"Ah ah ah!"
The entire Skyline Mountain echoed with Zara Remar's excited screams.
She sat astride John's bike—and it felt exactly like riding a rocket. No slope was too steep; they soared up effortlessly.
What amazed Zara the most was the complete absence of turbulence. Despite the jagged rocks and uneven terrain, they sped along smoothly, as if gliding on air.
Mr. Lopez was clearly an expert—his driving skills were nothing short of phenomenal.
Zara was exhilarated.
In the blink of an eye, they reached a plateau where a parking lot had been set up. Luxury cars already lined the area, and more continued to arrive by the minute.
Everyone had come with reverence in their hearts, eager to hear the legendary Yellow-Eyebrow Immortal chant scriptures.
John pulled up and parked the bike.
Numerous passersby turned their heads in curiosity.
That young man had real strength. The mountain was unforgivingly steep, yet he'd ridden a bike all the way up—with a girl on the back, no less.
Were young people working this hard just to impress their girlfriends these days?
Well, youth was a wonderful thing.
Zara hadn't had nearly enough of the thrill, but responsibility called. The upper section of the mountain was protected—everyone was required to walk the rest of the way as a show of respect for the immortal.
Reluctantly, she hopped off the bike and began tidying her windswept hair, her cheeks still glowing with excitement.
They waited a while before Jonathan Sinclaire's Audi SUV finally arrived at the lot, groaning as it climbed the incline.
When the vehicle came to a halt and the men stepped out, their expressions toward John were equal parts awe and disbelief.
They had watched helplessly as he had overtaken their SUV in mere seconds, disappearing from sight as if propelled by magic.
Wendy Shelby ran over and grabbed Zara's hand eagerly.
"Zara, how did it feel just now?" she asked.
"It was so exciting! Like a roller coaster—but without the nausea or dizziness. It was just pure fun," Zara said, still caught up in the rush of it all.
Wendy's eyes gleamed with envy. "Ugh, I really want to try it too."
"Nope! Mr. Lopez is only taking me today," Zara teased, sticking out her tongue. "You'll have to wait until next time!"
"Zara! Are you even my best friend anymore?" Wendy pouted, pretending to be betrayed.
With a mischievous grin, she pounced, her fingers tickling Zara's waist and legs. Laughter erupted between the two girls as they began to playfully wrestle.
Meanwhile, Kley Sinclaire ran over to John, eyes wide with admiration.
"Sir, you're amazing! Could I borrow your bike? Just for a few minutes—please?"
Though Jonathan was far from a decent person, Kley seemed like a kind-hearted boy. John hesitated for a moment, then nodded.
"You can borrow it, but fair warning—this bike knows who's riding her. Don't get your hopes up too much."
"Thank you, sir!" Kley exclaimed, practically vibrating with excitement as he climbed onto the bike.
But when he tried to ride it, he struggled. No matter how hard he pedaled or kicked off, he couldn't replicate what he had seen earlier. The bike moved, sure—but it was ordinary. Pedestrian.
Totally underwhelming.
Could this bike actually recognize its rider?
He tried again. And again. But in the end, he had no choice but to give up. Whatever trick John had used, Kley couldn't mimic it.
What he didn't know was that the bike was a magical tool, one that only activated when infused with vital energy. Without that energy, it was indistinguishable from a normal bicycle.
Watching from a distance, the two girls felt their admiration for John deepen.
Apparently, only Mr. Lopez could make that bike fly like the wind.
It seemed both girls had fallen just a little harder.
Dang—!
A sudden peal of copper bells rang from the mountaintop, echoing across the landscape.
Kley looked up toward the Taoist temple silhouetted against the sky. "The Immortal is about to begin chanting! We'd better hurry."
Zara eagerly grabbed John's arm. "Come with us, Mr. Lopez. It'll be amazing!"
"We're already here, might as well take a look," John agreed, though his eyes flickered briefly—cold and sharp, like a blade under moonlight.
He hadn't seen any traces of evil on Jonathan Sinclaire's face. But the other three… they each bore a subtle yet unmistakable shadow of malevolence. That could only mean one thing:
They had previously heard the Yellow-Eyebrow Immortal chant—and had become tainted.
John's gaze narrowed.
Let's see who this so-called Immortal really is…
They joined the crowd and made their way up the final stretch on foot.
At the summit stood a worn, crumbling Taoist temple.
Inside, a gaunt old man sat cross-legged in a faded robe, his eyes closed in meditation. His long yellow-brown eyebrows hung low like a curtain, sweeping down across his cheeks.
Now it made sense why he was called the Yellow-Eyebrow Immortal.
But the moment John laid eyes on him, he felt it—a strange, ominous aura wafting off the man's body. It was murky, thick with corruption. This was not the spiritual light of a true Taoist… this was something darker.
Of course, that was just John's perception.
To everyone else, the old man radiated holiness. They knelt and gazed upon him with reverence, as if in the presence of a divine being.
"Everyone, please be seated."
The old man's voice was low and melodic, almost unnaturally soothing. It carried a power—not loud, but deeply penetrating, like a hypnotist's incantation that coaxed the mind into stillness.
And that—that—was exactly what alarmed John.
Everyone obeyed, taking seats on the ground before him.
Without further ado, the Yellow-Eyebrow Immortal began to chant.
His voice flowed like water, smooth and unhurried. But it was more than that—it was seductive, almost too peaceful, drawing the crowd into a trance.
Before long, people began to fall asleep.
They didn't even realize it. They thought they were still listening to the sermon, unaware that their minds had slipped into a dreamlike fog.
No wonder Wendy Shelby had claimed the immortal's voice held a strange magic—one that helped people forget their troubles.
If people can forget their troubles this easily… then something is definitely wrong.
John closed his eyes as well—but unlike the others, a faint blue light shimmered from between his brows.
Magic Power—Lucifer's Eyes.
Through this arcane vision, he peered beyond the veil of illusion.
Suddenly, a boy with a ghostly white face and a purple mark on his forehead floated into view from behind the Yellow-Eyebrow Immortal.
His eyes—enormous bronze-like orbs—bulged grotesquely from their sockets, far too large for his skull.
John's breath caught.
This was no illusion.
This was—
An Evil Ghost Boy.