Wenren Lianlian gave a gentle smile, but to Jiang Luo it looked a bit too sly. “No need to actually crossdress. The village girls’ clothes are basically robes, not much difference between male and female styles.”
Jiang Luo said firmly, “Absolutely not.”
Wenren Lianlian pleaded pitifully, “But if I go alone, we won’t have enough people.”
Jiang Luo pointed to Zhuo Zhongqiu, who had stepped back along with him. “Can’t Zhuo Zhongqiu go?”
Zhuo Zhongqiu’s face twisted, “Jiang Luo, was that really necessary?”
Wenren Lianlian said gently, “Zhongqiu could go, but they only let girls into the ancestral hall. I’m worried it’ll be dangerous for Zhongqiu. It’s safer for boys like us.”
Jiang Luo: “…”
Every time he was in a bad mood, he felt the urge to curse Chi You again.
D*mn you, Chi You.
….
The others were shooed outside.
Dead Ghost stood beside Lu Youyi, gripping his blade, staring into the room curiously without any expression. “What are they doing in there?”
“They’re doing something very painful,” Lu Youyi replied. “Mainly, Jiang Luo is suffering.”
Dead Ghost frowned and made to barge in. Lu Youyi quickly stopped him, “Hey hey hey, where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m going to protect my friend,” Dead Ghost turned to look at him. “Do you hate being apart from me? It’s okay, you can come in with me and save him together. I’ll protect you too.”
Lu Youyi: “…Never would’ve guessed you were the clingy type.”
“What type? Talkative? Loyal?” Dead Ghost tried to smile, but his paralyzed face only made the corners of his lips twitch awkwardly. He frowned strangely and forced out a twisted grin, “I also really like to smile.”
Liao Si, eavesdropping nearby: “…”
That’s definitely not the Teng Bi he knew.
Lu Youyi shuddered. “Dead Ghost, I beg you, don’t smile anymore! They’re in the middle of something serious. You can’t interrupt them!”
“What serious thing?” Dead Ghost said. “I can’t just watch my friend suffer like this.”
Lu Youyi’s face twitched. “You want to share Jiang Luo’s pain?”
It kind of sounded like he was holding back laughter.
Dead Ghost nodded naturally. “We’re his friends. Friends share weal and woe.”
Zhuo Zhongqiu and Ge Zhu immediately applauded. “Well said!”
They pushed Dead Ghost and Lu Youyi into the room. Ge Zhu clapped Lu Youyi on the shoulder and said with deep emotion, “You guys really are good friends. The ancestral hall infiltration is up to you four now. We’ll handle things out here and wait for your signal.”
Lu Youyi began questioning life. “No—wait—I didn’t say that—I didn’t mean it that way!”
They were shoved into the room.
Wenren Lianlian, who was applying makeup to Jiang Luo, looked up at the noise with a satisfied smile. “Welcome to the operation.”
He shook out a puff of powder that filled the air like mist. Looking at Lu Youyi and Dead Ghost’s tall and sturdy builds, Wenren Lianlian said sincerely, “I’ll do my best to turn you into beautiful girls.”
Jiang Luo opened one eye, looked at them, and laughed. “Now that’s brotherhood.”
Transforming three men convincingly enough to pass as village girls took a lot of time. Only Jiang Luo’s transformation was quick and seamless—his looks were outstanding to begin with, his features strikingly beautiful. Once the boldness in his brows was softened, he became nearly androgynous.
Ge Zhu and Zhuo Zhongqiu borrowed four sets of local clothing. Fortunately, as Wenren Lianlian said, the clothes were unisex—simple tops and robes, with little distinction between male and female styles.
By 5 p.m., everything was finally ready. When the group emerged from the room, Ge Zhu and the others were already bored out of their minds from waiting.
But when they saw Jiang Luo’s look, they were stunned by how striking it was.
“Jiang Luo, you’re absolutely stunning.”
The black-haired youth’s hair had been loosely braided and casually draped over his left shoulder. His crimson lips curved slightly, his features captivating and radiant, drawing the eye with brilliance.
It was enough to make others subconsciously overlook the gender he had deliberately concealed.
Surprisingly, the clothes fit perfectly. The way the waist was cinched gently gave rise to a faintly blushing, heart-racing silhouette.
Jiang Luo curled his lips into a smile, in high spirits as he revealed Lu Youyi and Dead Ghost behind him.
