Chapter 240: Shadow Puppets and Lamplight (6)
The moment the voice echoed from within the museum, Yan Shixun’s gaze turned razor-sharp.
In a flash, he lunged forward, leaping nimbly over the half-meter-high threshold with a clear goal in mind—heading straight for Zhang Wubing.
Zhang Wubing and the staff member beside him were stunned on the spot by the sudden voice behind them. Their muscles locked up uncontrollably, frozen where they stood, unable to move a single step. Only the fear on their faces betrayed their inner panic, making it obvious to the onlookers just how terrified they were.
At such close range, Yan Shixun could even see the tears of fear welling up in Zhang Wubing’s eyes. The poor fool looked like he was about to be scared to death.
As for the elderly man who had suddenly appeared in the shadow behind Zhang Wubing, Yan Shixun naturally noticed him too.
Yan Shixun’s gaze swept over the old man like a blade, and he instantly made his decision.
With a long reach, he grabbed both Zhang Wubing and the staff member—one in each hand—and flung them outside the museum’s gate. He then landed steadily in their original positions, standing firm without the slightest hint of panic or fear as he faced the old man.
His Martin boots hit the dirt path solidly, kicking up a cloud of dust.
With a loud thud, the two landed on the pavement outside the gate.
Before a cry of pain could escape his lips, Zhang Wubing forced it down through sheer willpower, not daring to make even the slightest sound that might distract Yan Shixun.
The staff member, on the other hand, had taken the fall hard—his insides felt like they’d shifted places—and couldn’t help but cry out in pain.
Yan Shixun’s face was grim, every muscle in his body tensed. If the old man opposite him dared to make a single wrong move, he was already in position to strike immediately.
A short distance away, the rest of the group had gasped in shock and were now watching the confrontation in tense silence, their hands covering their mouths in anxious worry.
Ye Li’s expression was cold and stern, not a trace of a smile on his face. He pressed his lips into a thin line, showing no emotion toward the old man and not the slightest concern for Yan Shixun.
It was as if he had seen right through the old man’s soul the moment he laid eyes on him.
Meanwhile, Xie Lin—participating in the show for the first time—looked nervously at the people around him, clearly wanting to say something.
From his anxious expression, it seemed he was worried about Yan Shixun and wanted to rush over with the others to help.
What he didn’t expect was that everyone else was maintaining a safe distance from the scene.
This left Xie Lin a bit bewildered.
Apparently, although he had done some research before coming on the show, the public opinion team didn’t want any footage from the program to be misused or taken out of context by media accounts. So the livestream didn’t allow screen recording or screenshots.
As a result, Xie Lin had never seen how the guests usually interacted.
Even though Song Ci had roughly explained things to him beforehand, seeing it with his own eyes was clearly different from just hearing about it.
Song Ci, sharp-eyed as ever, noticed Xie Lin stepping forward and quickly reached out to grab him. When Xie Lin turned to look at him, Song Ci silently mouthed: Don’t get in the way.
Xie Lin had never imagined that this was how the crew operated.
—Not everyone rushed in to deal with danger. Instead, when Yan Shixun stepped forward, the others instinctively stayed in a safe place, not wanting to become a burden.
Xie Lin: “?”
He looked up in confusion, staring at Yan Shixun’s back.
At that moment, he suddenly realized that Yan Shixun might be different from all the other masters he had sought out in the past…
The old man locked eyes with Yan Shixun for a few seconds before suddenly cracking a dry-lipped smile and speaking in a hoarse voice: “Young man.”
“Don’t you have any parents? Didn’t anyone teach you manners?”
The old man raised his withered, bony hand and pointed at the red-painted characters on the nearby wall: “Are you blind? Can’t you see it says ‘Ticket Office’?”
“Did you buy a ticket? And you think you can just walk in like that?”
He let out a heavy snort, lifting his head to glare at Yan Shixun with open contempt and disdain.
Yan Shixun cast a cold glance his way.
The red paint on the wall had long faded and peeled, the dried streaks that once dripped down resembling splattered blood. Time had oxidized them into a dark stain, making it impossible to tell what had happened here long ago.
The porch was dimly lit, and the dust swirling in the air made the place seem even older and more decrepit. The dark red stains and grime on the walls gave off a chilling, ominous feeling.
Beneath the red-painted words “Ticket Office” was the old ticket window.
However, the small glass window hadn’t been cleaned in ages. It was covered in dust, with several broken panes missing entirely.
Looking through the window inside, the room was a complete mess. An old-style hot water kettle had toppled over onto a dark red table—its color as deep as blood—and clutter was scattered everywhere. It didn’t look like anyone still lived there.
Rather, it looked like someone had fled in a panic.
Still, Yan Shixun didn’t sense any evil or supernatural energy from the old man.
