Chapter 260: Shadow Puppets and Lamplight (26)
Yan Shixun could tell that when Zheng Shumu mentioned how afraid Zheng Tiantian was of fire, his usually honest and simple face twisted briefly in barely contained anger.
It wasn’t just tenderness and pity toward his sister—it was also fury over whatever had happened.
Yan Shixun couldn’t help but speculate: had something happened all those years ago that caused Zheng Tiantian’s fear of fire? Was that why Zheng Shumu, who loved his sister so deeply, showed such a complex expression?
Perhaps it was a fire that destroyed everything.
If Zheng Tiantian had been in the house at the time, and their parents had died in the blaze, then Zheng Shumu’s reactions would start to make sense.
The blackened scorch marks on the walls had already begun to fade, suggesting the fire had happened quite some time ago.
That matched the time Zheng Shumu had said he started learning carpentry.
Still, it was clear that Zheng Shumu didn’t want to talk about it.
He only mentioned once that Zheng Tiantian was afraid of fire, then forced a smile and turned to lift the kettle off the stove, preparing to brew tea for Yan Shixun.
But the strained smile on his face betrayed his true emotions.
Yan Shixun remained silent, though he took in everything carefully.
He adopted a casual tone, as if making idle conversation, and asked with concern, “It’s so cold in winter—Tian Tian shouldn’t catch a chill. Have you ever considered taking her to a doctor, Master Zheng? It can’t go on like this forever.”
Whenever his sister was mentioned, Zheng Shumu always showed more emotion than usual.
It was as if his normally simple and honest expression was just a mask—one that concealed all his true feelings and kept him tightly restrained.
Only when it came to matters concerning Zheng Tiantian did Zheng Shumu seem truly human.
When Yan Shixun said this, Zheng Shumu paused, kettle in hand.
He stared blankly at the stove in front of him, the flickering flames reflected in his eyes. In the silence of the room, only the crackling of burning wood could be heard.
After a long while, Zheng Shumu slowly shook his head and sighed, “It’s no use.”
“Tian Tian… she’ll be like this for the rest of her life.”
His voice choked up. “It’s my fault—I failed to protect Tian Tian and our mother. It’s all my fault.”
Yan Shixun noticed that Zheng Shumu’s emotional defenses were starting to collapse when he mentioned his sister and mother. So he pressed forward, not wasting this rare opportunity.
Still, he was careful not to scare him off and didn’t act overly eager. Instead, he showed the kind of sympathy and curiosity that anyone might display upon hearing about someone else’s misfortune.
Yan Shixun sighed, stood up from his chair, walked over, and patted Zheng Shumu’s shoulder. “You’ve taken good care of Tian Tian—anyone can tell she’s a sweet girl.”
“But what exactly happened back then? Don’t give up hope so soon. Maybe it’s not too late to get help at a hospital.”
Yan Shixun didn’t actually expect Zheng Shumu to immediately tell him the full truth. After all, in the shadow puppet narrative, Zheng Shumu wasn’t even a real person—there was no reason for him to just open up.
So as he spoke in a gentle, concerned tone, he also carefully observed Zheng Shumu’s expression.
Compared to words, body language and environmental cues were much closer to the truth.
Yan Shixun noticed that when he brought up the past, Zheng Shumu’s face was filled with pain, as if he had fallen deep into memory.
But when he mentioned going to the hospital, Zheng Shumu didn’t react at all.
What kind of brother, one who loved his sister dearly, would respond like that?
—Only someone who already knew that a hospital couldn’t do anything about Zheng Tiantian’s fear of fire.
This village, despite how remote it seemed, had once gone through a golden era and had frequent contact with the outside world. And Zheng Shumu himself had moved here from elsewhere. It wasn’t like he’d never left the village or didn’t know what a hospital was.
Fire overcomes metal, metal overcomes wood.
Zheng Tiantian… the daughter of a carpenter’s family, so closely tied to wood, naturally feared fire.
Yan Shixun reached a conclusion—Zheng Tiantian’s fear of fire wasn’t psychological trauma from the past fire, but because her very being was tied to the element of wood, making her inherently afraid of fire.
This was probably also why, when Yan Shixun first entered the courtyard, the house had been shrouded in darkness.
The village had no electricity and still relied on the most primitive means of light and warmth—fire.
Yan Shixun didn’t confront Zheng Shumu directly to test his theory.
He didn’t disturb Zheng Shumu, who was clearly lost in his memories, and instead used the opportunity to quickly survey the surroundings.
