Chapter 250: Shadow Puppets and Lamplight (16)
Zhang Wubing was still shivering, unable to find a place to step amidst the blood and corpses scattered across the floor. Meanwhile, Yan Shixun had already conducted a quick survey of the scene and pinpointed the most crucial areas within the theater.
It was clear that the closer the bodies were to the stage, the more mutilated and gruesome their deaths appeared.
The most severely disfigured body had been blown to pieces, with intestines hanging from a table corner, swaying slightly in the breeze.
Shadow puppeteers, who had rushed from behind the stage in an attempt to escape, were face down on the floor, either on the ground or the stairs leading up to the stage, their faces frozen in terror.
The formal costumes they wore for the performance had been soaked with blood, completely losing their original splendor.
Yan Shixun carefully studied the scene, recognizing a few of the half-submerged faces in the blood. They were the same middle-aged men he had seen on the posters before the performance.
However, unlike the confident expressions on the posters, the faces of the dead were filled with fear.
Among them, the middle-aged man who had fallen the farthest from the stage bore an expression of regret, as though he was experiencing intense pain in his last moments.
His face was frozen in the instant of his death, forever denied the chance to make amends.
—The victim would not allow it.
The dead had already reaped the bitter consequences, and no lighthearted apology could absolve their fate.
Still, Yan Shixun raised an eyebrow in interest.
The place where this man had fallen was several meters farther from the stage than the others. Judging by his size and leg length, he didn’t appear to be the fastest runner among them.
If that were the case…
Had this man realized something was wrong before everyone else, and started fleeing before they even sensed the danger?
Yan Shixun paused as he walked past the man. When he saw the ashes scattered in the blood pool beneath the body, it all clicked.
It was the remnants of a talisman that had been burned.
It seemed that this man had known something was amiss, carrying the talisman as a precaution. The moment the evil spirit appeared, the talisman’s burning had awakened him.
Unfortunately, the vengeful ghost, full of hatred and obsession, would not spare the one it resented.
Yan Shixun had previously suspected that a malevolent spirit was behind the massacre, lurking behind the curtain.
But when he finally bent to enter behind the stage, the wooden puppet sitting at the back of the stage made him stop short, sending a chill through him.
Meanwhile, unnoticed by Yan Shixun, the direction of the candlelight had quietly shifted. His figure was now projected onto the curtain, just like the other shadow puppets.
Zhang Wubing, who had been nervously watching Yan Shixun, tilted his head in confusion and murmured a soft “Hmm?”
At that moment, he saw Yan Shixun’s image on the curtain, standing amidst the sea of corpses and blood.
On the curtain, Yan Shixun stood atop a pile of bodies, with the ghostly hands of the malevolent spirits reaching up from the corpse mountain, trying to grab his clothes.
His long coat fluttered behind him, and his hand slowly wiped the blood splattered on his lips and cheek. His eyes were sharp and determined, every step he took pushed the ghosts back down into the mound of corpses, carving a bloody path through it.
The evil spirits howled and struggled, but no matter how they reached for him, they could never touch his clothes.
It was a steadfastness that could stir even the gods and ghosts to awe, walking toward death with the knowledge of it yet resolute in his steps.
Zhang Wubing looked up, mesmerized by the scene on the curtain. He couldn’t help but hold his breath.
His brow furrowed slightly as his facial features, once scrunched up in anxiety, slowly unfurled. His eyes, still moist, turned cold and commanding without a hint of anger, radiating an unspoken authority.
His face, which had often been overshadowed by an overly expressive demeanor, finally revealed its true, noble, and handsome nature.
Zhang Wubing raised his hand and gently wiped away the tear stains from his eyes. Staring at Yan Shixun’s shadow on the curtain, he chuckled softly.
Yan Shi Xun.
He pronounced the name slowly, a smile spreading across his face, as if satisfied with the current situation and eagerly anticipating what was to come.
He gazed at Yan Shixun, the candlelight reflecting in his eyes, kindling flames of excitement.
