The face reflected in the stream just now was not Yan Jin's, but a face that was younger and more energetic than him, and the owner of this face should be Su Zimu.

"What the hell is going on?" Yan Jin touched his face with his hand in disbelief, blurted out and shouted, suddenly he lowered his head and looked at his hands, which were originally covered with dust, Yan Jin did not notice the abnormality, and now after washing, it seems that this is indeed not his own hands, these hands are slightly smaller than his, and whiter and slender.

Yan Jin lay on the gravel by the stream, closed her eyes, and carefully recalled the ins and outs of this whole thing. In the end, he came to a conclusion that he thought was more reliable, that is, he crossed over and crossed into the body of a person named Su Zimu. And before he came, this Su Zimu happened to be dead, but what he couldn't understand was that Su Zimu was obviously dead, why his memory was still alive, but it was good to think about it, so that in this completely unfamiliar world of Yan Jin, at least Su Zimu was familiar with it.

After figuring it out, Yan Jin came to the stream again, and this time he carefully looked at the strange and familiar face in the water.

Yan Jin had to admit that Su Zimu was very good-looking, with red lips and white teeth, a straight nose, a pair of eyes like stars in the sky, shiny, smiling, and a pair of small dimples on both cheeks, if he was in that world, there would definitely be many girls screaming for it. However, thinking of this, Yan Jin frowned, what is the use of good-looking skins? This Su Zimu is not living a life of petty theft with a meal but not a meal.

Yan Jin raised his water-soaked hand and gently wiped off a filth on one cheek, and there was a smooth and delicate touch from his fingertips, tender and elastic, which was the kind of youthful brilliance that young people should have.

In fact, Yan Jin is only twenty-five years old, because he has suffered from congenital heart disease since he was a child, and in the first twenty-two years of his life, he lived a Buddhist life like an old man, and he was grateful for every extra day he lived, so that his personality was also very calm and gentle. It wasn't until he had a heart transplant three years ago that he had the opportunity to live the life that a young man of his age should have, but in the end he was used to living a smooth life of going to bed early and getting up early, although Yan Jin often forced himself to attend some parties organized by friends and colleagues, but he was not used to those noisy and lively, full of cigarettes and alcohol, and if he was not careful, he would be in the early hours of the morning, and Yan Jin always remembered the knife in his heart.

It's just that the company has been too busy recently, and Yan Jin has been working overtime until late every night, so he has to change his thunderous routine and rest life, but Yan Jin enjoys working hard with normal people, which feels good.

Thinking of the heart in his chest that gave him a second life, Yan Jin thought of the smiling boy. The boy who transplanted his heart was two years younger than him at the time, Yan Jin had quietly gone to see him, the boy in the photo on the tombstone was smiling brightly, his appearance was delicate, he must have been a handsome and sunny boy before his death, and now that he thinks about it, the boy looks a little similar to this Su Zimu.

Yan Jin had noticed the time engraved on the tombstone, and the day the boy died happened to be the boy's birthday. Thinking of this, Yan Jin suddenly discovered that Su Zimu seemed to have died on his birthday, and his birthday became a death day, which can be described as a great tragedy in life.

Su Zimu died on the way to Yunzhong and Qingjun's apprenticeship conference, Yan Jin was "lucky" to see the ghost first when he first came here, Su Zimu didn't know anything about cultivating immortals, and Yan Jin didn't know anything, since Su Zimu wanted to go, anyway, Yan Jin didn't know where to go right now, so he might as well go and see, I don't know if there is really a person like the one in Journey to the West.

After Yan Jin made up his mind, he also went all the way south, following Su Zimu's memories in the direction of Yunzhong and Qingjun.

"The last book said that Prince Han suddenly returned after being abandoned in the barren mountain for seven days, under the cold moonlight, dressed in red, standing on the wall of the city gate of Xiaoyue Kingdom, with a bell tied to a red thread on his wrist, and the corners of his mouth pouted with a seemingly nonexistent arc, staring at the entire capital. The next day, the city was lifeless. From then on, there was no prince Han in the world, but there was one more person who was feared by the lord of the hundred ghosts, Mo Han...... "The storyteller in the teahouse was spitting, and he was still making a few gestures from time to time to the end of the room, and even there were bells, swords, fans and other miscellaneous things on the table in front of him, and the people sitting at the bottom were also listening with relish, and the people sitting at the same table exchanged words from time to time.