As a carpenter’s workshop, this place had even more wood materials and semi-finished products than the living room.
However, the pieces here were of a different style than those in the courtyard or living room.
This place seemed more like the processing factory for those animated, lifelike puppets in the yard.
Because of this, Yan Shixun could clearly see how the puppets outside were originally constructed.
This was the first time he’d heard of wood carvings with moving mouths and eyes. Before this, he always thought of wood carvings as being sculpted from a single large block—planed and chiseled in one continuous process.
But what Zheng Shumu had done was different. His technique involved breaking down and assembling pieces.
It was like building a living human—first constructing the skeleton, then adding the flesh, and finally covering it with a layer of skin.
Although the wood pieces were currently just scattered parts, in Yan Shixun’s mind, based on the mortise-and-tenon joints and broken surfaces on the semi-finished products, he quickly deduced what each piece was for and where it belonged. In his head, he assembled all the parts, mentally simulating the full construction process in real time.
Even though Yan Shixun had seen other woodworkers carve before, he couldn’t help but marvel at the sophistication and brilliance of this craft.
On top of the skeletal structure, limbs and torsos were added; then, pre-carved heads and arms were attached. Finally, details were sculpted to resemble real human skin—each feature painstakingly rendered. Even the fine details, like individual eyelashes and the cracked, peeling lips, weren’t overlooked.
Because of this, each puppet had a unique face with distinct, recognizable features.
Yan Shixun also saw an upper torso on a workbench. It was a carving of an elderly man.
Though the face wasn’t fully finished yet, the sparse, messy hair, the unkempt beard, the wrinkles on his face, and the old, wrinkled clothes—all these subtle details didn’t just reflect the man’s age, but also his rough life experience. The figure looked vividly lifelike.
Yan Shixun was amazed by Zheng Shumu’s extraordinary craftsmanship. At the same time, he realized that Zheng Shumu had an incredibly keen eye for detail and most likely an insightful grasp of human emotions.
Otherwise, Zheng Shumu wouldn’t have been able to carve the elderly figure with such vivid lifelikeness.
Putting aside the oddities surrounding Zheng Shumu and his sister for a moment, this was the first time Yan Shixun had been in such close proximity to a skill so masterful it could be deemed transcendent.
Facing Zheng Shumu’s work head-on, he suddenly felt as if his own soul had been stirred.
This was something machines could never replace.
A craftsman, through years of carving, poured not just effort and energy into his creations, but also infused every line and stroke with his understanding of the work and of life itself—essentially imbuing what was once lifeless with a soul.
Wood had its own warmth or chill, just as people did.
And in his long relationship with wood, the craftsman had learned to grasp the unique traits of each kind and translate those traits into his work—so that the people and animals he carved felt more like vibrant, living beings.
Yan Shixun had originally only intended to get a clear look at the studio while Zheng Shumu was distracted, but he hadn’t expected to be so captivated by the half-finished pieces that he failed to notice Zheng Shumu had already snapped out of his focus.
When Zheng Shumu saw Yan Shixun looking genuinely interested in the sculptures, he looked quite pleased.
It was like a solitary musician finally encountering someone who could understand the tune he had long tried to express.
“Mr. Yan, are you interested in wood carving too?”
Zheng Shumu smiled and pointed at the bust of the elderly man that Yan Shixun had been admiring. “That one’s still unfinished. I had planned to complete it today, but it seems the timeline will have to be pushed back.”
“Will you place the finished piece in the courtyard too?”
Yan Shixun asked with a hint of regret. “If you brought it out of the village and let more people see it…”
“No.”
Zheng Shumu laughed lightly but his eyes carried a trace of sentiment. “It’s destined to be lost. What good is it for so many people to see it?”
Yan Shixun looked at Zheng Shumu in surprise.
He had heard something similar from another artisan before.
According to Third Uncle Bai, Master Bai—the 28th-generation inheritor of Southwest shadow puppetry—also intended to let the art fade into obscurity.
And now Zheng Shumu wanted his craftsmanship to die with him too…
He had clearly said earlier that he only picked up the family’s carpentry skills after losing interest in shadow puppetry.
After enduring so many life-changing events, the inherited craft should have been like a fishing line pulling Zheng Shumu out of the abyss, preventing him from getting lost in despair.
Yet here he was, saying with firm conviction that he wanted to let the family’s craft be forgotten.
Even if Zheng Shumu had no descendants and no intention of teaching carpentry to Zheng Tiantian, there were still other ways—he could take on apprentices. If he wished, there were countless methods to pass the skills on.