Despite his creepy appearance and the odd timing and place of his appearance, the man was, in fact, alive.
Before Yan Shixun could respond, Bai Shuang, who had been standing nearby, also heard what the old man said. Her initial fear quickly turned into anger.
“Old man, what are you talking about? Do you even know how to speak properly?”
Fuming, Bai Shuang raised her voice at the old man:“You weren’t even sitting at the entrance. How were we supposed to know someone was still at the ticket booth? The place looks abandoned—no one’s taking care of it! Sure, it was our mistake for misunderstanding, but you could’ve explained it nicely too!”
The old man’s cloudy eyes shifted slightly as he began turning his gaze toward Bai Shuang.
Yan Shixun, who had never relaxed his watch on the old man, immediately noticed the change in his movement.
He took a step to the side, his tall and solid figure standing like a mountain, completely blocking the old man’s line of sight toward Bai Shuang.
Sensing the sunlight in front of him was suddenly blocked, the old man squinted in displeasure. His eyes, already obscured by layers of wrinkles and sagging skin, narrowed as if he were about to say something.
Just then, as if by coincidence, Yan Shixun casually pushed up the cuff of his coat, revealing a firm, well-toned forearm, and made a show of reaching into his pocket like he was about to pull out money.
But that arm radiated strength—it was a silent warning.
—Whatever you’re thinking, don’t make a move.
Otherwise, I’m not someone who “respects the elderly and loves the young.”
Standing with his back to the light, Yan Shixun looked down at the old man from above, the corners of his mouth curling into a threatening smile.
“Alright then, how much is the ticket?”
His voice was low and magnetic, like a blade drawn halfway from its sheath, cold and sharp, hidden beneath casual words.
“I’ll pay for everyone’s tickets.”
His already sharp features took on a dangerously aggressive edge in that moment.
The old man’s eyes were completely devoid of light as he stared heavily at Yan Shixun.
Their locked gaze was a silent confrontation, one only the two of them were aware of.
After a moment, the old man was the first to look away. His voice rasped and rough like a snake slithering over stone.
“Fifty cents per person. Can’t pay? Then get lost.”
With a snort, he hunched over even more, his already bent back curling up like a shrimp. The sight was unsettling.
Zhang Wubing gritted his teeth as he climbed up from the ground, pulling up the staff member who had been thrown out beside him.
Hearing the exchange between Yan Shixun and the old man, Zhang Wubing quickly hurried over, stepping across the threshold while reaching into his pocket.
“I got it, I got it, Brother Yan—”
Smack! Before he could finish, Yan Shixun reached out with perfect precision, pressing his long fingers against Zhang Wubing’s face, silencing him instantly.
“I said, I’m paying.”
Yan Shixun’s eyes never left the old man as he gave a cold chuckle and said, “If you’re thinking of getting anything more out of me than money, we’ll see if you’ve got the guts for it… o.l.d.m.a.n.”
He bit hard on the last few words.
Then he extended his other hand toward the old man. Between his elegant fingers were several crisp bills.
Zhang Wubing, who had been silenced and had his mouth covered the whole time, stared at the scene, a cascade of question marks running through his mind.
Brother Yan actually carried cash on him? And he figured out the exact amount so quickly? Though fifty cents per person was dirt cheap—like something from over a decade ago… did Brother Yan just hand over a random stack of money?
But if someone had taken the time to count, they would have found that Yan Shixun had calculated the exact number of people in their group—no more, no less.
—Even though he had spent the entire ride with his eyes closed, resting, not taking part in the staff’s prep work or the guests’ conversations, he had kept a precise mental count of everyone around him from beginning to end.
The old man gave the bills a cursory glance, and his estimation was nearly spot-on—it matched the number of living people nearby.
Not a penny short. Cause and effect settled.
The old man’s lips puckered, and the deep wrinkles on his face twisted into something even more grotesque.
But in the end, he didn’t say a word. He simply cast Yan Shixun a heavy look and snatched the money from his hand with a bitter expression. Snorting through his nose in displeasure, he turned around with his hands behind his back and walked into the courtyard.
He had opened the path for everyone to enter.
Only then did Yan Shixun release his hand from Zhang Wubing’s mouth.
As soon as he pulled it back, he noticed a few spots of saliva on his palm.
Yan Shixun: “…………”
His face twisted in disgust as he quickly pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his hand clean: “Zhang Dabing, you’re absolutely revolting.”
Zhang Wubing hadn’t even had time to figure out what just happened before getting insulted. His eyes welled up with tears, deeply wounded.
Yan Shixun slightly turned to glance over his shoulder and jerked his chin toward the group: “Come on. Didn’t you all say you wanted to visit the museum?”
“The tickets are paid for. If you don’t go in, that old man’s the one who owes me now.”
