Chapter 197: A Mountain Suspended, A River Submerged (11)
An Nanyuan had been staring blankly at the ground beneath his feet, dazed by the pool of blood mixed with an intact human skin. The sight was genuinely shocking.
Even though he had followed the crew for many episodes of filming, this pile of soft, fleshy stuff still made An Nanyuan feel nauseous.
What made it worse was the thought that, just moments ago in the darkness, he had actually touched it with his bare hands…
Goosebumps spread slowly up An Nanyuan’s arms. He wasn’t someone obsessed with cleanliness, but at this moment, he desperately wanted to rush out and scrub his palms raw.
As An Nanyuan gagged while staring at the bloody mess on the floor, Zhang Wubing strode directly through the doorway and came to stand beside Yan Shixun.
When Zhang Wubing first saw Yan Shixun standing motionless out in the hallway by the window, he had been worried about him.
But the moment he followed Yan Shixun’s gaze and saw what was in the river, he instantly felt his entire body go cold.
—Countless human faces.
Each one was swollen and deathly pale, their original features completely unrecognizable. Only their eyeballs remained bright red, reflecting the flashlight’s beam with a ghastly crimson glow. The sight was horrifying.
It seemed the flashlight had disturbed them. The corpses, which had previously stood still in the water, now began to slowly drift toward the riverbank.
Their rotting stench filled the air as their bloated, waterlogged flesh squished onto the muddy shore. Then, sluggish and clumsy, they began shuffling toward the cottage.
The entire surface of the river had been covered in chrysanthemum petals, making it impossible to see how many more similar corpses lurked beneath.
It was like an endless tide—ceaseless, without end.
Zhang Wubing felt his scalp go numb. Trembling, he clutched Yan Shixun’s arm, his voice quivering and on the verge of tears: “B-Brother Yan, th-this this this…”
Taoist Ma lied to me!
Zhang Wubing screamed internally in grief and rage.
He had clearly asked Taoist Ma to do a reading, and Taoist Ma had said there was nothing wrong with Longevity Village—so what the hell was this?
Even though he often encountered ghosts—whether from car crashes or jumpers—Zhang Wubing had seen his fair share of terrifying deaths.
But he still had to admit: these things in front of him truly scared him to his core.
Corpses soaked in water for too long after death had morphed into grotesque, indescribable forms.
And just like the one Yan Shixun had killed earlier in the room, the corpses emerging from the river looked boneless, their entire bodies soft and bloated—like water-filled balloons ready to burst.
Zhang Wubing’s voice trembled as he asked, “B-Brother Yan, w-what do we do now?”
Yan Shixun flung Zhang Wubing off and, with one hand bracing the railing, leapt over it smoothly and dropped down.
“Go find Ye Li and Lu Xingxing for everything else. Everyone stay inside the cottage. Don’t go anywhere.”
He left behind just this crisp command, then threw the candlestick in his hand into the air like a weapon. Catching it again, he flipped the spiked end forward, twirling it elegantly like a sword, before charging at the corpses that had reached the shore.
As the candlestick pierced into flesh, a splash of blood erupted. The spiritual energy twisted and scattered chaotically, and the entire bloated corpse collapsed like a punctured balloon, slumping into a heap of blood and gore at Yan Shixun’s feet.
The blood soaked into the ground, blooming like crimson chrysanthemums along the riverbank.
Yan Shixun’s gaze remained sharp and resolute, his eyes as fierce as blades. The spikes of the candlestick he wielded were already caked in blood and bits of flesh, growing dull from the carnage.
But Yan Shixun seemed tireless. His movements remained precise and unfaltering—one strike, one corpse.
Blood flowed with the earth into the river, dyeing what had once been clear water a brilliant red.
The entire river of blood was covered with floating chrysanthemum petals—yellow and white—quietly drifting along its course.
It seemed untouched by the chaos around it.
No matter how fiercely Yan Shixun fought against the corpses, the quietly flowing river remained undisturbed.
Lu Xingxing, who had rushed over after hearing the commotion, gripped the railing with one hand and stared blankly down below.