But Zheng Shumu refused to consider any of them. He was determined to let it end with him.
What struck Yan Shixun as most peculiar was that both inheritors shared the same view.
Back at the shadow puppet museum, aside from the poster, Yan Shixun had seen that the other five shadow puppet craftsmen had all died years ago—some even becoming ghosts trapped in puppet plays, tortured endlessly by the mysterious mastermind.
Yet the two who were still alive both declared they wanted their legacies lost… Was it really just a coincidence?
Or was there some unknown connection between them?
Yan Shixun kept his suspicions well hidden.
Though he was brimming with questions, none of it showed on his face. He simply kept smiling while Zheng Shumu enthusiastically introduced the various wooden carvings that filled the workshop.
As he listened, Yan Shixun began to notice a disconnect between Zheng Shumu’s demeanor and what he had previously guessed about him.
Perhaps Zheng Shumu’s enthusiasm stemmed from having no one to talk to for a long time—no one who would listen to him proudly and passionately explain his woodcarvings and the nuances between each technique.
Overflowing with talent, he could have been a master carpenter respected by many and famed far and wide. Yet he chose to remain confined in this small village, living with his sister in a house that had once been ravaged by fire.
Maybe Zheng Shumu was lonely—but he couldn’t say so to anyone.
As Zheng Shumu spoke animatedly about woodcarving, Yan Shixun quietly observed him, studying every subtle expression and trying to understand the man.
At the shadow puppet museum, aside from the poster, Yan Shixun had seen an old magazine article introducing the shadow puppet masters.
Master Bai had once mentioned inviting a carpenter to the village to help enhance Southwest shadow puppetry by learning from each other’s strengths.
But later, on the poster, both Master Bai and a much younger Zheng Shumu had somber, gloomy expressions.
And now, with those other masters dead, the Zheng Shumu standing before him seemed much more cheerful and open than he had been back then.
It was as if he had finally let go of the burdens in his life, and the despair and pain had transformed into ease and hope for the future.
Yan Shixun didn’t know whether it was Zheng Tiantian who had brought about this change. But as he looked at the unfinished bust of the elderly man, he suddenly realized—
This old man… bore a resemblance to Master Bai from the poster.
Since Zheng Shumu hadn’t yet finished carving the facial features, and Yan Shixun had never met Master Bai in person—only seen the face on a years-old poster—it made identification much harder.
But no matter how people aged or how their appearances changed, bone structure remained consistent.
The brow ridge, bridge of the nose, jawline… all could serve as evidence of identity.
“Master Zheng, is this old man someone you’ve seen in real life?”
Yan Shixun asked casually, “It’s just so realistic—it really feels like he exists. If you carved this purely from imagination, then your skill is truly beyond anything I’ve known. I didn’t think woodcarving could reach this level.”
Zheng Shumu quickly waved his hand to deny it.
To Yan Shixun’s surprise, he was unusually honest when it came to his craft.
“Not as amazing as you say, Mr. Yan, haha. My father and ancestors could do it, but not me.”
Zheng Shumu said, “I’ve seen this person many times. In your city folks’ terms, he was like a model.”
“For woodcarvings with movable mouths and eyes, realism is key. To make sure the features and limbs can actually move, the carvings have to be perfectly proportioned and mimic real human movement. Only then will the embedded mechanisms not jam.”
As he said this, Zheng Shumu looked a little remorseful. “It’s my fault for being too playful when I was young and not learning seriously from my father. Later, when I wanted to learn, the chance was gone. I could only study from incomplete notes and try to figure things out myself. What I make now is neither refined nor crude. Without a real person to model after, I can’t create anything. Compared to my ancestors’ skills, I’m a disgrace.”
Yan Shixun: …Master Zheng, do you even know what humblebragging is? If this counts as disgraceful work, what does that make the other carpenters? :)
Yan Shixun thought Zheng Shumu and Zhang Dabing would definitely have things to talk about—both were humblebraggers without realizing it.
Fortunately, Yan Shixun had picked up on Zheng Shumu’s trait: as long as they talked about technical subjects, he became especially sincere.
So Yan Shixun quickly changed tactics and started asking woodcraft-related questions, pretending to be interested. This allowed him to naturally ask many things.
For example, that unfinished wood carving was indeed based on Master Bai.
Not just that—the fully finished puppets with movable mouths and eyes in the courtyard were all modeled after villagers.
