Chapter 269: Shadow Puppets and Lamplight (35)
Before arriving at Baizhi Lake, the rescue team had already been briefed by the official in charge about the general situation. They knew they were heading toward a deserted village where all the residents had long since perished.
With this expectation in mind, the desolate village overgrown with moss and weeds didn’t strike the rescue team as strange. It was the current scene that unsettled them. It felt as if the mountain chill was seeping thread by thread into their clothes, making them shiver uncontrollably.
No one spoke.
Everyone lay low in the grass or hid inside nearby abandoned houses, quietly observing the wooden puppet figures passing outside, waiting for them to move away from the area.
There were no stars or moon tonight.
To prevent the wooden puppets from spotting Master Bai because of any light, the official in charge had extinguished the candle in his room before leaving.
As the last bit of light disappeared, the village sank into complete darkness.
Only the cold wind howled through the broken windows, letting out ghostly wails like crying spirits.
The official in charge held his breath as he watched one of the wooden puppets slowly approach him. Taking advantage of the moment, he studied it carefully, trying to figure out what exactly this thing was.
Was it a humanoid form possessed by a malevolent spirit?
He remembered something that had happened many years ago—an incident involving a plaster mannequin that was inhabited by a vengeful ghost, resulting in multiple killings. In the mornings, only mutilated flesh and organs were left at the scene, with the entire room, including the plaster figure, drenched in blood.
It was during that case that he first learned that some human-shaped figures, crafted with care by artisans but empty of soul and flesh, could become preferred vessels for ghosts.
A sculpture ignored by passersby might just be hiding a deadly spirit inside.
However, such incidents had gradually stopped happening around twenty years ago.
The official in charge had asked several exorcists why cases of ghosts possessing humanoid objects—so common in the past—had become so rare. Sometimes, he would suddenly remember that it had been a long time since such a case had occurred.
Back then, the exorcists explained that it was because most humanoid figures nowadays were mass-produced on factory assembly lines. These items had no prolonged contact with humans during creation, didn’t absorb stray human life energy, and lacked the artisans’ heartfelt devotion or expectations. They were simply cold, lifeless objects.
However, the exorcists hadn’t completely ruled out the possibility.
They had said that there was one exception.
—Humanoid statues carved from locust trees.
The character for “locust” contains the radical for “ghost.”
This wood, known for its extremely yin and cold properties, matched the preferences of ghosts, making it an ideal vessel for them.
Even more so if the statue was human-shaped.
There’s an old saying that compares the growth of trees to the growth of people; trees inherently contain vitality and symbolize new life.
If a ghost took residence in a wooden statue and remained there long enough, it could draw on the tree’s life force to gradually regain human-like traits, shedding its identity as a malevolent spirit, deceiving heaven and earth, and walking among the living unnoticed.
At that point, even many exorcists with insufficient cultivation would be powerless against such a spirit.
Upon seeing these wooden puppet figures, the official in charge couldn’t help recalling what he had once heard from the exorcists, and unease rose in him.
He turned his head toward the Taoist beside him and gestured, trying to ask if these puppets were what he feared they were.
However, this Taoist had been in charge of other duties at Haiyun Temple and rarely collaborated with the special department. Unlike Taoist Ma or Taoist Song, he hadn’t yet developed any rapport with the official in charge.
So when the Taoist saw him gesturing, he simply looked confused.
What are you doing?
The Taoist assumed the official was just nervous, so he made a calming gesture, signaling him not to worry. As long as they stayed quiet and pretended to be grass, the wooden puppets outside wouldn’t notice them.
But what the official saw was the Taoist confirming his suspicions.
He immediately became more worried.
That ebony statue earlier… was it meant to suppress these ghosts?
But the young tourist had taken the ebony statue, and now it had disappeared from Haiyun Temple. No matter how hard the Taoists searched, they couldn’t find it. Without the statue, what could be used to hold the ghosts at bay?
