Chapter 303: Ritual Money, Old Capital (30)
Before coming to Baizhi Lake, Taoist Li had already reviewed the profiles of every traceable villager from the Bai family village.
The photo of Zheng Shumu in the file was from many years ago, taken during an interview with a magazine.
Although he wasn’t very old, his properly defined facial features carried a brooding and fierce aura. His head was lowered, and the eyes that looked into the camera brimmed with a deep loathing for the world.
So when Taoist Li later heard from the exorcists of the Southwest about the matter concerning the carpenter Zheng, he was shocked, but not entirely surprised.
A man with such a face—how much suffering must he have endured to become what he was?
But what Taoist Li never could have anticipated was that Zheng Shumu would turn out to be the most crucial figure in the Baizhi Lake incident—perhaps even connected to the death of Li Chengyun from many years ago.
The Ghost Dao was enraged. Thunderclouds roiled across the sky, and lightning bolts struck down in fury, aiming to kill Taoist Li.
But a wooden statue, with the exact likeness of Zheng Shumu—alive in expression and movement—risked everything to save him.
From the final, breathless words the wooden statue uttered before expending the last of its strength, Taoist Li finally learned the truth: back then, Li Chengyun had knowingly sacrificed his life to infiltrate the ancient Fengdu beneath Baizhi Lake, retrieving the ebony statue to suppress the evil forces lurking there.
And now, Yan Shixun and the others had followed the ghostly energy to locate the old Fengdu, engaging directly with the Ghost Dao.
“You… you’re someone Mr. Yan knows. I… I cannot let you die here. If I do, I won’t have the face… to face Mr. Yan again.”
Zheng Shumu clung to the hem of Taoist Li’s robe. The wooden statue’s mouth moved as if alive, blood trickling from its corners. Dragging the half-destroyed remains of his lightning-struck body, every word he spoke required immense effort. He could barely remain upright, leaning heavily against Taoist Li.
Even so, he forced down a mouthful of blood, panted for breath, and continued, “You… and the exorcists outside… all of you must leave. Now. This place… this place will be the starting point of the Ghost Dao’s destruction of the human world. Everything… everything will be razed by ghostly energy.”
“You’re just like Mr. Yan… trying to stop the Ghost Dao. I understand. But please… don’t waste your life in vain.”
At the place where Zheng Shumu’s body had split in two, his internal organs had spilled out, sliding onto the ground in a heap of intestines. The heavy stench of blood mixed with the scorched smell of flesh was overwhelming.
But he had no time to care about his own condition. Even as his soul weakened from damage, he continued to hang on, struggling to tell Taoist Li everything he had seen, trying to persuade them to leave.
Taoist Li took in Zheng Shumu’s condition with a furrowed brow. He pinched his fingers together, intending to cast a spell to stabilize his soul.
But Zheng Shumu refused.
“Hermit Chengyun knew from the very beginning… that he would die. Yet he still chose to go. Back then, I should’ve gone with him—set aside my hatred and done something to stop the Ghost Dao. But… I had a sister.”
Zheng Shumu gave a bitter smile. “I couldn’t let go of the rare peace and happiness I shared with my sister. I was greedy for more time.”
“But now… now the time has come. It’s time for me to use this soul… to atone for what happened in the Southwest.”
“Please believe me.”
Zheng Shumu gripped Taoist Li’s robe tightly—so tightly that the wooden fingers tore into the fabric.
His eyes locked stubbornly onto Taoist Li’s, pleading in his voice. “Baizhi Lake—my sister, old Fengdu, Ghost Dao, the Great Dao, the shadow puppets—they’ve layered on top of each other. Everything is out of order now. Even I no longer know how many overlapping worlds have formed.”
“What those other Taoists are fighting might be ghosts. But they might also be other Taoists trapped elsewhere. Right now, you’re all killing each other. And that’s exactly what the Ghost Dao wants.”
“But it’s something we must absolutely never allow.”