The others: “…Pfft.”
Lu Youyi, once dressed in women’s clothing, actually loosened up a lot. He looked around suspiciously and asked, “What kind of looks are those? Don’t we look good?”
Ge Zhu’s face twitched from trying to suppress his laughter. “Good. Very good.”
Lu Youyi had always leaned toward the handsome side, and coupled with his tall frame, this getup ended up looking neither here nor there. But compared to the walking corpse beside him, he was practically pleasing to the eye.
The walking corpse’s features were harsh and full of menace—cold and merciless. Yet now, clad in women’s clothing and slathered in heavy makeup, those stark lines remained unsoftened, making the whole appearance look absurdly comical.
In the midst of the laughter, Wenren Lianlian said helplessly, “I did my best.”
As time neared, they stashed some self-defense tools on their bodies and quietly left the house.
All the household doors were shut tight. Only young girls walked through the village. Every face carried a shy, bashful smile—excited, cheeks blushing like peaches, brows curved like apricot petals.
Jiang Luo’s group of four blended in among them and didn’t draw much attention. The girls had no mind to notice anyone else—they were too occupied with anticipation, breath slightly quickened, hearts pounding.
By six in the afternoon, the space before the ancestral hall was already filled with young girls.
Though there were many girls, the total number was only a few dozen. To avoid detection, Jiang Luo’s group deliberately stood in a secluded corner.
The village chief hurried over and took position at the front, waiting with them for the ancestral hall to open.
He seemed even more nervous than the girls—pacing back and forth, cold sweat beading on his forehead, which he wiped off roughly.
Suddenly, thick clouds gathered overhead, casting the sky into gloom.
The doors of the ancestral hall slowly opened, and a black-robed Sheng Gong stepped out. The village chief rushed to greet him and respectfully guided him to the seat at the front.
The Sheng Gong’s hood covered his face. His voice was low and hoarse, like something ruined and dried out, “Have them come up one by one and report their birth dates and eight characters.”
The village chief nodded quickly and turned to the group of girls: “Go up to the Sheng Gong one at a time and report your birth characters. Whatever the Sheng Gong asks, answer it honestly. This is a rare chance—cherish it!”
The girls at the front stepped forward one by one, passing before the Sheng Gong.
He kept his head lowered the entire time, making one wonder if he was even looking at them. Occasionally, he would keep a girl by having her stand to his left, but otherwise said nothing more.
Soon, the front girls had all passed. Jiang Luo noticed that those left standing to the Sheng Gong’s left all looked joyful, while those not chosen already had tears in their eyes, swaying on their feet.
Every girl who was kept behind had reported a birthdate with extremely heavy yin energy.
There was definitely something strange going on.
Jiang Luo had it figured out. When it was his turn, he lowered his head to avoid the village chief’s gaze and gave a birth date that also carried extremely strong yin energy.
Logically, he should have been selected too. But the Sheng Gong broke from expectation and rasped, “What’s your name?”
Jiang Luo paused, then picked a common village name and replied, “Cuihua.”
The Sheng Gong said, “There was already a girl named Cuihua earlier.”
The village chief gave Jiang Luo a puzzled glance. The girls who had dedicated themselves to the gods rarely went out or interacted with men. He genuinely couldn’t recall how many girls in the village were named Cuihua, but he didn’t suspect anything and explained, “Sheng Gong, as you know, our village girls—every year there are a few with that name.”
The Sheng Gong: “Is that so?”
He leaned on his staff and slowly walked up to Jiang Luo.
A pair of feet appeared in Jiang Luo’s lowered view.
Black cloth shoes, black robe—the Sheng Gong was completely wrapped up. What was even more peculiar was that although Jiang Luo stood at 1.8 meters tall, this Sheng Gong, leaning on a cane, still stood half a head taller than him.
A black cloth-wrapped hand emerged from the robe, lifting Jiang Luo’s chin as if to examine him. “But why do I find this one looks rather unfamiliar?”
Jiang Luo’s heart skipped. He lifted his eyes and caught a glimpse of the pale chin exposed under the Sheng Gong’s black hood.
That chin, framed by the black fabric, looked even more lifelessly pale—its shape sharp and perfect.
It stirred a faint sense of familiarity in Jiang Luo’s mind.