The Taoists left behind at Haiyun Temple to question the young man had tried everything—from divination to pinpoint the statue’s location, to asking the temple’s deities, and even requesting guidance from their ancestors through rituals.
During the peak tourist hours, Haiyun Temple had been urgently evacuated, its doors shut tight as solemn ceremonies were conducted. They offered ample incense and tried every means they could to respectfully summon the return of the ebony statue.
The Taoist who had initially accepted the ebony statue without much thought was now so anxious he broke down crying.
A dignified and composed grown man, with a face capable of scaring off a crowd of ghosts, was sobbing uncontrollably. Even the special department personnel rushing in to assist found the scene almost surreal.
But despite all their combined efforts, nothing worked.
A few Taoists and shamans who tried to seek divine help were even injured by a backlash of spiritual force, as though the deities they consulted were enraged, blaming them for attempting to pry into heavenly secrets.
The abbot watched as the courtyard descended into chaos, with injured Taoists coughing up blood being carried away. From behind closed doors came the cries and pleas of the desperate worshipper. The entire Haiyun Temple was in disarray—everyone was at their wits’ end.
Yet amid the turmoil, the abbot suddenly had a bold and shocking guess.
He gave instructions to the Taoist beside him, telling him to monitor the affairs within Haiyun Temple and to keep track of updates from those who had been sent to Baizhi Lake.
Then, he turned and made his way to the room where Taoist Li was in seclusion.
Even for seasoned Taoists, entering deep meditation was not an everyday occurrence. Many sought the Dao all their lives and never grasped the path to true meditation.
With modern society offering endless entertainment, people’s attention spans had become more scattered than ever. Ordinary visitors to temples often couldn’t sit still for even a few minutes without wanting to check their phones or play games.
Even though Taoists generally cared little for such distractions, achieving true meditative communion with Heaven and Earth was harder than ever.
Even Taoist Li—widely regarded as the most powerful figure in Haiyun Temple—could only achieve this state two or three times a year.
But for some unknown reason, ever since returning from Mount Gui, Taoist Li had entered meditation frequently, often attuned to the rhythms of Heaven and Earth.
At first, his meditations lasted a few hours, then days, and now each session spanned several months.
Almost all of Taoist Li’s time was spent in communion with the Heaven and Earth.
The abbot watched this closely. He worried that such frequent activity from the heavens might signal the approach of great disaster. At the same time, he took comfort in Taoist Li’s presence.
If a catastrophe truly loomed, having someone like Taoist Li around brought a deep sense of reassurance—as though a central pillar still held everything together.
Though the abbot had been ordained for decades, with experience and authority far beyond ordinary men from years of dealing with all manner of worldly affairs, in the face of something so vast and beyond comprehension, he still felt more grounded knowing a senior like Taoist Li was present.
With an elder to shoulder the burden of the sky, he did not need to face the crumbling world alone.
Steadying his thoughts, the abbot stopped outside Taoist Li’s door. In a low voice, he gently called out and shared his suspicions.
Although he knew that during deep meditation, a practitioner’s awareness of the external world diminishes in favor of communion with Heaven and Earth—and that no matter how loudly he spoke, Taoist Li might not hear—he still believed that Heaven would arrange things accordingly.
The Dao followed nature.
If Heaven wanted Taoist Li to hear him, then Taoist Li would hear.
“Master Uncle… the temple has lost an ebony statue. It was picked up by a child near Baizhi Lake in the southwest. We suspect it might be a sealing object, but no one can identify which deity it depicts. All methods to investigate it have failed.”
He sighed. “So I wonder—could it be… the true body of a ghost deity passed down through the ages?”
Otherwise, why would the gods fall silent and the heavens rage, forbidding anyone from probing further?
Only a true ghost deity, as far as the abbot could imagine, could provoke such a reaction.
Given his position, the abbot had access to far more knowledge than the average person.
While the general public enjoyed peaceful lives, the Taoists of Haiyun Temple had long thrown themselves into the breach, patching up the collapsing Dao with their very bodies and keeping the world of monsters away from the mortal realm.