Despite having searched countless times without finding anything, he had originally believed that the heavens were so final that no trace of hope would be left. Yet, in this last hopeless attempt, he had gradually managed to fulfill the original plan.
It was true—the Evil Spirit Bone Transformation was the greatest variable in the world.
How could anyone predict or foresee that?
This singular change, so cherished by the heavens that even gods and ghosts were excluded from its knowledge, how could it have been visible to someone like him, who was supposed to have vanished long ago?
Zhang Wubing slowly blinked and noticed his surroundings. His fingers brushed over his face, tracing the deep tracks left by his tears.
He frowned slightly, looking at his hand with some distaste.
That little fool… Tch.
However, Zhang Wubing understood now, after seeing the shadow on the curtain, why he had appeared.
Shadow puppetry, which uses shadows to tell stories, is often praised by people for the intricacies of creating the shadow figures. They marvel at this ancient art form for its mysterious beauty but are largely unaware that shadow puppetry also has another name.
Ghost plays.
Thousands of years ago, in a time closer to the divine, shamans used shadows to represent gods and ghosts, using them to convey wishes and perform sacrifices.
The entire shadow puppet museum, in fact, functioned as a giant shadow puppet stage.
Everyone who entered the museum was no longer a mere spectator in front of the stage but had become one of the shadow figures behind it.
As a result, every shadow of gods and ghosts was clearly reflected on the curtain.
The ancient gods and ghosts, who should not have existed within the mortal body of Zhang Wubing, were also revealed under the candlelight, taking form and manifesting in this space.
Zhang Wubing let out a soft laugh, his gaze shifting as he moved gracefully.
He had appeared because of Zhang Wubing’s shadow, and the figure of Yan Shixun on the curtain came from Yan Shixun’s ultimate fate…
The long-hidden secrets of the world, revealed at this moment, allowed him to glimpse the truth through the shadows.
Zhang Wubing nodded with satisfaction.
Just as he was about to leave, preparing to return his body to that little fool, another figure suddenly came to mind.
He wondered if the other god, also drawn by the Evil Spirit Bone Transformation, had revealed their true form as he had?
He hoped that this other figure wouldn’t get too excited and bring the entire hellscape with them. The underworld was already weak, and if the entire southwest region was thrown into chaos, it wouldn’t be able to cope.
But with the Evil Spirit Bone Transformation, that god shouldn’t require any further concern from him.
Zhang Wubing thought this to himself, releasing his hold on his mind and letting himself plunge deep into the soul’s depths.
That little fool was still just a mortal body, and even if only a fragment of his soul remained, it was not something that little fool could endure for long. If this continued, the illness would never end.
Zhang Wubing clicked his tongue, his disdain for the little fool deepening.
The next moment, Zhang Wubing’s eyes widened in shock.
He was like a student who had unknowingly fallen asleep in class. When he sensed the danger, he suddenly woke up, instinctively glancing around, afraid something had happened during the time he had dozed off.
Fortunately, nothing had changed.
Zhang Wubing looked at the curtain, but all he saw was a blurry shape, vaguely making out the blood-soaked figure of Yan Shixun, who had been killing on the battlefield.
He blinked in confusion and looked again, but Yan Shixun was now standing quietly in place. The curtain, however, had a series of blood splatters, forming a sinister image.
He let out a sigh of relief and patted his chest.
It must have been that he had merged the bloodstains with Brother Yan in his mind. Fortunately, it was just an illusion.
Yan Shixun, unaware of the brief events that had transpired below the stage, was still observing the wooden figurines behind the scenes.
He had seen wood carvings before, but this was the first time he had encountered such finely detailed ones.
The female figurine was so lifelike, with every detail—hair, eyebrows, eyes—meticulously crafted. The smile on her lips made her appear as if she might open her eyes and come to life any moment.
She seemed to be in her thirties, with fine lines at the corners of her eyes, but her posture reflected the grace brought by a well-off life. She wore a style of dress from decades ago, her long skirt gathered at her knees, hands gently crossed in front of her abdomen, with a wooden bangle hanging from her wrist.
