Chapter 259: Shadow Puppets and Lamplight (25)
Although the courtyard of Zheng Shumu’s home was filled with wooden puppets, no matter where Yan Shixun walked, the eyes of those puppets would follow him, stiffly staring with their lifeless, carved pupils. As long as Yan Shixun turned around, he would find a puppet staring directly at him, making the atmosphere exceptionally eerie and unsettling.
Yet in contrast to these puppets, Zheng Shumu and his overly young sister appeared almost too normal.
Zheng Shumu looked like nothing more than an ordinary, honest villager. He warmly invited Yan Shixun into the house to warm up.
“It’s cold. Mr. Yan must be chilly after walking around the village for so long, right?”
He opened the front door and gestured for Yan Shixun to enter. “Mr. Yan, please sit with Tian Tian for a bit. I’ll go light the stove and boil some water.”
The little girl also lifted her head and looked up at Yan Shixun with wide, innocent eyes.
Whether intentionally or not, she happened to be standing right in front of the courtyard gate. Even if Yan Shixun wanted to leave, her position alone would be enough to block his path.
Yan Shixun noticed this, but his expression remained calm. He merely glanced at the girl and gave a casual nod to Zheng Shumu. “Thank you.”
Zheng Shumu waved it off, saying there wasn’t much in the house. They rarely had guests, so at best, he could only boil some water to warm up.
He enthusiastically led the way, letting Yan Shixun sit on the sofa in the living room.
After speaking, Zheng Shumu walked toward the adjacent room. Soon, the sound of dry branches snapping and crackling echoed from within.
Yan Shixun followed with his gaze and saw that Zheng Shumu had gone into what seemed to be his workshop. Besides the stove, it was filled with piles of wood and several unfinished carvings.
Zheng Shumu was crouched seriously on the floor, sorting dry branches and firewood from a bamboo basket and skillfully starting a fire.
It seemed that when they encountered Zheng Shumu earlier that afternoon, he hadn’t lied. He really had gone up the mountain to collect firewood.
Yan Shixun quietly watched Zheng Shumu for a few minutes before looking away.
But the moment he turned, he found himself face to face with the little girl’s emotionless expression.
Caught off guard, Yan Shixun’s eyes widened instantly.
—The girl who had originally been standing at the courtyard gate had, at some unknown point, silently appeared right in front of him. He had no idea how long she had been standing there, staring.
Yet he hadn’t heard a sound. Not a single step, not even the slightest disturbance.
It was well-known that humans possess a subconscious sense of self-protection. Even when one cannot see the source, being watched tends to trigger a reaction—a strange urge to turn around and confirm whether one is in danger.
And even more so for someone like Yan Shixun, who dealt with ghosts and spirits regularly.
To him, anywhere outside of that small courtyard in Binhai City’s old district wasn’t a place to lower his guard. Especially when he constantly reminded himself this was within a shadow puppet play and not reality—there was no room for carelessness.
Yet this little girl…
Yan Shixun hadn’t sensed a single thing.
The girl stared at him silently.
She wore a pretty little dress and held a finely crafted wooden puppet in her arms. Her adorable appearance made her seem no different from any other child her age. No one who saw her would feel wary or uncomfortable.
And yet, Yan Shixun couldn’t sense any trace of a living aura from her.
—But there was no ghostly aura either.
Perhaps because they were inside a shadow puppet play, the little girl felt more like a lifeless object to him.
As if she were a sculpture—something one wouldn’t bother deciding whether it was dead or alive.
That was exactly the kind of instinctive impression the girl gave him.
When she realized Yan Shixun had noticed her, she blinked and smiled sweetly.
“Big Brother, are you here to play with Tian Tian?”
She asked curiously, “Big Brother, what’s your name?”
She seemed no different from children who get excited when guests come over—brimming with curiosity and full of questions for the unfamiliar visitor.
If Bai Shuang had been here, she probably would’ve been so smitten by the girl’s cuteness that her heart would melt.
Unfortunately, Yan Shixun never had any soft spot for children. In fact, the only child he had ever really dealt with was—
Jing Xiaobao.
And that was a vengeful ghost.
—Even if he could beat the fiercest ghosts in hell into submission and had become the new King of Hell, in front of Yan Shixun, Jing Xiaobao always ended up as a sobbing, chubby little bunny being completely overpowered.
