Chapter 257: Shadow Puppets and Lamplight (23)
Yan Shixun hadn’t expected Zheng Shumu to be this enthusiastic—so much so that it bordered on being excessive.
No matter what Yan Shixun asked, Zheng Shumu always tried his best to answer, holding nothing back.
As they walked through the village, Zheng Shumu would point at certain houses and tell Yan Shixun which shadow puppet master used to live there. He spoke excitedly about the trees they passed—what kind they were, how old they were, what types of furniture the wood was best suited for, or whether it was more ideal for carving ornaments.
Just as he had said when he first invited Yan Shixun, Zheng Shumu seemed to know the village inside and out. Even the trees most easily overlooked on the roadside were familiar to him—he listed them off one by one with pride and care.
What he shared wasn’t the dry, official rhetoric one might find in a textbook. When Zheng Shumu talked about wood, his eyes grew gentle, as though he were looking at his own children, and even his tone brimmed with passion.
Even someone unfamiliar with him would believe, upon seeing him like this, that he truly loved these trees—that he was doing what he loved for a living.
This caused Yan Shixun, who originally just wanted to investigate the village for clues about shadow puppetry, to slowly find himself drawn in by Zheng Shumu. He started to genuinely listen to the information being shared.
Like how persimmon wood was great for making oars or carrying poles, and that poplar wasn’t suited for furniture…
Before this, many of the common-sense tidbits that Zheng Shumu mentioned were things Yan Shixun truly hadn’t known.
“Am I talking too much?”
When he saw Yan Shixun smile, Zheng Shumu looked a bit embarrassed and said, “Sorry, once I start, I don’t pay attention to how much I say. My younger sister’s mentioned this habit of mine too, but I’ve never been able to fix it. I must’ve bothered you.”
“It’s fine, really.”
Yan Shixun waved his hand and chuckled, “I just think you’re a very interesting person.”
“Honestly, I’ve been to a lot of places over the years, but the common knowledge you mentioned? I barely know any of it. I should thank you for teaching me so much today.”
“The only tree I know a little about… is probably the Chinese scholar tree.”
Yan Shixun winked at Zheng Shumu and finished his sentence with a smile, “It hides ghosts.”
Zheng Shumu was stunned for a second, then burst out laughing. “No, it’s me who was being arrogant. This kind of stuff is basic knowledge for a carpenter, but for someone who isn’t, there’s really no reason to know any of it.”
“But Mr. Yan, you’ve opened my eyes. I didn’t know the scholar tree had that kind of use.”
Shaking his head with a small laugh, Zheng Shumu said, “Seems like even when looking at the same thing, people in different professions really do see from different angles. Mr. Yan, is your work related to ghosts?”
It was odd—wasn’t he just a character in a shadow play? Yet he took the initiative to bring up ghosts?
A strange feeling flickered in Yan Shixun’s chest. He nodded and replied, “Yes, I always end up dealing with ghosts.”
Unlike the other guests who habitually assumed this was the real world, Yan Shixun never forgot that they were still inside the shadow play. Whether it was the villagers or the village itself, it could all be props projected onto a curtain.
If a shadow puppet with only a humanoid form suddenly realized that it wasn’t a person, but a puppet—a ghost—what would happen?
Yan Shixun had seen ghosts who didn’t know they were dead. For these kinds of spirits, the most dangerous moment was when an exorcist made them realize they had already died.
The pain and fury that burst out of a ghost in that instant were enough to drive it into a rampage and kill a seasoned exorcist.
Many of his peers had died this way. Other exorcists often reminded their apprentices to be especially careful during that moment of ghostly awakening.
Yan Shixun was no exception.
While he had followed Zheng Shumu’s lead and brought up the scholar tree, he also had the intention of using the word “ghost” to provoke Zheng Shumu—ideally, to shake him enough to let something slip. But what he hadn’t expected was that Zheng Shumu would be the one to bring up the word “ghost” first.
Even though Yan Shixun kept smiling, his guard against Zheng Shumu never lowered.
Yet Zheng Shumu didn’t react in any unusual way. It seemed like a casual topic between friends—something not worth paying attention to.
He quickly shifted the conversation back to the history of the village.
Yan Shixun observed Zheng Shumu quietly for a while, but couldn’t detect anything out of the ordinary.