Most of them were already deceased, carved by Zheng Shumu many years ago. Some were made because Zheng Shumu missed the time he had spent with them, so he carved them as a form of remembrance.
“But Master Bai doesn’t really see outsiders anymore, right?”
Yan Shixun said regretfully, “That’s a shame. We originally came to see the shadow puppets, but couldn’t meet the inheritor in person. That’s truly a loss. Since you used him as a model for the carving, can we still see him now?”
“Probably.”
Zheng Shumu tilted his head back in thought, then pulled over the chair beside Yan Shixun and sat down, cupping the hot water in one hand. The fiery glow of the stove lit up his cheeks.
The two of them sat by the cozy, crackling fire, sipping hot water. The sound of burning firewood snapped and popped in their ears. In such an atmosphere, they actually looked like old friends chatting idly face to face.
“If Mr. Yan wanted to meet Master Bai, it just so happened that I was planning to visit him tomorrow. Mr. Yan could come along with me.”
Zheng Shumu curiously asked, “Mr. Yan, are you really that interested in shadow puppetry?”
Yan Shixun shook his head. “I just feel that it would be a real pity if a cultural heritage passed down for so long, like yours or Master Bai’s, were to be lost. Who would want to watch something so precious be destroyed right in front of them? It’s such a waste.”
“Because—it’s time.”
Zheng Shumu said, “Since Mr. Yan is an exorcist, I assume you also have a family tradition or a master from whom you inherited your craft? I thought you’d understand how this feels.”
“Every era has its own culture. And those that have fallen out of sync with their time, or were inherently tied to sin from the beginning… they don’t need to be preserved.”
When Zheng Shumu said this, even the wrinkles on his face seemed drawn tight.
Although he had spoken with passion earlier when discussing carpentry, and it was clear he genuinely loved his craft, at this moment, when talking about letting a skill die out, he appeared especially cold and unfeeling.
More than rational, he seemed like someone suppressing intense rage.
Yan Shixun pressed his lips together. Zheng Shumu’s words brought him back to many years ago, when he had just started as a freshman at Binhai University, and he first received the news of Li Chengyun’s death. He had been consumed by fury.
Even the most rational person couldn’t remain entirely composed forever.
So long as someone was human and not a machine, they had things they cared about—vulnerabilities.
And in Yan Shixun’s world, the only person he had truly cared about had been Li Chengyun.
Whether it was a client whose life was endangered by a ghost, or classmates or neighbors around him—none of them meant anything to Yan Shixun. They were merely passersby.
He was very aware that there would never be any deep emotional ties between them. They met by chance, and parted just as quickly.
But Li Chengyun was different.
Back at that market, when he was just a young boy, Li Chengyun had crouched down with a warm smile in front of him. From that moment on, he had found a home—a place where he could feel at peace.
The untouchable softness in Yan Shixun’s heart had been Li Chengyun.
When the news of Li Chengyun’s death reached him, it felt like the entire world had suddenly lost its meaning.
Yan Shixun had thought about taking revenge for Li Chengyun, but Li Chengyun had died following the path he believed in. He had known he would die, yet never wavered, walking step by step toward his destined end.
Besides burying his master’s remains, there had been nothing else Yan Shixun could do for him.
Li Chengyun hadn’t even left him a final word.
The last thing they said to each other had been during the Lantern Festival. Li Chengyun had stood at the gate of their courtyard, watching Yan Shixun leave for school, hands tucked in his sleeves, smiling as he told his disciple that next year, he’d make tangyuan for him with his own hands.
Next year, for sure.
For sure…
Since then, Li Chengyun’s death had become a pain too deep to mention. Because of it, even Binhai University had become something he didn’t want to remember. Just the slightest memory would trigger a flood of emotions too heavy to contain.
After he and Zhang Wubing finished organizing Li Chengyun’s funeral, Yan Shixun had sat in the empty courtyard, and for a brief moment, he had considered giving up being an exorcist.
He knew clearly that he was just venting his anger.
But he couldn’t control it.
Overwhelmed with grief, Yan Shixun had even blamed the very Fao they practiced for Li Chengyun’s death. The thought, “Why not just let it all be lost?”, had briefly crossed his mind.
Although he quickly pulled himself together and didn’t waver for long.
When he returned to Binhai University, there wasn’t the slightest hint of anything wrong. No one knew that he had gone through such a painful and uncertain time, or that he had irrationally blamed everything surrounding Li Chengyun’s death.
And now, Zheng Shumu’s words brought all those memories flooding back.
“My master… was an exorcist worthy of great respect.”
