Chapter 258: Shadow Puppets and Lamplight (24)
The public opinion leader had to call several times before finally getting through to the official in charge.
He was frantic. “The public sentiment online is starting to shift—what do we do?”
At first, when the guests suddenly sat down during their visit to the shadow puppet museum, the viewers had simply assumed they were tired and wanted to take a break.
But as time went on, they slowly began to sense that something wasn’t right.
It wasn’t just the guests—the main camera also swept across the courtyard and showed the program crew lying all over the ground.
Although they all seemed to be sound asleep, even snoring peacefully, the viewers moved past their initial teasing and jokes and began to notice that something was off.
No matter how exhausted someone was, it didn’t make sense for everyone to fall asleep at the exact same time, did it?
And sure, for the audience, the show was meant for entertainment—but for the staff, this was work.
No company would allow its entire team to fall asleep on the job like this!
Comments expressing this concern began to increase. Even those who hadn’t noticed anything odd before were now paying attention.
Exactly—how could there be a place where, despite it not being a typical time for sleep, everyone just passed out?
Although both the guests and the staff seemed to be in stable condition, and many were even snoring contentedly, it still couldn’t hide how strange the situation was.
Whether on the show’s dedicated livestream channel, “Heart-Pounding Journey of Ninety-Nine Days,” or under the show’s hashtags on social media, the worried comments kept growing, eventually pushing the issue to trending status.
Earlier episodes of the show had already involved dangerous experiences, making the audience even more concerned about this current filming and speculating on what might have happened.
Some viewers even tried calling the official hotline, asking if anyone was in charge of mass public sleeping.
The hotline operator: “?”
Are you joking right now? Please don’t tie up the line if there’s nothing serious.
However, since the caller mentioned that show—and considering what had happened in past episodes—the operator curiously opened the livestream.
At first glance, nothing seemed off. The operator even muttered a few complaints, saying that while the show had always been riddled with odd happenings, joking about this was crossing the line. It was irresponsible to occupy emergency hotlines over something like this.
But after closing the stream, the more the operator thought about it, the more it felt wrong.
She opened the stream again and went screen by screen, from the main feed to the sub-cameras. Her brows furrowed tighter and tighter.
This wasn’t right.
Everyone falling asleep like this… It was as if the entire museum had been hit by a sleeping curse. The footage was eerily silent.
There was, however, one exception.
Yan Shixun’s camera feed was different from the rest.
The operator read through the live comments on his feed and noticed that many viewers had mentioned something strange happening. Just moments ago, both Yan Shixun and Zhang Wubing had been visible on camera, but now, the room was completely empty.
Neither of them were there anymore. Only the television was still on, playing the shadow puppet show. The old-fashioned singing and buzzing electrical sound spilled from the screen, full of vintage texture.
Piecing together the story through the comments, the operator figured out what had happened.
At first, Yan Shixun and Zhang Wubing had behaved like the other guests. After entering a room filled with shadow puppet videos, they spaced out while watching the television. The TV had turned on by itself and began playing a shadow puppet show. They both sat down in the chairs, seemingly appreciating the performance.
But not long ago, Yan Shixun’s feed had suddenly gone dark, as if something had blocked the camera.
When it lit up again, only the static image of the room remained—both men had vanished.
The camera pointed straight at the TV, so all the viewers could see was the shadow puppet show playing on screen.
They watched in silence as a frail woman, clutching her round belly and holding a child by the hand, ran desperately down a village path. Though she ran with all her strength, she was still caught up to by the pursuing villagers.
Not far from her, the lake’s surface rippled under the starless, moonless night—pitch black all around.
“Splash!” A loud crash echoed.
The panic-stricken woman, unable to see clearly in the dark, tripped and fell into the lake.
Her survival instinct kicked in. She thrashed in the water, reaching out, struggling to keep her head above the surface, clearly hoping someone would save her.
But the villagers behind her only slowed down their chase. They gradually surrounded the lake.
They stood on the bank, towering over her, watching her flail helplessly in the water—none of them moved to help.