The abbot had grown up in such times. He had seen off his master, his master uncle, and his fellow Taoists. He had personally buried his juniors and even performed death rites for his disciple’s disciples—quietly praying for the fallen.
They sought no reward in the next life, only to serve the living in this one.
The abbot understood one thing with crystal clarity—the Dao was broken. Even ghost deities had vanished, their fate unknown.
And now, suddenly, a suspected true body of a ghost deity had appeared—in the sensitive region of the southwest.
The abbot couldn’t help but speculate further.
Standing before Taoist Li’s door, he voiced all his fears and suspicions. After a long silence, he respectfully bowed to the still-closed door and turned to return to the front courtyard to manage the situation.
Given the report from the Baizhi Lake site, and the continued unconsciousness of the entire program crew during the livestream, Haiyun Temple had immediately suspended all public events and called back every available Taoist to rush to Baizhi Lake for reinforcement.
Yet manpower was still critically short.
Haiyun Temple was indeed one of the top temples in the country—but it was not the mythical image of “three thousand Taoists” people often imagined.
Only about a hundred Taoists resided there permanently.
In this day and age, very few were willing to renounce worldly affairs and endure hardship for the sake of cultivation.
And Haiyun Temple had even higher standards—Taoists without real skill could not remain to handle the various national affairs that flowed through the temple.
Compared to temples with only two or three Taoists, Haiyun Temple was large. But even among its members, many were too weak to handle tasks independently, or were still recovering from previous injuries.
On top of that, with the end of the year approaching, all kinds of matters were piling up everywhere, and dark forces tended to rise during such times…
The number of Taoists the abbot could dispatch to Baizhi Lake was extremely limited.
He was thinking about calling Taoist Song again—who had apparently gone to the wrong location—to ask where he was now.
But just as the abbot was idly pondering this, he suddenly heard a faint sound behind him.
Creak…
His eyes widened in disbelief as he swiftly turned around.
And there stood Taoist Li, emerging from the slowly opening door—spirited, his hair and beard completely white, but his face glowing with vitality and his eyes sharp as ever.
“Master Uncle…” the abbot murmured instinctively.
Taoist Li let out a heavy snort. “So it’s you yakking outside my door every day? Do you have any idea how noisy you are?”
“A true ghost deity? Something like that actually happened?!”
Before the abbot could react, Taoist Li flicked his robe sleeve and strode out with long, firm steps.
Though well over a hundred years old, Taoist Li’s back remained straight like a mountain, upholding the hope of all Haiyun Temple.
No matter what hardship they faced, just knowing Taoist Li was still alive gave all the Taoists the courage to die with a smile—knowing that what they couldn’t finish, he would carry on.
Now, the abbot stared blankly at Taoist Li’s retreating figure. Though he himself was middle-aged, he couldn’t stop his eyes from stinging with tears. It was the comfort of still having an elder.
Taoist Li, noticing no one was following him, turned back in confusion—and saw the abbot standing there like a fool.
He immediately scolded, “Why are you standing there like a tree waiting to bloom?”
“But where’s that kid Song Yi?”
He roared, full of energy, “Tell him to get over here!”
—No matter how famous or respected the Taoists were outside, in Taoist Li’s eyes, they were all just kids.
He still remembered clearly how, many years ago, those same kids used to cry when they couldn’t even read the words in the old scriptures and were punished to stand in the corner.
Meanwhile, Taoist Song Yi, who was outside, had just picked up his phone—only to almost go deaf from the furious roar on the other end.
“Master? You’re out?!”
Taoist Song Yi couldn’t contain his joy.
But despite that, Taoist Li’s voice, sharp and penetrating, still carried beyond the train cabin, startling the passengers sitting near Taoist Song.
“If you don’t come out now, the sky’s going to collapse!”
Taoist Li muttered disdainfully, “Useless, just like Xingxing. Tsk.”
Taoist Song bowed his head in guilt.