As he spoke, the corner of Yan Shixun’s eye swept meaningfully toward the old man not far away.
The old man hadn’t expected Yan Shixun to bring him up again and was caught off guard, showing a moment of surprise. But then, though clearly unwilling, he reacted as if he had taken hush money and had no choice but to grit his teeth and play along. Annoyed, he muttered, “If you’re going in, hurry up. Look at whatever you want.”
The guests couldn’t care less about the strange old man.
Since Brother Yan gave the green light, there was nothing to be afraid of.
So everyone’s mood returned to the curious, carefree vibe of a spring outing as they walked toward the main entrance.
“This… opera-like voice…”
An Nanyuan clutched the doorframe and peeked his head inside, only half of his body still outside. He hesitated and asked, “Wh-what is that?”
You really couldn’t blame An Nanyuan for being scared.
In his mind, every horror movie he’d ever watched started playing on loop.
Even though he hadn’t gone anywhere near the museum, let alone seen what was inside, his imagination had already jumped from The Ring to embroidered shoes, then from yellow-skinned tombs to haunted opera troupes.
An Nanyuan imagined a group of dead opera performers hidden in the courtyard, still singing on stage, faces painted white with red cheeks, sleeves fluttering—completely unaware they had already died.
And below the stage, sat a crowd of dazed ghosts, their soulless eyes wide open, mechanically cheering for the ghost performers…
After receiving the money, the old man became even more impatient, as if Yan Shixun paying for the tickets had somehow ruined his plans.
When he heard someone ask a question, he didn’t react with that eerie expression he had when Bai Shuang spoke earlier. Instead, he seemed eager to get rid of them all. Though annoyed, he still explained: “Wasn’t it you who barged in and turned on the DVD player?”
“Huh?”
An Nanyuan clearly hadn’t expected that answer, and for a moment, looked completely confused.
The others, however, seemed to realize something and turned to look toward Zhang Wubing.
Zhang Wubing suddenly remembered—he and the staff had indeed seen a DVD and projector when they went in to check earlier, and they had even tested whether they worked.
But he distinctly recalled that as soon as he saw the DVD player was functional, he turned it off and came right back out.
After all, so many people were waiting outside. He couldn’t waste time in there.
Had he remembered wrong?
Scratching his head in confusion, Zhang Wubing turned to look at the staff.
The staff member shook his head blankly. “It was all too rushed at the time. We didn’t really pay attention to small details like that…”
Still, once everyone realized it was a false alarm, their smiles returned. They followed Yan Shixun inside, chatting and laughing again.
Yan Shixun stopped walking once they exited the porch and waited for Ye Li to catch up.
“This museum… something feels off to me. But when I look closely, the karmic balance seems normal, and there’s no lingering ghostly aura.”
Frowning, Yan Shixun lowered his voice and asked Ye Li, “Am I seeing it wrong?”
Ye Li glanced around the courtyard at his words.
An old man, who had looked impatient just a moment ago, visibly flinched when Ye Li’s gaze landed on him. Hunched over, he shrank back instinctively, trying to disappear from Ye Li’s view.
It was the fear of being completely seen through.
No one liked the feeling that all their secrets were laid bare.
Especially not someone who already had something to hide.
Ye Li soon looked away and replied in a low voice to Yan Shixun, “You weren’t mistaken. There really is no excess karmic entanglement here.”
If it were just his own misjudgment, that would be one thing—but even the ghost deity who governed life and death confirmed there was no karmic imbalance…
Yan Shixun furrowed his brows deeply, unable to make sense of the situation before him.
At the same time, he recalled the heavy karma he had seen surrounding Xie Lin.
Someone who, on the surface, seemed like they shouldn’t carry any karma was instead wrapped in it—steeped in sin.
But here, a place that reeked of unease and discomfort, was completely devoid of karmic traces.
It didn’t make sense to him.
Perhaps it was precisely because both the old man and the museum had triggered all his alarms that, when the old man mentioned the ticket fee, Yan Shixun didn’t hesitate. He immediately paid for everyone out of his own pocket and handed the money over himself.
By doing so, he shifted all karmic consequences tied to the group’s visit from each individual to himself.
Even though, on the surface, the old man hadn’t done anything that crossed a line—just seemed a bit strange—Yan Shixun still chose to be cautious.
He knew that not everyone from the production team would be entering the museum. Most of the support crew would be waiting in the vehicles outside while only the guests entered for filming.
Still, he paid precisely for every single person.
There was something about this place that gave him a sense of karmic imbalance, so he stayed hyper-aware of it.
As for the old man—strange as he was—Yan Shixun wanted no karmic debt with him whatsoever. Even if the old man really intended to extract karma or yang energy, he would only come for the one who had paid, sparing the rest of the crew.
Yan Shixun wasn’t someone easily shaken. He had absolute confidence in himself.