There were also several wooden sticks scattered at her feet, tied with strings used by shadow puppeteers to manipulate the figures. They looked as if they had just fallen from her hands.
The female figurine sat behind the curtain but farther away from it, so Yan Shixun hadn’t seen her from the outside initially.
There, in the unseen space, she quietly watched the massacre and frantic escape unfolding in the courtyard.
The audience, who had been casually watching the play, had lost all their relaxed demeanor. Instead, their faces twisted in terror, trying to escape. Blood dripped steadily, pooling into the crevices of the blue stone bricks.
It was as if the roles between the front and back of the stage had swapped.
The puppets were now the ones being manipulated by the craftsmen, while those in the back, seated as onlookers, were the true audience.
The woman watched them panic and flee, her face no longer displaying the arrogance and pride it once had. She watched as they cried out, begging for their lives, yet still died from attacks that came from nowhere.
A pleased smile appeared on her face.
Objects that closely resembled human beings evoke a strange sense of fear, making people feel like they are seeing the vessel of a ghost.
Although Yan Shixun was not afraid of ghosts, he still felt discomfort when seeing the wooden sculpture, so he frowned slightly.
Unlike the common fear of human-like dead objects, Yan Shixun knew the truth about wood carvings.
There was a method called “substitute bones,” where a wooden skeleton was used to replace a deceased body with missing parts, providing a place for the soul to attach.
When he saw this exquisitely detailed wooden female figurine, the first thought that came to his mind was:
This is a wooden sculpture used as a “substitute bone.”
Yan Shixun speculated that the woman had already died, and someone had carved this figure and placed it here, allowing her soul to reside within, bearing witness to the massacre.
This also confirmed his earlier suspicion before entering the theater.
If they truly fled from the theater, driven by fear of the unknown danger, rushing to a boat to leave the lake, they would never uncover the truth. They would be forever separated from the souls’ obsession hidden behind the vermilion doors.
Moreover, the corpse beneath the lake could puncture the boat they were driving, causing them to fall into the water.
By then, even if they did not perish by the corpse’s teeth, the cold, icy water would steal their body heat, and they would eventually drown and sink to the bottom.
And this theater hidden beneath the abyss…
It was very likely the deepest resting place for the soul of the already deceased woman.
Here, her obsessions and hatred were buried, and the story that began with shadow puppets would naturally end with shadow puppets.
But at the same time, the theater had trapped the woman’s soul, preventing her from leaving.
Her hatred had become her walls.
The cold lake water outside, and the corpses beneath the surface, were both there to prevent the living or malevolent spirits from finding her secret obsession and to ensure she could not leave.
There was never a way out.
Although Yan Shixun had thrown a lantern into the lake earlier, and it had only briefly illuminated the water, he had still seen the faces of the corpses gathered in one place.
Even though their faces had rotted and turned pale, twisted beyond recognition, Yan Shixun still recognized several of them as the shadow puppet masters featured in the posters in the museum.
They were also the same corpses lying outside the curtain now.
Yan Shixun’s gaze darkened as he looked at the female wooden figurine, his lips tightly pressed, turning pale.
Whether through her vengeance on the villagers or her unique clothing and style, she bore a striking resemblance to the woman from the shadow play that Yan Shixun had seen on a CD earlier.
The scenes before him merged with the shadow play he had seen, reconstructing a complete story in his mind.
The woman, crying and begging the villagers to spare her, ultimately died because of them.
After her death, someone avenged her, gathering all the villagers in the theater. The sounds of drums and the melancholy wails of the two-stringed violin were the sounds of death approaching, combined with the early cries of a filial son.
The woman watched as the villagers, whom she had begged so desperately, one by one, died with regret and fear. The resentment in her soul was finally put to rest.
However, the death of all the villagers became the guilt that the woman’s soul had to bear. After their deaths, they turned into “fish” in the lake, severing her possibility of leaving and reincarnating.
