Chapter 271: Shadow Puppets and Lamplight (37)
Taoist Song Yi grabbed the garment factory boss and threw him out of the warehouse without a shred of mercy. Then, carrying his peachwood sword, he charged back inside.
The large warehouse door slammed shut behind him with a deafening thud.
Inside the warehouse, the last traces of dim yellow light from the streetlamps outside vanished, plunging the space into complete darkness.
In the pitch-black gloom, the plastic mannequins seemed to have eyes that flickered with red light, unblinking as they stared directly at Taoist Song Yi.
They didn’t move.
Even though their bodies were stained with blood—some still clutching bits of torn flesh—they remained standing quietly in place, like any ordinary inanimate object.
It was as if all of Taoist Song Yi’s suspicion and caution were nothing more than an overactive imagination.
But Taoist Song Yi didn’t let his guard down. With full force, he swung his peachwood sword downward, striking one of the plastic mannequins with brutal precision.
*Crash!*
The mannequin split cleanly in half, its two sides toppling to the ground. The flesh that had been stuffed into its hollow plastic shell gushed out like floodwaters breaching a dam, spreading into a wide, dark pool.
At first, in the darkness, Taoist Song Yi assumed it was just pooled water caused by dampness. But when the thick stench of blood hit his nose, his expression immediately changed. His already stern face furrowed even more tightly, deepening into a sharp crease between his brows.
Before he could move closer to examine whether the meat was human flesh or, as the factory boss claimed, the remains of stray cats and dogs, all the motionless mannequins suddenly came to life.
While his attention had been drawn to the bloody remains, in the corner of his vision, the mannequins began to turn their heads with stiff, mechanical movements. Their joints creaked slightly, and dozens of plastic heads rotated 180 degrees. With eerie coordination, they all fixed their eyes on Taoist Song Yi.
Slowly, they extended their arms—at some unknown point, the plastic had sharpened into blade-like claws, curled into vicious, menacing shapes. They lunged toward the Taoist, who had momentarily let his guard down.
Crude red nail polish had been painted onto their fingers, making them look unlike any real human hand. Yet the lifelike humanoid forms gave them an uncanny mix of realism and illusion. Worse, the blood dripping from their arms and the bits of flesh stuck beneath their nails made it hard to tell whether it was just red paint—or the remnants of their last victim.
Fresh blood, spilled after a real human slaughter.
By the time Taoist Song Yi realized something was wrong, he was already surrounded.
Startled, he quickly abandoned inspecting the remains and turned around, raising his peachwood sword toward the source of the deadly gaze he had just sensed.
But just as he lifted his hand, a stiff, yellowed plastic arm suddenly shot out from the side, blocking his sword without a hint of hesitation or fear.
The sword sliced through the arm cleanly, sending a spray of blood and meat through the air from the severed limb.
But that brief interruption had already cost him the perfect moment to strike back. In an instant, he was completely encircled by layers of mannequins.
Some grabbed at his robe, others reached for his neck, and still others tried to seize his sword.
Though they had form, the plastic mannequins felt no pain and feared no injury. Even when their limbs were severed, the fallen parts kept crawling along the ground, tripping up Taoist Song Yi’s footing. More than once, he staggered and nearly lost his balance. His once-precise swordplay was severely hampered.
Overwhelmed, he could no longer keep up. The mannequins’ attacks left more and more gashes on his body, each claw-like hand as sharp as a knife. His movements, once agile, began to slow.
It became a vicious cycle. Before long, he was completely overpowered.
Having missed his best chance to fight back, Taoist Song Yi was now like prey thrown into a pack of wolves. The scent of his blood only provoked the mannequins further.
Their crudely painted eyes glowed red in the darkness of the warehouse. Their stiff faces twisted into savage, grotesque expressions. It was as if they wanted to rip the flesh from his bones and use it to stuff their hollow plastic shells.
Outside the warehouse, the factory owner screamed in terror.
“Holy shit, what the hell is this… AHHHH!! Get away! Get the fuck away!! Why the hell are these mannequins moving?! AHHHHH!!”
The mannequins… had already spread outside?
Taoist Song Yi’s vision blurred. He forced down the nausea, gasping for breath and summoning all his focus to deal with the mannequins. He needed to end this quickly and tell the others outside what was happening.