On the screen, the villagers’ eyes were just hollow holes. In the darkness, they glowed eerily.
They grinned wide, laughing, delighting in the woman’s struggle before death.
Even the background music was cheerful, beating along with the drum rhythm—almost as if eagerly awaiting her demise.
The viewers were stunned.
They slowly put down whatever they were doing, eyes glued to the shadow play, their hearts gripped by the woman’s fate.
Many of them frantically typed in the comments, praying that the woman would survive, that someone would save her.
Some even urgently called the hotline, claiming that someone was being forced into a lake.
But after carefully asking questions and verifying the details, the operator realized it was just part of the shadow puppet performance. She sternly lectured the caller, telling them to distinguish between drama and reality, and to leave the emergency line for those who truly needed help.
The caller apologized, still dazed. After hanging up, he slowly realized… he’d been watching a shadow puppet show.
But inexplicably, he had truly felt as if he were witnessing a real event just now. It was as though that woman actually existed—so real were her danger and despair that he found himself growing anxious for her.
He posted his experience in the live comment section, and many others immediately chimed in, saying they’d felt the same.
Some even said that they normally never watched shadow puppetry, lacked the artistic sense for it, and usually couldn’t understand such performances. But with this one, they were so caught up they nearly cried from worry.
In addition to this, the call center staff noticed that some of the live comments seemed to come from people who might be exorcists.
While many viewers were drawn to the program by the thrill of the repeated dangers faced by the crew, numerous exorcists had also started paying attention because of the frequent appearances of ghosts and spirits on the show.
Ordinary viewers simply saw “Heart-Pounding Journey of Ninety-Nine Days” as entertainment—either relaxing or thrilling. But among experts, word quickly spread that Yan Shixun was the sole disciple of Hermit Chengyun from Haiyun Temple, and that he was born with the rare and ominous “Evil Spirit Bone Transformation.”
To the uninitiated, the show was just dramatic fun. But insiders recognized the hidden layers.
Within the exorcist community, this show became a phenomenon of its own—wildly popular and seriously discussed.
For those masters, it was like discovering a treasure. Ever since they learned of Yan Shixun and the show, they hadn’t missed a single episode. They watched each one with nervous anticipation, worried about the crew’s safety, and secretly thought through how they would have handled those same situations—how they might protect everyone while still getting out alive.
But no matter how they tried to strategize, whenever they attempted solutions that differed from Yan Shixun’s, their plans always failed. It was as if they were trapped in a narrow alley where only one person could pass—and at the end of the road, there was nothing but a dead end.
It was a hopeless situation with no way out.
Because of this, many masters who had initially looked down on Yan Shixun—due to his youth or relative obscurity—were now stunned. They watched in disbelief as this young man, whom they had never taken seriously, succeeded in doing what none of them had been able to achieve.
They had assumed that if someone as young as Yan could do it, then they, with all their years of experience, surely could too.
That confidence lasted only until they tried it for themselves.
And then they realized—
Just because someone could do it didn’t mean everyone could.
Yan Shixun always handled things with such ease. Though those around him sometimes got hurt, no one had ever died. This gave others the illusion that “if I were in his shoes, I could do it too.”
But within their hearts, a storm was brewing. The name Yan Shixun was now etched into their memories with deep respect.
Many took indirect paths through various connections to get in touch with people at Haiyun Temple, probing discreetly for more information about him.
The Taoists at Haiyun Temple would respond with half-smiles, saying that Yan Shixun held a very high seniority—more than half the temple’s Taoists had to call him Master Uncle, and quite a few even had to call him Grandmaster. Now, the only one with a higher rank than him was someone like Taoist Li.
Some Taoists who had worked with special departments and knew a bit more about Yan Shixun found it laughable when they heard so many masters asking questions about him. They responded by asking where exactly these masters got the confidence to believe they could compare to the one and only person to ever survive while bearing the Evil Spirit Bone Transformation.
There were also blunt Taoists who gave it to them straight—telling the inquiring masters to give up. Even within Haiyun Temple, they said, the only one whose strength could be mentioned in the same breath as Yan Shixun’s was Taoist Li.