Was I overthinking it?
Yan Shixun felt a little uncertain.
But Zheng Shumu’s storytelling soon drew his attention again.
This was an ancient village.
Though it looked like any remote village, it had actually been around for over a thousand years.
The shadow puppetry here had been passed down through twenty-eight generations, singing the village’s long past.
“Don’t be fooled into thinking this village was just famous for shadow puppets, in reality, all the puppets originated from the Bai family.”
At this, Zheng Shumu seemed to remember something. He turned to Yan Shixun and asked, “Mr. Yan, have you visited Master Bai?”
“If you’re here to learn about shadow puppets, how can you not visit Master Bai? His shadow play is the most authentic.”
Zheng Shumu appeared to be sincerely thinking of Yan Shixun’s best interest. But when Yan Shixun recalled the shadow play masters in the village who had died, he felt only more puzzled.
Third Uncle Bai’s words about the decline of the village and its puppetry still echoed in Yan Shixun’s ears.
How could there be a kind of death that followed you the moment you learned shadow puppetry? At one time, dozens of puppet masters flourished here, yet in the end, only the original inheritor remained—just like twenty-eight generations ago, when only that first lineage knew the art of shadow puppets.
This made Yan Shixun suspect—could it be that Master Bai had a falling-out with the other villagers and wanted to take back the shadow puppets passed down by his ancestors in such a manner?
That poster in the museum was telling too. Over just a few years, Master Bai had gradually been pushed out of the circle of shadow puppet craftsmen, increasingly marginalized.
In stark contrast to the high spirits of other shadow puppet masters was Master Bai’s increasingly silent and expressionless face.
It was as if he had experienced some major upheaval, and from then on had lost all expectations for life—just living aimlessly, as if waiting for something to arrive.
When Yan Shixun asked about the poster in the museum and mentioned that Zheng Shumu was also on it, Zheng Shumu stroked his chin and recalled for quite a while, as if digging up a distant memory.
Suddenly, he said with a look of realization, “Oh, that time! I didn’t expect you to have seen that poster, Mr. Yan. That was so many years ago.”
“Master Bai was getting old, and he thought differently from the others. It’s normal that there would be a rift.”
Zheng Shumu seemed rather indifferent about the matter. He said that the tension between the village’s other shadow puppet masters and Master Bai had existed for a long time, and it was natural that they would go their separate ways.
But Yan Shixun noticed that when Zheng Shumu spoke about the other shadow puppet masters, his tone noticeably lowered, and his attitude turned quite cold.
This made him suspicious.
Just earlier, when Zheng Shumu was talking about the deaths of those shadow puppet masters, he had looked excited. But now, when recalling their former glory, he seemed indifferent and dismissive, brushing over it quickly.
Yan Shixun could sense Zheng Shumu’s disdain toward those people.
Instead, the one who had been ostracized and excluded—Master Bai—was spoken of by Zheng Shumu in a much more neutral tone.
So, Yan Shixun casually asked in a natural tone, “But from what I saw on the poster, the others all seemed to be shadow puppet craftsmen. You were the only carpenter, Mr. Zheng. Was it because of the rumor about the shadow puppet plays that you didn’t learn shadow puppetry, and chose carpenter instead?”
“Carpenter, huh…”
Zheng Shumu slowly stopped walking and tilted his head back in reflection, gazing at the distant village houses.
Unknowingly, the two of them had strolled through most of the village as they chatted, looping back to where they had first started.
Following Zheng Shumu’s line of sight, Yan Shixun used the dim light spilling from a nearby house to faintly make out the house at the end of their view.
It was an old-style structure that stood out among the surrounding buildings, like a remnant from the last century—its bricks and tiles already turned black.
It happened to be directly across from Third Uncle Bai’s house. Yan Shixun remembered that Zheng Shumu had said it was his home.
“When I was young, I actually loved shadow puppet plays too.”
Zheng Shumu turned with a smile and asked, “Mr. Yan, have you ever seen a shadow puppet play in the city? They’re wonderful—red ones, white ones… Just little puppets, really, but they can move, sing, even do somersaults.”
His eyes carried nostalgia, and when he spoke of this memory, even his voice softened.
