Chapter 198: A Mountain Suspended, A River Submerged (12)
Although Ye Li had always been by Yan Shixun’s side, Zhao Zhen and the rest of the production team had no recollection of this man, nor could they remember his face.
Even when face-to-face, any memory of him vanished the moment they turned away.
It wasn’t until tonight that Zhao Zhen truly saw the man’s appearance. At such close proximity, Zhao Zhen could even feel the powerful aura emanating from him.
With a swift sweep of his long leg, the man kicked the staff member who had lunged at Zhao Zhen, sending him crashing into the wall before he collapsed to the ground. Then, the man stepped on him, rendering him immobile.
The staff member rolled his eyes; the redness in his eyes gradually faded, and then his head tilted to the side as he lost consciousness.
Zhao Zhen silently took two steps back, leaning against the wall to catch his breath.
In that brief moment… he had nearly thought the man would kick him away as well.
After all, he had been entangled with the staff member, and at such close range, the force of that kick had sent a gust of wind that made Zhao Zhen’s face sting. While startled, he had also braced himself for the possibility of being caught in the crossfire.
Yet, to his surprise, the man’s aim had been so precise.
Zhao Zhen was completely unharmed, while the frenzied staff member had been subdued.
Zhao Zhen dared not make a sound. As Ye Li turned to look out the window into the darkness, Zhao Zhen only dared to gaze at him, wanting to speak but finding the words stuck in his throat.
After a long while, seeing that the staff member lying on the ground showed no signs of movement, Zhao Zhen finally mustered the courage to speak: “Um… you…”
Ye Li turned to look at Zhao Zhen with an indifferent expression, waiting for him to finish speaking.
Although Ye Li’s face was expressionless, Zhao Zhen couldn’t help but feel that he was conveying a message: “I’m only willing to listen to you because of Yan Shixun, so speak quickly.”
The courage Zhao Zhen had just summoned dissipated like smoke.
Cold sweat trickled down his back, and it was only then that he realized how remarkable Lu Xingxing was. As a Taoist from Haiyun Temple, he had managed to speak normally in front of such a person.
Zhao Zhen felt that just being looked at by this man was like having his soul laid bare, with every good and bad deed he’d ever done exposed from the depths of his being.
It felt like standing before a judge, anxiously awaiting the verdict, filled with unease and helplessness.
Zhao Zhen opened his mouth, and before Ye Li lost patience, he finally found his voice.
“Master Aunt.”
Zhao Zhen closed his eyes, recalling Lu Xingxing’s demeanor when facing Ye Li, and tried to emulate it.
He threw caution to the wind and said, “Please spare this man’s life! He’s a member of the production team, not a ghost or monster. He must have been possessed by an evil spirit.”
After all, lying on the cold floor in winter for too long would surely make him sick. Moreover, the man had just been kicked so hard that Zhao Zhen had heard the clear sound of bones cracking. He wasn’t sure of the man’s current condition.
Seeing that Ye Li didn’t seem to care about others, Zhao Zhen couldn’t help but worry about the unconscious staff member.
Upon hearing the title, Ye Li’s stern expression gradually softened.
He glanced at Zhao Zhen, then stepped back, releasing the person under his foot.
The staff member collapsed limply.
Zhao Zhen quickly approached and crouched down to check on him.
However, to his surprise, as soon as he touched the staff member’s clothing, numerous white petals fell out.
Looking closely, they were white chrysanthemums, just like those in the village.
“This…” Zhao Zhen was astonished.
He had clearly seen the man go berserk earlier, and at that time, there hadn’t been any chrysanthemum petals on him. When had they appeared?
“He was indeed possessed by an evil spirit.”
Ye Li lowered his eyes slightly and looked coldly at Zhao Zhen, who was crouching at his feet. “Since you want to save him, then go ahead. But you’ll have to bear the consequences yourself.”
Zhao Zhen looked up in surprise. “He… is there still something wrong with him?”
Ye Li’s deep voice remained calm. “He has sown karma, so he must repay it. If he has taken another’s life, then he must return it with his own—nothing more, nothing less.”
“You’d better hope he doesn’t wake up anytime soon. Otherwise, things are going to get messy.”
The fact that Ye Li had even said this much to Zhao Zhen already marked the limit of his patience for anyone who wasn’t Yan Shixun.
As soon as he finished speaking, he stepped forward with his long legs and brushed indifferently past Zhao Zhen, heading downstairs.
Ye Li’s usually sharp and cold expression had grown darker from displeasure.
Yan Shixun was no longer in the cottage—he had gone into the village, taking even his presence with him.
Yet before leaving, Yan Shixun had entrusted every life in the cottage to Ye Li’s care, leaving him no room to follow.
Ye Li struggled inwardly with this dilemma—on one hand, the exorcist he deeply cared for; on the other, the trust placed in him by the one he loved. Which should he choose?