Yan Shixun lowered his eyelashes slightly, his voice deep. “Master Zheng, you’re right. I did inherit my craft from a teacher. When my master died many years ago, I too once thought about letting the power that led to his death be lost forever. I was so angry I wanted to end the lineage, to burn all the ancient texts to ash.”
“My master died protecting others, but to me, between my master and everyone else, I only wanted my master to live. What did the others have to do with me? They hadn’t taught me, hadn’t cared for me—why should I protect them? That didn’t feel like justice.”
Yan Shixun slowly shook his head. “But I quickly realized how extreme that thinking was.”
“After my master died, even if I didn’t want to graduate and go out on my own, I had no choice but to stand alone. I was still young then. There was still so much I hadn’t learned. I had to face a cruel world without any protection. No one would shield me from the wind and rain, no one would quietly stand nearby during an exorcism, ready to step in when I was too exhausted or outmatched—no one would carry me home on their back anymore.”
“Sometimes, the ghosts I faced were too strong—far beyond what I could handle back then. But behind me, there were only people who needed my protection. I had no way out.”
Yan Shixun blinked. Under the light of the fire, his once-sharp eyes rippled with emotion, complicated and deep.
When Zheng Shumu, like a clam opening its shell, exposed his vulnerability, Yan Shixun seized the opportunity to press further—hoping Zheng Shumu, stirred by emotion, would reveal more. He shared his own experience in hopes of creating resonance, hoping empathy would loosen his tongue.
But what Yan Shixun hadn’t expected was that, despite starting with rational intent, speaking of Li Chengyun had stirred real emotion in him.
It truly had been a difficult time.
Li Chengyun had passed far too soon, and Yan Shixun’s initiation into the exorcist path had been entirely out of necessity.
While exorcists his age still hid behind their masters, observing and learning, Yan Shixun had already walked alone among ghosts. When he was injured or in danger, the only person he could rely on was himself.
During that time, he had grown rapidly, becoming much stronger.
Each step of his growth had come with new scars. Every bit of experience he gained had been written in wounds and pain.
One stormy night, after killing all the evil spirits in a haunted house, Yan Shixun had walked out drenched in blood and wounds. At the gate, he happened to see another master scolding his disciple.
Yet even as that master shouted in anger, he still held an umbrella for the young student.
Yan Shixun stood there silently for a long time, letting the rain wash away the blood on his body. Only after the pair disappeared into the curtain of rain did he turn around coldly, lean against a wall, grit his teeth through the pain, and limp home—step by step.
He bore the Evil Spirit Bone Transformation, but every ounce of his strength had been forged in real combat.
Heaven and earth had given him unmatched talent—and dangers to match. In turn, he walked his own path and pushed that talent to its very limits.
Even after so many years had passed, Yan Shixun was now far stronger than any other exorcist. No ghost or demon could easily harm him anymore. He could move freely between the realms of yin and yang, making entire legions of spirits retreat.
He could even talk about the past with ease, bringing up old matters in casual conversation, as if they were no more than idle chatter.
But the pain he had once endured was very real.
Zheng Shumu never expected Yan Shixun to have gone through such experiences. When he heard him speak so nonchalantly, using the simplest words, he was stunned for a long while.
He stared at Yan Shixun, and in this young, resolute exorcist, he suddenly saw someone else.
That man had once stood outside the courtyard gate in white robes, sleeves gathered, smiling brightly as he called out, “Brother Shumu.”
That man knew what he had done. Yet when Zheng Shumu had braced himself for contempt or fury, the man’s gaze remained calm—no disdain, no judgment.
As if everything Zheng Shumu had done was completely justified.
So when the man said, “Brother Shumu, come help me. Let’s do this together,” he had nodded without hesitation.
He knew full well his hands were drenched in blood. Even if he felt no regret, he understood how the world viewed justice and order. Regardless of the reasons, what he had done was far beyond what society could accept.
And yet, in that exorcist’s eyes, there had been no reproach.
Still clear. Still pure. As free and unburdened as clouds and cranes.
That man had smiled and said, “Where the Dao leads, I shall go—even if ten thousand oppose me.”
He said, “Brother Shumu, there is always a sliver of hope in this world. Don’t give up.”
He said, “Brother Shumu, you still have another choice… Help me hold up the heavens that are about to collapse.”
So, even though that man had been gone for a long time, Zheng Shumu still followed the words he had once spoken. He remained here, guarding it all.