She remained here, confined within a self-made prison.
Yan Shixun didn’t know what had happened back then to cause the villagers to treat the woman in such a way. While the woman had sought revenge, the cause and effect never formed a complete circle, and the bad consequences outweighed the bad cause.
He pondered for a while, about to take another step closer to observe the sculpture when he heard Zhang Wubing’s voice.
“Brother Yan, are you playing with shadow puppets behind here?”
Zhang Wubing’s voice was confused, “Brother Yan, when did you learn this?”
“What shadow puppets…”
Yan Shixun thought Zhang Wubing, that little fool, was about to do something silly. Frowning, he instinctively turned his head. But when he saw the curtain next to him, his voice suddenly stopped.
—At some point, the curtain had begun to display a shadow play.
Clearly, no one was manipulating the puppets, but one by one, the shadows appeared on the curtain.
These shadows were so detailed they could easily be mistaken for real, leaving people unsure whether this was a shadow play or something that had actually happened.
The villagers were running through the village under the night sky, chasing the woman ahead of them.
The woman had one hand on her belly, her face filled with panic, her tearful eyes constantly glancing back.
Her running posture was odd, her body clumsy and her steps weak. It was obvious that her physical condition couldn’t support such intense running, yet she dared not stop.
The villagers chasing behind her wore excited grins, like hungry wolves chasing a lamb, their eyes glowing green in the dark.
The leading villagers shouted loudly, making the woman even more terrified.
When the few villagers turned their heads, Yan Shixun clearly saw their faces.
They were the same shadow puppet masters he had seen on the posters earlier.
Compared to the faces on the poster, the people in the shadow play appeared younger, wilder, and more violent.
They waved farm tools and cheered loudly, their eyes void of any life, filled only with the excitement of the hunt.
The woman ran out of breath, her legs giving way as she collapsed to the ground.
With tears streaming down her face, she reached up to grab the pants leg of a villager passing by, hoping to seek help.
But the frail old villager, hunched over with his eyes closed, gave off an air of indifference, unwilling to get involved.
The woman understood what he meant; he did not want to offend his lifelong village neighbors for the sake of someone he barely knew.
Moreover, the elderly man was weak, and the young people were strong. He was merely considering his own situation.
Despair slowly took over her, and she released her grip. Upon seeing the villagers closing in, she staggered to her feet and continued running.
A long trail of blood marked the ground where she had passed.
Her pace slowed, and the villagers drew nearer. In a frantic panic, she could only hear a loud “plop!” sound.
The drumbeat suddenly rose.
It sounded like a heavy object falling into a lake, causing a splash.
At the same time, the entire stage darkened, the candle flames extinguished, and the shadow play fell into darkness, all the scenes disappearing.
There was no more woman fleeing, no more villagers hunting her down.
Only the eerie silence of the theater, bathed in the light of red lanterns.
The once flickering yellow candle flames were completely snuffed out, leaving only the four red lanterns hanging at the corners, gently swaying in the night wind. Their dim red light cast moving shadows that flickered and shattered, adding to the eerie atmosphere.
Zhang Wubing swallowed nervously and glanced around in terror at the suddenly darkened surroundings.
He was about to ask Brother Yan what was happening when he suddenly realized that, from his angle, the shadow curtain had reappeared.
But unlike before, this time the shadow was covered in blood, with the fresh splashes making it even more unnerving in the dim environment, sending chills down Zhang Wubing’s spine.
He had no energy to call out to Yan Shixun, only able to watch the shadow’s movements helplessly.
This was a chase scene.
The two people at the front were running wildly, while behind them, corpses were chasing—some sprinting, others dragging their broken bodies across the ground, desperately stretching out bony hands to grab them.
Not only that, but beneath their feet and all around them, eyes with hollow, menacing gazes surrounded them.
It was as though they were running on the surface of a lake, while beneath the water, ghostly faces were rising from the depths, trying to grab their legs and drag them into the cold, dark waters.