Not to mention, he had Ye Li beside him as a witness.
This odd conclusion left a seed of doubt in Yan Shixun’s heart, and he couldn’t help shifting his gaze back to Xie Lin again.
Xie Lin, on the other hand, had initially thought something bad was about to happen. After all, the online reviews he had read about this show mentioned frequent ghost encounters and danger. The director was said to be terribly unlucky.
Even Song Ci had suffered serious internal injuries in the last episode and had been recovering in the hospital for quite some time.
So when Xie Lin signed the risk disclosure form sent by the director’s team, he had mentally braced himself.
He thought this season would be just as cursed—danger striking as soon as they arrived at the filming location. He had even been prepared to rush to Yan Shixun’s side to help or protect Song Ci if needed.
But in the end, it was just much ado about nothing. Nothing had actually happened.
Relieved, Xie Lin shook his head with a smile, muttering to himself that some things really had to be seen firsthand—rumors weren’t to be trusted.
From this angle, the show didn’t seem that dangerous after all.
While the shadow puppet museum looked rundown from the outside, once they stepped inside, they found it much larger than expected. The rooms were packed with various items, giving it a surprisingly authentic museum feel.
Aside from collecting ticket fees, the old man also seemed to serve as a guide.
Though clearly impatient, he still followed the guests at a moderate distance, giving half-hearted explanations of the items in the museum after receiving the money.
Still, none of the guests were keen to get too close to him.
Aside from Bai Shuang, who was still brooding over the old man’s attitude toward Yan Shixun, and An Nanyuan, who had a habit of over-imagining everything, the rest of the guests all avoided him as much as they could, refusing to engage in conversation.
The reason was simple.
Even though the old man hadn’t done anything overtly dangerous, he gave off a bone-deep chill. Just being near him felt like standing next to a freezer in winter—deeply uncomfortable.
The old man actually seemed relieved and even a bit happier.
It was like watching a businessman who, upon realizing he was about to lose money, quickly cut his losses just in time.
Yan Shixun stood at the doorway and silently observed for a while before finally taking long strides toward the group.
Although Yan Shixun personally didn’t have strong feelings of like or dislike toward the old man—other than remaining on guard—the viewers watching his split screen couldn’t help but feel an instinctive fear and disgust toward him.
None of the other screens had captured it earlier—only Yan Shixun’s camera, which was the closest to the old man, had clearly shown the old man’s ferociously twisted face.
That one image made many viewers immediately develop a gut-level revulsion toward him.
[Aren’t older people supposed to look more kind as they age? This old grandpa is just downright terrifying…]
[My dad walked into my room while I was watching, caught a glimpse of the old man on screen, and screamed so loud he fell right on his butt. He thought he’d seen a ghost, emmm.]
[Don’t they say a person’s face reflects their heart? Maybe he did a lot of bad things in his life, and that’s why he looks so sinister?]
[I quietly put on my down jacket. Ever since that old man appeared, the temperature weirdly dropped several degrees. I’m freezing and can’t stop sneezing.]
[Damn it! The incense we offer in front of the Lord Guan statue at home suddenly snapped in half!!!]
The staff member who had entered the museum with Zhang Wubing at the very beginning stood at the entrance for a while, shaking his head and trying hard to remember, but still couldn’t recall whether or not they had turned off the disc player.
“I really remember turning it off…”
He muttered quietly to himself, “Did I remember it wrong?”
With a head full of confusion, he stepped across the threshold and followed at the very back of the group.
The rest of the crew stayed outside—some remained in the van, while others were under the vehicle adjusting the live broadcast equipment. They chatted idly while continuing their work.
But just as one of them straightened up, he suddenly caught a glimpse of something red flashing across the corner of his eye, coming from the direction of the museum.
Startled, he instinctively turned his head and looked over—only to see, reflected faintly in the glass window of the ticket booth, the blurry outline of a figure.
But because the glass was covered in dust and the light was fading into dusk, he couldn’t see clearly.
And—there was no shadow.
Startled, he rubbed his eyes and looked again, more intently this time.
The silhouette didn’t disappear.
As if confirming it wasn’t just his imagination, a human face suddenly pressed right up against the glass—so close that the features were distorted against the window, looking like a melting wax figure mashed into an unrecognizable mess.
That face wore an eerie, unsettling grin. Its pitch-black eyes stared directly at him, silently watching him—almost as if to say: I’ve got my eyes on you…
“Ah!”
The crew member screamed in panic, stumbling backward a few steps and tripping over the cables of the equipment, falling hard to the ground.
The others heard the commotion and immediately ran over to help him up.
“What happened? Why did you fall?”
“Are you okay?”
But the man didn’t look at any of them, nor did he respond to their concern. Instead, he raised a trembling hand and pointed toward the museum.