Zheng Shumu stared blankly at Yan Shixun for a long time. Then, suddenly, he asked, “Mr. Yan, your master… what was his surname?”
Yan Shixun raised his brows in surprise but answered truthfully, “My late master’s surname was Li.”
Zheng Shumu’s eyes flew wide open, and even his breathing stopped.
The room fell instantly silent.
Zheng Tiantian was doing something in the living room but made no sound at all.
So, despite the fire in the stove burning warmly, the entire house sank into a dead stillness.
The two of them faced each other, neither speaking for a long moment.
Zheng Shumu’s gaze was conflicted, as if he had countless things he wanted to say.
He opened his mouth, but then it was as if something struck him—he glanced to the side and said nothing.
Just then, the front gate was knocked upon. A refined and gentle male voice came from outside.
“Mr. Yan, are you in there?”
Xie Lin tapped the door with his knuckle, patiently waiting outside. “Mr. Yan, dinner is ready. If we wait any longer, it’ll get cold.”
The two people inside the workshop were pulled out of the strange atmosphere that had just settled over them.
Yan Shixun smiled and nodded slightly to Zheng Shumu. “Looks like a friend of mine has come to find me.”
He rose unhurriedly. “Thank you, Master Zheng, for walking me through the village and sharing so much about woodworking—it was really interesting.”
Zheng Shumu stood as well. “I’ll see you out.”
The courtyard gate slowly opened.
Xie Lin instinctively looked up but didn’t see Yan Shixun. Instead, his eyes met a group of wooden puppet figures neatly arranged inside the yard.
They stood in the dim light, almost like real people at first glance. But their stiff postures gave them away. His mind automatically replaced the puppets with corpses.
Goosebumps prickled all over his skin, and his eyes widened in shock.
Yan Shixun wasn’t there… so who had opened the door?
It wasn’t until Xie Lin felt someone watching him and looked down that he realized it wasn’t as frightening as he had imagined.
The person who had opened the door was a little girl, no taller than his waist. Because of her height, he hadn’t noticed her at first.
The girl looked up at him with focused, serious eyes, not shifting her gaze at all.
In that moment, Xie Lin thought of his sister.
This child looked so much like her… But if his sister had lived, she would be a grown woman by now—not still stuck in her childhood form.
After losing his sister, Xie Lin had mistaken others for her many times. During the worst of his depression, he had even once believed every young girl he saw was his sister.
Auditory hallucinations. Visual hallucinations. Unable to tell reality from imagination.
Xie Lin had gone through the worst of it and no longer trusted his own senses.
Especially after intense emotional stress, the chance of a relapse was high.
—Just like the danger they had encountered this time.
Xie Lin believed that dreaming about his sister had been an early sign of his illness flaring up again.
So, fully aware of his own condition, he gave a bitter smile and shook his head. He figured he’d probably need to see a doctor again when they got back. He couldn’t keep hallucinating like this—seeing every young girl as his sister.
Thinking that, Xie Lin sighed inwardly and felt a wave of guilt toward the little girl in front of him.
Even though she didn’t know what he had been thinking, mistaking someone else for his sister like that was surely impolite and intrusive.
He squatted down in front of her so their eyes were level, and spoke gently. “Hello, little one. Is there a big brother visiting your home? I’m here to see him.”
Zheng Tiantian’s arms tightened around the little wooden puppet she was holding. Her small hands gripped so hard they turned pale.
The sweet smile that had always been on her face was now gone, and her lips pressed into a tight line.
Xie Lin stood outside the door, while Zheng Tiantian stood inside.
Just one threshold between them—but it felt so far.
Looking at the silent little girl, Xie Lin remembered how even he had been startled by the puppets in the yard. He couldn’t help blaming her parents in his heart. What kind of parent would let a child live in such a gloomy environment?
He simply assumed the girl was shy and didn’t think too much of it. Smiling, he continued speaking to her patiently.
At that moment, Yan Shixun and Zheng Shumu also stepped out of the house.
Yan Shixun immediately saw the two figures at the door.
A refined, mature man and a young, innocent little girl.
They looked just like siblings—so heartwarming.
Even Zheng Shumu paused for a moment before calling out, “Tian Tian.”
Zheng Tiantian turned around to look at her brother and answered, “Brother.” Then she reached out her hand toward Zheng Shumu, clearly asking him to hold it.
Zheng Shumu quickly stepped forward, bent down, and took her hand with a smile.
Seeing this, Xie Lin stood up as well and nodded at Zheng Shumu with a smile. “Your sister is very cute.”