The skeletal shadows on the curtain silently watched the two, waiting for the moment when they could pounce, seizing the chance when the two either slowed down or let their guard down.
Zhang Wubing felt his heart race in fear, thinking how terrifying it would be to be chased like that. If it were him, he’d be scared to death.
But just as that thought crossed his mind, he realized that the figures of the two at the front looked strangely familiar.
Zhang Wubing squinted, moving closer to get a clearer view.
Then, slowly, he realized…
These two people… looked like Brother Yan and himself?
But from Yan Shixun’s perspective, as he looked at the curtain from behind, after the candlelight went out, there were no more images.
Instead, a subtle “creaking” sound came from beside him.
It sounded like an old bearing turning, the friction making his teeth grind.
What was more troubling to Yan Shixun was how familiar that sound seemed. Upon listening more carefully, he could hear a “rustling” sound, more like the friction of wooden joints.
In that moment, the first thing that came to mind was the wooden sculpture sitting beside him!
Yan Shixun suddenly turned to look at the sculpture, and in the dim red light, he saw the wooden figure slowly, almost imperceptibly, tilting its head from side to side.
It was as if it was waking up from a long sleep, moving its joints and stirring its body.
The puppet, which looked almost like a real person, slowly twisted its neck, and after a series of creaking sounds, it raised its head and looked directly at Yan Shixun.
The painted eyes of the wooden figure suddenly came to life, turning slowly. The dark eyes, devoid of whites, reflected no light—only silence and hatred.
It was smiling.
The puppet’s mouth stretched into a crescent shape.
It tilted its head, its eyes squinting as if in a reverse crescent smile.
The wooden puppet’s mouth opened and closed, making a “clacking” sound, almost as if it were asking Yan Shixun—
Aren’t you running away?
Yan Shixun furrowed his brows, wary of the puppet suddenly attacking.
Before he could react, the shadow play figures, which had been tossed to the feet of the puppet, suddenly clashed and made sounds.
Instinctively, Yan Shixun looked down and saw the shadow puppets that had been lying limp on the ground were now standing up one by one.
The puppets, at least half a meter tall, looked up, staring blankly at Yan Shixun.
Their faces were pale, dressed in burial garments, with rough rouge on their cheeks, their pitch-black eyes filled with malice.
The silk threads that controlled their limbs and heads were hidden in the darkness, and the wooden sticks had somehow been grabbed by the puppet.
The female puppet remained seated, but her fingers, which held five wooden sticks, nimbly moved them, causing the shadow puppets to unsteadily rise to their feet, then suddenly charge at Yan Shixun.
At that moment, a terrified shout came from below the stage.
“Brother Yan, run!”
Yan Shixun turned his gaze instinctively toward the sound, but suddenly froze.
Beyond the curtain, he saw Zhang Wubing, his face filled with anxiety.
And behind Zhang Wubing, the corpses that had been lying motionless on the ground began to stagger to their feet.
The bodies that had been confirmed dead when Yan Shixun first entered the theater were now twisting and contorting, crawling out of the pools of blood with stiff limbs.
Their bodies, not yet fully cold, still had some softness, making them slow but capable of hurting anyone close, like Zhang Wubing, who was within reach.
Yan Shixun’s heart sank.
More than his concern for Zhang Wubing, he now feared for this little fool, who hadn’t even noticed the danger behind him.
At that moment, the shadow puppets that had been aiming to attack Yan Shixun were also charged by the puppets.
His eyes sharpened, and with a swift movement, he dashed toward the edge of the stage, slapping the railing with his palm, gripping it tightly, using the momentum to leap over it, agilely avoiding the trajectory of the shadow puppets, and lightly landing on the stone floor below.
Martin boots stepped into the pool of blood, splattering the liquid as his clothing fluttered.
Yan Shixun’s feet pushed forcefully against the ground without the slightest pause, directly charging toward the spot where Zhang Wubing had been standing.