“The other kids in the village had seen so many plays, they weren’t that into it anymore. But I couldn’t get enough of them. I couldn’t understand how something so magical existed in this world. My father used to laugh at me, saying other kids were always running wild in the fields and up the mountains, but I sat quietly like a little girl beside the puppet master, watching the plays all day long, completely entranced.”
“But whenever we went to the town market with the villagers, the puppet master would perform and crowds would pack in so tightly there was no room to move. I was just a little kid back then—tiny, couldn’t see a thing from the back, and I’d get so anxious I’d scratch my ears and pull my hair. Then my dad would lift me up, let me ride on his shoulders so I could cheer and watch the puppets. I was so thrilled.”
Zheng Shumu gestured to his waist, then looked down beside him, as if seeing his younger self standing there.
Yan Shixun, who had been silently watching him, noticed that his expression had softened. In his eyes—no longer young and somewhat clouded—shimmering tears fell, vanishing into the darkness of the village.
“Mr. Yan, do you have a favorite play?”
After a long pause, Zheng Shumu lifted his head, smiling through tears as he looked at Yan Shixun. But before he could answer, he spoke again as if answering himself.
“When I was little, I loved *The Monkey King*. Watching the Monkey King twirl his staff behind the curtain made me scream with joy. I thought it was amazing how he punished evil, protected the good, could do anything he wanted, so free and powerful.”
Zheng Shumu closed his eyes for a moment, forcing the tears back: “That year at the market, the play I watched from my father’s shoulders was *The Monkey King*.”
After that, Zheng Shumu didn’t say another word.
The two of them stood there on the village road, wrapped in silence.
After a long while, Yan Shixun slowly asked, “And later on? Did you stop liking it?”
Zheng Shumu gently shook his head.
This middle-aged man’s voice had gone hoarse, thick with the strain of holding back tears.
“My Monkey King… died.”
“So I stopped liking shadow puppets.”
Yan Shixun could tell that whether this was reality or just a performance behind the curtain, what Zheng Shumu was revealing now was his truest, most unfiltered emotion.
That phrase—“My Monkey King died”—made Yan Shixun furrow his brows slightly. Something about it didn’t feel right.
Whether it was the Monkey King from the story, or the puppet behind the curtain, neither should have died. But this event clearly marked the turning point that made Zheng Shumu start to resent what he once loved…
“I’m sorry, Mr. Yan, you must think I’m ridiculous.”
Zheng Shumu suddenly spoke, interrupting Yan Shixun’s thoughts.
He smiled apologetically at him and said, “When you hit middle age, you start getting sentimental, always reminiscing. You’re still young, Mr. Yan—you probably don’t have the patience to listen to all this, do you?”
“Every time I talked about the past, my younger sister would get upset with me. Over time, I just stopped mentioning it. I didn’t expect that after meeting you, Mr. Yan, I’d feel such an instant connection and end up talking so much.”
As Zheng Shumu spoke, he suddenly paused, as if something had come to mind.
His gaze toward Yan Shixun grew slightly deeper in the darkness, but it only lasted for a brief moment. He then shook his head with a self-deprecating smile, dismissing the thought he had just entertained.
How could it be… That man was already dead. It couldn’t be him.
“Mr. Yan’s father must have treated you well too.”
Trying to cover up his earlier lapse, Zheng Shumu changed the subject: “I can tell that you must have come from a good family. Your parents must have raised you with great care to produce someone like you.”
Although Yan Shixun knew full well that Zheng Shumu was only offering polite compliments and didn’t actually know anything about his background, he still paused.
When people mentioned the word “parents,” his first thought was not of the birth parents who had abandoned him at a market years ago.
It was of Li Chengyun.
Zheng Shumu had only guessed half right. Yan Shixun didn’t come from a good family, but at a turning point in life, he had met someone who held up the sky for him.
The gray-white robe draped over Li Chengyun’s noble and slender figure, and even though his shoulders were thin, when a much younger Yan Shixun had looked up at him from behind, that not-so-sturdy back had felt vast and boundless, like the heavens themselves.
He had shielded him from the wind and rain, held up a crumbling world, gave him a place to return to, and set him on a path worth striving toward.
If one were to speak of a father…
Yan Shixun’s gaze softened, and an involuntary smile appeared on his lips. “He truly took on the role of a father. I respect and admire him.”