When it came to children, the only experience Yan Shixun had was with Jing Xiaobao.
So if the little girl hoped to stir some gentleness from him, she was bound to be disappointed.
—The only reason he didn’t pick her up and spank her was because she was a girl. He was showing restraint.
Besides, Yan Shixun hadn’t forgotten the wariness and strange instinct the seemingly normal girl had triggered in him.
So even as the girl chirped around him excitedly, Yan Shixun simply lowered his eyes, his expression indifferent, treating her chatter like background noise while he silently observed the layout of the room.
Just like Zheng Shumu had said, he was a carpenter.
Both the courtyard and the interior of the house were filled with traces of his craftsmanship.
There were completed and half-finished wood carvings everywhere, along with carving knives of all sizes casually placed around.
Besides those puppets in the courtyard with moving eyes and mouths that looked practically alive, the room was filled with birds, beasts, mountains, lakes, village houses, and fields.
It was as if Zheng Shumu had miniaturized real-life scenery and perfectly recreated it on wood with his carving knife.
This was enough to prove that Zheng Shumu was a highly skilled and versatile craftsman—not someone who specialized in just one type of carving. He could recreate anything with his hands, as though he were breathing life into dead wood.
Yan Shixun thought that if shadows of these carvings were projected onto a screen and enlarged, they would look no different from reality.
Yan Shixun wasn’t sure whether Zheng Shumu had casually thrown in some of the items he usually used for practice into these wooden carvings.
He could still see, beside the towering stacks of wood carvings, glimpses of half a human head placed on a platform, or parts of a human skeleton randomly tossed in a corner.
He even saw, not far off, a glass jar filled with a bunch of spherical objects.
Only upon closer inspection did he realize that they were wooden eyeballs. Though not real, Zheng Shumu’s skilled craftsmanship had breathed life into them—every line of the iris had been meticulously carved, complete with intricate depth and texture.
Each eyeball had its own unique features, differing in shape and detail.
Just by looking at these eyeballs, Yan Shixun could tell whether they represented a man or a woman, old or young. They looked so real it was as if they’d just been gouged out of a person’s eye socket.
But that realism also brought another problem.
They looked so lifelike that when Yan Shixun stared into them, he couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that he was making eye contact with a living person.
Only—they were already dead.
The corpses had left behind nothing but pairs of lifeless eyes, staring blankly at Yan Shixun as if trying to convey some kind of message, yet all they could do was obediently remain in the glass jar, like candy in a little girl’s collection.
That illusion suddenly made Yan Shixun feel as if he weren’t sitting in a carpenter’s home, and the things around him weren’t just wooden sculptures.
But that he was surrounded by the dead.
Whether in the courtyard or inside the house, there seemed to be corpses and severed limbs crammed everywhere.
Yet amidst such a scene, the sweet-smiling little girl sat cheerfully, still adorable and radiant, as if none of it disturbed her at all.
Seeing that Yan Shixun still hadn’t answered her question, she didn’t seem to mind. She simply tiptoed up onto another carved armchair, humming a tune and swinging her little legs back and forth.
Her attention appeared to shift to the small wooden puppet in her arms. She lowered her head and fiddled with it, moving its limbs into various poses, giggling at her own amusement.
That giggle snapped Yan Shixun out of his thoughts.
Meanwhile, Zheng Shumu came out of the adjacent room, wiping black soot from his hands as he cheerfully called out to Yan Shixun, “Mr. Yan, come warm yourself by the fire. It’s much cozier in this room.”
He then looked over at the little girl with a smile. “Tian Tian, have you been getting along with our guest? Have you been a good girl?”
The little girl pouted unhappily, apparently still a bit upset that Yan Shixun had ignored her earlier.
Zheng Shumu looked at Yan Shixun in confusion, as if he had no idea what had happened.
Yan Shixun replied calmly, “Apologies. I have social anxiety—I’m not comfortable speaking with women or children.”
The little girl widened her eyes in surprise and stared at him, a bit dazed.
Zheng Shumu was also startled. “Is that so?”
Yan Shixun nodded. “Yes. I’m very shy and introverted. Talking to people scares me.”
The little girl: …Feels like I’m being targeted here.
Zheng Shumu: Scared…? Doesn’t look like it.
Still, Yan Shixun’s expression remained perfectly calm. No matter how they scrutinized him, they couldn’t find a single crack in his act.
