Chapter 268: Shadow Puppets and Lamplight (34)
Xie Lin, still just a teenager, had already walked far away, holding the ghost infant in his arms.
On the narrow field path, only Yan Shixun and Zheng Shumu remained.
A cold mountain wind blew in from not far away, carrying a thick, pungent scent of blood.
Yan Shixun instinctively turned his head toward the wind, his sharp gaze searching in that direction—only to realize it was coming from the direction of the Bai family village.
The woman, having gone through the trauma of her husband’s death and her own pursuit, had long come to understand the true nature of the people in the Bai family village. Beyond her burning hatred, she had also harbored deep worry for her child—fearing that he too would be harmed by those villagers.
Even in death, that fear had carved itself into her very soul.
She hadn’t realized that her child had already turned into a ghost infant. She had simply forced her increasingly frail body to keep walking, trying with all her might to lead her child as far away from the Bai family village as possible.
Until, at last, her strength gave out and she collapsed, turning to nothing but bones.
The place where Yan Shixun and Zheng Shumu stood was already quite a distance from the village, yet the bloody stench drifting from the Bai family village remained thick in the air.
The worst possible scenario rose unbidden in Yan Shixun’s mind. He lowered his gaze to look at Zheng Shumu.
Now that the ghost infant had been taken away, it was as if the woman’s final attachment had also been fulfilled. Her corpse, cradled in Zheng Shumu’s arms, gradually crumbled into dust, scattering to the ground.
No matter how Zheng Shumu reached out, trying to grasp the handful of ashes, they were still carried away by the night wind.
A low, broken whimper forced its way out from Zheng Shumu’s throat.
His eyes were bloodshot, nearly bursting, with the veins on his neck bulging out like those of a dying young beast. Each sob was steeped in anguish and blood.
In reality, when his mother had died, Zheng Shumu hadn’t been there. So even in this false shadow play, his mother hadn’t spared him a single glance. She had simply fixed her gaze, unwavering, in the direction of the ghost infant until her final moment.
Back then, young Zheng Shumu had been beaten black and blue by the villagers, then tossed into the woodshed to fend for himself, barely clinging to life.
The mountain wind at night had been bone-chilling. Despite curling up tightly, burying himself in wild grass, the firewood scratching at his wounds until he could barely breathe from the pain, the little Zheng Shumu still couldn’t find even a hint of warmth.
At that time, he hadn’t even thought about whether he could survive. All he could think about was his mother.
A child’s innocent hope burned in his chest.
What if… what if his mother was still alive?
He had desperately clung to that faint sliver of hope.
But when he stumbled out of the woodshed under the cover of night and ran to the lakeside, reality crushed every last bit of that hope.
He had collapsed to his knees by the lake, stunned into silence, unable even to cry.
He had heard shouting in the distance, one lantern after another lighting up. He had realized then that someone had discovered his escape.
Little Zheng Shumu had turned back with hatred in his eyes, casting one last glance at the village—then fled, staggering into the fields.
He had sworn that when he returned again…
It would be the day he slaughtered every last villager!
The ones who had taken part in killing his parents were guilty.
The ones who stood by and watched coldly—also guilty.
And those who had killed their own family members, knowing what sins had been committed—were no different than the murderers of his parents!
He wanted everyone to pay in blood.
Zheng Shumu, covered in wounds, pushed himself onward with clenched teeth, refusing to stop even when he was on the verge of collapse—until he finally fainted in front of another distant village and was rescued by its people.
He had worked as an apprentice, a laborer, and even sought out teachers among the southwestern witchcraft sects.
Anything that could serve as a tool for revenge—he had tried it all. In the end, perhaps it was his inherited talent. He taught himself carpentry using a few surviving ancestral scrolls and became a remarkably skilled craftsman.
Even his master’s friend at the time had exclaimed that the Zheng lineage finally had a worthy successor—no wonder the Zheng family had once colluded with southwestern exorcists to deceive the underworld itself.
Many years later, when the young man had finally fulfilled the vow he had once made, he laughed freely, with all his heart.
But now, as a middle-aged man, all Zheng Shumu had left was a bone-deep exhaustion—
And confusion.
Everything he had done all these years… had it really been right?
Zheng Shumu’s hands trembled as he clenched them tightly, desperately trying to keep the last of his mother’s ashes within his grasp.
He slowly stood up, his eyes vacant as he looked at Yan Shixun.
Yan Shixun didn’t rush him.
He was waiting for an answer—for Zheng Shumu to speak these truths himself.
“Mr. Yan…”
Zheng Shumu’s lips moved. His hoarse voice barely managed to squeeze out a few syllables. But before he could say more, his face twisted into a painful smile, his brows and eyes scrunched up—his expression more hideous than crying.
“Perhaps… what Hermit Chengyun said was right. I… really did do wrong.”