‘That’s someone watched over by the Great Dao itself. His cultivation progresses by leaps and bounds—it’s impossible for ordinary people to match him.’
The more they learned about Yan Shixun, the more shaken the masters became.
Some of the smarter ones gave up their pointless comparisons and desire to outdo him. Instead, they began treating the show he participated in as a precious teaching material—not only watching it themselves but also using it to train their disciples.
—It was like a top-tier university’s star scholar suddenly giving open-access lectures. Even the university’s own students would have a hard time accessing such teachings normally, so now that there was a livestream, how could they not take advantage?
Opportunities to learn by “stealing skills” were meant for the clever.
As a result, even before the general public realized it, more and more exorcists began flooding into the livestream.
Some had originally joined with the intent of finding flaws in Yan Shixun, hoping to expose him. But after repeatedly witnessing the crew’s near-misses and seeing Yan’s power and sharp judgment, they were stunned—and ended up becoming loyal fans of the show.
Exorcist: I came to find proof that Yan Shixun was a fraud, but now I just want to kneel and call him “Dad.” Does Brother Yan accept disciples? Can I sign up?
The viewers had vaguely started to sense it, too.
After all, lately, more and more of the live comments sounded like they came from real experts.
Viewer: “I recognize every word in this comment, but once they’re put together, it becomes some kind of mystical script. Why can’t I understand any of it?”
Compared to Zhang Wubing’s original intent of making the show purely for entertainment, it now looked more like a scholarly conference for exorcists. The serious, technical comments had even scared some viewers.
Viewer: “I just came here for some thrills, like watching a horror movie. But don’t actually tell me ghosts are real—ahhh!”
But thanks to this, the call center staff—who weren’t familiar with ghosts—were able to quickly realize what the show’s crew was dealing with.
Unlike the general audience, who remained skeptical, the staff had been briefed on some of the truths behind the program. They knew ghosts truly existed. So when they saw those strange, unusually worded comments, they didn’t take them as jokes—they took them seriously and logged everything.
One comment from an exorcist mentioned that the method used in the latest incident looked similar to a bone-replacement technique that had once appeared in the southwest.
The call center staff immediately escalated the report. Both the official in charge and the public opinion leader were notified.
Because Baizhi Lake was not only remote but also sparsely populated, signal towers were few and far between, resulting in an unstable signal that came and went.
The official in charge had to exert a great deal of effort, wandering around the desolate countryside for quite some time before he finally found a spot with reception, where he could maintain a stable call with the public opinion leader.
“You handle the public side of things, fortunately, no inappropriate footage has appeared in the live stream so far. Judging from how the two Taoists, including Taoist Ma, disappeared, it looks like this situation is going to last a while longer. I’ve also spoken to Taoist Song—he said that since the source of the problem has been confirmed to be the museum, no one can leave or change anything until the matter is fully resolved.”
The official rubbed his temples in frustration. “You’re the expert when it comes to guiding public opinion. Stick to your approach—just insist that nothing happened, and don’t let go of that line.”
The public opinion leader nodded, quickly forming a plan in his mind.
But after a moment of hesitation, he asked, “Earlier, in Mr. Yan’s split screen, someone mentioned that he might know the cause of the current situation. So I got in touch with the live streaming platform and managed to reach him.”
The person who had sent the comment about the Bone Substitution Technique was a local exorcist from the southwest. Since this episode had been filmed in the southwest, and given the show’s track record of dangerous incidents in every season, this exorcist—who was very familiar with the region—had been watching the broadcast closely out of concern.
Luckily, when Yan Shixun went missing, the exorcist had still been watching the livestream and didn’t miss a single detail. In those few brief seconds, he caught the unusual behavior of the television in the room where Yan Shixun had been.
He realized that the reason the shadow puppetry performance had seemed so vivid and lifelike to the viewers wasn’t because the puppetry was well done—but because those weren’t shadow puppets at all.
They were real souls!