His lips quivered as if he was trying to say something.
The others exchanged confused looks and followed his gaze.
But from east to west, as their eyes swept across the area, none of them saw anything unusual.
One of them couldn’t help but ask, “There’s nothing there… What did you see just now?”
They weren’t new to working on this show. Remembering the kind of program it was, a chill ran down their spines, and they suddenly got goosebumps. Wide-eyed, someone cautiously asked the man who screamed, “Y-you didn’t… see a ghost, did you?”
When the man heard that, he quickly looked back toward the little room at the ticket booth.
But just as the others had said, there was nothing on the glass.
No face. No creepy smile.
Hearing the voices of Yan Shixun and the others coming from inside the museum, the man swallowed hard and forced himself to muster some courage. Step by shaky step, he cautiously moved forward, trying to see more clearly what was going on at the ticket booth.
The others, worried, followed close behind.
Once they got closer, they finally saw—it wasn’t a ghost at all.
It was just a roughly made shadow puppet figure, stuck on the window below the ticket counter.
It didn’t look like it was meant for actual performance—more like a promotional sticker, placed there to inform visitors that this was a shadow puppet museum.
Just like how animal images were often plastered outside the ticket booth at a zoo.
Everyone let out a breath of relief and started chuckling again: “You must’ve mistaken that sticker just now, huh? At first glance, it really does look like a real person. A bit creepy, though.”
“Relax, it’s not a ghost—just a shadow puppet promo poster.”
“The sun’s faded the colors, and it looks like it’s been there for years—probably from back when the place was first set up.”
“With Brother Yan around, what are you afraid of?”
Hearing everyone say that, the man also started doubting his own eyes.
After all, he had only seen it for a split second—there hadn’t been time to really examine it. So maybe… he had just seen it wrong.
“R-right… is that so?”
The others dispersed and went back to their tasks. Only that man, still shaken, kept glancing back at the ticket booth several more times before finally—though still uneasy—setting the matter aside.
No one paid attention to the ticket booth anymore.
In the dusky light of evening, dust was stirred into the air. Behind the dirty, smudged glass, a face as pale as funeral money was pressed against the window. Two unnatural red spots marked its cheeks, and pitch-black pupils stared unblinkingly out through the pane.
It silently watched everyone…
“Yes, these are all shadow puppets from the old days.”
The old man, looking as if he might fall asleep at any moment, reluctantly began introducing the items displayed in the room. “Back then, quite a few skilled artisans came from Baizhi Lake. When this museum was set up, they requested several of their works to hang here.”
The old man pointed outside. “Aren’t the names of those artisans engraved on the stone monument out there? Didn’t you see it when you came in? Are you blind?”
Bai Shuang glanced at the old man, visibly uncomfortable. She thought this was the worst museum guide she had ever encountered—better not to explain anything at all than to be like this.
But the old man didn’t care how others saw him. He just gave a snort and went on doing things his own way. Amid the mournful female opera singing that echoed through the courtyard, he gave commentary line by line, completely unfazed.
That eerie voice in the background left the guests all feeling uneasy, but no one dared break away from the group to turn off the CD player. They could only endure it.
Zhang Wubing, under Lu Xingxing’s glaring eyes, scratched his nose awkwardly. He thought to himself, Am I really that careless? How did I forget to turn off the CD player?
Lu Xingxing rolled his eyes and complained to the old man, “Who are you calling blind? That memorial stone you guys set up looks like a damn tombstone—who in their right mind would stop to look at it carefully? My eyes are for looking at people, not for reading gravestones! You made this museum look like a dump and have the nerve to blame us?”
The old man turned his gaze expressionlessly toward Lu Xingxing, stared at him for a few seconds, then broke into a chilling, eerie smile. “Oh, those artisans—they really are dead.”
Lu Xingxing: “…Shit!”
Everyone: “…”
As if that wasn’t enough, the old man added, “So calling it a grave isn’t exactly wrong.”
Everyone: …Why did it suddenly feel so cold behind them?
Lu Xingxing shuddered and instinctively stepped a little farther away.
Normally so hot-tempered, even he went quiet like a chicken, not daring to say another word to the old man.
—He was afraid that if he said anything else, the old man would start pointing out more dead people.
That would be even creepier.
Only Yan Shixun, who had silently observed the old man and the museum’s architecture from the side, furrowed his brow and turned to look outside when he heard the old man’s comment.
It was the hour when the sun was setting in the west. The two rows of stone monuments outside cast shadows in the dim golden light, merging into one another as if darkness were creeping in from the cliffs and slopes beside the dirt path, encroaching toward the center, devouring all remaining light.
The sunlight stung Yan Shixun’s eyes, and he instinctively squinted, raising his hand to shield himself from the glare.