Meanwhile, after hearing Ye Li’s words, Zhao Zhen pondered for a moment and began to understand what he meant.
Was he saying… this man might harm others when he woke up?
Zhao Zhen looked down at the unconscious man on the floor. He looked perfectly normal now—aside from the heavy bruising under his eyes that made him seem especially haggard, he was still the same crew member Zhao Zhen knew.
Gritting his teeth, Zhao Zhen bent down and picked the man up, carrying him straight into one of the rooms.
Even if he had an evil spirit in him and might harm others, he was still a human being made of flesh and blood. If left lying out here in the freezing cold all night, he probably wouldn’t survive.
As for whether he’d hurt anyone…
Zhao Zhen sat the crew member down on a chair and immediately looked around the room. He twisted the bedsheet into a rope and tied the man up securely.
After that, he quickly went to check on the others in the room.
He remembered very clearly that the first moment he realized something was wrong was when he saw, through the slightly open door, that no one inside was moving at all.
But now, as he looked again, a chill ran down Zhao Zhen’s spine.
The others weren’t just unconscious—they had clearly been attacked.
Some had large, swollen bruises on their heads; others had bloody scratch marks all over their faces. They were sprawled awkwardly across the beds and the floor, as if they had been ambushed with no chance to defend themselves.
Zhao Zhen carefully checked the pulses of each person. Only after confirming that they were all just unconscious and their vital signs were stable did he finally breathe a sigh of relief. Then he hurried to lift and move them.
At that moment, across the hall, Bai Shuang cautiously opened her door only after the noises outside had finally quieted down. She peeked out carefully.
“Zhao Zhen? Is that you?”
Seeing Zhao Zhen in the opposite room, Bai Shuang asked in a trembling voice, “What just happened? I heard someone shouting… and then the power went out.”
The instant darkness fell, Bai Shuang’s first instinct had been to rush out in search of Brother Yan.
But then, on second thought, Bai Shuang grew fearful that there might be danger lurking outside. If she rushed out recklessly, wouldn’t she risk running right into some ghost or demon waiting just beyond the door? That would only cause more trouble for Yan Shixun.
So instead, she stayed huddled behind the door, trembling as anxiety twisted in her chest.
Every loud bang and startled cry from outside made her heart leap. The fear of the unknown—the not knowing what was actually happening—spread through her chest, choking her breath.
As she sat there, panic running wild in her mind, Bai Shuang couldn’t stop imagining worst-case scenarios. She was terrified for herself and worried about everyone else. Tears welled up from the fear, but all she could do was grip the door tightly and listen for any movement outside, preparing herself in case something tried to break in.
Even when she heard Zhao Zhen talking to someone outside, she didn’t dare open the door, afraid it might be a trick—some creature trying to lure her out.
Only when things quieted down did Bai Shuang dare to open the door just a crack and peek outside.
Zhao Zhen, hearing the creak of the door, turned his head and saw Bai Shuang clinging to the doorframe, looking timid and cautious.
While gritting his teeth and lifting the rather heavy staff member onto the bed, Zhao Zhen managed to smile at her, trying to ease her fear.
“It’s me, don’t be scared. The director said the power outage was due to unstable voltage in the village,”
Zhao Zhen explained. “But… yeah, something evil was definitely around again. Be careful, Bai Shuang.”
Once Bai Shuang heard what had just happened, her eyes widened in shock.
Before she knew the details, she had assumed that learning the truth would make her afraid.
But now that she did know… she realized how terrifying the darkness around her truly was.
It felt like danger was hiding in every shadowy corner, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Zhao Zhen was busy bandaging the injured staff, and for a while, he couldn’t pay much attention to Bai Shuang.
She wanted to help, but after some thought, Zhao Zhen said, “Since you were safe in your room just now, it’s better if you stay there.”
“Brother Yan doesn’t seem to be in the building at the moment. I called out to him for help earlier, but the one who showed up was the man who’s always by Brother Yan’s side. Right now, only he and Xingxing are left to protect us. We’re short on help, so we should avoid moving around too much.”
Even in the darkness, where they could barely make out each other’s faces, Zhao Zhen tried to keep a calm, reassuring smile as he said, “Don’t worry. I’ll stay here and watch over them. I’m close by. If anything happens, just call me.”
After all, the staff members were all unconscious and couldn’t protect themselves at all.
Weighing the situation, Zhao Zhen decided to stay in this room.
He figured that as long as he didn’t shut the door, he could watch over both Bai Shuang and the injured staff. After all, Bai Shuang was a girl—he couldn’t just ask her to come stay in the same room as him.
Who knew when Brother Yan would return, or when the danger would pass? If they were stuck guarding each other all night, Bai Shuang wouldn’t be able to rest well either.
After thinking it all through, Zhao Zhen came up with this compromise.
Bai Shuang nodded, though she still gave Zhao Zhen a worried glance. “And you—if you get overwhelmed, call me.”
Zhao Zhen smiled. “Okay. Now go back to your room and lock the door.”