“But even if I say all this now, what’s the point? I’ve gone too far, for too long… I can’t go back.”
Zheng Shumu laughed and cried at the same time, looking half-mad.
Yet his voice gradually lowered and softened.
He wasn’t speaking to Yan Shixun anymore.
He seemed to be facing his own soul, asking himself the question he had suppressed in confusion for years.
—What exactly have I been doing?
At the beginning, all he wanted was revenge. But how had things ended up like this?
Zheng Shumu remembered that back then, Li Chengyun hadn’t blamed him for what he did. He had only calmly told him that everything had its cause and consequence.
“You chose that path,” he had said. “Then you must accept the consequences that come with it—whether good or bad.”
But at the time, as Li Chengyun looked at Master Bai, the only one left after the village massacre, he had also reminded Zheng Shumu that his karma had gone too far. If he didn’t stop in time, the evil fruit would one day turn back on him.
The karma Master Bai had repaid had long outweighed the cause he had owed.
It wasn’t Master Bai who had killed, nor had he stood by and done nothing. From beginning to end, he had never been involved in the tragedy of the Zhengs.
His only fault was that he had chosen to be a craftsman—dedicated to his art, not managing the villagers. Because of that, he had lived naively and purely, unable to see that the thoughts of those around him had long turned rotten.
He had believed he was inviting Carpenter Zheng to join him in creating a milestone in shadow puppetry history, helping the art form advance another step.
But he had never imagined that it would mark the beginning of the Zheng family’s tragedy.
The ones who killed and stood by were the villagers with the surname Bai.
Since their ancestors, all Bai villagers had survived by clinging to their ancestor—learning shadow puppetry from him, receiving ghostly gifts through him, and relying on these to make a living.
No matter how far back one looked, Master Bai had committed no greater sin.
But Zheng Shumu had always resented him, believing that if Master Bai had never existed, then none of what followed would have happened.
So, he hadn’t killed Master Bai—but he hadn’t spared him either.
He had left him in the village, forcing him to help exchange the entire village and shadow puppetry for deceit against Heaven and Earth. He made Master Bai relive that scene night and day, suffering endlessly.
Every night at midnight, in the deserted village, the erhu would wail, drums would beat.
The shadow play would begin.
As the anchor between the shadow puppetry and reality, Master Bai had to watch it all unfold with open eyes.
Day after day.
Zheng Shumu stood beside a thicket as tall as a man, head hanging low, his expression grim and lifeless. He was shrouded in the deep shadow cast by the vegetation, looking gloomy and cold. He mumbled incoherently, murmuring something about the water’s surface, which Yan Shixun couldn’t quite make out.
But Yan Shixun no longer had the mind to listen carefully.
Sparks ignited from the distance, rapidly setting the entire field ablaze.
Thick smoke billowed into the sky. The air reeked of blood and fire, mingled with the distant screams and wails of people—tragedy was unfolding on Earth.
Smoke and dust filled the air like a stage curtain. The shadows of the people cast onto it looked like a massive shadow play. Everything was playing out before Yan Shixun’s eyes, a reenactment of the events of years past.
Villagers screamed and scattered, their houses engulfed in flames. Some cried out from within the inferno, trying to save their possessions.
But amid the chaos, a young figure slowly emerged.
He was smiling.
Someone recognized him and, wiping away tears, shouted for the carpenter to help.
But the young man simply turned back and softly asked them, “Do you remember that many years ago, in this village where everyone learned shadow puppetry, there was once a carpenter?”
“His surname was Zheng.”
The young man smiled and reintroduced himself to everyone.
He said, “My name is Zheng Shumu, son of Carpenter Zheng.”
“What you all owed me—what you owed my family… it’s time to repay it.”
“You made me watch my father’s corpse rot and fester with maggots. You made me watch my mother, with her unborn child, sink into the bottom of the lake. Now, your children will experience that same pain all over again.”
“Your children will witness your rotting corpses and death everywhere in the village, with no way to escape. In fear, they’ll be hunted and killed—just like my mother was—and die in terror.”
“And you—you’ll watch your children die before your eyes, powerless to save them, screaming in despair.”
The villagers were stunned.
None of them had expected that the thin little boy from back then had survived after escaping the village—and had returned for revenge.
The shadow play master wept bitterly and fell to his knees, begging to live. He had finally achieved fame and fortune, had a bright future ahead, and money waiting for him. Dying like this—what was the point? Was all his effort and scheming, even murder for wealth, to go to waste?
Some shadow puppeteers, furious, searched the crowd for Master Bai, loudly accusing him: Did he know Zheng Shumu’s identity? Why hadn’t he said anything earlier? If he had, they could’ve worked together to kill that wolf cub before any of this happened.
Master Bai stood at the edge of the crowd and closed his eyes.