Just moments ago, this Taoist had seemed stern and awe-inspiring—his presence so imposing that the passengers had only dared to sneak glances before quickly lowering their heads again, afraid to offend him. Now, he was holding a phone, speaking in a gentle tone, explaining his whereabouts and intentions to someone on the other end of the line.
This change made the surrounding passengers perk up their ears and lean in curiously to catch more of the conversation.
Passenger: Is he… going to save the world?
Passenger: Doesn’t seem like it. In those Hollywood blockbusters, people saving the world at least have some cool rides. Worst case, they’re racing down the highway in a sleek car. But this guy’s taking a train to save the world???
Passenger: Isn’t this a bit too grounded? Taoist, where’s your sword?! What happened to flying with your sword like you promised?
Even the failed garment factory owner sitting inside next to Taoist Song looked at the drastic shift in his demeanor and felt a sense of surrealism—like the world had suddenly turned magical.
But after regaining his senses, he figured, if the plastic mannequins in his warehouse could eat people and stray dogs, then really, anything could happen.
While Taoist Song was focused on his call, the nearby passengers, emboldened by his now well-behaved demeanor, raised their heads and began openly observing him with curiosity.
Some even snapped secret photos and uploaded them to social media.
@User123: Feels like I just got involved in something huge. Just took a regular high-speed train and ended up sitting near a Taoist. And the crazy part? He’s apparently going to save the world! By association, I guess that makes me a world-saving hero too.
Attached was a candid photo of Taoist Song.
Although this person didn’t have many followers, they hadn’t expected the Taoist tag to be trending—thanks to the recent buzz around Yan Shixun.
Many people had started associating Taoists closely with Haiyun Temple, and a bunch of Yan Mais were hanging around that tag, happily soaking in the daily updates from the temple, feeling like they were learning more about Yan Shixun.
Yan Mai: I know about Taoists = I am a Daoist = I belong to Haiyun Temple. Which basically means I’m part of Brother Yan’s family now!
The photo posted by this passenger quickly caught the attention of the Yan Mais.
Someone soon recognized him—wasn’t this the Taoist who often appeared on shows alongside the rest of the cast?
“Saving the world? Taoist Song? Oh no… don’t tell me something’s happened on Brother Yan’s side again?”
“No way, I’m literally watching their livestream right now. Nothing’s going on, they’re all just sleeping from exhaustion.”
“If something really happens again this time, wouldn’t that be the grand slam? Poor Director Zhang—how is he this unlucky, always getting hit?”
“Pfft, maybe Director Zhang should try buying a lottery ticket. I feel like just encountering ghosts once in your life is already rare. But Director Zhang runs into them every time? What is he, Heaven’s disobedient child?”
“Director Zhang, becoming a legend in a whole new way.”
The passenger had originally posted just for fun, to document a quirky moment in their day. But they hadn’t expected so many people to see the post. The Yan Mais quickly pushed it up the trending list.
Some even recognized Taoist Song as the one who, during the road closure at Binhai University, had been “flying with a sword” and got publicly reminded by the city’s traffic bureau.
“Wait, could he actually be out to save the world? He was at Binhai University too.”
“I just remembered! This Taoist jumped off the bridge right in front of our car! My dad was almost scared to death. Later we heard he was from Haiyun Temple. My dad, a lifelong atheist, ended up going there to burn incense this year. He even asked if they handled matchmaking, said he wanted to pray for a handsome boyfriend for me.”
“…Haiyun Temple has many services, but matchmaking isn’t one of them.”
“Girl, do you not know that Haiyun Temple is famously single? That temple hasn’t had anyone married in over a hundred years.”
“The three deities worshipped at Haiyun Temple: ‘I’m single, my disciples are single, and you want us to bless *your* love life? Dream on.’”
“You’re doomed, sis. You just prayed in reverse. Guess you’ll be single for another year.”
“…”
“Hahahahahaha!”