The Sheng Gong’s hand moved down, cupping Jiang Luo’s cheeks from below, and rasped in his grating voice, “Are you really from Shentu Village?”
Jiang Luo gave a harmless smile. “Sheng Gong, of course I’m from Shentu Village.”
“Then what can you do,” the Sheng Gong’s hand shifted to Jiang Luo’s shoulder and pressed down hard, “can you serve the gods properly?”
A sharp pain shot through Jiang Luo’s shoulder, like his bones were being crushed. Cold sweat beaded on his nose, but he remained calm and replied, “I can.”
The village chief said in a panic, “Sheng Gong, rest assured, all the girls in our village are taught how to serve the gods. Every one of them knows how, and each is better than the last.”
“I trust your work, village chief,” the Sheng Gong said slowly. “After all, in all these years, there’s never been a single mistake.”
A wild joy suddenly lit up the village chief’s face, as though he had received a great gift—his expression full of spring, “There won’t be any problems this year either!”
The Sheng Gong nodded, then gave Jiang Luo one more look. After a moment’s thought, he said:
“This one. The rest can go home.”
As soon as those words were spoken, the girls who weren’t chosen showed expressions of despair. More than half of them rolled their eyes back and collapsed weakly to the ground.
Jiang Luo glanced back at his companions. Wenren Lianlian silently mouthed to him: Don’t worry.
He nodded calmly and followed the Sheng Gong and village chief into the ancestral hall.
He wasn’t particularly afraid—more curious, really—curious about what secrets this village’s ancestral hall was hiding.
The door to the ancestral hall creaked open a crack. Inside was pitch black. As the three of them stepped in, the heavy doors slammed shut behind them, cutting off the last sliver of light.
The Sheng Gong walked in front to lead the way. Jiang Luo was in the middle, and the village chief followed behind. After adjusting to the darkness for a while, Jiang Luo’s eyes gradually began to see the details of the hall.
The ancestral hall was divided into inner and outer sections. The outer area was spacious and empty except for an altar. Strangely, the altar only had an incense burner and candles—there was no statue or portrait of any deity.
They moved from the outer hall to the inner chamber, where a few dim candles were lit. The Sheng Gong picked up a candlestick and pulled open a hidden trapdoor on the floor. Tilting his head, he said faintly, “Follow me.”
The flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows across his face. The room felt chilling. Even the village chief’s voice trembled as he responded, “Alright.”
The hidden passage was a long, descending stone staircase.
Jiang Luo didn’t know how long they walked downward—just that a third of the candle had burned away. Their footsteps echoed down the stone steps, but despite being only three people, the noise sounded like dozens of people tramping together.
Finally, they reached flat ground.
Once they did, faint lights began to line the walls. The Sheng Gong blew out the candle and set it aside. He leaned on his staff and continued forward unhurriedly.
Jiang Luo’s eyes remained skeptical.
The black robe obscured the Sheng Gong’s appearance. If he always dressed this way, did that mean no one in the village had ever seen his true face?
Could anyone just put on that robe and pretend to be the Sheng Gong?
While mulling it over, Jiang Luo began to hear the sound of flowing water. There was a river hidden beneath the hall. As they descended deeper, the underground river came into view.
In the dim light, they could see it clearly—a two-meter wide river, water rushing violently. Some waves splashed onto the muddy banks, turning them marshy and damp.
The depth of the river was unknown. There was no bridge.
The Sheng Gong suddenly stepped aside, gesturing politely. “The bride of the god, please proceed.”
That title made Jiang Luo’s eyelid twitch. Ignoring the unpleasant term, he asked, “How exactly am I supposed to cross?”
He may as well have asked something stupid, as the Sheng Gong immediately let out a hoarse, sinister laugh—eerily dry and raspy. “Why, with your own two feet, of course.”
Jiang Luo’s teeth itched with annoyance.
That mocking tone, that laugh—only one person in the world could piss him off this easily.
Chi You.
This was the first time Jiang Luo had seen Chi You since his strange outburst at the hotel.
He hadn’t settled that score yet.
Jiang Luo let out a short, cold laugh. “You’re the Sheng Gong, right? A servant of the god?”
The village chief roared in anger, “Cuihua! How dare you speak that way!”
“Am I wrong?” Jiang Luo looked up at Chi You, eyes brimming with challenge and contempt. He said flatly, “Are you denying you serve the god?”