He said, “Back then, I couldn’t save the Zheng family. So now, I should close my eyes and pretend I don’t see your pleas for help. That would be fair.”
Young Zheng Shumu quietly watched the farce unfold before him, those faces he had remembered with hatred, unchanged over the years—still ugly, greedy, harming others for profit, arrogant and selfish.
It made him want to laugh.
His parents had died… because of these people.
A villager noticed Zheng Shumu dazed and tried to ambush him while he was distracted.
Many of the villagers had lived through that event years ago. After the young men led the killing of the Zhengs and Zheng Shumu disappeared, they seized the family’s generations-old wealth and kept it for themselves. Even those who hadn’t participated had received a bit of the spoils.
Some had felt uneasy. After all, Carpenter Zheng’s wife had been pregnant when she died. Many young women had sympathized with her after hearing about her fate and quarreled with their husbands.
Older villagers had become anxious upon hearing younger people say her body floated up right after her death. They spoke of inviting exorcists for rituals, fearing that a lingering grudge would turn her into a vengeful ghost.
But the younger villagers mocked them for being timid and old-fashioned. What age was this—still talking about ghosts? They hung hunting rifles in their homes and scoffed, daring any ghost to come.
They had killed her once. They could kill her again.
Still, the young men leading the attack had considered the village’s mood and decided to distribute some of the Zheng family’s wealth to those who hadn’t participated.
The Zheng family had a long heritage. It was said they had even dealt with those who ate the food of the underworld. Their fortune, accumulated over generations, dazzled the eyes of everyone.
Those who got a share of the money stayed silent, the village returning to calm. Even women who felt uneasy were scolded by their families—wasn’t it good to have money? Such softness was foolish.
The five young men were regarded as brave and clever leaders. Over time, they gained influence in the village, and their families were treated with respect.
In contrast, Master Bai’s family was resented and pushed to the edge of society due to his anger and condemnation.
Those five young men later became famous shadow puppetry masters in the Southwest. Their faces appeared on TV and in magazines. They enjoyed great prestige, even opening their family graveyards to tourists and charging hefty entrance fees.
The whole village prospered, making more money than ever. Naturally, they gradually forgot what it meant to feel reverence—or fear.
Until they were face to face with the returning and vengeful Zheng Shumu, many people still didn’t take it seriously.
In their minds, Zheng Shumu was still that powerless little boy from years ago.
But what they didn’t know was…
The young Zheng Shumu lowered his eyes. He heard the sound of an ambush from behind, yet still smiled brightly.
Yan Shixun stared fixedly at the scene, and suddenly, as if divinely inspired, he realized the true purpose of those wooden puppets in Zheng Shumu’s courtyard.
Before he could ask Zheng Shumu about it, the shadow puppets began to move again.
Wooden puppets stepped out from each and every household.
Though their movements were still somewhat stiff, their facial features were lifelike. When dressed in clothes, they looked exactly like real people.
What horrified the villagers even more was that each puppet bore the exact appearance of a corresponding villager.
When the puppet stood beside its human counterpart, it was nearly impossible to tell which was the real person and which was the wooden replica.
Screams pierced the night sky.
Blood splattered in swaths across the soil, thick smoke and fire billowing up into the air.
The firelight flickered in Yan Shixun’s pupils as well.
He pressed his lips tightly together, not taking a single step forward, not trying to save the villagers.
Yan Shixun let out a quiet sigh in his heart and thought to himself, So it really is like this.
His suspicions had been confirmed.
The name “Baizhi Lake” had originated from a series of deaths in nearby villages years ago. It referred specifically to this moment of Zheng Shumu’s revenge.
But the truth went far beyond that.
If, back then, no one noticed anything strange about the villagers’ deaths, and even allowed Zhang Wubing to choose that place for filming, it meant that, at least on the surface, the deaths appeared normal—explainable through scientific reasoning.
That was why the exorcists of the Southwest never noticed it, and no word of it ever reached the official in charge or Haiyun Temple.
However, since Zheng Shumu was the one controlling the shadow puppets, there was no need for him to deceive Yan Shixun with a false scene. Everything shown must have been a truth known only to Zheng Shumu and Master Bai.
That was why they were able to recreate the events of that night using shadow puppetry.
A death that looked peaceful on the surface concealed a truth of a completely different nature beneath.
Faced with these contradictions, Yan Shixun could only think of one possibility—
Before those villagers died, their souls had already been extracted by Zheng Shumu using a soul-replacement technique and transferred into the wooden puppets. Their spirits were then sealed inside the shadow play.
Later, when the outside world learned of the deaths, the remaining villagers were likely nothing more than empty shells.
After all, the Southwest had always been a unique region to exorcists. Neither the underworld nor Fengdu had any jurisdiction here, so wandering souls were common, and strange occurrences were rarely surprising.