Beside him, Ye Li whispered at just the right moment, “They’re not graves. There are no corpses beneath them.”
Some of the guests overheard Ye Li’s words and instantly felt relieved. The fear they had just felt eased.
The old man shrank back a little further into the shadows, clearly trying to move away from the direction where Ye Li stood.
Lu Xingxing shot the old man a look full of contempt. Tch! Trying to scare people with that kind of talk!
The old man: ………
He had looked like he wanted to say more, but with Ye Li standing not far away, he eventually shut his mouth and fell into the role of an ordinary museum guide, guarding a shabby exhibition.
Meanwhile, the shadow puppets hanging in the room gradually attracted everyone’s attention.
For shadow puppetry, the most important aspects were the leatherwork and the stitching—after all, they were called shadow puppets for a reason, with the emphasis on shadow and leather.
However, the puppets from Baizhi Lake were notable for the framework inside.
This made the figures much easier to preserve, especially since leather and paper usually aged poorly.
Large shadow puppet figures hung throughout the room. These were not finished products but semi-finished ones designed for exhibition purposes, allowing visitors to clearly see the internal construction.
Only half of each figure was covered in “skin,” while the other half, like a comparison sample, exposed the wooden frame beneath.
In this way, the intricate craftsmanship of the framework became clearly visible.
Just like a real human body, each joint and moving part had been meticulously crafted by skilled artisans into tiny spherical joints that connected the limbs and torso. These were also cleverly designed to leave anchoring points for the final leather covering.
Even though the shadow puppets were stationary, just looking at the semi-finished figures made it easy to imagine how vividly lifelike and flexible they would appear in motion—almost like real people.
“Unbelievable… The master craftsmen of the past could really achieve this level of detail.”
Bai Shuang murmured in awe, “Even with modern machinery, replicating something like this would be difficult, wouldn’t it?”
The old man sneered and curled his lip in disdain. “The brilliance of Baizhi Lake—how could outsiders like you possibly compare? You’re all trash without soul or spirit, and you dare mention yourselves in the same breath as Baizhi Lake?”
Even Xie Lin, known for his usually calm temper, couldn’t help but frown slightly, displeased by the old man’s hostile tone.
But because of the old man’s earlier weird behavior, no one argued with him. Even Lu Xingxing, though he rolled his eyes, restrained himself.
However, after spending a long time looking up at the shadow puppets hanging on all four walls, everyone started feeling uncomfortable.
Perhaps it was because these puppets, displayed specifically for exhibition purposes, were of an unusual size, much larger than those typically used.
The shadow puppets often seen at marketplaces were usually small—about the size of a hand—since they were meant to attract children and passersby. They prioritized entertaining, dynamic performances over detailed craftsmanship.
Even larger puppets typically ranged from several dozen centimeters to just under a meter in height. Anything bigger was rare.
After all, in shadow plays, if performers wanted the figures to appear larger, they could just adjust the lighting and distance rather than painstakingly crafting oversized puppets.
After all, this wasn’t just an ordinary paper-cutting craft. The larger the shadow puppet figure, the more it tested the artisan’s skills. The quality requirements for the raw leather material also became much higher, and the process was more prone to failure.
Whether it was tanning or steaming the leather, oversized hides were more likely to have issues. Either the finished leather would turn out uneven, or the natural flaws in the hide would get transferred onto the figure. A single careless mistake could cause the painted figure to fade or become blotchy.
Yet the shadow puppets hanging here were all life-sized.
At that moment, the guests were standing inside the room, surrounded on all sides by these giant shadow figures. It felt as if they were being stared down from all directions by real people. The vividly painted eyes made everyone feel a chill run down their spines.
Even the viewers watching through the camera felt the same eerie sensation.
[Am I the only one who thinks these shadow puppets, while amazing and impressive, are also truly terrifying?]
[My rational mind tells me this is folk culture, but emotionally I’m on the verge of crying out of fear. T_T]
[… Director Zhang Wubing, thank you—I’m now scared of the New Year paintings on my own wall.]
[Ahhh I knew it! I knew it! Anything that looks too human is just creepy!]
[Thank you, Zhang Dabing—I’m now peeling celebrity posters off my wall with a blank face.]
[If these puppets were smaller, I wouldn’t be that scared, even if they looked super realistic. But they’re life-sized! It looks like an actual person is hanging on the wall!]
[Why do some of the faces look so scary? I can live with the ghostly pale skin, but why put bright blush on the cheeks? And those thick eyebrows and blood-red lips—what kind of aesthetic is that?!]
[Maybe it’s just a local aesthetic preference. Try to understand—these master craftsmen are skilled, but they’re not fine artists. It’s forgivable if the painting isn’t great.]
[Probably done to make the colors stand out more when projected, like how stage actors wear heavy makeup—the lights wash out the features otherwise.]
