Chapter 273: Shadow Puppets and Lamplight (39)
Zheng Shumu’s back hunched deeply.
Years of hard labor had given him a sturdy and imposing frame, the strength of a grown man tempered by ceaseless torment. The suffering he had endured, like steel forged in flame, had made him both tough and unyielding.
It was these very hands that had been stained with the blood of over a hundred villagers. These hands had once tested the warmth and chill of flesh.
And it was with these hands that he had picked up a carving knife—stroke by stroke, pouring his hatred into one wooden puppet after another, then coldly watching as the people he had once hated in his powerless youth writhed in agony, day and night, within his ghostly performances.
But now, these same hands only held the thin shoulders of a little girl.
And they trembled—as though they were holding the weight of the world, terrified that the treasure he sought to protect would be harmed by anyone else.
But…
But what Mr. Yan said was true. How long must this cycle of sin continue before it’s truly over? He had been trapped in hatred for far too long. Was he really going to make Tian Tian suffer through the same horrors he had once endured?
And yet… his mother had named her “Tian Tian” in hopes that she would live a sweet and carefree life. How had things ended up so contrary to that wish?
Zheng Shumu could barely breathe through the pain.
Xie Jiaojiao froze in her brother’s arms, completely stunned. Her mind was a tangled mess—she had never imagined that the brother who had always catered to her every whim would one day go against her.
“Tian Tian, your brother has killed enough. He’s tired. And all the pain we inflicted on those villagers… hasn’t it all come back to us in some way?”
Zheng Shumu’s eyes were a blur, like frost spreading across glass. Even his voice seemed distant, unreal. “Those who guard the gates of hell… were never the living. They were monsters too.”
Hermit Chengyun had once said that the Southwest was the location of the old Fengdu—the city of ghosts. It was a place filled with wailing spirits, patrolled by ghost officials who kept the evil at bay.
If those villagers were evil spirits… then what did that make him—the one who personally sent them to hell and watched them suffer punishment?
If Mr. Yan and the outsiders were like his past self, then what was he now… if not one of the very monsters he despised?
Had he not become the very thing he once hated most?
Zheng Shumu had never imagined things would come to this. It wasn’t until Yan Shixun had fiercely questioned him that he suddenly realized: he had built a prison with his own hands—one that trapped both himself and his sister.
This wasn’t revenge.
The future he longed for had still not arrived.
“Tian Tian, your brother has made so many mistakes, but this time… this time…”
Zheng Shumu choked on his words. He lowered his head, trembling hands cupping his sister’s tender face. His tears fell onto her cheeks and slowly slid down.
“This time… I want to do the right thing.”
“Like Hermit Chengyun. Like Mr. Yan.”
He had no Dao of his own and was not a cultivator. But he had once seen the moment when a great cultivator sacrificed his life for his path—he had seen the heavens themselves moved by that act.
He had once lifted his head in the depths of hell and seen the silhouette of a pure white crane soaring above, realizing then how deeply he had fallen. He had wanted to follow it but couldn’t escape the mire of ghosts dragging him down.
Yet he still yearned to one day glimpse the mist and clouds of the heavens.
And now, he saw again that glimmer of hope he had once missed.
—An exorcist had descended into hell, reached through the swarm of demons, and extended a hand to him.
This time, Zheng Shumu didn’t want to miss that chance again—only to spend the next five or ten years drowning in endless regret.
“After Hermit Chengyun died, I swore I would never harm another living soul again. I vowed never to take a step outside this village, to stay by your side until the day I die.”
Zheng Shumu’s hoarse voice was heavy with exhaustion and tenderness. He even reached out to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind his sister’s ear.
The faint smile on his lips was that of a man who had given up the world—a peace that came only to those who had accepted their end.
“Sister, I can’t let go of you. So… come with me.”
“Before everything spirals beyond redemption, let’s end this here. And wait for the next life, where I’ll still be your brother.”
“In that life, let me make up for all the wrongs I’ve done in this one. Let me be the kind of brother I should have been. I promise—next time, I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”
His voice grew softer and softer, until it was as faint as ash, ready to scatter with the wind.
The moment Xie Jiaojiao heard his words, a terrible sense of foreboding filled her heart.
She tried to break free from Zheng Shumu’s embrace, but his arms were like steel walls—no matter how she struggled, she couldn’t shake him.
“Zheng Shumu!”
Xie Jiaojiao screamed in fury, “You’re betraying me now?! Why—why?! Aren’t you my brother? Didn’t you swear on Mother’s remains that you’d protect me? You liar! You coward! You’re breaking your promise!”
Every sharp, piercing cry stabbed into Zheng Shumu’s heart.
But he still didn’t loosen his grip. He only continued to cry in silence, letting Xie JJiaojiao kick and punch him as she struggled in his arms.