While it wasn’t unheard of for wandering spirits to possess unclaimed humanoid objects, the sheer number here—and what the factory owner had described, with this going on since a kidnapping case decades ago—made it impossible for Taoist Song Yi to believe these were all just ordinary ghost possessions.
Clearly, something far more powerful was controlling the mannequins from behind the scenes.
Taoist Song Yi didn’t know what it was or what it wanted. But if left unchecked, he feared the consequences…
Just then, his phone rang.
With blood-slicked fingers, he fumbled to answer it, the device slipping several times from his grip. He had to divert attention even as he continued to fight off attacks.
Without thinking, he pressed the speakerphone button.
Before anyone on the other end could speak, the sound of scuffling and Taoist Song Yi’s heavy, exhausted breathing echoed clearly through the warehouse.
There was a brief moment of silence.
Then came a sudden roar from the phone.
“GET LOST——!”
The voice thundered with overwhelming force, like the roar of a lion or the wrath of a dragon.
Invisible waves of sound rippled outward, echoing repeatedly through the empty warehouse, so powerful they made bits of wall plaster fall to the ground.
The mannequins that had surrounded Taoist Song Yi instantly froze, trembling in place. Not one dared move another step.
Taoist Song Yi finally had a moment to breathe. Seizing the opportunity, he steadied himself, raised his sword once more, and began chanting spells in a low but swift voice. With renewed strength, he swept the peachwood sword in a wide arc.
In an instant, the mannequins were sliced clean through at the waist.
The stench of blood and chunks of meat burst from their bodies, splattering in the air before falling like rain, covering the ground in gore.
Taoist Song Yi clearly saw that while there were indeed fragments of cats and dogs among the remains, much of it looked far more human.
His brow furrowed tightly. His lips moved as if to curse the evil force behind the mannequins for such cruelty. But in the end, he simply let out a long sigh. Quickly, he wiped the blood from his hands and reached for his phone.
There were only two people whom Taoist Song Yi knew could achieve that kind of effect with a single word. One was Yan Shixun, and the other—his master.
And from the sound of the voice on the phone, it was obviously his master calling.
The Taoist who had looked fierce and murderous just moments earlier while facing the evil entity now behaved as obediently as a schoolchild when he picked up the phone.
“Master, please wait a moment. I’ll be right there.”
As he listened to the call, Taoist Song Yi sprinted quickly out of the warehouse.
He pushed the door open, turned around and locked it behind him. Then he took out a talisman from inside his robe and used the remaining blood on his fingertip to draw over it again, applying the talisman to the door with a sharp slap.
He then turned around and, in one fluid motion, grabbed the factory owner by the collar, yanking him up from the ground, while simultaneously kicking the plastic mannequin next to him.
The whole sequence was done in one swift, seamless movement.
Before the factory owner could even react, Taoist Song Yi had already rescued him from the evil spirit and temporarily stabilized the situation.
After all this, Taoist Song Yi took a deep breath, formed a hand seal solemnly, and pointed toward the warehouse door.
“Evil spirit, be unafraid. Let the Supreme of the Great Clarity stand here…”
The clothing factory owner, with two streaks of tears still on his cheeks, stared blankly at the Taoist he had met on the train. The Taoist stood next to him, chanting something under his breath and making strange hand gestures. Then, the warehouse door suddenly lit up with a mysterious symbol that flickered briefly before dimming and vanishing again.
It all seemed like a hallucination.
But if it was a hallucination… then how could those moving plastic mannequins be explained?
The factory owner’s entire worldview shattered before him. Decades of understanding the world crumbled in an instant, and he stood dazed, unaware that he had already been saved. He simply stared blankly at Taoist Song Yi.
Taoist Song Yi was quickly and concisely reporting the situation to Taoist Li over the phone, seriously relaying the details about the mannequins inside the warehouse.
“Master, I suspect there’s more to the case of Xie Lin’s younger sister’s disappearance years ago. These plastic mannequins may not have just been containers for spirits—they might have been used for a Bone Substitution Technique, or possibly—”
“I know,”
Taoist Li interrupted. He said flatly, “Why else do you think I called you? You think I have nothing better to do than act as your nanny?”