Others curiously asked the original poster if they had any idea where Taoist Song was actually headed. Was he really going to save the world? Or was this all just related to that trending travel variety show?
The passenger had never imagined they’d get this much attention. They even ended up on the real-time trending list, under the hashtag #SavingTheWorldByTrain.
A bit flustered by the sudden fame, they leaned over slightly toward Taoist Song, trying to catch what he was saying.
But just then, Taoist Song hung up the phone. The train had also just pulled into the Binhai station.
Taoist Song stood up and glanced in the passenger’s direction, as if sensing something.
The passenger, startled, immediately ducked behind the seatback in guilt.
Taoist Song didn’t pay him any attention and instead helped the unlucky garment factory owner off the train.
Originally, his destination had been Baizhi Lake. But unexpectedly, he had encountered someone connected to the kidnapping case of Xie Lin’s sister. After hearing the factory owner’s story, Taoist Song couldn’t bear to just leave him behind.
Moreover, he had heard from the official in charge that Xie Lin would be participating in the current filming, so after a brief hesitation, Taoist Song changed his plan. He got off at Binhai and decided to check out the ruined warehouse with the factory owner first.
Most importantly—those plastic mannequins in the warehouse that had supposedly devoured stray cats and dogs.
Taoist Song had already informed the abbot and the official in charge about this situation.
Though the official hadn’t replied yet, the abbot quickly passed along a message from Taoist Ma, informing him that a Bone Substitution Technique had recently been discovered in the Southwest.
Taoist Song felt a chill in his heart and immediately connected it to the mannequins.
If what the factory owner said was true—that these plastic mannequins were fully molded, with no openings to the outside—then the presence of blood and flesh inside them would be deeply unnatural.
Things that science couldn’t explain could sometimes still be understood through the “old sciences.”
That meant—ghosts and demons existed.
Taoist Song immediately headed to the remote warehouse on the outskirts, taking the factory owner with him.
According to the man, ever since the kidnapping and death that occurred there, he and his family had always avoided the place, calling it unlucky.
Locals were also afraid to go near it. Rumors circulated that at midnight, ghostly figures could be seen wandering the area—said to be the restless spirits of the dead kidnapper and the little girl, unable to move on.
If it weren’t for the factory owner’s current cash flow problems and the urgent need to turn bad assets into money, he wouldn’t have even remembered the warehouse. Nor would he have started having nightmares—so terrifying they left him unhinged.
“Master, you don’t know how scary those nightmares are. It’s just blood—blood *everywhere*.”
The man frowned miserably. “I even went to a shaman I know, hoping they could check if there was a ghost following me, or if some guest ghost had moved into my house. But the shaman said it was out of their hands—that this was a matter for ghost deities, not something the immortals could interfere with.”
“But I’m not young anymore. Living like this, too afraid to sleep every night—I just can’t take it anymore.”
The dark blue bags under his eyes were compelling evidence: “In the dream, there’s always a little girl singing. Everything around her is covered in blood. There’s someone who’s been chopped in half, crawling toward me, grabbing my leg and begging me to save him… I’m scared out of my mind, and he wants me to save him?”
Taoist Song stood in front of the broken-down warehouse door. The thick dust and rusted lock were all consistent with the factory owner’s story.
From a human perspective, this place hadn’t been entered in a long time.
But for ghosts, that didn’t necessarily matter.
Taoist Song could already feel the sharp chill that had spread the moment they stepped onto this land, a creeping cold that seemed to rise from beneath his feet, causing his expression to grow grave.
The factory owner rubbed his arms constantly, mumbling in confusion, “Why did it suddenly get so cold? Binhai winters are brutal… Ugh, I miss the central heating…”
But Taoist Song knew very well—it wasn’t the weather.
Something was watching them from the darkness.
It was currently midnight—the darkest hour of the day, when yin energy peaked.
The hour of ghosts and deities. A time when the living held no advantage.
Taoist Song Yi gritted his teeth, raised his hand to glance at his watch, and still decided to go through with it.