“What do you mean?”
The official asked in shock, quickly following up, “Is he saying the shadow puppets and reality switched places?”
Though the public opinion leader was well-versed in his own field, he only knew the basics when it came to ghosts and spirits, so he simply handed the call over and let the exorcist speak directly with the official.
“There really is such a department? I knew it! So many things get handled way too quickly—it’s obvious someone’s been managing things behind the scenes.”
When the exorcist heard the official reveal his identity, he was first stunned, then became wildly excited, like a hardcore fan finally meeting an alien in real life. He had the look of someone who had just met their idol.
The official didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but quickly turned serious and listened attentively to his explanation.
According to the exorcist, the southwest had long been burdened with an accumulation of wandering, homeless spirits. Based on the records left behind by their ancestors, the number of ghosts in the past had still been manageable.
But for some unknown reason, starting about a hundred years ago, ghosts in the southwest could no longer leave. No matter what methods the exorcists tried or how much effort they expended, they could only occasionally help a spirit or two pass on—if they were lucky.
Compared to the overwhelming number of ghosts, this was a mere drop in the bucket—not even one ten-thousandth of the total.
More and more ghosts had spread from the wild mountains and fields into densely populated towns and cities. If anyone happened to open their Yin eyes, they would have seen that during that time, ghostly figures drifted everywhere in the southwest. The ghostly energy had become so thick it began to seriously affect ordinary people’s lives.
The locals in the southwest slowly adapted to the presence of ghost energy, gradually expanding their tolerance. As a result, they didn’t feel anything too unusual. They simply found it odd that so many people were developing allergies or frequent fevers. Many households noticed their statues of gods and Buddhas cracking, but not understanding the reason, they just blamed the poor quality of modern goods.
However, many outsiders arriving in the southwest for the first time could feel the difference. The temperature shifts between day and night felt far more extreme than what weather forecasts predicted. Some sensitive individuals would even spike high fevers or fall ill and require hospitalization.
But all of that had happened decades ago. Nowadays, the southwest no longer experienced such phenomena.
In order to help the ghosts pass on and prevent further disruption to normal life, many masters across the southwest had gathered and eventually came up with a solution.
—Inspired by records in ancient texts, they devised the Bone Substitution Technique, which involved swapping a ghost with a lifeless object, thereby sealing the ghost within the object and then disposing of it in a controlled way.
At the time, they had agreed that the best vessels for holding spirits were either wooden human-shaped carvings or portraits.
Ghosts had no physical form and were difficult to deal with. On top of that, they were large in number. Eliminating one ghost often risked provoking retaliation from others.
However, once a ghost had been swapped into a wooden carving or a painting, it suddenly became much easier to handle.
They had given shape to the formless.
And all of these tangible objects—whether made of wood or paper—feared fire.
One blaze could reduce everything to ashes, ensuring nothing would remain to cause harm.
“Although Official In Charge might find this method cruel—and indeed, many souls did lose the chance to reincarnate because of it—it was a matter of choosing the lesser of two evils.”
When the young exorcist recounted those events, his tone turned solemn. “On one side were the dead, and on the other, the living… The ancestors had to make a choice. They had no better option if they wanted to protect ordinary people’s lives from being disturbed.”
“But don’t worry. They didn’t go on a full-scale purge. Our forebears had compassion too—they only reduced the number of ghosts to a point where it wouldn’t affect normal life, and then stopped using that method.”
“But now, after decades, the ghost population in the southwest has once again reached its limit.”
The exorcist let out a long sigh.
In his eyes, the southwest was like a wooden bucket with water flowing in but not out—sooner or later, it would overflow.
Because the ghosts couldn’t leave the human realm, the balance between yin and yang had already been broken—ever since a hundred years ago.
Life and death, yin and yang—only with both could there be balance.
But the southwest had lost the most crucial piece of that balance.
Even if someone had seen through the truth, there was nothing they could do. They could do many things, yet what they could do was, in fact, very limited.
The Great Dao could not be glimpsed, and Heaven and Earth were indifferent—it had never responded to their hopes.