With a snort of disdain, he added, “You’re just like Xingxing. Why can’t I get a decent disciple like Gou Dan… I called because I calculated you were in danger.”
“The Bone Substitution Technique you mentioned has already been confirmed. And it’s not just happening at your location.”
This rare moment of seriousness from Taoist Li came with a biting chill in every word: “Across the entire country, all humanoid figures have shown similar anomalies.”
“Things that should never have had life—entities never granted life or death by the Great Dao—have come to life.”
“The Ghost Path… is about to rise.”
Just as Taoist Song Yi had instinctively sensed something wrong and followed the factory owner to investigate, Haiyun Temple and the special department had also begun receiving calls one after another.
Many citizens panicked and called emergency hotlines, saying that the figurines or action figures in their homes had started to move. Some were so frightened they were on the verge of mental collapse, tearfully claiming that statues in the parks had come to life.
And it wasn’t limited to Binhai City—the bulk of incidents seemed concentrated in the southwest.
As they spoke, more calls came into Haiyun Temple, all seeking help from exorcists in the southwest.
According to them, several major shopping malls in the southwest reported similar events. Security guards doing rounds after closing hours saw figures moving inside. At first, they thought it was thieves, but upon closer inspection, they discovered the moving figures were plastic mannequins from the malls.
Moreover, reports of humanoid objects coming to life flooded in from multiple locations across the southwest.
The southwest, which already had a history of voodoo and hexing techniques, now faced something far more sinister. The exorcists there immediately raised their internal alarms.
They knew this wasn’t something they could handle alone. If they rushed in blindly, they would only be throwing their lives away.
So, after weighing their options, they contacted the special department and sent out urgent distress signals through every channel they could.
Many of the major sects, which were usually celebrated and admired, hung up the moment they heard it was a situation in the southwest and suspected the Bone Substitution Technique was involved again. No matter how the exorcists pleaded, once these sects knew what the call was about, they pretended it was late at night and refused to answer further.
After making the rounds, the number of sects willing to help was pathetically small.
Though they understood that it was human nature to protect oneself—those people cared more about fame and profit and didn’t want to get dragged into trouble—they still couldn’t help but feel deeply saddened.
One of the exorcists who had previously been in touch with an official suddenly remembered the Taoist from Haiyun Temple who had been standing next to the official at the time.
He immediately proposed reaching out to Haiyun Temple and the special department for help.
Most were already disheartened, but still, they gave it a try—one last desperate call, hoping for a miracle.
To their surprise, the phone at Haiyun Temple was picked up before it even rang three times.
A young Taoist on the other end, upon hearing what they said, immediately replied solemnly for them to wait. Then, the sound of him running off while shouting for his master could be heard.
When the phone was picked up again, it was clearly by a Taoist already capable of handling affairs independently.
The Taoist from Haiyun Temple carefully recorded every detail shared by the southwest exorcists, asked for the exact time, location, and whether there had been casualties, and then quickly promised, “A team of Taoists from Haiyun Temple is already on their way to the southwest. Please don’t panic—help is arriving soon.”
“Right now, we’re reallocating personnel within the temple, suspending all other affairs to focus on supporting the southwest. The special department has also contacted many exorcists—everyone is on their way.”
The Taoist patiently reassured the southwest exorcists.
Though his heart was heavy with worry over the news flooding in from all over, and he was terrified by the evil power behind these humanoid objects, he remained calm and did not fall into chaos.
There was a simple reason for that.
The spiritual anchor of Haiyun Temple had already emerged from meditation and was working with the abbot to manage the overall situation.
With Taoist Li present, it was like having a stabilizing force holding everything in place. All the Taoists at Haiyun Temple could focus on their assignments with confidence, without losing their heads.
Taoist Li had woken up at just the right time.
Before leaving Haiyun Temple, he had even paused to perform a divination. He discovered then that the disaster would begin in the southwest, that the Ghost Path would be born there—and ultimately fall upon Binhai.
This kind of divination result had shocked everyone present.
But no one doubted Taoist Li’s reading. Instead, they quickly followed his instructions and concentrated their manpower on guarding both Binhai and the Southwest.
What happened in the next few minutes further proved that Taoist Li’s words were not empty talk.
It was Taoist Li himself who, rather than being reassured, felt a wave of unease. He had a strong premonition that he was about to lose one of his disciples.