It was the kind of confidence that said: “As long as I’m confident, everything I say is true—even when it isn’t. Don’t ask. Asking ruins the truth.”
After watching him for a while, the two could only give up.
Zheng Shumu returned to his warm hospitality and led Yan Shixun into his workshop.
The little girl, however, was left alone in the living room, visibly sulking. She vented her frustration by twisting the wooden puppet in her hands. The wood creaked loudly under the strain, as if it might break at any moment.
The puppet’s carved face even seemed to show deep pain—its nose and eyes scrunched together, as if it were crying but too afraid to do anything.
At that same moment, in another location, Taoist Wang suddenly cried out in pain.
Taoist Ma immediately turned to look and saw Taoist Wang clutching his shoulder, his face contorted in agony. Even his slightly plump body was shaking from the pain.
“What’s going on?”
Taoist Ma shouted in alarm and rushed over, grabbing hold of him.
But the moment he touched him, Taoist Wang seemed to be in even worse pain.
Taoist Ma froze, unsure how to help.
Beside them, Bai Shuang grew increasingly anxious. She wanted to step forward but was afraid she’d only make things worse for the two Taoists.
She had just been wandering around the shadow puppet museum, curiously examining the musical instruments on display and reading the informative posters on the walls with great interest.
After all, Bai Shuang was a professional singer. Even on vacation, her instincts always drew her toward anything music-related.
The vocal techniques and musical accompaniments used in shadow puppet performances had piqued her interest.
She had been thoroughly engrossed in reading the descriptions, mentally taking notes. She had already decided that once she saw the shadow puppet performance footage later, she would pay close attention to the vocal style and see if she could incorporate it into her next song.
On the way to Baizhi Lake, she had also heard from Zhang Wubing about why he had chosen this place. His sentiments had moved her, making her feel a sense of regret too—that such an amazing art form had faded into obscurity. It felt like watching something precious get shattered before her eyes.
She also wanted to do something to help revive the shadow puppet tradition of Baizhi Lake.
So, as she toured the museum, she carried these thoughts with her, wondering if adding shadow puppet elements into her new song might catch the attention of her fans and listeners, breathing new life into this ancient cultural art.
Lost in thought, Bai Shuang didn’t notice the changes in the path beneath her feet or the surrounding environment.
It wasn’t until the cold wind blew so harshly she couldn’t keep her eyes open that she realized something was wrong.
After coming back to her senses, Bai Shuang was shocked to realize she was no longer inside the shadow puppet museum.
She now found herself in a traditional theater.
All around her, large red lanterns hung high, and the open courtyard revealed a pitch-black night sky with no stars or moon. Everything was drenched in a deep crimson light, as if the air itself was soaked in blood.
Bai Shuang sat upright on the stage. When she looked down, she saw a erhu in her hands, and her outfit had changed into an old-fashioned long robe.
Next to her stood a screen used for shadow puppet performances.
From her position, she could see a few silhouettes seated behind the screen.
She felt as though she had become one of the musicians who used to play during traditional performances.
Even though this strange and sudden change terrified her and made her want to flee, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t move an inch from where she was.
It was as if her limbs no longer belonged to her, as if someone else had taken control of them.
Panicked, Bai Shuang wanted to scream, to call Brother Yan for help.
She remembered the others were just in the room next to the museum, and she wanted to tell them she was here and to get her out of this bizarre place.
But at that moment, she realized in terror that even her mouth no longer obeyed her. Her brain had lost control over her limbs and tongue. She was like a comatose patient, or a soul trapped inside a human-shaped wooden statue—able only to watch helplessly as strange things happened to her, completely unable to cry out or save herself.
The only thing she could still move was her eyes.
Fighting through the fear, Bai Shuang desperately tried to recall how Yan Shixun usually handled situations like this. She forced herself to imitate him—to stay calm and think, to observe her surroundings carefully.
But when she did, it was like a bolt of lightning struck her on a clear day—she froze in place, dumbfounded.
—The hand holding the erhu in her vision wasn’t the skin of a normal human being.
It had the texture of wood.
Not only that, as Bai Shuang struggled to control her panicked breathing and took a good look at the theater, she realized that in just the short moment she had been in a daze, the entire theater had become full of “people.”
Or at least something that looked like people.
The benches in the large courtyard below the stage were tightly packed with these “people.”