Through the heavy ghostly miasma and rotting corpses inside the theater, Zheng Shumu looked deeply at Yan Shixun. In his aged eyes, all that remained was exhaustion and the calm that came after enduring immense pain—an unshakable resolve.
Yan Shixun’s eyes remained fixed and unblinking as he quietly watched everything unfold.
When Zheng Shumu looked over, he slightly lowered his head and gave him a nod of acknowledgment.
“The rest… please leave it to me,” Yan Shixun said softly, his voice carrying a sigh.
Facing a ghost infant that even Heaven and Earth could do nothing against, Yan Shixun had never dared to relax his vigilance. He deeply understood the terrifying power of the ghost infant, so his already cautious approach had only become more meticulous. When his first strike failed, he quickly reconstructed several new solutions in his mind and began testing each one for feasibility.
At that moment, he sensed Zheng Shumu’s aura.
That was when the idea first sparked in his heart—to persuade Zheng Shumu to take action and resolve the ghost infant himself.
Although Zheng Shumu was a living human, he had not only inherited the Bone Substitution Technique passed down by the Zheng family but had also reached the pinnacle of craftsmanship in woodworking.
Before Xie Jiaojiao’s memories were awakened due to the kidnapping case, it had been Zheng Shumu who guarded one side, personally slaying his enemies, sending every member of the Bai family village to their deaths with his own hands, and single-handedly orchestrating the massacre that wiped out Baizhi Lake Village.
Paper money had scattered thickly over the lake’s surface, and the wailing cries of mourning had echoed for months without end.
Zheng Shumu had also, through cycles of death and rebirth, come to comprehend the essence of life.
Later, he willingly handed all of that over to Xie Jiaojiao. And when Li Chengyun appeared, he was so shaken that he chose to put everything down and step away.
But in terms of power—
Zheng Shumu, who had lived a life almost identical to Xie Jiaojiao’s… no, an even more tragic and painful one, possessed strength of the same origin as hers, no weaker than the ghost infant Xie Jiaojiao had become.
At the very least, Xie Jiaojiao had once experienced Xie Lin’s nine years of wholehearted love. Even during the decades she was missing, she had always been on Xie Lin’s mind. She had someone who genuinely loved her.
But Zheng Shumu… had nothing.
That little boy from back then had watched with wide eyes as his pregnant mother sank into the lake and floated back up again. No one comforted him through that soul-shattering grief. Covered in wounds and on the brink of death, he escaped from the village, wandering for more than a decade, tasting the full bitterness of life, experiencing every hardship, brushing shoulders with death countless times.
Suffering had tempered him.
Still a young man, Zheng Shumu, after mastering his craft, personally planned the deaths of the entire village—yet there was no one to share either his joy or pain.
When he stood amidst the corpses and looked back, there was only the cold mountain wind howling around him. No one stood by his side.
Other than Master Bai, no one had ever remembered Zheng Shumu. No one knew that such a brilliant carpenter had once existed.
He should have been a master artisan showered with praise, yet he was trapped in all of this, unable to leave.
Pain and fury were the best ingredients for brewing a strong drink.
Yan Shixun was convinced that if Li Chengyun hadn’t passed by Baizhi Lake years ago and personally shaken Zheng Shumu to his core—causing him to vow to put it all down—then in the years that followed, Zheng Shumu would have grown strong enough to rival the ghost infant.
By then, who would have created a new world—Xie Jiaojiao or Zheng Shumu—might’ve been an open question.
Thus, one of Yan Shixun’s plans was to give Zheng Shumu another push—on the foundation Li Chengyun had already laid.
He was like a cold, rational machine, mercilessly tearing open Zheng Shumu’s old wounds, forcing him to relive his painful memories, and letting the people in the variety show crew experience it with him.
—Zheng Shumu’s weakness had always been his family.
Yan Shixun’s words were like a sharp blade, stabbing straight into Zheng Shumu’s heart.
Xie Jiaojiao had thought she was sowing discord, but she failed to shake Yan Shixun. No matter how much she was the ghost infant, the embodiment of all resentment and ghostly aura, she had never seen the broader world.
When she was human, she was tightly shielded by Xie Lin’s love. After becoming a ghost, Zheng Shumu had always stayed by her side. The pain and suffering she’d witnessed in the human world were nothing compared to what Yan Shixun had seen.
Yet ironically, it was Yan Shixun’s counterattack that truly shook Zheng Shumu.
At the moment Yan Shixun bowed his head toward Zheng Shumu, a faint smile curved his lips. But when he lifted his head again, it melted away like snow.
With Yan Shixun’s assurance, Zheng Shumu finally smiled as he closed his eyes, as if he had finally settled the last regret of his life. Then, he tightly embraced Xie Jiaojiao.
Flames suddenly surged around him, instantly engulfing both of them. The air quivered violently in the intense heat, reflecting in Xie Jiaojiao’s eyes, turning their gloomy shade into a dazzling red-gold glow like a setting sun.