As for why no souls were seen after the villagers’ deaths—this could simply add to the fearsome rumors about the Southwest, making exorcists even more reluctant to investigate further.
The corpses were hastily buried, the souls remained trapped within the shadow puppetry, and the villagers were never truly allowed to die. They weren’t even granted the peace of death, instead being killed repeatedly by “themselves” within the shadow play, enduring the agony of watching loved ones die over and over.
Just as Zheng Shumu once endured and grew resentful, he returned that pain to every villager.
And because, in the eyes of heaven and earth, those villagers were already considered dead, no divine force noticed anything wrong with their souls. Zheng Shumu and Master Bai succeeded in deceiving everyone, making it seem as though what lay beside Baizhi Lake was simply inanimate shadow puppetry.
Not a new world, separate from the natural laws of the universe.
If Zhang Wubing hadn’t stumbled into choosing Baizhi Lake by sheer accident, perhaps no one would have ever found out—until a new heaven and earth fully formed, threatening to replace the original. By then, no exorcist, no ghost deity, would be able to stop it.
This was…
A new cycle of life and death, yin and yang spinning once again, a new world and Dao about to be born from falsehood—turned real.
In the instant Yan Shixun figured everything out, he was struck with horror. His heart sank alongside the souls of the dead into the cold depths of Baizhi Lake.
His hand, hanging at his side, trembled slightly. It took a long moment before he could clench it into a fist, suppressing the storm beneath his calm surface.
Yan Shixun had already realized this wasn’t a matter that could be resolved easily, but even so, he hadn’t expected that what he’d be facing was an entirely new world being born.
He couldn’t help but think of Li Chengyun.
Back when his master was at Baizhi Lake, had he realized this too? Had he known that a new world would be born here? Or even more frightening—was his master’s death related to this place?
Zheng Tiantian…
Yan Shixun’s gaze darkened as his hand tightened into a fist.
Zheng Shumu, standing beside him, raised his head gloomily and took note of Yan Shixun’s reaction.
The fire, fed by the mountain winds, had quickly spread from the village to where they stood.
The two stood amidst a sea of flames, the only sounds being the crackling of burning wood. Neither said a word.
But the fire seemed to have eyes. It did not touch either of them, instead curving around them to burn elsewhere, creating a circle of safety in the inferno.
Yan Shixun noticed that Zheng Shumu remained untouched by the flames and realized at last—Zheng Shumu and Zheng Tiantian were the ones orchestrating all of this.
Zheng Shumu, meanwhile, saw that Yan Shixun was also unburnt, and let out a bitter smile, understanding that Master Bai now trusted Yan Shixun more than he trusted him.
Of course he did—after all, Yan Shixun was the disciple of Hermit Chengyun, noble in character and aura. Who wouldn’t be swayed by such upright righteousness?
Zheng Shumu let out a long sigh. At last, this scene made him resolve his mind.
“Mr. Yan.”
When he spoke again, Zheng Shumu had regained his calm.
He looked directly at Yan Shixun, who had turned to face him, and said word by word, “Please, take Master Bai away from here.”
Upon hearing what Zheng Shumu said, Yan Shixun’s eyes widened slightly, surprised that Zheng Shumu would let go of his “enemy.”
“I know Mr. Yan is far more perceptive than most, but there may be one thing you haven’t guessed yet.”
Zheng Shumu said, “Those wooden carvings Mr. Yan saw in my yard—each one corresponds to a life it replaced. The human-shaped ones replaced villagers, the animal-shaped ones replaced animals. For every person killed, a new carving appeared.”
“And Master Bai’s carving…”
Zheng Shumu lowered his head, crushed under the weight of life and hatred, his demeanor suddenly aged and weary.
But before he could finish, a flash of insight struck Yan Shixun—he recalled that when he had visited Zheng Shumu’s home, among all the completed carvings, there had been one unfinished wooden statue in the workshop.
Zheng Shumu believed Yan Shixun hadn’t figured it out. But he didn’t know that under the Dao, there existed a form known as the Evil Spirit Bone Transformation—a last-resort miracle left behind by the Dao itself, capable of finding a sliver of life in any dead end. How could such a thing be confined by Zheng Shumu’s understanding of ordinary exorcists?
He had underestimated Yan Shixun.
And Yan Shixun, in turn, had underestimated how ruthless Zheng Shumu could be.
That half-finished wooden statue of an elderly man… it had been made for Master Bai!
Based on Zheng Shumu’s methods, the moment the carving was completed, the corresponding living person would die.
In other words, Master Bai would die tonight!
Yan Shixun remembered the expression on Master Bai’s face when he had visited him earlier—it was full of emotions he hadn’t been able to read at the time, and even his words carried a sense of parting.
Master Bai had known very well that Zheng Shumu would finish the statue tonight, and that death awaited him.