Zheng Shumu’s body slowly slumped downward. His soul, severely damaged, could no longer support the wooden statue. He was one step closer to being completely obliterated.
Yet still, he refused to avert his gaze. Staring at Taoist Li, he grew more anxious at the other’s lack of reaction.
“The Ghost Dao, it has Mr. Yan. And it had Hermit Chengyun. It’ll be fine. I believe in Mr. Yan—the one who pulled me back from hell. I believe he can stop the spread of the Ghost Dao. So please—just as I do—put your trust in Mr. Yan. Please prioritize your own life.”
Yan Shixun’s earlier words—his stern, resonant questioning—still echoed in Zheng Shumu’s ears. They had shaken him so deeply that he couldn’t come to his senses for a long time, yet those words had imprinted themselves onto his soul.
It had been him who indulged Zheng Tiantian’s actions. The travelers who had died at Baizhi Lake—he bore guilt for their deaths too.
But it wasn’t too late to mend the pen after losing the sheep.
From the moment Zheng Shumu chose to die alongside his sister, he had committed himself to a single belief—
He would never again allow a single life to die before his eyes. He would not, under any circumstances, permit the Ghost Dao to spread unchecked, dragging the entire southwest into catastrophe once more.
That was also the reason why Zheng Shumu had risked everything to save Taoist Li.
Taoist Li lowered his head to look at Zheng Shumu, and unexpectedly, within those hollow, pitch-black eye sockets, he saw a desperate and sincere plea.
But he didn’t follow Zheng Shumu’s suggestion to retreat and abandon the fight against the Ghost Dao.
Instead, with unwavering determination in his eyes, he extended his hand and grasped the one that Zheng Shumu had reached out to him.
“Everyone who came to Baizhi Lake had already prepared to die here. Death doesn’t scare me. What’s truly terrifying is losing the path we vowed to uphold.”
Taoist Li’s hair and beard were completely white, lightly ruffled by the wind. His chaotic gaze held an unshakable resolve.
“Thank you for the warning. I’ll make sure the others are careful. But retreat? That’s something we cannot do.”
Zheng Shumu stared blankly at Taoist Li, suddenly realizing that the faith these cultivators held was not something he could talk them out of.
His obsession finally dissolved. Zheng Shumu could no longer hold himself up and slowly collapsed to the ground.
His body, charred and scorched by the thunderbolt, had taken on a dull gray hue. He slumped amid the pool of blood and shredded flesh. Even the wooden parts of him twitched slightly at the joints, like a puppet gone haywire after losing control.
But there was a smile on Zheng Shumu’s face.
At the cost of total annihilation, he had finally broken free of the Ghost Dao’s control. In death, he found peace. He no longer had to harm anyone.
As for the southwest he had worried about…
Oh, Heaven. All my life, I resented you. I questioned why only my family was torn apart, why I alone had to wander in misery. But now, I beg you—please, protect Mr. Yan. Let him succeed.
Zheng Shumu’s thoughts quieted. At last, his body gave a violent twitch, then fell utterly still.
Flames devoured his wooden form, and in an instant, a roaring fire engulfed him.
Amid the rolling thunder, he was reduced to ashes.
Taoist Li lowered his head. The flames illuminated his face with a red glow. He merely let out a soft sigh. Then, he collected himself, pushing aside any lingering emotion about Zheng Shumu, and raised his head with a serious expression to look ahead.
At the center of the mourning hall stood a coffin. Scattered around it were joss paper and fire pots, gently rustling in the wind.
Upon seeing the person inside the coffin, Taoist Li’s brows twitched, and his expression turned cold.
—Because lying in that coffin was not a corpse, but a wooden figure with a moving mouth and eyes.
Most disturbingly, the figure looked exactly like him.
Taoist Li understood immediately. The Ghost Dao, enraged after its last failed strike, had lost its leisurely, cat-and-mouse demeanor. In a fit of fury, it was trying to intimidate him—this was meant to be a killing blow.
And to control him.