He quickly grabbed a nearby long bench and, with a swift motion, swung his arm, muscles rippling as the bench smashed into the corpse charging at Zhang Wubing from behind. With his other hand, he yanked Zhang Wubing, who was dumbfounded and stunned by the sudden move, into his arms.
“Boom!” A loud sound followed.
The long bench struck the corpse, sending it flying, and with it, several other corpses collided as well, all of them crashing backward, eventually halting only when they hit the wall.
At the same time, Zhang Wubing slammed into Yan Shixun’s solid chest, the tension in the muscles making the impact painful enough to cause a sharp sensation in his nose, and tears welled up in his eyes.
But as Zhang Wubing felt the cold wind carried from the back of his neck by Yan Shixun’s movement, he shuddered slightly and restrained himself from mentioning the pain caused by the collision.
Yan Shixun held Zhang Wubing tightly to his chest, making sure he didn’t get in the way, then raised his head, his sharp gaze passing over Zhang Wubing’s head toward the corpses that had been thrown against the wall.
The force of the strike, along with the weight of the corpses, had caused the wall to crack. Dust fell as bricks and stones dislodged, and the wall creaked under the strain.
Then, with a loud “creak,” a huge crack quickly spread outward from the center of the impact, spider-webbing across the entire vermilion-painted wall.
When the corpses crashed back to the ground, the wall couldn’t bear the pressure and collapsed with a deafening crash, sending bricks rolling in all directions.
The cold wind from the lake blew through the gaping hole in the wall, carrying with it a chilling dampness that made Zhang Wubing shiver, and he humorously comforted himself, thinking that he should remember to bring a scarf next time.
However, Yan Shixun, facing the wall, noticed through the hole the corpses climbing up the stone steps outside the theater.
The decayed, pale corpses, wet with water, were making their way toward the theater’s entrance. Just as they were about to push the door open, the loud noises drew their attention. Their eyes turned toward the theater, staring through the gap in the wall.
Soon, a few corpses reacted and immediately changed direction, charging straight toward the hole.
At the same time, Zhang Wubing, who had just lifted his head to catch a breath in Yan Shixun’s embrace, also saw the shadow puppets on the stage charging toward them.
Meanwhile, the corpses inside the theater slowly rose from the bloodied floor, swaying as they turned their faces toward Yan Shixun and Zhang Wubing.
The siege came from all directions, blocking every possible escape route. There was no way out.
Zhang Wubing, terrified, stuttered a warning to Yan Shixun.
Yan Shixun slowly turned, casting a side glance toward the stage.
A woman’s silhouette was projected onto the screen.
She grinned, her mouth stretched wide, smiling.
……
Nan Tian, after discovering that Xie Lin beside him had become just a paper figure, quickly realized, following his experience at Nanming Mountain, that he must have fallen into a ghostly atmosphere.
The incident could have happened to either him or Xie Lin, but they were no longer in the same space.
While Nan Tian was still mesmerized by the shadow puppets hanging on the wall, Xie Lin had already been replaced by a paper figure.
As soon as this thought crossed his mind, Nan Tian suddenly heard sounds coming from around the room.
Flap… flap…
It sounded like the rustling of paper being blown by the wind.
Without thinking, Nan Tian looked up, only to see that the shadow puppets, which had been hanging on the wall, had broken free from the nails that had pinned their limbs and were floating down toward him.
But this was no tragic story of a human and a ghost falling in love.
This was true, murderous intent.
The shadow puppets moved down from the walls, their silk threads glimmering in the golden-red sunset. Invisible hands seemed to be controlling their movements, guiding them straight toward Nan Tian.
Instinctively, Nan Tian took a step back. After a moment of panic, he quickly regained his composure, reached into his chest, and pulled out a piece of fabric.
It was a cloth given to Yan Shixun by the older sister, whom Ritual Master had raised by his side at Nanming Mountain, and which Yan Shixun had passed on to him.
This cloth symbolized safety and could ward off evil spirits.
Just as Nan Tian pulled the cloth out from beneath his clothing, the movements of the shadow puppets froze, as if the play button had been pressed.