After practicing the Dao for a long time, one would naturally realize that many things had already been arranged by Heaven and Earth. Every unexpected event they encountered was actually Heaven and Earth guiding them toward a possible future where life still existed.
Given that he had coincidentally run into the factory owner among billions of people—especially at this exact moment—and that the show crew also just happened to be in trouble… Taoist Song Yi felt that somewhere in the unseen, Heaven and Earth were watching him, urging him forward.
Silently, he pinched a yellow talisman in his palm. His fingers formed a defensive mudra as he cautiously stepped forward and used the key from the factory owner to open the door.
The rusted door let out a grating, heavy screech. A thick cloud of dust surged into the air and rushed toward Taoist Song Yi.
He instinctively turned his head to avoid the dust.
But when he looked back at the warehouse, his heart skipped a beat.
—Just behind the warehouse door stood rows upon rows of plastic mannequins, densely packed. Their lifeless, inorganic eyes stared unblinkingly at the person standing outside.
The silent stillness was so eerie it sent shivers down the spine.
These decades-old plastic mannequins had already yellowed and degraded. Yet their yellow-brown appearance made it hard not to imagine that blood had once splashed onto them, layer upon layer, until it stained them like this.
Caught off guard, the factory owner made direct eye contact with the mannequins and immediately let out a loud, terrified scream. He stumbled backward and fell to the ground.
But Taoist Song Yi suddenly had a question in his mind.
When he had just opened the door… were these mannequins already there? But no one had piled debris in front of the door to block it.
The eyes of hundreds of mannequins all focused uniformly on the human intruder. Even knowing they were lifeless objects, it was impossible not to feel fear.
The factory owner instantly remembered his nightmare. He was so terrified that he began to cry, tears and snot streaming down his face. He tried to crawl away in a panic, but his legs had long since gone weak. He couldn’t take a single step and could only roll in the dust in utter embarrassment.
Taoist Song Yi, however, ignored the pitiful factory owner beside him.
With sharp eyes, he noticed that among the plastic mannequins, some had fresh blood splattered on their hands and arms. Blood slowly dripped from their fingertips, and the air was filled with the scent of blood.
It was fresh blood.
Absolutely not old stains.
…These mannequins could move just like real people.
And most likely, they had just killed some cats or dogs.
Taoist Song Yi’s expression instantly sharpened. His brows knit, and his gaze turned fierce and blade-like.
His peach wood sword was quietly gripped in his hand.
—
“Dead?!”
The staff member from the special department was stunned when he received the call.
Snapping back to his senses, he repeatedly asked the person on the other end of the phone, “Are you sure? The one the previous person in charge contacted? The one who handled that Bai family village death case from decades ago?”
The voice on the other end was low and heavy but gave a firm answer.
“Because he’s retiring tomorrow, he had arranged to have dinner with a few old colleagues tonight. But they waited all the way until midnight, and he still hadn’t shown up. He wouldn’t answer his phone either. So those colleagues thought they’d go to his place and check on him, and then…”
When they opened the door, what should have been a cozy and tidy home was splattered with blood everywhere.
The study, in particular, was a scene of horror.
The handler’s corpse lay on the ground with eyes wide open, unable to rest in peace. Blood had sprayed from the curtains all the way up to the ceiling. The once white walls were now drenched in a solid sheet of red.
His body had been disemboweled, with no flesh or organs left inside—only a complete skeleton remained.
And the outer layer of skin.
Other than the undamaged bones and skin, all his flesh and organs had been turned into a paste of minced meat, smeared casually on the floor, the sofa, and the walls.
The entire room was a deranged crime scene.
One of the handler’s old colleagues had a heart attack on the spot from the shock. The others were so traumatized they could barely stand, slumping against the door, too weak to move.
The handler’s wife and daughter stood on the staircase, crying like their souls had been ripped from them.
His daughter had collapsed on the ground, sobbing so hard her eyes swelled larger than walnuts. At her feet lay a beautifully wrapped cake that everyone had forgotten.