Just like the other wooden puppets with living features he had seen—bodies stuffed into wooden shells, their souls manipulated by the Ghost Dao, turned into marionettes on strings.
Taoist Li let out a cold laugh. He flicked his sleeves and walked forward with his hands behind his back, kicking over a fire pot filled with ash in front of the coffin.
Sparks flew in all directions.
His cloth shoes stepped onto the floor, and instantly, cracks spread out like a spiderweb—an impact that felt as if it carried immense force.
It was, without a doubt, a direct provocation aimed at the Ghost Dao hiding behind the scenes.
The consequence of angering the Ghost Dao lay clearly in front of him—Zheng Shumu’s burning body still crackled, filling the air with the stench of scorched flesh and blood, a brutal warning of what awaited.
But Taoist Li was fearless. He stared straight ahead with calm resolve, even hoping the Ghost Dao would show itself right away.
Since Yan Shixun was inside Old Fengdu, aiming to strike at the Ghost Dao’s root and sever its source of power, then Taoist Li could not stand still. He definitely couldn’t cower in a corner when the blizzard arrived.
He had to stand at the forefront, shielding others from the storm.
He wasn’t some flower to be hidden away.
If he couldn’t go to Old Fengdu himself, then at the very least, everything outside of Old Fengdu would be his responsibility!
At the very least, until Yan Shixun returned, he couldn’t allow the Ghost Dao any chance to spread further.
Even though Zheng Shumu had worried for their safety and tried to warn them that the Ghost Dao was lurking within Baizhi Lake, to Taoist Li, that was actually good news.
As long as he could restrain the Ghost Dao here and prevent it from shifting its focus or power elsewhere, the threat would remain anchored. It wouldn’t be able to advance toward the farther regions of the southwest.
“We can’t let the young ones think we old men are useless.”
Taoist Li snorted. “So what if Lian Po is old? He can still eat ten cauldrons! Just watch—how dare these sinister rats call themselves the Heavenly Dao?”
Note: Lian Po is historical famous general of the Great Zhao.
After the upheaval, there were no more male wooden puppets visible in the mourning hall.
All that remained were the female wooden figure standing coldly on the dais, gazing down at him—
And the ghost infant, who had been shielded at the last moment by Xie Lin.
The ghost infant lowered her head, staring in a daze at the wooden fragments scattered around her, seemingly unable to accept the complete destruction of Xie Lin’s wooden figure.
When she finally began to come to her senses, her entire wooden-carved body trembled even more violently, and her wooden joints clacked together with a “clack clack” sound.
“Ahhhhh!!!”
The ghost infant threw her head back and shrieked, her voice filled with pain and sorrow, as if on the verge of tears.
Then, her blood-red eyes snapped open, locking onto Taoist Li with an intense, unwavering gaze. She lunged at him, her sharp claws aimed straight at his heart. At the same time, she muttered incomprehensibly under her breath, and the small wooden figurine in her other hand—carved to resemble Yan Shixun—instantly became shrouded in a blood-red mist under the power of the incantation.
Yansheng Art!
Taoist Li’s brow twitched as he noticed the ghost infant’s movements.
Showing no fear, he stepped forward to confront the ghost infant head-on, as if ready for a real battle.
But just as the distance between them closed, he swiftly sidestepped and brushed past the ghost infant—only to launch himself toward the wooden statue of the woman at the altar instead.
Taoist Li’s sleeve billowed as he flew forward, aiming a direct strike at the woman’s abdomen.
He chanted scriptures as he moved, yet not a single word had anything to do with ghost-slaying spells. Instead, he invoked the vitality of plants and all living things.
In the face of the Ghost Dao, talismans had long since lost their effectiveness. If one recklessly relied on spells without adapting to the situation, it would only backfire, causing more harm than good.
So Taoist Li immediately shifted his approach. He abandoned talismans and began to recite sacred texts that praised the spirit of flora and fauna, sincerely pleading for the aid of every living being around him, asking them to lend him strength.