Yet even knowing all this, he had calmly prepared to face his death, without a hint of fear or desire to escape.
The one thing Master Bai had still been worried about—was Zheng Shumu.
Like entrusting his child to another, he had revealed all his secrets and bargaining chips, in the hope that Yan Shixun could save Zheng Shumu.
Master Bai had known that though Zheng Shumu would succeed in his revenge, he would not live a happy life.
Because Zheng Shumu was constantly haunted by his mother’s death and wracked with guilt over Zheng Tiantian, he lived every moment in a personal hell.
And Zheng Tiantian, by repeatedly bringing up the past and coldly watching Zheng Shumu suffer in agony, kept reopening his wounds without letting them heal. This only deepened his pain.
Master Bai felt deeply sorry for Zheng Shumu.
Although he also felt guilty toward Zheng Tiantian, after all, Zheng Shumu was the child he had watched grow up.
Before the tragedy, he and Carpenter Zheng had become close friends due to their shared passion.
It was even after watching one of his shadow puppet performances that Zheng Shumu became enamored with the art form. Excitedly, he had told Carpenter Zheng that he wanted to become a shadow puppet master, not a carpenter.
As the son of a dear friend, how could Master Bai bear to watch him suffer?
After Zheng Shumu returned to the village, the two of them had spent many years together. To Master Bai, Zheng Shumu was no different from his own child.
He would rather die himself than see Zheng Shumu endure any more pain.
Yan Shixun now understood who the person behind everything Master Bai had referred to was — Zheng Tiantian.
It was clear that Master Bai wanted him to take Zheng Shumu away from Zheng Tiantian.
And now…
Yan Shixun quietly looked at Zheng Shumu and suddenly smiled, gently shaking his head.
Zheng Shumu was actually begging him to save Master Bai from Zheng Tiantian.
These two people, at the final moment, had both forgotten about themselves and were only thinking about giving the other a chance to live.
Yet all these years, they had lived like mortal enemies.
“Mr. Yan?”
Zheng Shumu was startled by Yan Shixun’s smile and cautiously asked, “Mr. Yan, do you disagree?”
He immediately grew anxious. “Back then, your master, Hermit Chengyun, also warned me about Master Bai. I’ve only just come to understand! I admit that I was wrong — I was late by several years. But Master Bai can still be saved! Please believe me, Mr. Yan!”
“Master Bai’s wood carving…”
Zheng Shumu paused briefly before continuing, “When I got to the final part of the carving, the knife suddenly broke, and the piece was left unfinished. I think that was Hermit Chengyun giving me a sign, urging me to think twice. So I didn’t continue carving — I came to find you instead, hoping you could take Master Bai away from here.”
“It’s not that I don’t believe you. It’s just that the two of you…”
Yan Shixun looked at Zheng Shumu with a smile in his eyes and asked gently, “Do you know what Master Bai said to me in the end?”
“He said… to save you. To take you away from Zheng Tiantian.”
Zheng Shumu’s eyes widened in disbelief.
He stared hard at Yan Shixun, as if trying to catch him in a lie.
But Yan Shixun only smiled softly and said, “Master Bai hoped you could live like a normal person — not trapped every day in a hell of hatred, but living a peaceful, ordinary life. He would rather die himself if it meant you could be saved.”
In that moment, everything around Zheng Shumu seemed to vanish. Only the lengthening white noise rang in his ears.
He couldn’t feel anything else. In his mind, only Yan Shixun’s words remained.
And because the person controlling the shadow puppet performance had been shaken to the core, the entire illusion collapsed.
The spreading flames extinguished inch by inch. The mountains, fields, and even the distant villages and lakes all fell into darkness.
Only a single candle in the village flickered stubbornly in the cold wind, refusing to go out.
It wanted to leave a light for a child who had gone far away and not yet returned.
To keep a path home illuminated.
When Yan Shixun looked back, he saw an old, hunched figure keeping watch beside the candlelight.
He instantly understood — it was Master Bai.
If anyone had heard of Zheng Shumu’s plan — even Yan Shixun himself — they would not have believed it could succeed.
But somehow, Zheng Shumu had pulled it off.
Yan Shixun knew that it was only possible because of the ghost infant’s immense energy, combined with Master Bai’s unconditional trust and complete surrender. Out of guilt and regret, Master Bai had offered up all his soul and life to fully support Zheng Shumu, making it all possible.
Master Bai was like that sliver of candlelight behind the shadow puppets.
Guarding the legacy of the art.
And also watching over Zheng Shumu.
No matter how much Zheng Shumu resented him, as long as he turned back, that light would always be there — never extinguished, never allowing him to forget the way home.
When Yan Shixun finally pieced everything together, he felt no satisfaction from uncovering the truth — only a faint sigh.