On the pretty cake, red icing still read: “Happy Retirement — Be a Happy Little Old Man.” But now it was nothing but a squashed mess. No one paid it any attention.
The daughter had traveled back from out of town today just for this. She had happily picked up the cake, looking forward to surprising her father and seeing his joy.
The handler’s wife had also been delighted.
She had lived her whole life in fear that one day her husband would meet misfortune while out working. Now, they had finally made it to his retirement in one piece. Starting tomorrow, they could travel together. Just thinking about it made her grin from ear to ear.
They had returned home full of joy and hope for tomorrow—only to see red and blue police lights flashing downstairs and crowds gathering beyond the yellow police tape.
Not knowing what had happened, they approached, and someone from the local jurisdiction stepped forward with a somber expression to ask if they were family.
The terrible feeling in their hearts came true. All their hopes and prayers were instantly shattered.
They had looked forward to tomorrow.
But the man who lay dead in a pool of blood would never see tomorrow again.
The special department staff member was silent for a long time before finally suppressing his grief and trying to stay calm and rational as he asked, “Cause of death? Was anything stolen from the house?”
“It’s strange. None of the valuables in the house were taken. But the files he had left on the desk were all ruined by blood and chunks of flesh. I flipped through them. I saw something about the southwest, and the name ‘Bai’ appeared a few times.”
He thought for a moment, then added, “There’s something even weirder. The killer left handprints and footprints in the house, but they didn’t look human—they looked more like plastic toys… And some residents in the building said they saw plastic mannequins in the hallway at night. It scared them half to death.”
The residents had complained, saying it was so dark they couldn’t see clearly, and suddenly found such things in the hallway. They didn’t know which household threw them out. Some still had blood on them—maybe from slaughtering chickens or fish—it nearly scared them to death. What a wicked thing to do.
But the special department staff, upon hearing this, realized something terrible.
“Plastic mannequins??!!”
His voice cracked in alarm. Thinking of how Taoist Song Yi had just gone to check the location where Xie Lin’s sister had been kidnapped years ago, he nearly panicked.
Wasn’t that warehouse at the factory filled with plastic mannequins?
And the case involving Xie Jiaojiao years ago… had an extremely similar scene to the handler’s death—only more bloody and brutal.
The kidnappers had been torn to shreds, and beside them stood silent plastic mannequins, covered head to toe in blood. Some even had the kidnappers’ flesh stuffed inside them.
Anyone with a functioning brain wouldn’t, within scientific reasoning, consider a common plastic mannequin to be the murderer.
But if it were categorized as a special case, explained by non-scientific means…
The staff member immediately ended the call and phoned the official in charge, trying to report the situation and warn him to keep an eye on all plastic mannequins or any human-shaped statues made of other materials.
At the same time, in a dilapidated village house, the phone in the pocket of the official in charge suddenly vibrated.
The buzzing noise was especially clear in the dead silence.
Both Taoist and official widened their eyes instantly, looking toward the phone.
The faint light from the screen illuminated the official’s face from below, casting a ghostly, deathly pallor over his features.
He fumbled to pull out the phone, his hands trembling as he tried to hang up the call.
But even that brief sound and light had already attracted the attention of the wooden carved puppets on the village path outside.
They stopped their slow steps, stood still, and slowly turned their heads, fixing their lifeless wooden eyes on the source of the noise.
The official immediately pressed himself as low as he could, hiding beneath the window.
But after standing still for a while, the wooden puppets didn’t move forward. Instead, as if confirming something, they turned their direction and began walking toward the village house where the official and others were hiding.
The official in charge sensed that something was terribly wrong. Refusing to sit and wait for doom, he hunched his body and tried to retreat, aiming to climb out through the window at the back of the village house.
But as soon as he moved and took only two steps back, he suddenly felt as if he had bumped into something in the darkness.
Perplexed, he thought back—he had quickly scanned the house’s layout upon entering, and the wall shouldn’t have been that close.