Zheng Shumu had only made a casual comment and didn’t expect such a heartfelt response, leaving him momentarily stunned.
The two had already walked past Zheng Shumu’s house, and a turn on the other side would lead to Third Uncle Bai’s home.
But, as if guided by some invisible force, Zheng Shumu was reminded of that man from years ago. As he looked at the Yan Shixun before him, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the two figures overlapped in his mind. In the dimly lit village, it was as if the golden crow had fallen into the dead of night, its blazing flames burning away all evil spirits.
Zheng Shumu hesitated but ultimately didn’t tell Yan Shixun to return to Third Uncle Bai’s. Instead, he pointed to the door behind him and said, “Mr. Yan, would you like to come sit at my house?”
Yan Shixun raised an eyebrow in surprise when he heard this.
He hadn’t expected Zheng Shumu to offer him such an opportunity for investigation.
Although Zheng Shumu’s explanations along the way had seemed thoughtful and thorough, in reality, they had limited his movements, preventing him from properly observing the inner courtyards of the village homes.
With someone else present, he couldn’t do much—his naturally cautious nature wouldn’t allow it.
So, Yan Shixun had suspected that Zheng Shumu might have been sent by someone behind the scenes to monitor and restrict him.
He had originally planned to inspect the homes of the deceased shadow puppet masters first, and then, once night fell and everyone was asleep, sneak into Zheng Shumu’s house for a closer look.
But now that the chance presented itself, and even though he didn’t know Zheng Shumu’s true intentions, Yan Shixun decided to go along with it.
As they approached Zheng Shumu’s house, Yan Shixun noticed that the blackened bricks weren’t merely old—they had been scorched by fire.
From the traces left on the walls, it was clear that there had once been a fire here.
Zheng Shumu pushed open the door and invited him in. As he turned, he saw where Yan Shixun was looking and smiled. “There was a fire here some time ago. But my sister and I are sentimental, so we didn’t rebuild. We’ve just been living here as is.”
“Tian Tian, your brother is home!”
He raised his voice as he walked into the house, skillfully lighting a candle in the pitch-dark courtyard.
“That girl, I bet she put out the stove again.”
Zheng Shumu shook his head with a laugh and muttered softly, though not with any trace of anger. Instead, his tone was indulgent—like an older brother who genuinely doted on his sister.
“Please excuse us, Mr. Yan. Ever since the fire, my sister has been especially afraid of it. The moment I’m not home, she puts out every flame in the house.”
Zheng Shumu sighed with frustration and concern. “She really worries me. I don’t know how she’ll take care of herself if something ever happens to me.”
Yan Shixun only gave part of his attention to responding politely. His words matched Zheng Shumu’s, but his eyes were already roaming elsewhere.
From the moment he stepped into the courtyard, the smell of pine resin had hit his nose. But after coming in from the light and plunging into darkness, he hadn’t been able to see clearly.
Now that the candle was lit, he finally saw—through the courtyard and even behind the windows of the house…
It was filled with wooden puppets of all shapes and sizes!
They varied in height and form, men and women, old and young, each one carved with astonishing realism. Their facial features vividly expressed joy, anger, sorrow, and love. Even the folds in their clothing were rendered with intricate detail, giving them an uncanny lifelikeness.
At first glance, these figures didn’t look like wooden sculptures at all—but like real people.
They filled every corner of the courtyard. Behind walls, under eaves, even around the bends of the veranda, there were glimpses of these puppets.
Yan Shixun even noticed that behind a window, one puppet’s head was half-exposed on the balcony, as if it were peeking out and spying on the outside world.
This courtyard, teeming with life-like puppets, left Yan Shixun frozen in shock.
Most sculptures avoided carving open eyes, fearing they might invite spirits to possess the forms.
But each of these puppets had meticulously carved eyes. Upon closer inspection, you could even see the patterns of the pupils in their eyeballs.
Thanks to the artisan’s showy, almost boastful knife work, Yan Shixun could distinguish the unique features of each puppet’s face and the various emotions reflected in their eyes—anger, sorrow, bitterness.
The old ones had cloudy eyes, the children looked innocent, and many middle-aged figures seemed to carry unbearable pain.