Their ink-filled eyes flashed with human-like fear.
Taking advantage of the pause, Nan Tian quickly turned and ran toward the door.
He remembered what Yan Shixun had said before—that he would leave his lover in the first courtyard, just in case.
So now, as long as he could find Brother Yan’s lover outside the house, he would be safe!
Thinking this, Nan Tian pushed open the door and dashed into the courtyard, his eyes widening in shock.
The courtyard was completely empty, not a single person in sight.
Even the main screens and equipment that the production team had set up, along with all the staff left behind, had vanished.
The surrounding rooms were just as silent, devoid of any voices.
But Nan Tian clearly remembered that, except for Brother Yan and Director Zhang, everyone else had been in various rooms in the first courtyard, visiting and exploring.
Why was there no one here now?
Could it be… they had all met with misfortune before him?
Nan Tian was startled, and not paying attention to the shadow puppets behind him, he hurriedly ran toward the rooms where he remembered the guests had gone.
No matter how grim his suspicions were, he had to confirm it with his own eyes first. Perhaps, just perhaps, the others hadn’t yet encountered danger and still needed help!
Thinking this, Nan Tian threw open the nearest door.
The door slammed open with a loud “bang!” and crashed against the wall, sending dust falling. The aged wood almost fell apart.
But in the room, there was only a small shadow puppet stage from a marketplace, placed in the center as an exhibit. Along the walls were various shadow puppet props—mountain scenes, village houses, everything one could expect.
The only two people missing from the room were Lu Xingxing and Song Ci.
Nan Tian was so panicked that his hands were trembling. He quickly ran to the next room, but the moment he pushed the door open, he was startled by a life-sized human skeleton facing the entrance. Only after a second did he realize it was carved from wood, not a real skeleton.
But still, there was no sign of An Nanyuan or Zhao Zhen in that room either.
Nan Tian felt like the suffocating silence was about to crush him. His heart pounded as if it were about to leap out of his throat, blood rushing up to his head, making his face flush bright red. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself, then continued running to the next room.
But he ran through the entire courtyard, flinging open every door, yet not a single person could be seen.
Nan Tian even tried to head toward the second courtyard, but the moment he stepped over the threshold, he was shocked to find himself back in the first courtyard.
It was like he had fallen into a never-ending loop, no matter how he darted left or right—he remained trapped in this tiny courtyard.
Wood within walls is meant for entrapment.
The dead tree silently watched Nan Tian running back and forth. Its branches swayed gently, casting claw-like, ghostly shadows on the ground.
The shadows spread silently, and while Nan Tian wasn’t paying attention, they gradually crept toward his feet.
Even worse, the shadow puppets that had been subdued by the enchanted fabric in one of the rooms began moving again, as if controlled by some unseen force.
Though affected by the remnants of Nanming Mountain’s spiritual energy from the fabric, making their movements less agile and more unsteady, they still resolutely moved to surround Nan Tian.
Nan Tian, torn between worrying about the others and being horrified by the puppet-like figures that looked human but were not, stood at the doorway, his calves shaking. But still, he stubbornly held himself up against the wall.
Compared to those who were unconscious, staying awake during a crisis was much harder.
Especially when he didn’t even have the strength to protect anyone.
Nan Tian was so anxious he was on the verge of tears, silently chanting Yan Shixun’s name over and over in his mind.
He even thought, I’ll take Lu Xingxing too! Anyone would do right now. Having Lu Xingxing around would be better than nothing!
Meanwhile, somewhere Nan Tian couldn’t see, Lu Xingxing suddenly looked up in surprise, staring straight at the golden-red sunlight above.
The sunlight made his eyes sting, forcing him to squint reflexively. Then he realized—the light wasn’t coming from their surroundings.
It came from another realm entirely.
After he and Song Ci had coordinated to burn the corpses and props—revealed to be made of wax—using the power of the sun, the room they were in had undergone a dramatic transformation. The sun vanished, replaced by a dark night sky reflected in a vast lake.