While keeping his eyes fixed on the wooden puppets steadily approaching outside, his hand instinctively reached backward, trying to feel what he had just hit—hoping to confirm the wall or window’s position.
But his brain lagged just half a beat behind his hand, before registering that what he was touching didn’t feel like a wall at all.
…It felt like a person.
A dead person.
The sensation was slick but stiff and icy—definitely not the texture of bricks or moss.
Piecing together the sensation in his mind, the only thing the official could think of was a corpse.
His body went rigid instantly, his pupils contracting.
Several seconds passed before he forced his stiff muscles to move again and slowly turned his head to look behind him.
And then, the official saw it wasn’t a corpse. Nor was it a wall.
It was a wooden puppet.
This figure looked completely different from the others outside, but its lifelike facial features still resembled a real person. Dressed in villager clothing, it could’ve passed for one of the residents here.
Yet the lack of gleam in its eyes and the exposed wooden grain clearly marked it for what it was.
When it noticed the official looking at it, the figure’s mouth—already carved into a faint smile—seemed to twitch upward, like it was actually grinning.
Then its mouth started moving silently, opening and closing, while its eyeballs shifted slightly as though scanning everyone hiding in the house, saying something only it could hear.
Suddenly, the wooden figure extended its hand and clamped tightly onto the official’s arm.
Startled, the nearby taoist lunged forward, trying to pull the official behind him.
But unexpectedly, the figure was far stronger than it appeared. Its grip was like an iron clamp; neither the official nor the taoist—both physically capable adult men—could pry it open.
Worse still, as the taoist’s gaze unintentionally swept across the surrounding darkness, he was horrified to realize this figure wasn’t alone in the abandoned house.
On a dust-covered bunk bed, another wooden puppet was huddled silently in the shadows, watching them.
In the dark corner where the wardrobe stood, yet another puppet stood motionless and quiet.
Meanwhile, the figures outside had already reached the front of the house. One stretched out its hand and pushed open the rickety main door.
“Creak…”
“Creak—!”
When the door of Zheng Shumu’s house finally opened completely, Yan Shixun saw the wooden puppets standing behind it.
But it wasn’t alone. Every single wooden puppet that had originally been placed around the courtyard had now gathered at the door. As if they had known in advance that Yan Shixun would come, they silently waited for him.
Hundreds of eyes stared in unison at Yan Shixun, and the sheer density of those gazes pressed down like a crushing weight.
But Yan Shixun merely furrowed his brows darkly. There wasn’t a trace of fear in his expression.
Before he could react, everything suddenly went black, followed by a loud “Bang!”
Somehow, without knowing how, he had gone from standing outside the door to being inside the house. And the door behind him slammed shut with a heavy thud.
But Ye Li, whose arm he was gripping, hadn’t been shut outside. He still stood by Yan Shixun’s side.
Feeling the cool, firm muscle beneath his palm, a faint, nearly imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of Yan Shixun’s otherwise stern face.
He wasn’t facing these wooden puppets alone.
Beside him stood Ye Li.
Inside the courtyard, with just the two of them surrounded by hundreds of wooden puppets, their presence was still overwhelmingly powerful—there was not the slightest sense that they were the ones being surrounded.
On the contrary, it felt like they were the ones who had surrounded the entire courtyard.
Yan Shixun let out a soft laugh, watching as the puppets closed in from all directions. He lowered his voice and asked them, “Do you know there’s a saying—‘shut the door to beat the dog’?”
“If you’re so cooperative, taking the initiative to prepare the stage for me, then I can’t possibly let you down.”
Raising his eyes, his sharp, bright gaze cut through the crowd of wooden puppets and locked onto the house behind them—as if trying to pierce through the windows and stare directly at the person inside.
“Isn’t that right, Xie Jiaojiao?”
The girl, clutching a new wooden puppet in her arms, instantly furrowed her brows in a deep frown, her face filled with the urge to lash out in anger.
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