In order to save themselves, they had no choice but to resort to the Bone Substitution Technique.
“But because this method truly violated the natural principles of yin and yang, it was unfair to those ghosts who had done no evil while alive. So decades ago, once the ghost population was brought under control, the ancestral masters stopped using this method. They destroyed all records detailing the technique, to prevent it from falling into the hands of those with malicious intent and becoming a tool for harm.”
The exorcist thought of the shadow puppet play he had seen during the livestream and hesitated before saying, “But I just watched the livestream, and I felt like that shadow puppet play… seemed to have used this method.”
“Because my master once told me about it during his lifetime, the moment I saw how those puppets could strongly stir up people’s souls, I immediately thought of this technique. Personally, I suspect that Master Yan and the show crew might be unconscious right now because their souls were transferred into the puppets.”
“If that’s the case—if real people are inside the shadow puppets and their physical bodies are soulless—then what’s happening now actually makes sense.”
The official in charge was startled. He quickly pressed the exorcist, “Then is there anyone still alive who knows how to use this method? Do you have a list of suspects?”
The exorcist shook his head. “That should be impossible.”
He said sincerely, “To prevent this desperate method from being misused, those who were involved back then kept it extremely secret. Outside of their own sects, almost no one knew. And many of those sects have since died out or have incomplete lineages. The manuals and scriptures were lost during times of turmoil. The number of people who still know is even smaller.”
“If my master hadn’t had a lucky encounter with a wandering layman who happened to possess some scattered notes from our sect, he wouldn’t have known either. The two of them studied it for a long time before figuring it out…”
Midway through speaking, the exorcist suddenly faltered, as if something had come to mind.
“But… there actually might be someone who knows the exact method.”
The official’s eyes lit up and he held his breath, listening.
The exorcist recalled what his master had told him and continued, “When the ancestral masters used the Bone Substitution Technique, one of the vessels they chose was wooden carvings. So they found a carpenter to carve many human-shaped wooden figurines for them.”
“Have you ever heard of wooden figurines with ‘living mouths and living eyes’? That’s what they made back then. But I haven’t heard anything about them in years, so I’m not sure if the technique’s been lost.”
“What I can confirm is that the ancestral masters destroyed all paper materials that contained the detailed procedure. As far as the southwest goes, no one is known to have this knowledge now. But whether the carpenter’s side passed it down—I really don’t know.”
The exorcist added earnestly, “After all, the ancestral masters weren’t emperors building tombs who would kill the craftsmen afterward to silence them. Even though they must have warned the carpenter not to pass it on, whether he listened or not, I have no idea.”
“The carpenter had to carve the vessels according to the ancestral masters’ requirements. So, if anyone still knows how the technique is done, it’s likely the carpenter.”
After thinking for a moment, the exorcist added, “But this is just my speculation. I’m not certain. If I’m wrong, please don’t be upset.”
The official thanked him profusely, saying this was already a huge help.
—At the very least, those of them on the outside finally knew what was happening inside. Having a direction to investigate was far better than blindly searching like looking for a needle in a haystack.
“Did your master ever mention the carpenter’s name?”
Holding on to a shred of hope, the official asked, “Or maybe, do you have any guesses about who the carpenter’s descendants might be?”
The exorcist apologized, “It’s been decades, after all. My inheritance is also incomplete. If it hadn’t been for that one encounter my master had while he was still alive, I wouldn’t even know what I do now. Sorry—I really can’t help with that.”
The official thanked him again and asked the exorcist to keep watching the livestream and stay in touch. If he noticed anything strange or remembered something, he should contact them immediately.
After hanging up, the official looked down at the hastily scrawled notes in his notebook and let out a long sigh.
No wonder so many exorcists were terrified of the southwest—too many secrets lay hidden in this land.
He hadn’t expected that such a major event had happened in the southwest a century ago.
Still… “living mouth and eyes” wooden figurines… the carpenter…
The official stared at the key phrases he had written down, absentmindedly circling them with his pen. His brow furrowed more and more.