Driven by this sense of foreboding, he had called Taoist Song Yi—which ultimately saved Song Yi’s life.
“Since you’re already in Binhai, don’t bother heading to the Southwest. Just stay where you are.”
Taoist Li spoke rapidly. “I just did another reading. The spot you’re in right now is exactly where the Ghost Path will descend. Guard that place well, and keep a close watch on the surrounding area.”
Taoist Song Yi hadn’t expected that this short trip to Binhai’s suburbs would coincide with such a dramatic upheaval.
After his initial shock, he immediately agreed without hesitation.
After hanging up, Taoist Song Yi turned to look at the warehouse door behind him, where loud “bang bang!” sounds of impact echoed. Suspicion flickered in his mind.
The Ghost Path existed as a twisted version of the Great Dao, sustained through the form of vengeful spirits.
How could something like that possibly be born in defiance of the Great Dao? To the Dao, that would be a sign of impending ruin.
No existence would allow something capable of destroying it to grow unchecked—least of all the Dao. Any such threat would be strangled at its source, long before it had the chance to evolve.
Yet here it was, right in front of his eyes, undeniable and irrefutable.
He remembered what Taoist Li had said—that this was where the Ghost Path would fall. If there was anything special about this location, it would have to be that kidnapping case from decades ago, which had occurred right inside this warehouse.
The kidnapping case…
Taoist Song Yi’s expression froze.
Wasn’t Xie Lin, who currently resided in the Southwest, also connected to this warehouse?
Could it be that the Ghost Path referred to Xie Lin?
Before Taoist Song Yi could make sense of it all, a sharp scream suddenly rang out from the nearby factory district.
His eyes flashed like lightning, and he immediately turned to look.
On the wide, empty road, a woman in a white lab coat was screaming and running for her life. She kept glancing back over her shoulder, her face filled with terror.
Chasing close behind her was a human skeleton model, relentlessly pursuing her.
Taoist Song Yi was stunned for a moment before quickly realizing what was going on.
The warehouse had been purchased by the garment factory owner many years ago, when the area was still a remote suburb. Now, it had become a well-developed industrial park, home to numerous pharmaceutical factories and laboratories.
Judging by her clothing, the woman seemed to be an employee at one of the nearby pharmaceutical plants.
Since the entire city had already received emergency reports about humanoid figures coming to life, this area—being one of the sources—was naturally a disaster zone.
That meant all the human-like objects in the surrounding labs and factories posed a serious threat.
Realizing this, Taoist Song Yi felt like his chest had been stuffed with mint leaves—the chill went straight through him.
He didn’t dare waste a second. Grabbing his peachwood sword, he charged forward. His cloth shoes tapped lightly on the tree branches, and within a few swift steps, he leapt forward, yanked the woman behind him, and slashed the model with his sword.
The whistle of the blade rang out, followed by the sound of plastic shattering across the ground.
Still shaking with fear, the woman clung tightly to Taoist Song Yi’s robe, as if grabbing onto her last hope.
She stammered through her explanation of what had just happened.
As he had guessed, she was indeed an employee of the nearby pharmaceutical factory.
She had been on night shift duty and had dozed off in a chair, only to be startled awake by strange noises from the lab. When she opened her eyes, she found the skeleton model—which should’ve been tucked in a corner—standing right in front of her, head lowered, staring at her intently.
Cold sweat instantly soaked her clothes. She had just begun to think it was some coworker’s prank when she saw the model move. It raised its hand to strangle her, its posture clearly indicating it meant to kill.
Paralyzed with fear, the woman fled without thinking, chased all the way out of the factory by the model, until Taoist Song Yi saved her.
“When I was running through the lobby… I saw more models moving,”
She said, her voice choking with emotion. She pointed a trembling hand toward the brightly lit building not far behind them. “My coworkers and friends are still inside. They haven’t escaped yet. Master, please save them! I’ll pay you anything—just please save them!”
After quickly asking her a few urgent questions, Taoist Song Yi rushed toward the pharmaceutical factory.
If what she said was true, then it wasn’t just this factory—the entire industrial park was likely caught in the same crisis.
Taoist Song Yi didn’t dare delay even a moment.
