Fuck. Zhang Yuanqing suddenly didn't want to stay in the Main Hall any longer.
He felt a primal terror, as if trapped in a hopeless situation where his cries for help would go unanswered.
This place was extremely dangerous, yet he couldn't call for outside assistance. He could only rely on himself.
After much hesitation, he gritted his teeth, steeled his resolve, and bent down to pull out the skeleton still clad in its work uniform.
Riiip!
The uniform tore easily during the struggle. After so many years, the fabric had long since rotted.
Dragging the corpse into the candlelight, Zhang Yuanqing suppressed his discomfort and began examining it.
Though the man was dead, his body still spoke volumes. Determining the cause of death could help him avoid similar dangers.
"Several ribs and the sternum are broken. There are fine cracks in the right shoulder, but they don't seem severe."
The deceased had suffered severe trauma in life, but the exact cause of death remained unclear due to the passage of time.
Next, Zhang Yuanqing found several brittle, yellowed sheets of paper in the worker's pocket, clearly quite old.
The paper was covered in tiny, neatly written characters in regular script.
Zhang Yuanqing's heart leaped with joy. These papers had clearly been found by the worker in the temple, and they might provide valuable insights into the ancient structure.
By the flickering candlelight, he focused intently on the words written on the paper.
"Another junior brother disappeared last night, making him the third disciple to vanish mysteriously from the temple. The brothers say Sandaoshan is haunted, or perhaps a powerful demon has arrived, snatching people every night to devour. But the temple's disciples are all skilled cultivators, and our Master is a renowned Perfected Master for miles around. What kind of foolish demon would dare hunt here?
"As for ghosts, my Corpse Suppressing Talisman and Spirit Summoning Talisman are more than enough to handle them—no need to trouble Master. Still, I have a bad feeling about this. I need to consult with Senior Disciple."
"Another person vanished today, the fifth. Master ordered us to keep it from the pilgrims, fearing it would affect the temple's incense offerings. He must know something. Senior Disciple and I plan to patrol tonight."
"Three days have passed, and three more disciples have disappeared. Yet Senior Disciple and I found nothing amiss—the nights remain eerily calm. My ominous premonition grows stronger."
"Senior Disciple acted strangely today. He seemed to have discovered something, his face contorted with fury. When I asked him, he refused to tell me. He's in a foul mood. I'll ask again tomorrow."
"Today, Senior Disciple went missing. I've searched every corner of Sandaoshan, but I can't find him. I... I can't take it anymore. I'm going to confront Master and demand answers. The other disciples in the temple support me; they're terrified too."
The handwriting was rushed and frantic, revealing the writer's crumbling mental state.
Zhang Yuanqing continued reading:
"After relentless questioning, Master finally agreed to reveal the truth. My instincts were right—he does know why the disciples have been vanishing. But he said the temple is too crowded and noisy during the day. He'll come to my room after sunset to tell me a secret of cosmic significance, a secret that holds the key to millennia of rise and fall."
"After dinner, I waited in my room, watching the sun sink below the horizon. Since the disappearances began, I've never longed for nightfall like this."
The journal entry ended abruptly.
That's it? Zhang Yuanqing grimaced at the abrupt ending.
He reviewed the information: In a certain year, disciples of the Mountain God Temple began vanishing one after another under mysterious circumstances.
The disciples were helpless, and panic spread like wildfire. The Temple Steward—their Master—seemed to know the reason behind the disappearances.
This reason was tied to a grand secret spanning millennia of rise and fall.
"The cause of the Mountain God Temple's decline remains unknown," Zhang Yuanqing speculated. "Could uncovering this origin complete the second main quest?"
He carefully placed the brittle paper back into the corpse's work uniform and pushed the body back under the table, out of sight, out of mind. Then, he began to consider his next move.
"The Main Hall has yielded all its information. To explore the ancient temple, I'll inevitably have to venture outside and confront its dangers directly."
"In the She Ling Tunnel's urban legend, one worker survived. By following his path, I might discover a way to survive as well."
After careful deliberation, Zhang Yuanqing walked to the Main Hall's entrance and opened the two well-preserved lattice doors.
Creak...
The wooden door hinges emitted a teeth-grinding sound.
Leaning against the doorframe, he peered out, scanning the surroundings. The area was eerily silent, and aside from its desolate and sinister atmosphere, he detected no immediate threats.