Yan Shixun was just about to stride over when something in the corner of his eye caught his attention.
On the wall behind a tall stack of miscellaneous items and wooden carvings in the living room hung a few paintings.
One of them had been damaged by moisture, the ink faded and patchy, yet it drew Yan Shixun’s attention.
…The vaguely outlined figure in the painting was heartbreakingly familiar.
The person in the painting had gathered sleeves and held their head high, smiling lightly. The long robe fluttered behind them like a crane about to take flight, yet their posture remained firm as they stepped toward an unknown future.
But what truly shook Yan Shixun’s heart… was the inscription next to the painting.
The brushwork danced like dragons and serpents—bold, carefree, and unrestrained—radiating the charm of a carefree wanderer.
Although some parts of the paper had rotted and blackened from humidity, rendering the original writing illegible, Yan Shixun still recognized it immediately. That was unmistakably his master, Li Chengyun’s handwriting.
The inscription mentioned the name “Zheng Shumu,” and the tone was unusually warm, calling him “Brother Shumu.”
Li Chengyun had loved to travel the world and make friends during his lifetime. No matter where Yan Shixun followed him, they would always run into his old friends, and he had often witnessed his master quickly forming new friendships and bonding like lifelong confidants.
Unlike the lone-wolf Yan Shixun, Li Chengyun had friends everywhere. It seemed there wasn’t a person under heaven whom he didn’t know.
Yan Shixun had once asked how many friends he actually had. Li Chengyun thought about it, then burst into hearty laughter and said, “As many as the stars in the sky, as countless as the sands in the great rivers—I have that many friends.”
After that, Yan Shixun gave up trying to figure it out.
But even so, he never expected that Li Chengyun had known Zheng Shumu!
And judging from the painting, it wasn’t a one-sided friendship—Zheng Shumu clearly held deep regard for Li Chengyun as well.
Yan Shixun was familiar with his master’s painting style, and this painting wasn’t his work. The sweeping, vigorous strokes resembled more the carving motion of Zheng Shumu’s woodwork.
One painted the portrait, and the other inscribed the words. The depth of their relationship was far beyond mere acquaintanceship.
What puzzled Yan Shixun further were a few of the words Li Chengyun had left for Zheng Shumu in the inscription.
He wrote: “Brother Shumu, now we part ways. I wish you longevity, guarding the heaven and earth.”
Yan Shixun’s brows gradually furrowed.
Why had his master left such words to a carpenter?
Now, one of them was dead, and the other was trapped in a shadow puppet play.
No matter how he looked at it, it wasn’t a normal situation.
“Mr. Yan? Mr. Yan?”
Xie Lin had been ready to say farewell to the Zheng siblings, but when he looked up, he saw Yan Shixun standing not far away, lost in thought. Finding it strange, he raised his voice and called out.
Only then did Yan Shixun snap back to reality.
Before Zheng Shumu looked over, Yan Shixun cast one last glance at the painting, then walked over as if nothing had happened.
“If you want to see the shadow puppets, Master Bai’s house is just behind here. He probably hasn’t gone to bed yet, so if you’re going, go soon.”
Just as Yan Shixun was about to say goodbye to Zheng Shumu, the man suddenly raised his hand and pointed off to the side and behind them, leaving him with a sentence: “Today, Master Bai is still around.”
At first hearing, it sounded like Zheng Shumu was kindly responding to Yan Shixun’s earlier curiosity about the unfinished wood statue—offering a way for him to see the shadow puppets he was interested in.
But as Yan Shixun nodded, the more he thought about it, the more uneasy he felt.
Why did Zheng Shumu say it like they might not see Master Bai ever again after today? And hadn’t he previously said that Master Bai didn’t like visitors? Now, he’d not only changed his tune but even offered a suggestion.
Zheng Tiantian waved her little hand, her voice soft and sweet as she said goodbye to the two men.
Xie Lin was utterly smitten. Even though he knew this wasn’t his real sister, he still smiled sincerely and waved back, bidding her farewell in a gentle tone.
“Tian Tian, that child’s parents must have loved her dearly. I hope her whole life is sweet, carefree, and full of joy.”
Even after the courtyard gate closed and the Zheng siblings disappeared from view, Xie Lin remained standing outside, staring blankly at the door, unwilling to leave.
He felt like he was sick again.
When Zheng Tiantian said goodbye to him, he had felt an uncontrollable impulse to snatch her away from Zheng Shumu.
He felt like that really was his sister. He wanted to live happily with her again like they had in the past—never separated.