At the same time, both Binhai and the Southwest were facing similar chaos.
It was deep in the night, and many families were already asleep, only to be roused by strange noises inside their homes.
At first, many thought it was a break-in. Alarmed, they crept through their homes in the dark—only to discover that it wasn’t a thief at all.
It was the statues they had placed around their houses… moving.
Young people who had been up late playing video games were caught off guard when their collectible figurines started shifting—arms, legs, heads all subtly twitching.
Rubbing their eyes, they thought they were hallucinating from lack of sleep. But to their horror, the figures fully turned their heads, their joints moving from rigid to smooth, as if getting used to their new bodies.
Before they could process it, some were struck by the weapons held by the models—right before their eyes.
Others, shivering with fear, posted trembling updates on social media, swearing they would never stay up late again for fear of sudden death, convinced they were losing their minds.
But they soon realized—they weren’t alone.
The same kinds of posts flooded social media, all saying the same thing: that statues in their neighborhoods had started moving, that figurines and dolls in their homes had come to life.
Those without any human-shaped objects at home slept soundly, completely unaware that chaos raged just outside their doors.
Some who hadn’t gone to sleep yet saw the posts while scrolling on their phones and scoffed, calling the posters crazy for trying to scare people in the middle of the night.
But the ones busiest of all were the emergency call handlers and the special task forces.
For many, it was destined to be a sleepless night.
Call center workers didn’t even have time to sip water, taking one call after another, recording addresses and emergency details. Red and blue lights flashed across the city, sirens wailed, and vehicles roared through the streets on rescue missions.
At Haiyun Temple and other sects, many exorcists willing to help were mobilized. Entire sects moved as one, rushing to support people in danger.
Some masters who had ongoing cooperation with the special departments were soon told the full truth.
“The Southwest’s Bone Substitution Technique?!”
One master was so stunned, his voice changed pitch. Then his face darkened as he realized just how serious the situation had become.
The Southwest had always been known as the ghost region. Some even claimed Fengdu was hidden there.
Though no one had ever actually found Fengdu over the centuries, the strange and powerful presence of spirits in the region was a known fact. Many confident exorcists had fallen there without a trace.
Over time, fewer exorcists were willing to take on Southwest-related cases.
But upon seeing the current situation, everyone realized—they no longer had the luxury of choice.
“Taoist Li from Haiyun Temple said the Ghost Path will be born in the Southwest and fall in Binhai.”
This message gradually spread among the exorcist community.
More and more exorcists, upon hearing Taoist Li’s name, changed their stance and joined the efforts to save civilians.
The streets filled with exorcists rushing through alleys.
Their tools differed, their sects varied, but their hearts were united—in protecting the living and defending the Dao.
Some of the more astute masters quickly made a connection to Zhang Wubing’s variety show and pressed the special department staff for answers: Was this related to that program? Could Taoist Yan handle this crisis?
“Though I trust Taoist Li greatly, I must speak frankly. The distance between Binhai and the Southwest is far too great.”
One master gave a bitter smile. “In a fight against ghost deities, even a second’s delay can completely change the outcome. Life or death can hinge on a single instant. In such ever-shifting conditions, there may be only one fleeting chance for survival. I fear Taoist Li, by not arriving in time, will miss the best opportunity to stop the Ghost Path.”
“So I want you to give me a clear answer.”
The master took a deep breath and, with difficulty, asked the question: “Is there still hope for the Great Dao? Can Taoist Yan keep the situation under control before Taoist Li arrives?”
“If we really face the worst possible outcome, at least I can make arrangements for my disciples in advance.”
The staff member responsible for coordinating with the master, who normally spoke in a polite and official tone, now responded with firm certainty: “Absolutely!”
“Mr. Yan is there—wherever Mr. Yan is, there is hope!”
Yet Yan Shixun, who had become the bearer of everyone’s desperate hopes, was not as composed as they had imagined.
He had watched coldly for a long time within the ghost play before finally identifying the sole weakness of the ghost infant who had become a ghost deity.
But that brief and crucial moment—a moment in which failure was not an option—was ultimately missed because of Xie Lin.
Caught off guard by the unexpected disruption, Yan Shixun was unable to recover from the failed strike. Before he could react, he had already fallen into darkness.