On the shadow puppet stage, a candle was knocked over, and the fire spread rapidly across the curtain, setting the entire theater ablaze.
Rotting corpses and wooden puppets tried to flee, but they couldn’t outrun the speed of the flames. In mere moments, they were all swallowed up.
Xie Jiaojiao looked around at the fire in terror, sobbing and screaming in hysteria.
She had controlled all the wooden puppets, and now, the karmic backlash had come. She had manipulated life and now was being manipulated by life.
The locus wood had helped her trap all the ghosts here, but it had also bound her with the vulnerabilities of the wood element. Her soul was tightly tied to the tree, giving form to the once-formless ghost infant—and form meant a weakness that could be attacked.
Her fear came from the flames born of Zheng Shumu.
That fire had once burned within the souls of every Bai family villager. Its image had even been projected in the shadow puppet shows, leaving burn marks on the homes of the Zheng family and the village. It was the testimony of the vow Zheng Shumu had made to Heaven and to Li Chengyun: never to step beyond Baizhi Lake.
Zheng Shumu had always had the power to suppress his sister, but he couldn’t bear to do it.
But now, as her brother, he had finally hardened his heart—and fulfilled the promise he made to Li Chengyun so many years ago.
The flames devoured the theater with terrifying speed. The once dark space was lit up in golden-red hues, the roaring heat driving away all gloom and cold.
Xie Jiaojiao’s sharp screams came from within the sea of fire.
“Zheng Shumu! Zheng Shumu!!! I hate you, I’ll never forgive you—ahhhhh!!!”
“Brother, brother, save me… save Jiaojiao, please…”
Xie Jiaojiao cried.
The little wooden puppet in her arms had fallen to the floor, covered in blood, lying on its back, staring blankly up at the fire-lit sky. Its lifeless eyes suddenly blinked.
Then, bloody tears streamed down its face.
It struggled to raise its arms toward Xie Jiaojiao, wanting to shield her, to comfort her, to tell her not to be afraid. But its puppet body was too fragile—even such a small gesture was beyond its ability.
The little puppet could only watch helplessly as everything unfolded.
At last, when the flames reached it, it gazed longingly up at Xie Jiaojiao.
Then, its arms dropped weakly to the ground.
And it was completely consumed by the fire.
“Sister…”
The firelight cast a red glow across Yan Shixun’s handsome face. He narrowed his eyes slightly, the flickering light stinging his eyes, bringing a thin layer of tears. His gaze shimmered like sunlight scattered on a lake, glowing golden and rippling.
And the ever-silent Ye Li, who had been standing behind Yan Shixun, now stepped forward and came to stand at his side.
Ye Li stared indifferently at the ghost deity that had tried to harm Yan Shixun, watching it struggle and wail in the flames. But no emotion stirred in his heart.
Even if Xie Jiaojiao hadn’t died by Zheng Shumu’s hand, he would never have let her go.
Even if he had to mobilize every soldier and ghost officer in Fengdu, he would make this arrogant new ghost deity pay for her arrogance with her life. He would never give her a chance to harm Yan Shixun.
In fact, Zheng Shumu recognizing the situation in time had saved Xie Jiaojiao—at least her death wasn’t too painful.
Zheng Shumu had offered his mortal body to the flames, enduring the burning pain inch by inch, without uttering a single sound. Even at the moment of death, he still wore a peaceful smile.
All his sins, and the vengeance owed to his parents, ended there. And from that moment on, nothing would carry on.
Zheng Shumu could no longer bear the weight of his search for Li Chengyun, nor the guilt he carried toward his younger sister. In his struggle, he had no choice but to offer himself as the vessel.
At the very least, in the final moment of his life, he finally found peace within his soul.
He looked at Xie Lin, who had been reduced to ashes by the flames, let out a faint sigh, and then lost consciousness completely within the fire, sinking into an endless, tranquil darkness.
Xie Jiaojiao’s cries gradually weakened, until they were drowned out by the crackling of the flames.
The figure within the sea of fire collapsed with a thunderous crash, falling into a heap of ashes.
Along with him, all the rotting corpses and wooden puppet figures throughout the entire theater were also burned to nothing.
Whether they were the puppets that imprisoned the villagers’ souls, or those that had yet to be used—prepared for the production team—all were consumed.
The entire lakefront theater, which had carried the tragedy and suffering of Xie Jiaojiao’s life, collapsed amid the raging fire. The ghost plays passed down for a thousand years, and the guilty souls trapped within, were all buried in the sea of flames, taken away with Zheng Shumu’s death.
Ye Li lowered his gaze slightly.
He looked at Yan Shixun’s hand hanging by his side and slowly reached out. His own hand, with clearly defined knuckles, gently wrapped around Yan Shixun’s.
The cool touch pulled Yan Shixun back to his senses. He turned his gaze away from the flames he had been fixated on, and looked sideways at Ye Li beside him.
Then, he smiled softly.
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