These were the emotions Yan Shixun read from their carved gazes.
As he stepped further into the courtyard, he noticed that the puppets’ eyes moved with him.
Their gazes followed him from all directions—four sides, eight points. Even in the shadowy places no one paid attention to, there were eyes locked onto him. Countless, silent stares bore into him. Wherever he moved, the stares followed, never letting him go.
The eyes were exquisitely crafted, but lacked the gleam of living eyes. The puppets had perfectly human forms, but they were hollow inside—without soul or life. That lifelike exterior only made them more unsettling.
The layers upon layers of their gazes created a silent, immense pressure that chilled the air. Yet since they were inanimate objects with no movement or life, there was no target for his fear—no way to fight it, no outlet to release it.
If it had been an ordinary person standing here, they would probably have been scared out of their wits.
Even Yan Shixun could feel goosebumps spreading slowly along his arm, as if his body’s instincts were warning him—those wooden dolls were dangerous.
“Tian Tian, Tian Tian?”
While Yan Shixun was observing the wooden dolls in the courtyard, Zheng Shumu had also pushed open the door and entered the house. He looked around inside and called out several times, but got no response.
He muttered in confusion, “Where’d that kid run off to?”
When Zheng Shumu looked up, he saw Yan Shixun standing in the courtyard, staring intently at the dolls. Smiling, he walked over and said with a bit of pride, “Well, what do you think, Mr. Yan? Not bad for something made by a carpenter like me, right?”
Yan Shixun snapped out of his thoughts. His slender fingers gestured vaguely toward the dolls, making a sweeping motion across the courtyard. “You made all of these yourself, Master Zheng?”
Zheng Shumu nodded. “I didn’t have much else to do anyway. I just worked on these at home to pass the time. Before I knew it, I’d made this many over the years.”
He laughed. “To be honest, Mr. Yan, my sister even complained to me today, said I should just set them all on fire. There’s hardly any room left in the courtyard to step anymore.”
“Once you hit middle age, aside from a bit of sentimentality for the past, all you really have left are these little hobbies, right?”
“This already goes far beyond a ‘little hobby,’” Yan Shixun said, pointing at the dolls. “This could be called master craftsmanship. Did you teach yourself, or did you have a mentor?”
“Actually, it’s a family tradition.”
Zheng Shumu replied easily. “Didn’t you just ask me why I became a carpenter? When I was little, I wanted to be a shadow puppeteer. But later I started to hate shadow puppets, so I switched paths and inherited my father’s skills instead.”
“My father was the truly incredible one. I think he could’ve been called a master of his time. Sadly, he passed away early. There were many techniques I never had the chance to learn or understand, and now I’ve become an unfilial son—the craftsmanship my father dedicated his life to is all but lost.”
When speaking of his father, Zheng Shumu fell into a momentary daze, but quickly regained composure and invited Yan Shixun to come inside and sit.
Winters in the southwest were bitterly cold. The chill cut straight through clothing and whipped against the bones. No matter how many layers one wore, it always felt like the wind could get in from all directions.
Yan Shixun responded to Zheng Shumu’s invitation, but his eyes still didn’t move away from the dolls.
And because of this, just as Yan Shixun stepped over the threshold, he suddenly noticed something—one of the wooden dolls in the courtyard blinked!
Yan Shixun was instantly startled. He turned around and strode quickly toward the doll that had blinked.
Zheng Shumu heard the movement and looked over in confusion. “What’s wrong, Mr. Yan?”
But by the time Yan Shixun reached the doll, it had returned to stillness, as if what he had just seen was only an illusion.
The more he stared at the doll that had blinked, the more familiar it seemed.
Suddenly, he remembered—when he escaped the theater by the lake and was being chased by the villagers, he had seen something similar.
The female puppet sitting on the stage had been carved with the same exquisite craftsmanship. In fact, that one was even more detailed than these. Comparing the two, one could almost sense the gentler emotions the craftsman must have felt while carving the woman.
And this blinking puppet…
Yan Shixun dug through his memories.
At that time, while running, he had looked back. Among the villagers chasing him from the village, there had been someone who looked almost exactly like this puppet.
Thanks to the accuracy of the carving, the puppet’s facial features had been captured in fine detail. It didn’t take much effort for Yan Shixun to match the two faces.