The Sheng Gong twirled his staff slowly. “I am.”
“In that case, you’re asking the god’s bride to wade through a river herself?” Jiang Luo frowned coldly. “Is that really a servant’s job?”
More importantly, Jiang Luo had spotted numerous ghostly figures in the river.
One after another, they were being swept downstream, replaced constantly by new ones. Beneath the dark water, the ghosts stretched their twisted hands upward, trying to climb out, only to be pulled back in by the current.
These were all drowned ghosts—also known as water ghosts.
Ghosts who die by drowning or hanging are said to be unable to reincarnate unless they drag someone else down to die in their place. If Jiang Luo so much as dipped a foot into the water, he risked being pulled under by hundreds of vengeful spirits.
The Sheng Gong, face hidden beneath his hood, seemed to see right through Jiang Luo’s soul. “Then what do you want?”
“You jump in,” Jiang Luo said coldly, lifting his chin. “Be my stepping stone.”
The village chief gasped sharply, utterly speechless. He stared at Jiang Luo in shock.
The Sheng Gong slowly clenched his staff, then casually relaxed his grip. Though his hands were wrapped in black cloth, his every move carried a mesmerizing, casual elegance.
“You’re right,” he said at last, switching to a tone of respect. “Someone like you shouldn’t have to cross on foot.”
And with that, to the village chief’s utter disbelief, the Sheng Gong stepped directly into the river.
Jiang Luo saw it clearly—in the instant the Sheng Gong entered the water, the hungry ghosts swarmed toward him like starving beasts sensing fresh meat. But just as their hands reached him, they recoiled as though struck. The ghosts nearest him frantically scrambled backward, fleeing in terror.
In a flash, the water around the Sheng Gong cleared completely.
He extended his arm and plunged the staff into the far bank. With humility, he said, “Please, go ahead.”
Jiang Luo gave him a long, thoughtful look—then stepped forward and planted a foot directly on the Sheng Gong’s shoulder.
The Sheng Gong stood perfectly straight, without the slightest tremor—this “bridge” was sturdier than many suspension bridges.
Jiang Luo was about to continue walking across him when suddenly several pale ghost hands grabbed his ankle.
The water ghosts, who just moments ago had been terrified, now swarmed forward again. They ignored the Sheng Gong beneath Jiang Luo’s feet, their expressions greedy and eager as they tried to drag Jiang Luo into the river.
He was pulled so hard that he couldn’t take another step.
Jiang Luo glanced at the Sheng Gong, let out a cold snort, and forcefully yanked his leg free from the grasping ghost claws. With a single leap, he landed on the opposite bank.
The Sheng Gong and the village chief soon followed. Jiang Luo noticed that when the village chief entered the water, the ghosts didn’t touch him either. But unlike with the Sheng Gong—where fear kept them at bay—this time they showed no reaction at all. It was as if the village chief was already… dead.
The three of them walked a bit further and arrived at another ancestral hall.
This underground shrine was two or three times larger than the one above ground.
The candlelight within flickered, casting long and uneven shadows across the ground, illuminating murals on the walls. But more eye-catching than the murals was a deity statue seated cross-legged at the center of the shrine.
No—rather than a deity, it looked more like a statue of an evil god.
It was carved from stone, with a crude face fixed into the same stiff smile seen on the masks. The left hand held a lotus in front of its body, its eyes closed, curved in a smiling arc. At a glance, the facial features looked kind and benevolent, but there was an ever-present eerie feeling. From its lips trailed down several dried bloodstains, as though blood had once dripped from its mouth.
The statue’s coloration was also bizarre. Though it seemed to be a painted figure, its feet were starkly black and white. Where the colors met, a line of blood-red marked the transition.
The village chief, however, showed no sign of fear. His eyes burned with fanaticism as he immediately knelt down, kowtowing three times and mumbling prayers under his breath.
“Oh, God…”
The Sheng Gong ignored him and instead went forward to place three sticks of incense before the statue. As the incense smoke rose into the air, he said lightly, “Tie him up.”
Tie who?
Jiang Luo raised an eyebrow, a foreboding feeling rising in his chest. He turned his head slightly—and sure enough, the village chief had taken a coil of rope from his robe, walking toward him with a sinister glint in his eyes.
Author’s note:
Gong: I heard everyone missed me when I was gone.
Gong: Happy :-)