They had faces and limbs—at first glance, they looked no different from real human beings.
But on closer inspection, although their features were lifelike, their eyes were hollow and lifeless. Their sockets held no eyeballs—only complete darkness. They stared uniformly at the screen on stage, like an audience waiting quietly for the show to begin.
And the parts of their skin exposed by their clothing…
They had the same wood grain texture as Bai Shuang’s.
All of it bathed in the eerie red glow—it made her hair stand on end.
The more Bai Shuang looked, the more terrified she became. Yet she couldn’t even scream or run. All she could do was sit there and watch as everything unfolded before her eyes, helplessly witnessing things spiral into the unknown.
Just then, whispers from behind the curtain drifted into Bai Shuang’s ears.
“That outsider… did you take care of him?”
“Don’t worry, brother. I’m careful with this stuff. I handled it last night. The body’s dumped in the junk pile in the storage room. Once his wife stops keeping such a close watch, I’ll take him out and bury him. No one will ever find out.”
“Did he say anything before he died?”
“Pfft, carpenters sure make good money. Way better than us messing around with these shadow puppets.”
“If I’d known, I would’ve been a carpenter too. Who the hell wants to learn this crappy craft? It’s exhausting and pays nothing.”
“Now it’s just that fool Master Bai still going on about ‘staying true to tradition’… Hah! Can you eat tradition? Can you trade it for gold? If his ancestors hadn’t insisted on teaching our ancestors this shadow puppet crap, would we be stuck in this pathetic life?”
“Well, it worked out in the end. Did you see all the stuff on that moving truck when that outsider moved in? Tch, all that gold nearly blinded me.”
“Right? Sure, we picked the wrong trade, but at least we’ve got a fat lamb to fleece—can’t complain.”
“Really, it’s not our fault. If that Zheng guy had a brain and offered up his gold and valuables as a gift, we wouldn’t have needed to go this far.”
“Old Zheng just didn’t know how to behave. No one to blame but himself. Next life, he should reincarnate as someone smarter…”
Their voices gradually lowered as the sound of drums and gongs rose, drowning out their whispered conversation.
Candlelight behind the curtain flickered to life, casting the shadows of the puppets onto the screen.
The shadow play began, and the erhu in Bai Shuang’s hands started playing on its own.
But Bai Shuang’s heart had gone cold and hard—like a block of wood.
She wasn’t stupid.
What they were talking about was clearly a murder.
That man named Zheng had shown signs of wealth when he moved into the village and drew the attention of those people. Greedy for money, they ended up killing him and planned to steal his fortune.
And his corpse was now lying in some dark corner.
Before joining this variety show, Bai Shuang had never imagined that one day she would hear the entire course of a murder with her own ears.
Her first instinct was to call the police.
But she quickly remembered—she was nothing more than a movable wooden puppet now. Aside from watching everything helplessly, she couldn’t do a thing.
Then I’ll just remember their faces!
Brother Yan is out there. He’ll find me and get me out of here. I’ll make sure I remember these murderers’ faces and draw them out when I’m safe, then we’ll catch them!
With this furious thought, Bai Shuang desperately rolled her eyes around, trying to see behind the curtain and identify the speakers.
But when she finally succeeded—when she clearly saw who had been speaking—she was completely stunned.
—The five shadow puppet craftsmen behind the curtain were also carved out of wood.
Then… who had just been speaking?
And what terrified Bai Shuang even more was that she suddenly noticed someone sitting behind those puppet craftsmen.
Or rather, a wooden statue.
It was a woman, with delicate features.
Threads and rods wrapped around her wooden hands, each thread connected to one of the five puppet craftsmen in front of her. Between the craftsmen and the actual shadow puppets, there was another curtain. Their shadows were projected onto the screen at the front.
It was like a play within a play.
The craftsmen thought they were manipulating the puppets—but they themselves were being manipulated by someone else.
Bai Shuang watched as the wooden woman’s hand moved.
Light and shadow shifted on the curtain, and the puppet show played on.
A simple, honest man appeared on the shadow screen, surrounded by a few other men near a village house.
An argument broke out between them. The honest man questioned them in shock, asking why they had climbed over the wall into his house while no one was home.
The others, exposed for what they had done, grew furious out of embarrassment. They began cursing and scuffling with the man.
Eventually, the group dispersed in anger.