This carpenter skill… Could it be that those villagers who had attacked them, and the woman in the theater, were all connected to Zheng Shumu?
Before his suspicions could deepen, Zheng Shumu had already walked over.
“Oh, Mr. Yan, did you see the puppet blink?”
Zheng Shumu asked knowingly, smiling as if it were nothing.
Yan Shixun’s expression instantly darkened. His gaze swept sideways toward Zheng Shumu, and beneath his coat, his muscles quietly tensed, ready to react in case Zheng Shumu made a move.
But Zheng Shumu didn’t seem to notice—or didn’t care. He kept smiling and even stepped closer, nearing both Yan Shixun and the puppet.
Zheng Shumu slowly reached out his hand toward the doll.
The next moment, Yan Shixun saw the doll blink again. The rigid wooden eyeballs moving so nimbly made for an eerie and disturbing sight.
As Yan Shixun widened his eyes in shock, his hand at his side instinctively prepared to form a spell sign. But then Zheng Shumu burst into loud laughter beside him.
“How is it? Pretty fun, right, Mr. Yan?”
Zheng Shumu chuckled and explained, “It’s actually one of the techniques I inherited from my father. It’s a family trick, we call them ‘moving mouth and eye puppets.’”
“When making them, I build little mechanisms inside. They’re linked to the puppet’s eyes and mouth. So when you trigger the mechanism, the puppet’s face moves.”
As he spoke, Zheng Shumu moved his hand behind the puppet again, and its eyes and mouth followed suit, opening and closing.
Just like he said—it seemed to be the effect of a hidden mechanism.
Half-convinced, Yan Shixun turned to look behind the puppet. Sure enough, there was a small mechanism carved into the folds of its robe, cleverly hidden. Moving it in different directions made the puppet’s eyes and mouth respond accordingly.
“If it were my father, he could’ve made it even better—he could’ve made them walk and move just like real people. Unfortunately, by the time I started learning woodworking, he was already gone. I had to rely on the notes he left behind to teach myself.”
Zheng Shumu said with a nostalgic smile: “I really wish people could see just how fine carpentry can be. My father, a craftsman like that, should’ve been remembered like Lu Ban, the great master himself. Such a pity…”
“You’re bragging again, aren’t you, brother?”
A soft, sweet voice suddenly came from behind them, cutting off Zheng Shumu mid-sentence.
Yan Shixun turned around and saw that at some point, a little girl had appeared behind them, standing right at the gate of the courtyard.
She wore a pretty little dress and held in her arms a small wooden puppet, its limbs and torso all connected by silk threads. The puppet hung off her arm, with a painted, cute and pleasing expression on its face, which made the little girl herself look all the more sweet and innocent.
Her round eyes stared at the two of them, her mouth pouting in discontent. Her pink cheeks looked adorably charming—enough to melt anyone’s heart.
Yet despite the cold winter temperature of the southwest, the girl still wore a dress that left her arms and legs bare, showing no signs of feeling cold. Zheng Shumu didn’t say a word about it either.
It was as if he were a doting yet careless older brother who hadn’t even noticed that his sister might be freezing.
Yan Shixun furrowed his brows. Though the girl was cute and seemingly harmless, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something about her was off.
It wasn’t just her light clothing—it was also something in her aura…
“One moment I’m not looking, and you’re already chatting with someone else. You talk to Tian Tian, but Tian Tian doesn’t even want to deal with you.”
Zheng Shumu walked over with a smile, bent down, and took the little girl’s hand. “Tian Tian, did you go out? I was calling for you just now and you didn’t answer. I was getting worried.”
“So, is he a guest?”
The girl pointed her lips toward Yan Shixun.
After receiving a confirming nod from Zheng Shumu, the girl looked seriously at Yan Shixun and politely introduced herself, “Hello big brother, my name is Zheng Tiantian. I’m the real younger sister of this silly brother.”
Zheng Shumu put on a mock-hurt expression. “Tian Tian, are you looking down on me?”
“Mm! It’s one thing to boast to me, but now you’re dragging outsiders into it too. And you’ve told him so much…”
The bickering between a brother and sister should have been a heartwarming and light moment, but Yan Shixun felt none of that warmth.