"Hey, I heard that this ghost master Mo Han just gently shook the bell on his wrist, and he had his own evil ghost kill for him, and he never had to do it himself." Outside the teahouse, a few grocery vendors also gathered outside the teahouse to listen and discuss while taking advantage of the scarcity of business.

Another peddler said, "Not really! And I've heard that the ghosts under his hands are all evil ghosts who have died of torture, how do they die, they kill people in the same way, tsk, very vicious. ”

Another person said, "Fortunately, this Mo Han is dead, if he lives until now, can there be any living people in this world?" ”

"Brother, is the prince really dead? Isn't the ghost reincarnated after death? Has anyone ever seen or heard of him again? A faint voice interrupted the hawkers' conversation, and when they heard this, they were all stunned, and turned their heads to look in the direction of the voice.

Only then did they notice that in the corner behind them sat an unkempt little beggar, about fourteen or fifteen years old, ragged, with big black eyes spinning and full of aura.

Before these hawkers could answer, the storyteller's impassioned voice came from the teahouse again, "I think back then, Mo Chuxiao was one of the most proud disciples of Lin Qingfeng, the head of the clouds, what kind of place is the clouds, one of the best immortal cultivators in the world, but the famous and decent family, what kind of person is Lin Qingfeng, teaching such a disciple who kills people without blinking an eye and is in alliance with ghosts, of course, Yunzhong must personally come forward to clean up the sect." But the title of this ghost lord is not a false name, and Yunzhong sent people to attack many times without hurting him in the slightest. At that time, how many immortal cultivators in the world wanted to take the opportunity to improve their reputation by eradicating the ghost master, but they all went and never returned, and those who could go back were already half dead. Later, Yunzhong and Qingjun united, and the battle lasted all night, and in the end, it was Lin Qingfeng, the head of Yunzhong, and Han Qianqiu, the head of Qingjun, who took advantage of the distraction of Mo Chuxiao to combine their swords and pierce the heart fatally. After Mo Chuxiao's death, the whole person was wiped out, no bones and scum were left, and the three souls and seven spirits were also shattered by Lin Qingfeng's palm, and it was difficult for even the Daluo Immortal to make up for it. When it was over, Han Qianqiu cast a curse on him again, cursing Mo Chuxiao for not being reincarnated as a human being in his lifetime, if he was a human being, his life would not be more than the year of a weak crown. "Jingle jingle bell... A bell rang, and the storyteller closed the folding fan in his hand and sighed, "Oh, there will be no ghost master Mo Han in the world anymore." After that, he stopped and did not say anything more.

"I said, sir, this ghost master is so powerful, what can distract him? Besides, even if he is distracted, what about the group of evil spirits behind him? How could it be so easy to die? Seeing that the storyteller no longer continued, a man hurriedly asked.

The storyteller seemed to be still immersed in the book he had just mentioned, and his mood did not change much, saying, "No one knows what happened at that time?" Sometimes, life and death are just a thought. ”

Then another man asked, "Hey, sir, where's the bell?" Where is the bell that Mo Chuxiao ordered the hundred ghosts to do? ”

Mr. Storyteller relieved himself, picked up the teacup in front of him and took a sip of tea, gently squeezed the tea stalk in his mouth, and said unhurriedly, "Well, it's gone, it's gone, it's gone, in short, no one knows where this bell went, or if it hid itself!" ”

The person sitting next to the person who was just asking joked, "Oh, you see if you are still serious, these are all things that happened more than three hundred years ago, and until now, I don't know how many versions have been changed, I heard another storyteller last year say that Mo Chuxiao was killed by his senior brother Ming Heng." Besides, is there a bell or not? It's really so powerful, he always has a way to come back, these three hundred years have passed, who has ever heard of the appearance of such a powerful person as a ghost master? Hahahaha......" In the end, everyone laughed along with him.

The vendor outside the door also laughed and said, "Hahaha, boy, hear it, it's gone, even if you live, you can't live to be twenty years old, twenty years old, a hairy boy, what big thing can you do?" ”

The little beggar whispered and didn't know what to say, his voice was very soft, and no one noticed, he glanced into the teahouse, and he didn't know who said something inside, and then everyone began to laugh again, and the little beggar didn't stop any longer, turned around and walked away silently. The peddlers were all listening to the teahouse, and no one cared if he was there.