Life was rarely smooth. Eighteen out of nineteen things were bound to go wrong… When Master Bai had enthusiastically invited Carpenter Zheng to join him all those years ago, he could never have imagined it would all end like this.
Yan Shixun turned to look at Zheng Shumu.
Zheng Shumu was still in shock. They had already returned from the field to the same courtyard where Yan Shixun had first uncovered the truth.
The area around them was silent and empty, devoid of any sign of life. Only the wooden mechanism behind the window continued faithfully projecting the silhouettes of the shadow puppets, their movements suggesting someone still lived in the house.
But the moment he saw the wooden mechanism, Yan Shixun suddenly remembered what Zheng Shumu had said about the wood carving.
And he also recalled who both Zheng Shumu and Master Bai believed to be the mastermind — Zheng Tiantian.
Xie Lin’s younger sister, Xie Jiaojiao… was Zheng Tiantian.
“Zheng Tiantian!”
Yan Shixun abruptly turned to Zheng Shumu, his gaze sharp. “Does she know how to carve wood?”
Still recovering from shock, Zheng Shumu didn’t understand, but he nodded anyway. “Mr. Yan, you saw it too — Tian Tian is the ghost infant. Her talent was always greater than mine. Compared to me, she was the true heir to the Zheng family’s woodcarving tradition.”
The moment Zheng Shumu finished speaking, Yan Shixun bolted, flinging open the courtyard gate and sprinting toward Third Uncle Bai’s house where everyone was staying.
Even though Yan Shixun wasn’t close to Xie Lin, through Song Ci, he had come to understand how deeply Xie Lin cared for his sister.
Not to mention, Xie Lin had once said that Zheng Tiantian reminded him of his sister.
The only thing he hesitated about was her age.
Which just so happened to match exactly the age when Xie Jiaojiao had disappeared.
And now, after everything he had seen, Yan Shixun finally understood why Xie Lin had felt that way.
—Because Xie Jiaojiao, or rather Zheng Tiantian, was a ghost infant!
She had already died before she was ever born. She was never meant to grow up.
Just like Jing Xiaobao. Even though he bore the Evil Spirit Bone Transformation, even decades after death, he still looked nearly the same as when he had died.
Even after acquiring terrifying power and becoming the King of Hell, he had only grown a year or two older in appearance — no more.
Yan Shixun didn’t know how Xie Jiaojiao had managed to grow from an infant to this extent. Just imagining it was enough to chill him to the bone.
How immense must the power have been to support Xie Jiaojiao’s soul growing from a baby to a little girl?
If that was really the case… then Xie Jiaojiao was even more terrifying than Jing Xiaobao.
Just the thought of it made Yan Shixun feel as if a freezing wind had pierced through his chest, chilling him to the core.
What worried him even more was that, with Xie Lin’s obsession over his sister’s disappearance, he might very well return to Zheng Shumu’s house to confirm whether Zheng Tiantian and Xie Jiaojiao were one and the same.
But what Xie Lin didn’t know was that he wasn’t facing a sweet little sister.
He was up against a ghost infant more powerful and terrifying than even the King of Hell.
And on top of that, Xie Jiaojiao had inherited the Zheng family’s woodcraft, capable of using wood carvings to replace a living person’s identity, just like Zheng Shumu.
If Xie Jiaojiao held even a sliver of ill will toward Xie Lin, there would be nothing he could do to stop her.
Yan Shixun’s heart pounded like a drum as he raced back to Third Uncle Bai’s courtyard. His eyes scanned the tightly shut door of Zheng Shumu’s house as he sprinted toward the courtyard gate of Third Uncle Bai’s home.
The moment he pushed open the door, Ye Li saw his beloved exorcist return. Before he could even break into a smile, Yan Shixun grabbed his arm.
“Where’s Xie Lin?”
Without even catching his breath, Yan Shixun stared at Ye Li and demanded, “Tell me he’s still here.”
The smile Ye Li had just begun to show faded. He pressed his pale lips together and sighed lightly before replying to Yan Shixun, “Shixun, you have to understand—mortals are free to wish for whatever they desire. No matter how others may view those desires—whether they see them as happiness or suffering.”
“The living choose their own causes and consequences. Whether pain or joy follows, it is theirs to bear.”
Ye Li’s long lashes lowered halfway as he gazed intently at Yan Shixun, enunciating each word with care: “In the end, everyone must bear the weight of their own karma.”
As a ghost deity, Ye Li had heard countless prayers and cries from the mortal world over the centuries—not only from exorcists but also from ordinary people, whose desperate pleas pierced through their souls and reached Fengdu, falling into his ears.
He had heard prayers for wealth, for power, and even pleas for death.
As a ghost deity who oversaw death and judgment, Ye Li had seen far more than any other ghost or living soul. He had witnessed the deepest, most buried cries from within human, god, and ghost alike. For many, death was the happiness they longed for. What ordinary people considered tragedy was, to some, a relief they begged the ghost deities for day and night.