Once he had finished moving the injured staff onto the beds, Zhao Zhen wiped the sweat from his forehead and fumbled through the dark to find the first aid kit, wanting to tend to their wounds as best he could.
Fortunately, this was the staff’s room, so there were plenty of supplies.
And though Zhao Zhen wasn’t a trained medical professional, he’d gotten hurt so often while filming that he had become quite skilled at treating injuries.
After feeling around for a while, Zhao Zhen not only found the first aid kit but also a spare flashlight tucked next to it.
He felt a surge of delight in his heart and was just about to get up when it seemed like he bumped into a cabinet.
With a loud “bang!”, something fell down and hit the floor.
Puzzled, Zhao Zhen turned on his flashlight and looked over, only to see a thick layer of dust covering a book that had fallen face-down.
When he picked it up, he realized it wasn’t a regular book, but a notebook.
Judging by its style, it didn’t look like something the villagers would use, which made Zhao Zhen wonder if it had been left behind by a previous visitor.
Driven by curiosity, Zhao Zhen sat down beside it and opened the notebook.
At the beginning, it stated the owner’s identity, along with two photographs tucked inside.
In the photo, a man wearing professional outdoor hiking gear and goggles was beaming brightly at the camera.
Standing beside him were several others dressed similarly. Behind them, a banner could faintly be seen with the words “Longevity Village Hiking Team.”
It seemed to be a group photo taken before they set out on their hike.
The written records in the notebook confirmed this assumption.
Zhao Zhen remembered that on the way to Longevity Village, their guide had explained that the village first gained fame by word of mouth among backpackers and hikers. The environment was said to be so wonderful that many people eventually chose to settle there.
But today, he hadn’t seen any such residents.
With curiosity and unease growing in his chest, Zhao Zhen turned another page.
At first, the notebook’s owner had meticulously documented the team’s daily itinerary, including assignments and logistical arrangements. It was clear they had been seriously organizing a hiking expedition.
Soon after, the writer joyfully described their arrival in Longevity Village. The mountains and waters were just as beautiful as rumored, and the villagers were welcoming. They even offered the team an unoccupied building to stay in, along with abundant food and clean water.
He highly praised the village’s water quality, calling it the best he had ever tasted—so good that he felt reluctant to leave.
Zhao Zhen flipped through several pages, all filled with joyful moments of life in Longevity Village.
But gradually, the tone of the entries started to shift.
Where once each day had a full page, now there were blank spots, filled only with messy, disjointed phrases—like someone forcing themselves to write even when extremely exhausted.
Zhao Zhen strained to make out the writing. When he finally managed to decipher it, his heart skipped a beat.
[Something’s wrong. In the river, there’s—]
The strokes were so heavy that they bled through the paper onto the next page.
But the sentence was left unfinished.
He turned to the next page, only to find a completely different style.
The handwriting was neat and graceful, and the content was full of admiration for Longevity Village. The writer said it was the most comfortable time of his life—free of worries.
The contrast between chaos and calm was stark.
Turning the page again, he saw more frenzied handwriting slashed across the paper.
[Water! The water is not—]
Yet the next page once again returned to a peaceful tone, filled with praise for the village.
A deep sense of unease welled up inside Zhao Zhen. He began flipping through the pages rapidly and discovered the entire notebook was riddled with this jarring duality.
One page read like a desperate struggle, as if the writer were fighting with everything he had to document something important.
But the next would suddenly return to a serene account of village life, full of gratitude—as if the writer had forgotten the pain he had just expressed.
From the grooves deeply etched into the paper, Zhao Zhen could almost feel the writer’s repeated attempts to resist… but in the end, all in vain.
The notebook’s owner had forgotten all of his sadness and, along with it, everything that could cause negative emotions or unease.
In the final few pages, the owner spoke in a blissful tone, sighing that he had indeed decided to settle in Longevity Village. Once he left to make the necessary arrangements, he would return—and stay forever.
But in the last few lines, his tone changed—as if something had suddenly come back to him. The handwriting became chaotic, as if he were struggling to get something down.
[There are corpses in Longevity Village. They move. Leave now. It’s because of—]
The sentence trailed off. The pen tip lingered on the paper, soaking it in a large blot of ink—like the writer had fallen into a daze mid-thought.
Still, in the very end, the notebook’s owner added a final note.
[I forgot. I forgot what it is I forgot. I think I wanted to write something down—or maybe I wanted to warn my companions. But one by one, they disappeared, and I forgot where they went. The villagers told me they couldn’t endure the mountain’s cold and left. But… why don’t I remember that?]
[There’s something wrong with my memory. If there’s one thing I can still be sure of, it’s this:
I’ve forgotten something very important. But I just can’t remember what it was.]
When Zhao Zhen read that final note, it was as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped over his head. The chill seeped deep into his bones.
And suddenly, he realized—He might have also… forgotten a lot of things.
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