In the beam of light cast by Zhang Wubing’s flashlight, Lu Xingxing saw Yan Shixun like a god of slaughter descended to the mortal world. Every corpse that tried to charge past him toward the wooden cottage had been reduced to pools of blood beneath his feet.
Intact human skins peeled off the corpses as they collapsed, one after another dropping to the ground.
Those skins, each bearing different expressions, wailed silently, and under the light of the flashlight, they seemed to be silently expressing their resentment to the people above.
Zhang Wubing was so terrified that he took a step back, his heart pounding furiously.
But Lu Xingxing stood behind the railing, dazed, staring at Yan Shixun—and the blood river flowing beneath his feet.
The horrific scene suddenly stirred a memory in Lu Xingxing’s mind. He abruptly remembered what he had previously forgotten.
—A river of corpses floating, its blood-colored waters flowing for ten days without end.
A long-standing source of unease for the Haiyun Temple.
The corpse mystery of Mount Nanming.
Many years ago, when Lu Xingxing had returned to the temple, he had unintentionally overheard a conversation among the Taoist priests and heard the name “Mount Nanming” for the first time.
It all began decades ago.
Back then, at the foot of Mount Nanming, people would often find abandoned infant corpses in the wilderness, their faces mutilated by wild beasts.
When those tiny bodies were discovered, most of them had already been partially eaten, leaving only small remnants behind—so tragic that the finders could hardly bear to look.
But during that time, when food was scarce and people were starving, no one could afford to assign blame.
—After all, if people couldn’t even feed themselves, how could they raise children? For villagers struggling just to survive, any talk of morality had to be built on the foundation of being able to live.
Even when Taoists or shamans passed by, they could only sigh and try to guide the little souls to their next life.
No one paid much attention to those infant corpses.
Until over a decade ago, when Mount Nanming experienced a corpse outbreak.
When a Taoist rushed there upon hearing the news and saw the scene at Mount Nanming, he was utterly stunned.
He had never witnessed such a vast quantity of human remains.
The corpses floated quietly on the river at the mountain’s base, drifting downstream one after another—like a vision straight out of hell.
The Taoist had tried to trace the source upstream along the riverbank but was never seen again.
No one knew whether he was alive or dead. His body was never recovered.
In the years that followed, Haiyun Temple kept sending taoists to Mount Nanming, but none of them succeeded. All their efforts were in vain.
Just like Gui Mountain and Wild Wolf Peak, Mount Nanming had become a chronic affliction for Haiyun Temple—something they had tried to resolve multiple times, all without result.
The death of the taoist that Lu Xingxing remembered most vividly had also been because of Mount Nanming.
That memory had once grown hazy, but the river of blood before his eyes now acted like a trigger word, suddenly bringing back the scene he had once heard described by his senior uncles.
Back then, Mount Nanming had looked just like it did now—the whole river dyed red with blood.
Only this time, the place was Longevity Village.
First came the stems, then the flower buds, and finally, the petals slowly and shakily unfurled.
By the banks of the river of blood, the crimson chrysanthemums quickly faded in color, transforming into pure, flawless white, swaying ever so slightly.
In the very next moment after the flowers bloomed, the human skins that had been slumped lifelessly on the ground suddenly puffed up as if air had been blown into them.
They were filled with flesh and blood, but curiously, had no bones—soft and limp, like worms forever deprived of autonomy.
The corpses lifted their heads and, with terrifyingly deformed faces, silently turned to look toward the small building. Then, stiff and clumsy, they began to move their swollen legs forward.
At the exact instant those chrysanthemums bloomed, Yan Shixun, who had been walking in the cottage’s living room, suddenly halted in his steps.
He felt all the memories of the corpses and the battle just now rapidly retreating from his mind.
The same happened to everyone else. That horrifying moment from earlier vanished from their memories as quickly as it had come.
It was as though only joyous and blissful memories were allowed to exist in this place—every trace of fear or negativity forcibly erased, denied permission to linger.
Within just a few breaths, everyone who had been on high alert moments ago suddenly relaxed.
Only Yan Shixun stood tense, clutching his hands into fists, his eyes fixed ahead with a sharpness so intense it felt like it could pierce through air. He was desperately struggling against whatever force was trying to override his will.