This method had never been used by any Taoist in the recorded history of thousands of years. Compared to the past, where talismans alone could easily dispel ghosts, the current crisis made those past days seem far too simple.
Taoist Li’s decision appeared to be a desperate gamble.
Yet he felt no panic in his heart. He calmly carried out his plan step by step, his gaze steady and composed.
First, a faint glimmer of light appeared in the dim, deathly pale hall.
Then another, like a floating firefly—bright yet fragile, as if it could be extinguished at any moment—stubbornly held its ground against the cold mountain wind, trying with all its might to bring light into the space.
One by one, the glimmers of light emerged and floated through the air of the shrine.
In an instant, the entire altar seemed surrounded by fireflies. Every insignificant speck of light strove to push back the darkness, bringing light back into the world.
Even when scattered by the whipping white funeral banners, the lights tenaciously gathered again.
Though tiny, they refused to give up.
These light points soon gathered into clusters, illuminating the area around them.
As the light continued to grow, it quickly lit up the entire shrine. Like candle flames flickering in a storm, the light refused to go out.
Even a firefly’s glow could rival the sun and moon.
All living things struggled to survive. Until the very moment of true death, they refused to give up hope for life.
This unwavering persistence, drawn by Taoist Li’s heartfelt chanting, began to gather together. No matter how weak, no matter how easily ignored, the spirits still wished to fight for the future of the human world.
This belief, fueled by Taoist Li’s presence and attention, amassed into a tremendous force. The scattered lights coalesced into great power, gathering at Taoist Li’s hands, ultimately forming an effect even stronger than any spell.
The Ghost Dao had never imagined that Taoist Li, in a situation where all talismans and exorcism methods had failed, could achieve something of this magnitude. The dazzling brilliance formed by those fragile lights was blinding, illuminating the entire hall as bright as day.
The white mourning banners flapped violently, but no longer cast even a sliver of shadow—there was no longer any place for spirits to hide. Everything was exposed in full detail.
In mere moments, Taoist Li’s sudden action caught the Ghost Dao completely off guard. In its shock, it failed to respond in time and could only watch helplessly as Taoist Li charged toward the wooden statue of the woman. All the ghostly energy that tried to intercept him shattered into dust under the brilliant light.
Taoist Li’s gaze was sharp and fierce. Though he held no peach wood sword, the power in his hands was far sharper than any blade.
His palm moved closer and closer to the statue’s abdomen. The wooden woman let out a sharp, terrified scream, instinctively reaching out to protect her belly and trying to summon the ghost infant to defend her.
But the ghost infant was still reeling from the blows of Xie Lin and Zheng Shumu’s successive deaths and dissipations. Her emotions toward Taoist Li grew even more volatile and uncontrollable. Consumed by fury, she lost all reason, roaring like a beast, completely incapable of responding to the woman’s commands. In her eyes, there was only Taoist Li—she launched a chaotic attack at him, devoid of any strategy.
Yet she couldn’t even get close—she was kept out by the brilliant light.
The wooden woman, now without any means of protection, backed away in terror as she guarded her belly. In the end, she stumbled into the spirit tablet engraved with Taoist Li’s birth date and name, and had nowhere left to retreat.
The altar trembled, and the tablet wobbled side to side before finally toppling off.
As the tablet hit the ground and shattered into pieces, Taoist Li’s palm had already made contact with the wooden woman.
His arm, shrouded in radiant light, sliced forward like a blade, effortlessly penetrating the wooden figure’s abdomen. It moved through her like a knife through tofu, encountering no resistance.
*“Puchi!”* A wet sound rang out as his hand pierced through the round belly of the wooden sculpture.
The statue immediately froze, all her movements—protecting her stomach, struggling, screaming—coming to a halt.
A thick, black, putrid liquid sprayed out, splattering across Taoist Li’s face.
Yet he remained completely unaffected. His gaze stayed firm, his movement unchanged, not letting up for even a second.
He could feel that his hand had touched something soft, rotten, and sticky.
It wasn’t wood carving or a rotting corpse—it was ghostly energy.