His steps didn’t stop, but neither did his thoughts.
It wasn’t until the rescue team leader reminded him, “We’ve arrived at the location the survivor mentioned.”
Because of the eerie nature of the ebony statue—and since the incident with the show crew had happened near Baizhi Lake—the Haiyun Temple had also been questioning the young man who had taken the statue quite thoroughly.
Fortunately, the abbot of Haiyun Temple was good at dealing with people. He had quickly gotten the young man to reveal where they had gone on their trip and where they had picked up the statue. He then passed this information to the rescue team so they could investigate the site themselves.
According to the young man, the abandoned village and ruined temple were not far from the shadow puppet museum.
So the official’s team split in two—one group stayed at the museum, while the other went with him to search for the ruined temple.
When they arrived, the rescue team leader’s voice broke his train of thought. The official looked up—and was instantly stunned.
Even though night had fallen, under the beam of the strong flashlight in his hand, he could still clearly see what lay ahead.
Just as the young man had described, the village next to Baizhi Lake was nothing but broken walls and collapsed buildings. The ruins were overgrown with weeds, and a thick layer of moss covered every trace of where villagers once lived.
The abandoned village before him was completely deserted. The only thing left was the wildly growing weeds. The green tendrils stretching down from the mountain had buried everything.
Suddenly, the sharp-eyed rescue team leader caught a glimmer of light and gasped, shaking the official’s arm in alarm.
“Look over there—there’s someone over there!”
The official followed the direction the rescue team leader was pointing and saw that among the barren ruins, only one village house emitted a faint glimmer of light, partially hidden by the dense shadows of intertwined tree branches and vines.
After making a quick judgment that there was no immediate danger, the official proceeded cautiously. He pushed aside the surrounding weeds and trudged through the muddy ground, making his way toward that lone village house.
This had once been an imposing village house, several stories tall. The iron-carved fence around the courtyard and the red copper gates still vaguely hinted at the past glory and wealth of its owner.
But since no one had maintained it for years, everything had gradually been eroded by wind and rain. The structure had become rusty, decayed, and mottled with time.
The garden was overgrown with weeds as tall as a person, completely isolating the house from the outside world. It now resembled a weed-covered, forgotten grave.
If it hadn’t been for the faint glimmers of light coming from within, the official in charge would have assumed, like with the other buildings, that the house had been long abandoned—just lucky enough not to have collapsed yet.
As he approached, the official saw a figure through the window.
The person kept coughing—a hoarse, elderly sound. The hunched silhouette made it clear this was an old man who had remained in the village.
The official recalled that someone who had previously handled the Baizhi Lake case had told him the official records likely didn’t match reality. Although the records claimed that most of the villagers by Baizhi Lake had died, it wasn’t impossible that someone had moved back later.
Some people didn’t demand much—just a place to take shelter from the wind and rain.
In that sense, an abandoned village wasn’t necessarily a bad choice.
However, while they were walking here, the Taoist had also warned them: for wandering ghosts, an abandoned village was equally a good resting place.
Rather than roaming homeless, many spirits of the dead still clung to the habits they had in life—they sought a place that felt like home.
Any house left uninhabited for a long time must go through a proper ritual before being entered or lived in, as such places were highly likely to become gathering spots for spirits.
That was why many deserted villas deep in the mountains gave off such eerie vibes.
If one entered such a house without notifying the “owner” beforehand or offering incense and tribute with respect, the “owner” could easily interpret it as trespassing.
And retaliation from a ghost was no laughing matter.
These two conflicting ideas battled in the official’s mind, leaving him hesitant.
So, was this someone who had simply come later and moved into a vacant house, or had the abandoned village drawn in spirits?
He hesitated for a moment, then gritted his teeth, gripped the talisman in his hand tighter, and knocked on the large front door.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Every second he delayed might put the production crew at greater risk.
If someone had to face danger, the official hoped it would be him.
The elderly figure cast on the window moved after hearing the knock and started walking toward the door.