As the sun set on the screen, night fell. The group of men ambushed the honest man on his way home, covering his mouth and dragging him off. In a hidden woodshed, they beat him brutally, demanding to know where he had hidden his valuables.
In the end, one of them slit the man’s throat. Blood sprayed across the screen with a chilling “splat,” and the man slowly collapsed, his eyes wide open in death, staring out from the screen.
That gaze sent shivers down Bai Shuang’s spine, making it hard for her to breathe.
There was still disbelief in the man’s eyes—but more than that, deep regret and seething rage.
Even in death, he had struggled to turn in the direction of his home before his last breath. His eyes locked onto that spot, as though he were still worried about his family’s safety.
He was dead. Who would protect them now?
Bai Shuang’s nose tingled as tears welled up.
She had understood the emotions in the man’s eyes—and the blood-tears trailing from the corners of them. Her fear of the man began to dissolve.
Looking at the shadow play, Bai Shuang suddenly felt that this wasn’t something that had just happened—but rather a long-forgotten tragedy that had been carved into the puppet show by someone with deep resentment and sorrow. It was forcing everyone involved—whether active participants or silent bystanders—to watch it unfold again and again.
And each time, they were reminded why they were trapped here with no way out.
Day after day—it was hell.
Bai Shuang didn’t know who the man was. But in that moment, she sincerely wished that the people who had murdered him would receive the punishment they deserved.
She prayed that whoever was seeking vengeance would succeed.
Just as that thought surfaced in her heart, a gust of wind roared in her ears. The scene before her shifted from bloody crimson to a deep, ink-like black.
Then came Taoist Ma’s anxious voice.
When Bai Shuang opened her eyes, she realized she was no longer in the theater—or in the museum.
Instead, she lay in the pitch-dark wilderness under the open sky.
The good news was, she had regained control over her body.
She let out a few surprised “ah ah” sounds to test her voice, then slapped her own cheeks hard. To her delight, she discovered she was back to normal.
But beside her, Taoist Ma, squatting down, turned to Taoist Wang with a worried look and said, “It’s over. This child… whatever she encountered must’ve scared her silly.”
Once Bai Shuang managed to shake off the intense emotions from the shadow play, she was overjoyed to realize that the two Taoists had found her.
She told them everything she had experienced. The more they listened, the grimmer their expressions grew.
They shared the information they each had, slowly piecing together the current situation.
On their way back from the fields, they passed by an abandoned village.
The two Taoists immediately recognized it—it was the same village by Baizhi Lake, exactly matching the description in the documents they had studied before coming, and consistent with what the young man who took the ebony statue had described.
So, the two Taoists decided to investigate the abandoned village.
The entire village was buried in weeds and undergrowth. It looked like it had been deserted for decades.
After people had left, nature had devoured all evidence of their existence, slowly reclaiming the land as part of the forest.
The crumbling houses only had dark, hollow windows left—yet to be completely swallowed by vegetation.
Bai Shuang looked up at those windows and felt her heart tremble with each step.
She didn’t know if ghosts now inhabited those homes, and as they walked through the village, she wondered if unseen spirits were silently watching them from behind those windows, waiting for a chance to act.
The darkness and deathly silence left Bai Shuang increasingly on edge. Even the smallest sound nearby nearly scared her out of her skin.
But the Taoists quickly discovered that there were indeed people inside the ruined houses of the abandoned village—
Not villagers, but the missing crew members from the show.
Back at the shadow puppet museum, the Taoists had seen no one besides Ye Li.
They had only seen Ye Li in a fit of rage before everything around them turned pitch black, and then they found themselves in this village, where they encountered Bai Shuang.
Now, they were slowly finding the show’s production crew.
Some were fast asleep in moss-covered, cobweb-filled rooms; others cowered in corners, shivering after being frightened by rats and spiders; one had even fainted after encountering a snake.
Fortunately, no one was injured.
So, the Taoists gathered them all and kept them close for safety.
The variety show celebrity, upon seeing the Taoists, burst into tears.
This man, who had worked his way up from the bottom doing odd jobs on set after set, had always endured every hardship and humiliation with clenched teeth. But just a short time in the abandoned village had shattered his mental defenses.
The dead silence and darkness, the loneliness of not knowing how much time had passed, and the constant fear of what might happen—whether anyone would come to rescue him—had nearly driven him mad.