The wooden carving of the woman opened her mouth and let out a rasping “ho-ho” sound. Her joints twitched and convulsed, her appearance horrifying.
At the same time, blood trickled down the corner of Taoist Li’s mouth. The blood was tinged with an ominous black hue, dripping onto his Taoist robe and spreading like an ink stain.
Yet there wasn’t the slightest change in Taoist Li’s expression.
As he moved closer to the wooden woman, the Ghost Dao desperately tried every possible method to stop him from completing what he intended to do.
But the more it resisted, the more resolute Taoist Li became. He was now certain—he had found the critical point through which the Ghost Dao controlled Baizhi Lake.
However, the shattered spirit tablet still inflicted tremendous damage upon Taoist Li.
The tablet and wood carvings—crafted in the likeness of living people with animated mouths and eyes—were meant to replace the living, to swap their identities.
Whether it was the wooden figure inside the coffin or the spirit tablet inscribed with birth date and name, under the control of the Ghost Dao, they all represented Taoist Li himself.
To shatter the spirit tablet was equivalent to Taoist Li dying once.
In that instant, he felt as if someone had punched him hard in the chest. From his physical body to his soul, he suffered a heavy blow. The pain was so intense that his vision went dark in waves, and he nearly lost control of his body.
Yet Taoist Li endured it all with sheer willpower. He didn’t let out even a single cry of pain. He moved forward without hesitation, as if nothing had happened, not willing to give up this opportunity to approach the wooden woman.
He understood very well—this strike had a high chance of success solely because the Ghost Dao hadn’t anticipated his actions. The sudden move had caught it completely off guard.
If he were to back off now for the sake of his own safety, it would be exactly what the Ghost Dao hoped for—giving it time to recover and prepare against him.
By then, trying to get close to the wooden woman again—or even to harm the “fetus” inside her—would be impossible.
This wasn’t even a decision worth weighing.
From the beginning, Taoist Li never placed his own life on the scale.
What he had been thinking about all along was: How do I defeat the Ghost Dao?
His hand groped through a thick, sticky mire and accurately grasped the only solid object within it. From the feel of it, it seemed to be a small wooden carving.
…No.
It wasn’t a wooden carving—it was a tiny statue.
A statue of a god, one of the Ghost Dao’s incarnations, much like the ebony statue before—but while the ebony statue was a warding item, this one was a vessel of evil. Once it fully emerged into the world, Baizhi Lake and the entire southwest would be entirely consumed and controlled by ghostly energy.
Taoist Li sneered and yanked the little statue out with a swift pull of his arm.
Pus and blood splattered in all directions, the stench overwhelming.
The spiritual glow that had once encircled his arm was now left behind inside the wooden woman’s abdomen, stirring her into a frenzy. She screamed with her mouth wide open, filled with agony.
Taoist Li glanced down at the little statue tightly gripped in his hand.
Even though it was covered in filth and blood, the features of the statue remained clearly visible. It appeared kind and compassionate, much like any ordinary deity found in a Taoist temple.
But on closer inspection, it was clear the statue lacked even a trace of righteousness. It radiated pure malevolence—its smile twisted and sinister. It was not a divine figure, but the embodiment of a wicked force.
Taoist Li gave a cold laugh and clenched his hand.
“Crack!”
The statue’s neck snapped under his bare strength.
His expression remained stern and calm. Though aged, his hands were still strong and steady as he slowly crushed the small statue in his palm. Bits of wood crumbled and rained from his fingers.
At that very moment, the wooden woman collapsed as though all her strength had been drained. With a loud *thud*, she fell to the floor and shattered.
In the spirit hall, silence reigned. All ghostly cries and howls halted instantly. Not even a bird chirped.
Taoist Li slowly straightened his back, clenching his teeth to withstand the waves of darkness flooding his vision. He turned around steadily and scanned the entire hall.
Dark red blood gushed from his chest, quickly soaking a large patch of his robe with sticky blood.