The candlelight flickered faintly, elongating and wavering the figure, making it look like a dancing shadow—like a ghost flitting through the gloom.
The official’s heart pounded like a drum as he anxiously awaited what would happen next.
Creak—!
The door slowly opened.
An old man with graying hair and a hunched back stood at the entrance, his hands clasped behind him.
His face was deeply lined, his cloudy eyes lifeless. There was only a dead, hollow calm within them, as though he had lost everything one could look forward to in life. His entire being looked like a dying ember, merely continuing to exist out of inertia.
To him, life and death no longer made a difference.
The old man raised his eyes and looked at the well-dressed official standing at the door. His gaze was like looking at a corpse—completely devoid of emotion.
The official nervously swallowed and was just about to politely explain his purpose when the old man stepped slightly aside, revealing the space beyond the doorway.
“Come in.”
His voice was hoarse and grating, as if he hadn’t spoken to another person in ages. His language abilities seemed half-retired, and even these few words came out slowly and with effort.
He didn’t give the official any time to respond. Without waiting, he turned around and walked into the house with his hands behind his back.
Only the open door remained, and when the official snapped back to his senses, he realized this was an invitation to follow.
After a brief hesitation, he gritted his teeth, lifted his leg, and stepped toward the doorway.
He turned his flashlight on and off, using the maritime signal code to send a message to the rescue team waiting not far away.
He was telling the team to stay put and not come closer—he would speak with the old man alone.
That way, if anything went wrong, he would be the only one in danger.
The rescue team watched as the house’s door opened, then closed. The silhouette of their team leader appeared in the window.
“He’ll be okay… right?”
The team leader turned to the others, not sure if he was trying to comfort himself or genuinely seeking reassurance.
……..
Zhang Wubing called everyone downstairs for dinner—except for Lu Xingxing, who was still sound asleep. The fatigue from his blood loss could only be eased by rest.
“Let him sleep. Xingxing did his best today too.”
Zhao Zhen shook his head and stopped Zhang Wubing from waking Lu Xingxing. “At worst, we’ll just heat up the food for him when he wakes up.”
“Huh? But we’re having hot soup noodles for dinner. By the time he wakes up, it’ll all be mushy…”
Zhang Wubing glanced several times toward Lu Xingxing’s room, clearly concerned. Before he could make a decision, a sudden “Pffft!” came from the kitchen downstairs, followed by violent coughing.
“Director Zhang!!! What’s with these noodles?!”
An Nanyuan’s furious voice rang out: “Run! This place is a scam! That so-called Third Uncle Bai definitely tried to poison us with noodles! What kind of toxin is this?! Did he put too much of it in?! This tastes awful—even a dog would know something’s wrong!”
Zhang Wubing immediately bolted downstairs.
Then he saw that a few people in the kitchen were holding bowls of noodles, each with a grim expression.
An Nanyuan, who had already taken several bites out of hunger, ended up spitting his noodles out. His face was filled with horror, as if someone was trying to poison the emperor.
But Zhang Wubing looked completely baffled. He scratched his head and said curiously, “That’s weird. I made the noodles with Third Uncle Bai. I watched him do everything—it should be fine.”
Song Ci’s expression shifted unpredictably. He suddenly realized something and asked Zhang Wubing, “What exactly was Third Uncle Bai in charge of? And what about you? Were you just helping?”
Zhang Wubing shook his head. “No, Third Uncle Bai boiled the water, kneaded the dough, and made the noodles. But after they were done, he said he wasn’t feeling well and left first. I just handled the seasoning.”
The moment he said that, An Nanyuan—who had been loudly complaining—suddenly fell silent like a duck getting strangled mid-quack.
He looked down at the noodles in his hands, then up at Zhang Wubing’s innocent face. He smacked his lips, trying to identify the strange aftertaste still lingering in his mouth. His expression shifted from pale to green, then from green to yellow—a dizzying display of colors, truly a sight to behold.
“Director Zhang… I heard you come from a wealthy family. So, um… do you cook often?”
An Nanyuan asked cautiously, trying to be tactful: “How do you usually handle meals?”