If the Taoists hadn’t found him in time, he didn’t know how much longer he could’ve lasted in that dark, damp, ruined house.
Though his body had suffered no harm, the psychological torment had been more than enough.
The Taoists comforted him as best they could, and Bai Shuang even felt that, compared to her, the variety show celebrity might have had it worse.
Although they hadn’t found the other cast members yet, the Taoists believed that with Yan Shixun around—and that unfathomably powerful lover of his—if they truly couldn’t locate the others, it must mean those people were with Yan Shixun.
Everyone had assumed that the rest of the journey would be thrilling but ultimately safe. However, the sudden, excruciating pain that struck Taoist Wang shattered all their hopeful illusions.
Even Taoist Ma was at a complete loss, unsure of what was happening to Taoist Wang’s body.
It wasn’t until Taoist Wang gritted his teeth and endured the wave of pain, sweat covering his forehead, that he finally let out a breath, exhausted. He said to Taoist Ma, “It’s the Yansheng Art.”
Taoist Ma was startled. “You mean, that pain just now was caused by someone manipulating your body?”
Taoist Wang nodded. “Miss Bai mentioned earlier that she saw herself turned into a wooden carving and lost all control of her body. I suspect her situation and mine are the same. Only, in her case, she was immobilized, while I’m experiencing the curse through a sympathetic link.”
A nearby variety show celebrity, listening in confusion and fear, asked, “So, you’re saying someone is stabbing a voodoo doll to curse the Taoist?”
“No, it’s far more powerful and terrifying than that.”
Taoist Wang and Taoist Ma exchanged a look. “Which means, the person behind this may be using a technique even more intricate than the Yansheng Art. It’s possible that all of us are under their control.”
A heavy sense of dread sank in Taoist Ma’s chest. “I originally thought any danger we faced would come from the deserted village. I never imagined we were being manipulated from the start… What safety is there to speak of?”
Taoist Wang also let out a sigh.
Then he suddenly remembered the gravestones behind the archway at the shadow puppet museum.
“You mentioned before, the Bone Substitution Technique. Those graves didn’t contain corpses, only wooden carved bones. And Miss Bai said she saw moving wooden puppet figures. From her description, those shadow puppet craftsmen looked similar to the portraits on the tombstones.”
Taoist Wang’s eyes widened with realization. “So, those wooden puppet craftsmen moved because of the Bone Substitution Technique. In that case, wouldn’t we be the same? Controlled in the same way!”
Taoist Ma’s expression turned grim and dark.
After faintly piecing together the truth, neither of them felt relieved or triumphant.
They realized the situation was far more complicated than they had initially feared, and a heavy pressure bore down on their chests.
Taoist Ma opened his mouth, but his throat tightened, and he couldn’t get a single word out.
He thought of the official in charge heading to the museum, and of Yan Shixun, whose whereabouts were unknown. He could only silently pray that this time, like in previous cases, the Evil Spirit Bone Transformation could bring them a sliver of hope and a miracle.
Otherwise…
This was a sure-death situation.
Taoist Ma’s heart trembled. The weight of dozens of lives bore down on him, making it hard to breathe.
If they couldn’t find the one controlling everything and destroy the Bone Substitution Technique, then even if he and Taoist Wang sacrificed their lives, even if Haiyun Temple sent everyone to Baizhi Lake, they still might not be able to rescue everyone safely.
Half a year ago, a young man had taken away the ebony statue, as if opening a gateway to hell with no return.
To this day, they still didn’t know what kind of monstrous evil the ebony statue had been suppressing.
But as time went on, the longer the delay, the more powerful that evil entity would become through bloodshed, and the more dire the situation would grow.
If they couldn’t uproot that evil completely this time and let it spread unchecked—especially with the unique conditions in the southwest—
Then in the future, if things spiraled into a truly irreversible catastrophe, not even if all of Haiyun Temple sacrificed themselves, not even if every Taoist gave their life for the cause, would they be able to turn things around.
No matter how powerful an exorcist might be, if everyone who came here ended up like wooden puppets, manipulated at will, how could anyone possibly win?
A calamity of epic proportions had begun here.
Taoist Ma ran through every possible outcome in his mind, but the more he thought, the more hopeless it all seemed.
This was a deadlock with no way out.
The exorcist who came to Baizhi Lake before them—the one whose bones had been tossed from the abandoned temple by those tourists—had likely realized this too.