The old man was still lazily explaining what each shadow puppet represented and which craftsman had made it.
His tone of voice was exactly like someone being forced to go to work.
Zhang Wubing couldn’t help but wonder whether this museum’s owner owed the old man money or hadn’t paid his salary in ages.
Otherwise, why would he sound so resentful?
But even if the old man wanted to continue the explanation, the guests couldn’t stand it any longer.
The first to walk out was Song Ci.
The young master pushed past people without saying a word, head down, until he finally stepped out of the room. Then he took several deep breaths, as if he’d been holding his breath the whole time.
Since the room was small, once the guests and Zhang Wubing’s production crew were inside, there wasn’t much space left to stand. So Yan Shixun and Ye Li hadn’t gone in and were just waiting by the door.
When Yan Shixun saw Song Ci looking like that, he raised an eyebrow and asked, “Feeling unwell?”
Song Ci waved his hand and said with a grim expression, “It was too stifling. I seriously doubt the person who put this museum together has any sense of artistic taste. They took something that could’ve been great and arranged it like that—what a waste.”
He held back for a moment, but still couldn’t help adding, “What kind of museum hangs portrait-style figures like that? One after another, packed so closely together—and in that size?”
As the young master of Song Entertainment, whether he personally liked it or not, Song Ci had frequent exposure to artists and museums. He’d seen more than his share of boring exhibitions.
Even if he wasn’t formally trained in the arts, he knew what a proper museum display should look like.
At the very least, it shouldn’t create such an oppressive atmosphere.
It was as if the curator had deliberately tried to make visitors uncomfortable.
—Dozens of people drawn on all four walls, all staring at you. Dozens of eyes watching from every direction—you couldn’t escape their gaze.
And they were all hung high up, creating an intense sense of pressure.
No one would feel at ease in that room.
Seeing that Song Ci wasn’t feeling well, Yan Shixun walked up to take a look.
As soon as he lifted his eyes, he came face to face with a shadow puppet directly across from the door.
It was probably the shortest among all the life-sized figures. It depicted a blue-faced, fanged demon with eighteen arms flailing wildly, each holding a different sinister object. Its eyes bulged like copper bells, and its posture was crouched as if ready to leap out of the painting.
The demon’s body was covered in layers of wrinkled folds, making the image incredibly terrifying.
Yan Shixun was startled at first but quickly realized—it was a character from a ghost play.
In traditional opera scripts, scenes involving the King of Hell often appeared.
Some were meant to encourage people to do good and commit fewer sins. Others aimed to give those with unresolved grievances a sense of catharsis—at the very least, they could vent their anger while watching the show.
As a result, ghost plays could be found in many forms of traditional theater.
To children, these scenes were especially enjoyable.
Because to portray the horror of ghosts and monsters, these plays often included acrobatics and special tricks, making them far more thrilling and satisfying to watch than other segments. Children would often get excited and animated while watching.
Naturally, the shadow puppetry of Baizhi Lake, with its thousand-year-old heritage, also preserved ghost play segments.
But knowing and accepting were two entirely different things.
Even though Yan Shixun fully understood that this was normal, he still felt uneasy because of the grotesque appearance of the ghosts.
—Among those eighteen arms, in addition to regular underworld weapons, some were holding human heads and legs.
To achieve a sense of detail, even the blood dripping from the severed heads was crafted using red-dyed leather.
At first glance, it truly looked like a ghost had decapitated someone and was holding the bloody head in its hand.
No wonder Song Ci felt uncomfortable.
Yan Shixun sighed inwardly but showed nothing on his face.
The old man also noticed Song Ci walking out and Yan Shixun approaching to check.
Clearly, the old man still held fear and resentment from when Yan Shixun had displayed aggression and sharpness during their confrontation at the front gate.
So the old man, unhappy, clasped both hands behind his back, hunched his body, and walked straight past everyone toward the door.
Although he was shorter than everyone else, people instinctively stepped aside to make way for him as he passed, unwilling to meet his eyes.
“You don’t want to listen? I don’t want to talk either.”
The old man muttered, “If it weren’t for the decent amount of money you gave, do you think I’d be willing to stay here talking about pointless things? Outside’s way better.”
“You can look around yourselves. If something happens, just call me.”
As he walked out of the room, he tripped over the threshold, staggered, lost his footing, and tumbled out from the eaves’ shadow.
Like a ghost lunging from below the frame.
For a moment, the old man’s form overlapped eerily with the demonic shadow puppet hanging right across from the door, and Yan Shixun felt a momentary daze.
The old man had charged right into the rays of the setting sun.
It was as if he had been burned—he quickly recoiled in a surprisingly nimble manner that didn’t match his frail, hunched appearance, retreating back into the shadows. Only then did he let out a nearly imperceptible sigh of relief.