In the end, even though the memories had mostly faded, Yan Shixun still remembered one thing clearly:
—Go find the guide and get to the bottom of what’s going on in Longevity Village.
The guide was hiding something important.
As for everything else…
Yan Shixun blinked. He had the vague sense that a certain thought had flickered through his mind just now—but he couldn’t grasp it.
Strange… It felt like an invisible hand had reached into his head and wiped away a part of his memory.
His gaze darkened.
He could remember that he had forgotten something—but not what he had actually forgotten.
Perhaps, once he found the guide and got answers, he would understand.
Steadying himself, Yan Shixun pushed open the door of the cottage and stepped outside.
As soon as his figure disappeared, the others also suddenly forgot why they were standing there in the first place.
“That’s weird. Was I getting up to go to the bathroom or something?”
Nan Tian muttered as he scratched his head and walked back to his room in confusion.
He had been woken halfway through his sleep by the noise and had no idea what had just happened.
The other guests remembered bits and pieces, but those fragments felt like distant dreams—blurring the line between illusion and reality, leaving them unsure whether what they recalled had truly happened or was just the aftermath of a nightmare.
Everyone stood around in the living room, whispering to each other and exchanging puzzled glances.
“The power’s out. Why are we standing here instead of sleeping?”
“I think we have to head out early tomorrow, right? Better get some sleep now, or we won’t be able to get up in time.”
“Strange… what did I come out here for again?”
Everyone was completely lost, unable to make sense of the situation, so they returned to their rooms filled with confusion.
Only Lu Xingxing seemed to be struggling against something invisible. His expression fluctuated—sometimes agitated, sometimes low-spirited. After wrestling with it for a while, his demeanor finally calmed down.
Lu Xingxing glanced around the living room. He realized it was now completely empty. The spacious room was shrouded in darkness, with only the faint beam of his flashlight illuminating a small circle of space.
He vaguely remembered someone important to him had said, “Come to me if anything happens.”
Although the memory was fuzzy, Lu Xingxing, who instinctively felt burdened with a great responsibility, carefully spread a blanket over the sofa and prepared to sleep there.
—Even if he couldn’t remember exactly what task he’d been entrusted with, as long as he stayed in the living room, wouldn’t everything be taken care of?
Whoever tried to come in would have to pass by him first—this way, he could ensure everyone else’s safety.
Satisfied, Lu Xingxing nodded to himself with a sigh and slid his cold body under the blanket.
The soft rustling sounds quietly stirred in the dark.
The corpses, now reinflated and bloated, climbed in through the windows, crawled over the railing, and entered the cottage.
But whether it was Nan Tian—who had already been asleep in his room when the corpses passed through—or Zhang Wubing, who anxiously stared out the window, worried about Yan Shixun, no one seemed to notice the corpses moving right past them.
Cold river water dripped from the corpses, leaving long wet trails across the floor.
In the blink of an eye, those who had entered the cottage vanished once again.
Lu Xingxing, who had resolved to sleep in the living room, suddenly sneezed hard. He couldn’t help but feel that the living room really wasn’t as cozy as a bedroom—why was it so cold?
He rubbed his nose, completely unaware that a dark shadow had cast itself over him, enveloping him entirely…
Upstairs, however, a completely different scene was unfolding.
Ye Li stood with one foot on the unconscious body of a staff member, towering over Zhao Zhen, who was slumped against the wall. His long, narrow eyes held no trace of emotion.
Zhao Zhen stared at Ye Li in shock and fear, then looked at the collapsed staff member on the ground. A mix of surprise and dread welled up inside him.
He had never imagined that the man by Brother Yan’s side would possess power rivaling his.
Zhao Zhen had fully expected to be hurt under the staff member’s sudden and close-range attack.
But just as he had cried out for Yan Shixun, this man had appeared out of nowhere.
The staff member who was about to strike him had been sent flying by a single effortless kick from this man, saving Zhao Zhen without breaking a sweat.
Zhao Zhen suddenly understood why Lu Xingxing showed such respect toward this master aunt.
This kind of strength… was terrifying.
Zhao Zhen was filled with awe.
Ye Li’s gaze, however, remained still and solemn as he looked out the window toward the cottage.
Shixun’s presence… had vanished from it.
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