It felt as if he had been thrown off a cliff. The sound of wind roared past his ears, a foul, bloody stench lingered at the tip of his nose, and the cold wind slipped through the edges of his robe, freezing his skin until it went numb.
But soon after, he felt a hand grab his arm and pull him into a warm, firm chest.
Yan Shixun’s eyelashes fluttered slightly. Even before he opened his eyes, he already knew that the person beside him was Ye Li.
When he finally struggled to regain his senses from the thick, murky darkness and opened his eyes again, he realized he was no longer in the courtyard of Zheng Shumu’s house.
Neither the ghost infant nor Xie Lin was anywhere in sight.
All around him was a pitch-black, impenetrable darkness, as if he were trapped in a swamp.
Only Ye Li’s warmth and the sound of his breathing came from nearby, reminding Yan Shixun that this wasn’t a dream—this was the inside of the ghost infant.
Ancient books had once recorded a creature known as the Heaven-Devouring Beast.
Although Xie Jiaojiao was not that kind of existence, having grown to this extent, Yan Shixun found her far more alarming than any Heaven-Devouring Beast.
The ghost infant sought to replace the Great Dao itself. Its final step was to devour the original heaven and earth, allowing a new world to take its place—only then could the Ghost Path become the new Dao.
But the Great Dao would not allow the ghost infant to succeed so easily. Thus, just before the final step was completed, the ghost infant would also be at its most vulnerable.
Unfortunately…
Yan Shixun sighed softly, not blaming Xie Lin too much. Instead, he quickly pulled himself together and looked around.
Since the events had already unfolded, there was no point in dwelling on them. It was better to find another way—another chance for survival.
Yan Shixun did not believe that this was a dead end.
He firmly believed that there was still a glimmer of hope hidden somewhere he hadn’t yet discovered.
“So confident?”
Ye Li asked with a low chuckle.
Yan Shixun turned his head to look back, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “If I didn’t have confidence, should I just sit here and wait to die? Xie Lin chose death, but the countless strands of life beneath the Grand Dao haven’t given up hope. They still want to live.”
“Since I am an exorcist, I naturally have to find them a way out.”
His tone remained calm, as though nothing could truly shake his resolve. “Unless I die, or the Grand Dao collapses, this journey will not end.”
Back then, before his master Li Chengyun’s illness had even taken shape, he had already sensed something wrong with the world and had come alone to Baizhi Lake.
His master must have discovered something here—something that could reverse a desperate situation amidst a crisis. That was why, just as Zheng Shumu had said, even knowing that the path ahead led to certain death, he had still smiled and pressed forward.
What he needed to do now was to find whatever it was that his master had discovered back then, and uncover a way to kill the ghost infant once more.
When Ye Li heard these words, he couldn’t help but chuckle softly. “This might be the first time, since I became the Lord of Fengdu, that I’ve been swallowed into the belly of something else. It’s a novel experience.”
“But… it did remind me of a familiar feeling from long ago.”
Ye Li turned his eyes, his gaze settling into the darkness ahead.
Yan Shixun followed his gaze in confusion. He was just about to ask what Ye Li was looking at, but he saw nothing at all.
Then, in the depths of the darkness far ahead, a faint glimmer of light suddenly began to flicker.
Yan Shixun squinted his eyes and was startled to see that the glimmering light was a red lantern from a theater.
And just as he realized this, the next moment, his entire field of vision spun wildly—darkness and light shattered and reassembled.
It was like he had been thrown into a washing machine, spinning through the darkness until he felt dizzy.
Then, he felt his feet hit solid ground, and it was as if he was sitting on a chair.
Yan Shixun couldn’t help but raise a hand to his aching forehead, shaking his head as the stabbing pain throbbed through his skull. The scene before him slowly stabilized.
When he lifted his head, he realized he was no longer in the dark.
He was inside a theater, seated on a bench beneath the stage.
This was his third time appearing in the theater.
His gaze dimmed slightly. He thought to himself that he would probably never like theaters again in this lifetime.
But this time, Ye Li was sitting right beside him, their fingers still interlocked. They had not been separated by the darkness or the dizzying whirl.
Yan Shixun blinked and calmly looked around.
He noticed that this place looked quite similar to the theater in the lake—same stage curtains, same tables and chairs below the stage, same crimson lanterns hanging around.