So, to prevent the disaster of Baizhi Lake from spreading, that exorcist had given his life, ultimately succeeding in locating the ebony statue and using it to suppress all the evil forces.
But now, the ebony statue had vanished. Neither of the two Taoists knew where to find another one like it.
“I’ve seen many sacred suppressive artifacts, but none capable of suppressing an evil force powerful enough to create this kind of situation.”
Taoist Ma said with a bitter smile and a shake of the head: “That senior was truly remarkable, to have found such a statue… But what do we do now?”
“If we fail to reseal the evil at Baizhi Lake and can’t get everyone out of here, then the first to suffer will be that young man. No matter how many people die, he was the one who first removed the ebony statue. Heaven and earth will surely attribute the karma to him. Under such evil retribution, he’ll die a sudden death—without even the chance to be saved.”
Taoist Ma sighed, his heart full of confusion and despair.
But Taoist Wang stroked his chin and mused, “When I said earlier that sister-in-law looked a lot like the ebony statue, I wasn’t joking. I truly believe they’re very similar—like someone had taken sister-in-law’s features, made a few adjustments and imagined elements, and then carved that statue based on him.”
“You’re saying, we should carve another statue based on sister-in-law, using ebony wood, and see if that works?”
Taoist Ma asked, choking on his own saliva.
“Sister-in-law? Who?”
Taoist Ma was stunned. “You don’t mean Junior Brother Yan’s partner, do you?”
“What kind of joke is that? That’s outrageous!”
Taoist Ma frowned and rebuked, “Even setting aside the harm caused by turning a living person’s likeness into a statue—assuming we could ignore all consequences in a crisis—that statue’s power to suppress evil doesn’t just come from the ebony wood or the ferocious energy carved into it. It must’ve been sculpted based on the true form of a specific ghost deity. Because of the high resemblance, it could channel divine power.”
“If you sculpt a statue to look like Junior Brother Yan’s lover, where’s the power going to come from? Are we borrowing Junior Brother Yan’s energy?”
Taoist Ma continued, “Isn’t that the same as what I said before? That we can only hope Junior Brother Yan can find the person pulling the strings? What’s the point of going around in circles like this? It’s like taking off your pants to fart—completely unnecessary!”
The production crew, watching the two Taoists argue, quietly took a step back in unison. Many of them now looked at Taoist Ma with a hint of awe, silently wondering why they hadn’t noticed before that he was such a fiery-tempered man.
Why were all the Taoists at Haiyun Temple so unique in personality? They were nothing like the serene, disciplined cultivators he’d heard about.
Taoist Wang noticed the actions of the person beside him and couldn’t help but wave at Taoist Ma, saying, “Be more refined, more refined. Isn’t maintaining an idol image important these days? Taoist Ma, at least pay some attention.”
Taoist Ma retorted, “Refined, my ass! We’re on the brink of death here, so many people are nearly dying, and you want refinement? Can refinement save lives?”
Taoist Wang was angered too.
His temper wasn’t any better than Taoist Ma’s.
Besides, wasn’t Taoist Ma’s outburst essentially doubting Junior Brother Yan’s lover?
That made Taoist Wang very displeased.
What was wrong with his sister-in-law?
Just one look and you could tell he came from a powerful, hidden sect—very likely even connected to ghost deities. Perhaps the deity his sect worshipped favored its disciples. It wouldn’t be surprising if he had seen the ghost deity’s true form or could draw upon its power.
Why couldn’t he be capable?
Anyway, Taoist Wang thought that if they re-carved a statue in Ye Li’s image, there might actually be a chance it would work.
How would they know if they didn’t try? Things couldn’t get any worse than they already were.
—In Taoist Wang’s mind, his junior brother was second only to Taoist Li in the world. Naturally, his judgment was excellent, and the person he chose to love had an extraordinary aura and clearly wasn’t ordinary.
His sister-in-law was clearly a perfect match for his junior brother—truly a heavenly pair!
Since his junior brother was so amazing, his partner couldn’t be anything less.
With that in mind, Taoist Wang stiffened his neck and stubbornly declared, “Just wait. I’ll go find wood and carving tools, and carve one right now!”
“Today, I must show you whether this works or not!”
Taoist Ma: “…………”
He’s gone mad.