When Yan Shixun looked again more closely, the puppet and the old man had clearly separated.
“This courtyard has both finished and half-finished shadow puppets. The one in the back holds the tools used to make them, along with leftover leather and wood. Detailed introductions and historical background are written on the walls. If you’re not blind, read them yourself. The last courtyard in the back contains recordings of old Baizhi Lake shadow plays. Watch if you want—if not, get lost.”
The old man shot Yan Shixun a gloomy glance and said in a strange tone, “What a lucky fate you have—only paid five cents to walk out of here.”
Yan Shixun raised an eyebrow and replied, “Weren’t you the one who said the ticket price was five cents? Transaction’s complete—no debts, no credit. Isn’t that great?”
The old man was momentarily speechless, choked by his own words, and stood there dumbfounded for quite a while.
In the end, he just flung his arms and stormed off angrily.
After the old man left, the rest of the guests in the room finally let out a sigh of relief, feeling that the previously tense and oppressive atmosphere had lifted with him.
“Not sure if the old man is scarier or the shadow puppets,”
An Nanyuan muttered, shaking his head.
But when he looked up again and met the gaze of the towering shadow figure looking down from above, he got startled again and hurried out of the room.
Still, there were some who were genuinely interested in the shadow puppets.
Like Nan Tian and Xie Lin.
Nan Tian had inherited the endangered Nanming Mountain weaving craft, so he felt a deep sense of regret and admiration for all fading cultural traditions. He wanted to see and document as much of Baizhi Lake shadow puppetry as he could before it disappeared completely.
He didn’t leave the room. Instead, he read aloud the character descriptions written on the walls to his audience watching from the split-screen camera.
“Even if just one more person remembers Baizhi Lake shadow puppets, it’s worth it.”
Nan Tian smiled and said, “Every extra person who remembers means one less chance of it vanishing forever.”
As for Xie Lin, it was because he was originally from the southwest region.
Although he had left home early and decades had passed, during which many of the old place names and villages had disappeared or merged, even he couldn’t say for sure exactly where his hometown was.
But he still remembered landmark names like Baizhi Lake.
Back in the day, he had found his baby sister—still in swaddling clothes—while working in the fields around Baizhi Lake.
So for Xie Lin, seeing Baizhi Lake brought a flood of nostalgia from those days.
He looked up at the shadow puppets hanging on the wall, his gaze slowly drifting into distant memories.
Although the other guests had been frightened or felt uncomfortable due to the oppressive air in the room, they were still filming the show. And they had heard from Zhang Wubing about how Baizhi Lake shadow puppetry was on the verge of extinction. They genuinely wanted to help preserve it.
So after standing in the courtyard to calm down for a bit, they regained their energy and cheerfully said they would explore the other rooms.
“It’s actually more relaxing without the tour guide,”
Bai Shuang also chuckled. “I never like someone following me when I shop—it feels like I’m being watched.”
Yan Shixun glanced at his watch—it was already three in the afternoon. He had casually divined a hexagram earlier and found the museum to be safe, with no evil spirits or malevolent ghosts.
Since that was the case, there was no reason to stop everyone from enjoying themselves.
With that thought, Yan Shixun said, “Then let’s have one hour of free activity. You’re allowed to explore these three courtyards only—no leaving, no going alone. You must move in pairs at minimum.”
He pointed to where he was standing. “Be back here by four o’clock sharp.”
The guests cheered like schoolkids on a field trip, each pulling a partner along as they headed toward areas they were curious about.
Song Ci originally wanted to go find Xie Lin but was intercepted midway by Lu Xingxing.
“Brother Song! Grandpa Song! Why didn’t you ever tell me you’re so close to my idol?!”
Lu Xingxing was bursting with excitement. “Tell me more about Xie Lin, please!”
Song Ci: “…I don’t play with lunatics. Get lost.”
Lu Xingxing clung to him shamelessly, wrapping her arms around Song Ci and refusing to let go. “No.”
“…………”
Zhang Wubing then dashed over and clung tightly to Yan Shixun’s arm, nervously saying, “Brother Yan, let’s go to the back and turn off the DVD player first. That background noise is terrifying.”
Yan Shixun thought for a moment, then nodded to Ye Li and said, “Wait here. If anyone comes back early, keep an eye on them and make sure nothing happens. I’ll go with Xiao Bing for a bit.”
Ye Li’s face darkened when he saw how tightly Zhang Wubing clung to Yan Shixun.
Still, he understood what Yan Shixun meant.
Even though both the divination and Ye Li’s own observations showed everything was normal, Yan Shixun had still sensed something off.
Ye Li could only agree.
But the look he shot at Zhang Wubing was icy cold, without a trace of warmth.
Zhang Wubing: “Achoo!”
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