He looked at the middle-aged Zheng Shumu, then at the girl who appeared only seven or eight years old, and couldn’t help but feel something was off.
Doubt crept into Yan Shixun’s mind.
Zheng Shumu had clearly said that his dream of shadow puppetry was shattered when he was a child, and that he started learning carpentry only after his father passed away.
But judging by Zheng Tiantian’s age, Zheng Shumu’s father must have died less than ten years ago, which was around when Zheng Shumu began woodworking.
That would mean from his childhood up until around thirty years old, there was a blank stretch in Zheng Shumu’s life.
Was it that he had done something else during that time? Or was there something hidden about their ages?
Yan Shixun said nothing, silently observing the cheerful arguing between the supposed siblings in front of him.
“Click… clack…”
A faint sound came from beside him.
Without revealing anything on his face, Yan Shixun followed the sound with his eyes.
The puppet standing next to him seemed to have shifted its gaze—from him to the brother and sister. Within the lifeless wooden pupils, a swirl of complex emotions had formed: fear and rage blended together into one.
The puppet’s mouth opened and closed, and the mechanism inside its body let out a quiet creak.
All the puppets in the courtyard shifted their gaze in unison, turning to face the pair.
Their mouths opened and shut, as if they were trying to speak.
But inside their tongueless mouths, there was only emptiness. These human-shaped forms held nothing within.
They couldn’t speak. They couldn’t express their thoughts. There were no souls inside them.
—No one had ever wanted to hear what they had to say.
And no one ever would.
…
In the kitchen, Third Uncle Bai was making noodles when he suddenly jerked his head up, his eyes filled with terror as he stared in a certain direction beyond the kitchen.
His slightly plump body trembled. Even though he stood right by the stove, with hot steam blowing in his face, he still felt an intense chill that spread through him, driven by fear.
It’s out… I need to run, run now! Or I’m really going to die!
“Third Uncle Bai, should I add these too?”
Zhang Wubing stared at several similar-looking seasoning jars, totally clueless.
Having never cooked before, he had no choice but to ask Third Uncle Bai for help and walked over with the jars in hand.
But before he even finished his question, Third Uncle Bai shoved whatever he was holding into Zhang Wubing’s arms, his eyes wild with fear and urgency through the steam.
“Anything’s fine, just do it your way. I’m suddenly not feeling well and want to lie down in the back for a bit. I’ll leave this to you.”
He rattled off his words in a rush and, without waiting for Zhang Wubing to reply, turned and bolted.
At that speed, no one would’ve guessed he was feeling unwell.
Zhang Wubing had still been concerned while Third Uncle Bai was talking, planning to ask about his condition. But before he could say a word, Third Uncle Bai had already taken off running and vanished in a flash.
Zhang Wubing stood frozen in the kitchen, dumbfounded.
He looked at the jars in his left hand, then the ones in his right, with a face that screamed, I’m doomed!
“What do I do now? I don’t know how to cook…”
Sweating nervously, Zhang Wubing was completely at a loss and wanted to grab someone to ask, but unfortunately, everyone else was upstairs. The only person he could’ve asked had run off faster than a rabbit, leaving him behind.
He hesitated for a long while. Seeing that the steam from the noodle soup was already starting to fade, he gritted his teeth, shut his eyes, and began pouring from the jars.
“This white stuff… white usually means salt, right? Is this much okay?”
Muttering to himself, Zhang Wubing still went ahead and opened each jar on the stove one by one. If he recognized the smell, he added a bit to the pot.
He figured, even if one of the seasonings was wrong, with so many in there, at least one should make the noodles taste good, right?
Looking at his finished product, Zhang Wubing put his hands on his hips proudly and beamed. “I really am a clever little genius, hehe~”
He hummed a tuneless little ditty in delight and ran out of the kitchen, preparing to call everyone down from upstairs to eat.
Just as Zhang Wubing stepped out of the kitchen, his shadow was cast onto the ground.
He suddenly stopped in his tracks. All the expression on his face vanished in an instant, replaced by a cold and dignified look, like a sheet of ice.
He turned slightly, his gaze as if piercing through the courtyard wall, locking onto a building across the way.
Yan Shixun… all those before you have failed. Can you really succeed?
Zhang Wubing’s brows furrowed, and his expression darkened.
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