But seeing that he couldn’t persuade Taoist Wang, Taoist Ma simply gave up and went off to protect everyone according to his own plan.
He’d just wait for Taoist Wang to hit a wall and realize the pain!
Ye Li seemed to sense something. His lashes lifted slightly as he gazed toward the pitch-black night.
Someone was trying to glimpse the true form of a ghost deity?
He arched his long brows, finding it rather amusing.
At first, Ye Li hadn’t taken it seriously. After all, a ghost deity’s true form was equivalent to the Great Dao. For someone whose cultivation was insufficient to try and glimpse it would be like him attempting to pry into the nature of the Dao—it would bring terrifying consequences.
Even if he didn’t interfere, the attempt would still fail.
But the once-indifferent Ye Li suddenly remembered—there had been someone who saw the ghost deity’s true form.
Back at the shadow puppet museum, those two Taoists.
Ye Li: ……
He thought about Yan Shixun’s close friendship with those two, and how one of them had always supported his and Shixun’s marriage. For a moment, his expression became a little complicated.
In the end, Ye Li could only let out a silent sigh. With a casual wave of his slender hand, a wisp of black mist dispersed outward.
If it really was those two Taoists trying to see the ghost deity’s true form and do something with it, then he’d bear the karmic burden on their behalf for now. Once this situation was resolved, he would look into what they were truly up to.
He couldn’t possibly let Shixun return to find those two Taoists had suddenly dropped dead, could he?
As Ye Li thought this indifferently, he saw a guest approaching the courtyard gate.
Xie Lin was still unfamiliar with Ye Li. He merely gave a polite, distant smile and said, “It’s dinnertime. I’m going to check where Mr. Yan is and call him back.”
Zheng Shumu’s house was directly across the way—just a few steps past the gate. From where Ye Li stood, he could see the path leading over, so he didn’t stop Xie Lin.
Ye Li simply raised a hand and pointed casually at the opposite courtyard, indicating the direction for Xie Lin to go. Then he lowered his eyes, adopting a look of complete disinterest in the outside world.
With his arms crossed in front of his chest, his tall figure almost blended into the darkness.
To Ye Li, anyone other than Yan Shixun wasn’t worth his attention or concern.
If not for Shixun’s instructions before leaving, he wouldn’t even bother with these people.
After waiting a few seconds and seeing that Ye Li clearly had no intention of talking to him or getting involved, Xie Lin gave a faint smile, said “Thanks for the directions,” and walked past Ye Li toward the opposite courtyard.
Meanwhile, at Zheng Shumu’s house, the moment Yan Shixun stepped into his workshop, the sweltering heat hit him—but what drew his attention first were the pitch-black walls.
Yan Shixun recalled that the outer wall of Zheng Shumu’s courtyard was also charred like this. It looked as though it had been through a fire. The entire house seemed to have been rebuilt on the ruins left by the blaze.
After all, the wooden beams clearly had been replaced recently—the color was much lighter than the surroundings.
But Zheng Shumu was a master carpenter. If he wanted to build a new house, it wouldn’t be that hard. So why insist on restoring the old one on the ruins?
Zheng Shumu didn’t live alone; he had his younger sister with him. Judging by Zheng Tiantian’s clothes, expression, and how the two interacted, it was obvious he doted on her dearly.
So then, didn’t he want to provide her with a better living environment?
Or was it that… this old site carried some special memories for them—something the siblings couldn’t bear to leave behind? Maybe they couldn’t let go of the old bricks and tiles and wanted to preserve as much of the past as possible.
With all these questions swirling in his heart, Yan Shixun still wore a calm expression. Following Zheng Shumu’s lead, he sat in a chair by the stove.
The kettle on the stove bubbled and boiled. Zheng Shumu chatted with Yan Shixun, and whenever he mentioned his sister, his words were full of affection and warmth.
This man, whose hands were rough with calluses from a hard life, had only one tenderness in him—his sister.
“But… isn’t Tian Tian coming in to sit with us?”
Noticing something odd, Yan Shixun asked curiously, “There’s no stove outside, and no lights either. Won’t she be cold or afraid of the dark?”
A man who loved his sister so dearly shouldn’t be this careless.
Zheng Shumu paused in surprise at the question. His expression dimmed, and his tightly pressed lips seemed to be holding back anger.
Then he said softly, with a trace of pain, “No need… Tian Tian… is afraid of fire.”
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