They stood atop the lake surface, surrounded by corpses that swarmed around them like fish drawn to poisoned bait.
Lu Xingxing had to make Song Ci close his eyes, preventing the white patches on the lake from turning into ghost money. Stepping lightly on the floating ghost money like lotus leaves, he carried Song Ci in a princess hold, carefully hopping across the surface and dodging the corpses lurking beneath.
Time and again, he brought Song Ci just inches away from death.
Had Song Ci kept his eyes open, he would have surely been annoyed by how Lu Xingxing moved—flapping around like a giant goose.
But Lu Xingxing was quite proud of himself. In fact, he even gave himself a mental thumbs-up.
Lu Xingxing: With footwork like this, Haiyun Temple should give me an award! When we get back, I’m telling Master and Grandmaster—they better praise me big time, hehe.
At the same time, Lu Xingxing knew this wasn’t a sustainable plan.
The corpses, their dark eye sockets filled with greed for living flesh, might fall for tricks a few times—but before long, they were bound to come up with new ways to catch them.
Lu Xingxing racked his brains for an escape route, thinking so hard it felt like his hair would start falling out. He couldn’t help but miss the times when Yan Shixun or Taoist Song Yi were around.
Back then, all he had to do was follow instructions like a doofus. He didn’t have to make any decisions on his own.
But now, he was carrying someone else’s life in his arms.
Even the slightest misstep could hurt—or even kill—Song Ci. And who knew how the others were doing right now? They might be in danger and need his help too…
If it were just his own life on the line, Lu Xingxing wouldn’t have cared that much. But now, he could feel the heavy weight of so many lives pressing down on his shoulders.
He gave a bitter laugh and shook his head, thinking more and more that Yan Shixun was a total monster—not human at all. Back then, Yan Shixun had borne so many lives yet remained calm and composed, like nothing in the world could shake his focus.
How did he do that?!
Why can’t I learn that?!
Master! I want to learn that!
Just as Lu Xingxing was internally ranting and howling, a beam of light suddenly shone in from the side.
Golden-red sunlight shimmered on the lake’s surface, casting delicate ripples of gold. It was breathtakingly beautiful.
Lu Xingxing turned his head in astonishment, immediately realizing—this was a variable.
And variables brought hope!
He quickly shook Song Ci awake and said solemnly, “Watch closely. Your Brother Xing is about to show you what real power looks like!”
Song Ci looked at him speechlessly—only to be suddenly swept into Lu Xingxing’s arms again.
Lu Xingxing took a deep breath, eyes resolute, and dashed forward across the sheets of white paper floating on the lake, heading straight for the light.
Beneath the lake, corpses surged upward, their skeletal claws slicing through the water, trying to grab at his ankles.
In his rapid sprint, Lu Xingxing didn’t watch his footing carefully and slipped, one foot plunging into the water. Though he quickly adjusted his posture, pain shot through his ankle.
Blood bloomed across the lake in thick patches, staining the white paper red.
He gritted his teeth from the pain, but the grin never left his face.
Laughing wildly, he stomped on a lunging corpse for leverage, launching himself into the air. Song Ci cried out in shock as Lu Xingxing burst into the beam of light.
The searing sunlight made Lu Xingxing squint into a thin line. He couldn’t see anything clearly. In his ears, there was only the sound of wind rushing past.
Everything else faded.
When he finally regained his senses, he realized his feet had landed on solid ground.
But Lu Xingxing’s physical strength wasn’t on the level of Yan Shixun. He hadn’t managed to adjust his landing in that brief moment, and so he stumbled forward several steps before crashing to the ground with a loud *thud!*
From his knees down to his ankles, his skin burned painfully, making him wince in agony.
But the next second, a shout of joy reached his ears—and that made him smile again.
“Lu Xingxing!”
Nan Tian nearly burst into tears from joy.
Lu Xingxing looked up, broke into hearty laughter, and waved: “Hey, bro—wasn’t that cool?!”
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