Although Yan Shixun had previously heard Song Ci mention a bit about Xie Lin’s background, it had only scratched the surface.
He hadn’t paid much attention and simply patted Xie Lin’s shoulder, signaling for him to snap out of it.
Xie Lin looked back with every step, reluctant to leave the now-closed courtyard gate.
The short walk from Zheng Shumu’s house to Third Uncle Bai’s felt like a journey of ten thousand miles.
“Do you think she’s your sister?”
Yan Shixun could tell something was off with Xie Lin. Remembering the unsettling feeling that little girl had given him back in the courtyard, he frowned and grew even more suspicious of Zheng Tiantian.
But Xie Lin still had some clarity.
He shook his head regretfully, his expression filled with loss: “No… My sister’s name is Xie Jiaojiao. She should be a young lady by now.”
“She’s still somewhere out there, waiting for me to find her.”
Xie Lin lowered his gaze, his smile tinged with bitterness.
Just as they stepped into Third Uncle Bai’s courtyard, Song Ci, who had spotted them from a distance, came out to greet them. When he saw the look on Xie Lin’s face, he froze for a moment and then glanced at Yan Shixun, silently asking what happened.
Yan Shixun replied, “He thought Master Zheng’s sister was his own.”
Song Ci nearly keeled over from shock. “Xie Lin! Have you not been taking your meds lately? Don’t you know your own condition?”
As soon as the young master got angry, Xie Lin dropped everything and rushed over to coax him, apologizing profusely and swearing he’d been taking his medication, that he’d just made a mistake for a few seconds.
The quiet courtyard of Third Uncle Bai suddenly became lively and noisy.
Ye Li smiled and lifted his hand, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind Yan Shixun’s ear. “Well? What did you find?”
Yan Shixun’s thoughts had remained stuck on the painting at Zheng Shumu’s house. Only when Ye Li asked did he finally turn back, lock the gate, and quietly recount what he had seen.
“Do you have any clues about my master and Zheng Shumu?”
He looked at Ye Li seriously and said in a low voice, “Since my master knew Zheng Shumu, then he must have come to this village before.”
“When he traveled, he usually brought me along. There are only two periods of time I didn’t witness.”
“The first was before he found me. The second—after I started college.”
Li Chengyun hadn’t been a conventional guardian. He often excused Yan Shixun from school to take him traveling across the land.
He believed that walking ten thousand miles was just as important as reading ten thousand books.
Thanks to Yan Shixun’s innate Evil Spirit Bone Transformation, he learned everything quickly. Even if he skipped class for an entire semester, he could cram for two days and still score top marks on finals.
So even though the teachers didn’t like it, they had no choice but to let this odd father-son pair do as they pleased.
But this carefree setup only lasted until university.
Then, the duo ran into the counselor.
The counselor was worried that Yan Shixun might believe in metaphysics over science and feared Li Chengyun would lead him astray. She earnestly advised Li Chengyun, saying Yan Shixun was grown up now and should experience campus life like a normal student and make friends.
Li Chengyun, who cared deeply about Yan Shixun’s development, thought it made sense and decided he would only take him out during holidays from then on.
That year also turned out to be Li Chengyun’s last.
Yan Shixun had no idea what his master experienced during that period.
He only heard vague mentions from Li Chengyun’s friends—apparently, he had gone to search for the ruins of Fengdu.
At that time, an old grandmaster who had been in seclusion for years shook his head and sighed when Yan Shixun went to ask about Li Chengyun. He said that Li Chengyun had chosen a path he knew would lead to death. Before setting out, he had already resolved to sacrifice himself for the Dao.
Li Chengyun… had tried to peer into the heavenly secrets.
He had done something no other cultivator had dared to do—and no one had ever succeeded in.
—He was wrestling with the heavens themselves, trying to carve out a sliver of hope for humanity.
“I suspect my master came to this village during the time right before he died, and that’s when he met Zheng Shumu.”
Yan Shixun spoke solemnly. “There was something here that mattered to him. I have to find out what it was.”
And Zheng Shumu, who had met Li Chengyun during that period, likely knew the answer.
Although Yan Shixun didn’t know whether the Zheng Shumu they were seeing inside the shadow puppet world was the same one from back then, he had no intention of letting the chance slip away.
He planned to go see Zheng Shumu again—this time avoiding Zheng Tiantian and speaking to him alone.
Ye Li stared at him for a long moment before finally speaking in a low voice: “Alright.”
“No matter what you want to do, I’m here.”
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