Though the small statue was an evil spirit, under the Ghost Dao’s influence, it held the same power as a deity of the Great Dao—complete with divine authority.
For a mortal to destroy a divine idol was akin to blaspheming a true god—such an act naturally provoked karmic retribution and wounded the one who committed it.
Taoist Li had anticipated this consequence, yet it didn’t deter him in the slightest from destroying the statue.
—In that split second the statue shattered, the Ghost Dao’s hold over Baizhi Lake and the southwest weakened drastically.
To Taoist Li, it was the most worthwhile exchange possible—one that needed no calculation or hesitation.
From the moment he saw the bulging belly of the wooden woman, suspicion had already bloomed in his heart.
After all, the ghost infant had already been born. That woman’s belly, which should have been empty, why had it become filled once more?
Even if it wasn’t her wish while alive, the fact that the carpenter Zheng’s wife could give birth to a ghost infant made her body the perfect host for the Ghost Dao—a vessel ideally suited to house such a being.
Besides ghost energy, this method could even allow a “god” to be born into the world in a proper, legitimate way.
Not even the Great Dao could intervene.
Unfortunately, the entire plan was seen through at a glance by Taoist Li, and everything orchestrated by the Ghost Dao was shattered.
The ghost infant also weakened rapidly as the power of the Ghost Dao declined. The adorable-looking little girl sculpture fell to the ground, covered by drifting and fluttering joss paper.
She struggled to get up, but failed. There would no longer be a brother who would reach out his hand, pull her up, and gently comfort her.
Taoist Li glanced at the ghost infant, his heart remaining completely unmoved.
He wasn’t a man of compassion, nor someone who offered help without questioning the cause behind the suffering.
To him, such an existence—controlling humanoid puppets to attack the living in various places, causing the death of officials involved in the Baizhi Lake case, and murdering countless passersby near Baizhi Lake over the years—deserved nothing less than death. It was not someone he would ever consider saving.
Black blood continued to pour from Taoist Li’s chest, soaking his entire Taoist robe from the inside out. It even dripped from the hem of his garment, leaving drops along the path he walked.
His complexion quickly turned pale and ashen, yet his movements remained calm and steady, as if such severe injuries couldn’t hinder him at all.
His cloth shoes stepped across the cold stone floor, stained with blood.
Taoist Li kept his eyes forward and walked out of the mourning hall with his hands behind his back.
He only paused briefly when he passed by the coffin in the center of the hall. With a sideways glance, he gave a short, derisive chuckle.
“What kind of thing is this? Ugly as hell.”
Taoist Li said with disdain, “Nowhere near as good-looking as the real me. Something like this ought to disappear as soon as possible.”
As he spoke, tiny sparks of light drifted into the coffin.
In the next moment, the wooden statue bearing a face that resembled Taoist Li’s burst into roaring flames with a sudden *whoosh*.
The fire swayed with the mountain wind, catching onto the white funeral banners fluttering in the air, and soon spread rapidly throughout the mourning hall.
The blazing fire was unstoppable.
The joss paper scattered on the ground and in the air also ignited, turning into wisps of ash, leaving behind only curled, blackened remains.
The wooden woman and ghost infant puppets lying on the ground, unable to move, were quickly consumed by the flames.
But this time, there would be no brother to shield the ghost infant from another blow.
Taoist Li cast one final glance at the mourning hall, watching as the wooden statue carved with his own likeness suddenly sat up in the coffin, letting out a piercing shriek as it clutched the edge, trying to leap out—only to twist in vain as the fire engulfed it and it turned pitch black.
Crackling sounds of burning wood and exploding sparks echoed through the air.
Taoist Li withdrew his gaze.
He stood behind the courtyard’s main gate, reached out, and grasped the tightly locked door latch. With a gentle push, the gate creaked open slowly.
The sounds that had been blocked outside the courtyard rushed in at once.
The anxious shouts of fellow Taoists rang out.
Taoist Li narrowed his eyes slightly, standing with his back to the sea of flames, and looked toward the world outside.
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