

“Nothing, just recalling some matters.”

“You can share; perhaps I can help.”

“It’s just a trivial matter, nothing worth mentioning. Let’s go take a look over there.”

Clearly, Qin Shidong had not noticed Long Tian’s presence at all, and Ye Yong had no intention of discussing the Child of Destiny with her.

In truth, Ye Yong felt that with Qin Shidong’s character, even if he told her about the novel, she would likely just laugh it off.

The notion that Ye Yong could snatch her away from Long Tian was absurd. After all, a novel was a novel, and reality was reality; she had never even interacted with Long Tian—how could one speak of snatching?

It was as nonsensical as a stranger suddenly appearing before her, claiming to be her future husband.

Having read the script was Ye Yong’s advantage; being able to strategize in advance with the heroine was his skill.

Like someone who knows there’s a mountain of gold ahead, equipped with the right tools for extraction, one cannot simply wait for others to discover it and start digging, can they? Opportunities must be seized.

——

With his mind set on distancing himself from Long Tian, Ye Yong walked in the opposite direction, and as he wandered, he found himself at the edge of Ninghai City.

To say that this city thrives is true, yet even in the brightest places, shadows linger.

Ninghai City’s wealthy are exceedingly rich, while the poor are so destitute they fret over their daily bread. After all, a place with a booming economy also means fierce competition.

The fringes do not refer to hidden, crime-ridden areas. It is simply the literal edge of the city.

Here, most houses are dilapidated, with nearly every doorstep draped in fishing nets, for the river flows nearby, and beyond it lies the sea.

Those who rely on the mountains eat from the mountains; those who depend on the sea feast upon the sea.

When the meager relief grain runs out before the month is through, the poor turn to fishing. Perhaps there is no monetary gain, but at least they stave off starvation.

Yet even in the city’s outskirts, the New Year carries a festive air. Some gamble with dice beneath grass huts, while others drink and boast at roadside stalls. Children, clad in what can barely be called new—cast-off garments from the wealthy—chase and play with abandon.

“Next year, my paper boat will surely reach the governor!”

“You said the same last year, and the year before that.”

The drinkers’ conversations revolve around the previous Lantern Festival.

As for the children, perhaps they might find opportunities to change their fates in the future, but for the adults, their paths are nearly set, with little chance for advancement. Their only hope lies in the Lantern Festival.

Qin Shiming listened to the idle chatter, feeling a deep resonance; this was the closest she had ever been to the lives of the poor.

After all, despite her independence, Qin Shiming had always grown up in the Qin family, a lineage of cultivators that others could only dream of. She was the daughter of a prestigious family, often absorbed in her training, rarely venturing out, completely oblivious to the lives of mortals, especially the impoverished.

Of course, these people were relatively fortunate; at least they received relief grain each month. In some small kingdoms, villages faced droughts, with no harvests and no aid, forced to consume their stored grain. When that ran out, death was not far behind.

There was little of interest to see here. Ye Yong thought of taking Qin Shiming to the upper city, where the homes of the powerful stood. As a major trading hub, it should have plenty of fresh curiosities from other continents.

Just as Ye Yong prepared to turn, Qin Shiming suddenly tugged at him.

Not hand in hand, but grasping his sleeve. Ye Yong, curious, glanced at her and noticed she was staring intently in a certain direction. He followed her gaze.

There, a gaunt middle-aged woman was fervently speaking to passersby, her expression frantic, yet the crowd paid her no mind.

Ye Yong found her strange; there was not a trace of the vitality one would expect from a living person. Instead, a peculiar, sinister charm enveloped her. After a moment’s thought, he realized—oh, she is a ghost.

In the world of Earth, many would scream at the sight of a ghost, and Ye Yong was no exception. But in this fantastical realm, spirits were all too common.

Even the ghostly cultivators exist.

Lingering souls, specters, minor ghosts, middle ghosts, great ghosts, ghost kings, ghost lords, ghost emperors, ghost saints—crossing tribulations.

(Refining Qi, Foundation Establishment, Crystallization, Golden Core, Nascent Soul, Spirit Transformation, Void Exploration, Great Ascension, achieving sainthood, crossing tribulations.)

After death, a being’s soul drifts in a state of confusion, drawn by the invisible pull of the River of the Dead, waiting for reincarnation. Yet, if one had strong, unfulfilled desires in life, this confusion is but a veil, and they can resist the River’s call, remaining in the realm of the living.

As for cultivators, let us set them aside; common folk, upon death, typically become lingering souls, soon to be taken away by the emissaries of the city god. However, if one dies unjustly or under certain conditions, harboring a great deal of resentment, and if no emissaries or cultivators intervene, they may grow unchecked, advancing further into “becoming a ghost.”

Lingering souls do not affect the living, but once one becomes a ghost, it is a different tale—akin to a foundational cultivator, fueled by resentment, far beyond the capabilities of mere mortal warriors.

The woman bore no visible resentment, yet an eerie charm clung to her, suggesting her death was shrouded in mystery, not merely the result of a life spent.

Clearly, Qin Shiming sensed this, her heart stirred with compassion, wishing to uncover the cause of the woman’s death and the desires left unfulfilled.

Ye Yong was not one to remain indifferent; upon seeing her plight, he would surely lend a hand.

Thus, the two approached the woman.

“Please, I beg you, help me!” The woman had been calling out for over half an hour, yet no one spared her a glance, leaving her in deep distress. Suddenly, she felt a powerful aura of Buddhism drawing near, as if to guide her to the afterlife, and instinctively, she recoiled, turning to see the source of this aura.

It was a strikingly handsome young man, beyond what words could convey, a visage that transcended her understanding.