Zhang Wubing answered cheerfully, “Usually the housekeeper cooks, or my parents. Sometimes we eat out, or Brother Yan cooks.”
“Brother Yan’s cooking isn’t as good as the housekeeper’s, but honestly, if you’re not picky, it’s pretty tasty.”
Zhang Wubing answered sincerely, but everyone else’s faces darkened in unison.
“No wonder it tastes so awful.”
An Nanyuan muttered, clutching his mouth as he tried to hold back the urge to vomit. The bizarre taste—a clash of all kinds of seasonings—was so revolting it brought tears to his eyes. At that moment, he deeply regretted having blamed Third Uncle Bai.
It was clearly Director Zhang who wanted them dead!
His cooking was basically a deadly weapon!
Nan Tian shook his head repeatedly. “Good thing Xingxing didn’t come down. He really dodged a bullet. He’s already frail, and if he puked on top of that, he might not have made it.”
“But where did Brother Yan go? Did he know in advance how awful Director Zhang’s cooking is and escape on purpose?”
Hearing that, Song Ci also looked around the courtyard. “Third Uncle Bai isn’t here either. Where did he go if he wasn’t feeling well?”
Zhang Wubing replied honestly, “Brother Yan said he was heading out while we ate. As for Third Uncle Bai… maybe he had a stomachache and went to take a dump?”
“But don’t worry, it’s definitely not dangerous.”
Zhang Wubing looked toward the courtyard with a proud yet sour smile. “Brother Yan’s beloved is watching over us here. We’re safe.”
Zhang Wubing: This guy is actually useful… but so annoying.
Ye Li, who was leaning with his arms crossed in the shadows of the courtyard, felt their gazes turn toward him. He lifted his eyelashes slightly, and the look he gave Zhang Wubing also carried a touch of disdain.
The idiot always trailing after Shixun had just exuded a presence he detested—a scent that stirred up old memories he’d rather forget.
He had always been at odds with the King of Hell. They disagreed on fundamental principles and philosophies. As a result, Fengdu and the Underworld had been in long-standing conflict.
Later, when the Underworld collapsed and the King of Hell died, he stripped all his power from his soul and divine name before death. That power didn’t merge with the Dao but remained at the King of Hell’s position, propping up the Underworld on his behalf and allowing it to limp along for another hundred years.
Ye Li had hated his old rival, but he was also moved by the King of Hell’s final sacrifice. He had tried searching for the King of Hell’s soul.
Unfortunately, it seemed that once the King of Hell lost his powers, he completely disintegrated—no soul remained.
Ye Li hadn’t pursued the matter further.
But just now, from Zhang Wubing, he had sensed a similar feeling of disgust.
Ye Li stared at Zhang Wubing, trying to see through the truth.
Zhang Wubing, meanwhile, only felt a chill up his spine and remained utterly confused.
Why was the guy looking at him like that? Was it because of the compliment he gave earlier?
Although he was totally lost, Zhang Wubing felt quite pleased with himself. Clearly, his skills in flattery had improved—so much so that even people who didn’t like him appreciated his praise.
He thought, “If this guy doesn’t fight me for Brother Yan, maybe I could start to like him a little.”
Zhang Wubing pouted and quickly hid behind someone nearby, feeling a sense of dread as if Ye Li could see straight through him.
Ye Li, on the other hand, lost interest after seeing Zhang Wubing’s usual dumb expression. He shifted his gaze toward Zheng Shumu’s house.
Ye Li could sense that Yan Shixun, who had originally planned to investigate the ruins of the neighboring shadow puppet master’s home, was now in the Zheng household across the way. There was no immediate danger.
Even though Ye Li wanted to rush to Shixun’s side, he remembered the instructions Yan Shixun had given him. He forced himself to stay put and continued keeping watch over the others for their safety.
However, he did sense something else: just a moment ago, the ebony statue had strengthened its guarding force, as if the evil being it was suppressing had suddenly grown stronger.
What happened?
Ye Li frowned slightly.
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