But what was different was that not only were he and Ye Li seated here, everyone from the show’s crew was also present—including Taoist Ma, Taoist Wang, and others.
Their eyes stared blankly at the stage, not like living people, but like wooden puppets.
A chill crept into Yan Shixun’s heart as he recalled the wooden puppets in Zheng Shumu’s courtyard.
Those puppets had replaced the identities of the villagers and remained forever trapped in the shadow play. And these puppets now… it seemed they were meant to replace the identities of the crew.
If the ghost infant succeeded, regardless of how events here might affect the outside world, the crew would be the first to suffer. Even if their souls could be retrieved from the shadow play, there would likely be damage.
He had to get everyone out of the theater before the ghost infant made its move.
With that resolution, Yan Shixun prepared to act.
At that moment, on the stage, the musicians sat to both sides as the curtain fell. Candlelight flickered behind it, casting the silhouette of a woman sitting properly on the fabric.
There were no other shadow puppets.
Because Master Bai had said before: the shadow play and reality must be exactly the same in order to deceive the heavens and earth. So Yan Shixun guessed that the ghost infant, in trying to swap reality with the shadow play, had to perform the entire life memory of each crew member in front of these wooden puppets. Only then could the identity exchange succeed.
That explained why they were now sitting in the theater.
He had to act before the shadow play began…
Just as Yan Shixun was about to rise, he saw the figure in front of him move.
“Mr. Yan.”
From the voice, it was clearly Xie Lin.
The figure slowly turned around, and it was undoubtedly Xie Lin.
But he looked far more haggard than before—perhaps from blocking that sword for the ghost infant.
Xie Lin looked at Yan Shixun with sorrowful, tear-filled eyes. Between his tightly furrowed brows, it was as if a lifetime of suffering and hardship was hidden.
When Yan Shixun saw the man who had destroyed his original plan, he knew that, by reason, he should be furious or interrogate him.
But there was no need to ask. He already knew what Xie Lin was thinking.
So his gaze flickered, and in the end, he only let out a sigh.
“Xie Lin, I know you feel guilty toward your sister. But what you need to understand is that this is no longer just a matter between you and her. It concerns the Grand Dao of the world, and countless lives.”
Yan Shixun said helplessly, “Because your sister has killed too many, even you—who first saved her and let her live—have been judged by the heavens as carrying karma. Even if you go to the underworld, you likely won’t reincarnate… Even so, do you still want to protect her?”
Tears welled in Xie Lin’s eyes. His lips were pale and dry, but he still smiled bitterly. “But… she’s my sister.”
“She wasn’t wrong. In the beginning, I failed to protect her. I didn’t stand by her when others bullied her.”
As he spoke, Xie Lin slowly stood up and turned to face Yan Shixun. “So I decided that from then on, I would always stand by her—no matter what she did… I’m willing to become a wooden puppet, to stay by her side forever.”
Tears streamed down his noble and handsome face.
He stepped between Yan Shixun and the curtain, blocking his view of the play gradually starting on the screen.
“Mr. Yan, I’m staying. But you all don’t have to.”
“Run! Mr. Yan, take the others and run—!”
“Leave the theater. No matter what you hear, don’t look at the curtain.”
Xie Lin’s voice trembled. “Don’t… don’t let Jiao Jiao trap you all in the shadow play. Go back to the real world.”
As for himself…
Xie Lin let out a long sigh. His remaining soul could no longer hold on. After fulfilling his final wish, he slowly closed his eyes and, right before Yan Shixun, began to transform into wood—completely turning into a wooden puppet.
The grain of wood replaced his skin. His once warm and soft body turned cold and stiff. There was no longer any trace of him as a living human.
—Let him remain by Jiao Jiao’s side forever.
He hadn’t been a good brother. He hadn’t protected Jiao Jiao. So now, it was time for him to atone.
From this moment on, he would always stand on Jiao Jiao’s side. He would never abandon her again. He would never hurt her again.
The final tear hit the ground. And the soul once named Xie Lin vanished completely from the world.
A fair, slender arm reached over and gently picked up the little wooden puppet.
The girl tilted her head, smiling maliciously at Yan Shixun. “Oh? Why didn’t you run?”
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