Just like Xie Lin.
In Ye Li’s view, Xie Lin was already an adult. He should be responsible for the consequences of his own choices. Once he stepped out of that courtyard, he had to be ready for the risks that came with it.
Ye Li had tried to stop him.
But he was by no means a kind-hearted deity. He would never force someone to stay under the guise of “thinking about their safety” if the person did not want it. Even the long and silent attempt to hold him back had already been a reluctant compromise made by a ghost deity for the sake of someone he loved.
As Yan Shixun listened to Ye Li finish speaking, his hand clenched even tighter around Ye Li’s arm. The grip was so forceful that it left deep, red marks on Ye Li’s pale, bloodless skin.
Ye Li noticed, but he didn’t mind.
He simply opened his arms and pulled the still-stunned Yan Shixun into an embrace, completely unbothered by the fact that he was exposing his most vulnerable throat and chest directly in front of him.
Perhaps his beloved exorcist would be angry at his cold indifference or fail to understand the judgment he had made.
After all, the living were prone to sentimentality and emotional decisions.
Ye Li understood this well—he had seen many people, even in moments of crisis, still make irrational and emotional choices. He knew that if it had been a living person in his place, they might have desperately tried to stop Xie Lin—for Xie Lin’s own safety and life.
Because it was “for Xie Lin’s good.”
But as the Lord of Fengdu, Ye Li was not going to deny his own decision.
And he wouldn’t distance himself from Yan Shixun just because he might hold a different opinion.
So, Ye Li left the choice in Yan Shixun’s hands.
The Great Dao had knocked on Fengdu’s gates several times, always met with cold refusal. Even the ghost deities, before whom the heavens and earth must bow, now lowered their head to the exorcist they cherished.
Ye Li’s throat was right within Yan Shixun’s reach.
He waited silently for Yan Shixun to make his judgment.
But to Ye Li’s surprise, Yan Shixun quickly snapped out of his daze—not to scold him for his decision, but to urgently ask about Lu Xingxing’s situation.
“Has Lu Xingxing woken up? Can he hold this place on his own?”
Without waiting for a reply, Yan Shixun grabbed Ye Li’s arm and started walking outside, talking as he moved. “Lend your power to Lu Xingxing temporarily, just like we did on Nanming Mountain. Let him guard this place for now. You’re coming with me to Zheng Shumu’s house.”
Ye Li’s long, narrow eyes instantly narrowed to slits.
But the next moment, as he looked at Yan Shixun’s back, he let out a soft laugh. “Alright.”
Shixun… your soul shines so brilliantly, no less than any ghost deity. How could I not fall in love with you?
Yan Shixun didn’t notice the gentler look in Ye Li’s eyes as he quickly briefed everyone in the courtyard, telling them to stay put and not go anywhere until he and Ye Li returned.
Then, he dragged Ye Li toward Zheng Shumu’s house.
Lu Xingxing was sitting in the kitchen, sulking and drinking hot water. With the noodles gone, water was the only thing left to fill his stomach.
The moment he saw Yan Shixun’s return, Lu Xingxing’s eyes lit up like a starving dog locked up alone at home—he almost wagged his tail in joy.
But before he could even be happy for a second, he heard Yan Shixun explain the situation concisely.
Right after that came a surge of power flooding into his meridians—just like the time on Nanming Mountain.
Lu Xingxing was stunned at first, then cheered and excitedly thanked Ye Li over and over again, calling him “Master Aunt.”
His body, already weak and drained of blood, wasn’t suited to receive power from Ye Li again. After all, this power, tied to death, carried an eerie ghostly aura that no one except Yan Shixun could easily withstand.
And considering Lu Xingxing’s current state…
But when Yan Shixun asked him, Lu Xingxing didn’t care one bit about how pale and bloodless his face had become. He simply patted his chest and promised that, even if he hadn’t officially graduated as a Taoist of Haiyun Temple, he would never run from a fight.
There had always been Haiyun Taoists who went to their deaths—never cowards who fled.
While busy, Yan Shixun glanced at Lu Xingxing. Seeing the pride on his face, he couldn’t help but chuckle, turning to Ye Li with a sigh. Xingxing… really had grown up.
“Maybe once we’re back, with a bit more training, Xingxing could graduate very soon.”
Yan Shixun smiled at Ye Li and asked, “You want to know why I didn’t scold you for not stopping Xie Lin, right?”
Ye Li’s smile froze slightly. He pressed his lips together and said nothing.
Yan Shixun lowered his lashes and murmured softly, “Xingxing may not know you’re from Fengdu, but he knows your power harms his body. After returning from Nanming Mountain, even with the Taoists of Haiyun Temple helping him recover, it took him a long time to fully heal.”
“He knew. But this time, he still didn’t reject my trust. He accepted the responsibility of protecting this place without hesitation.”
Yan Shixun smiled. “Xingxing has come to understand the responsibility that comes with being an exorcist. That’s what it means to become an adult.”
“And Xie Lin is no different.”
As they approached the courtyard of Zheng Shumu’s house, Yan Shixun paused briefly, then stepped forward and knocked on the door.
“Xie Lin is an adult. He’ll take responsibility for his choices, whether they turn out good or bad. The moment he insisted on leaving the courtyard, he should have been ready to face the consequences. Finding his sister—or… being killed by her.”
And what they came to do—was either to save Xie Lin.
Or collect his remains.
As Yan Shixun finished speaking, the main gate of Zheng Shumu’s house emitted a harsh scraping sound and slowly creaked open.
Through the narrow gap, Yan Shixun saw that the one standing behind the door was not Zheng Tiantian or Zheng Shumu.
But a wooden statue that had previously stood in the courtyard.
A puppet with a lifelike mouth and eyes. Its mouth opened and closed with a clicking sound, eerily human-like and chilling to the bone.
But this time, Yan Shixun understood the puppet’s lip movements.
It was saying—
Save me. Let me leave. Let me die.
…
“Master Bai!”
The official in charge had been speaking to Master Bai, overwhelmed by the heavy truth hidden behind the deserted village.
But suddenly, the hunched old man sitting with his head lowered closed his eyes and collapsed forward.
The official gasped, his heart seemingly stopping. He hurried to catch Master Bai’s falling body as fast as he could.
Considering the recent incident where Master Bai hadn’t taken his medicine, the official assumed his condition had deteriorated beyond saving. In panic, he thought he must call for the rescue team’s doctor immediately.
Just then, a strong flashlight beam swept in from outside.
Alerted by the sudden light, the official instinctively turned and saw several shadowy figures outside the window.
The unexpected sight startled him so much he broke into a cold sweat and nearly dropped Master Bai.
Soon after, the window was knocked on, and an urgent voice called out from outside.
“Sir, you need to come see this.”
The rescue team member tried to sound calm but couldn’t hide the fear in his voice.
“The villagers… the villagers have all appeared!”
“What?!”
The official was stunned. “Didn’t we see the files before coming? All the villagers here are dead—how could there still be villagers?”
The answer came not from the team, but from Master Bai, who, using the last of his strength, suddenly grabbed the official’s arm.
His withered hand clenched so tightly the veins bulged. From his throat, he forced out a few ragged syllables: “Run… now!”
With those words, Master Bai shoved the official with his remaining strength and collapsed to the ground, immediately passing out.
His breathing became shallow—barely alive.
Though his body bore no visible wounds, blood began to spread from beneath his head, quickly pooling into a crimson puddle.
The official, still reeling from what had just happened, snapped out of it and rushed to the door, shouting at the rescue team, “Get the medics! Someone here needs emergency treatment!”
The team waiting nearby dashed over to take over.
But when the medical personnel examined Master Bai, they were shocked—there were no injuries. So where had all the blood come from?
Covered in blood, the official quickly followed the rescue team to see what they meant by “villagers.”
But it wasn’t until he saw the scene in the distance that he suddenly realized why the rescue team member had looked so horrified and urgent when speaking about the villagers—not filled with the joyful excitement of discovering survivors, but with the terror of having seen monsters.
Because those weren’t villagers at all.
They were wooden puppet figures carved to closely resemble the villagers.
These figures slowly emerged from the dilapidated village houses and walked through the overgrown weeds—tall as a person—moving no differently than real humans, despite the village long devoid of any signs of life.
This stark contrast, the contradiction between human-like movement and a lifeless village, made the scene especially eerie and disturbing.
The official in charge felt goosebumps spreading across his arms, and instinctively ducked into hiding.
His survival instincts screamed that these puppets were even more dangerous than they appeared.
By sheer luck, the rescue team member on lookout had spotted the oddity early enough to alert him. So before the wooden puppets had shown any signs of aggression, the official had just enough time to react.
But it was already too late to run. Any movement would only alert the puppets.
Besides, they were here to carry out a rescue mission—retreating halfway was out of the question.
He immediately ordered everyone to turn off their flashlights, avoid making any light or sound, and find the nearest hiding spot. He told them all to hold their breath and not disturb the puppets.
The official in charge wanted to observe just what these human-like puppets intended to do.
He crawled behind the shattered window of another abandoned house, where the glass was long gone, and held his breath as he stared at the puppets outside.
And then he was stunned to realize that the puppets looked extremely familiar—as if they were the very same villagers whose photos he had seen in the records, the ones already confirmed dead.
However, what he didn’t notice—
In the darkness behind him, within that very same abandoned house, another wooden puppet stood silently in a corner.
Suddenly, its eyeballs began to move.
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