After observing for a while, he stepped across the threshold and followed the cobblestone path to the left of the Main Hall, heading toward the temple's rear courtyard.
Moonlight streamed down like water, causing the wild grass to ripple in the breeze. After walking for a minute or two, a cluster of buildings came into view ahead.
The buildings were a series of interconnected single-story structures forming a vast courtyard. Black-tiled roofs and whitewashed walls stretched in a straight line, their eaves lined with latticed windows and doors.
The dusty latticed doors stood ajar, lay fallen, or remained tightly shut. The paper panes, ravaged by time, hung in tatters.
Under the bright moonlight, which seemed to freeze on the ground like frost, Zhang Yuanqing scanned the layout of the Mountain God Temple's rear courtyard.
Beyond the courtyard, an arched gate on the east side resembled those found in the back residences of wealthy families in historical dramas, used to connect different courtyards.
In the adjacent courtyard stood a towering tree with lush, gnarled branches.
"Huh?"
Amidst the swaying weeds, he spotted several skeletons clad in work uniforms.
Approaching cautiously, he examined them closely. Each skeleton was severely damaged, with fragmented bones visible beneath the tattered uniforms. However, unlike the skeleton in the Main Hall, these skeletons retained intact shoulder bones, free of cracks.
"These people suffered horrific injuries before they died... their deaths must have been agonizing."
A gust of wind rustled the leaves, and amidst the rustling, Zhang Yuanqing faintly heard a low, mournful whisper carried on the breeze:
"Help! Help me!"
In the desolate, deathly silent night, cold sweat trickled down Zhang Yuanqing's back.
He stood frozen in place for a long moment. When the wind finally died down, the mournful whispers ceased with it.
The courtyard next door seems a bit dangerous, but whatever's inside hasn't come over here. He exhaled silently, stepped through the overgrown weeds, and walked under the eaves, intending to explore the courtyard house.
This place seemed to have been the living quarters for the temple disciples. Dilapidated, dust-covered furniture was piled up, and a faint, musty odor permeated the air.
Zhang Yuanqing systematically searched each room, finding nothing of particular interest until he pushed open the lattice door at the easternmost end.
Creak~
The door, sealed by countless years of dust, swung open again. Dust rained down as Zhang Yuanqing brushed off the particles that had settled on his shoulder, his gaze sweeping cautiously across every corner of the room.
In this room, abandoned for years, a corpse leaned against the wall near the window, lying in a crooked position.
Judging by the clothing and the miner's helmet that had rolled off, it was another predecessor.
Stepping over the threshold into the room, Zhang Yuanqing shivered, inexplicably feeling the temperature drop sharply.
"It's a bit cold," he muttered.
He cautiously approached the corpse, untying its tattered clothes to examine the skeletal structure as usual. This time, he found no shattered bones; the skeleton was remarkably well-preserved.
But when his gaze landed on the shoulder bones, his pupils constricted. Exaggerated cracks ran across the shoulder bones of the corpse.
These cracks mirrored those on the corpse in the Main Hall, the only difference being that the injuries on this skeleton were far more severe.
"Only the skeletons in this room and the Main Hall have shattered shoulder bones... Is this just a coincidence?" he murmured uneasily.
Next, Zhang Yuanqing noticed the corpse's pants pockets were bulging, as if concealing something.
Reaching into the pockets, he pulled out a yellowed ancient book, a dusty bronze mirror, and a Yellow Paper Talisman.
The talisman was inscribed with twisted vermilion patterns resembling runes, which collectively formed a character closely resembling the traditional Chinese character for "corpse."
As Zhang Yuanqing examined the Yellow Paper Talisman, a fluorescent blue notification appeared before his eyes:
[ Name: Corpse Suppressing Talisman ]
[ Type: Consumable ]
[ Function: Suppresses corpses ]
[ Description: A talisman crafted by a powerful Nightwalker, it is the bane of all corpse-type Yin creatures. Affixing it to a Yin creature's forehead will complete the sealing process. ]
[ Note: This talisman can only be used once. ]
The fluorescent blue notification resembled his attribute panel, clearly a notification from the Spirit Realm.
This was the first such notification Zhang Yuanqing had seen since entering the eerie ancient temple.
"This must be an important item," he thought, folding the talisman neatly and tucking it into his jacket pocket, zipping it shut.
After a moment's hesitation, he unzipped the pocket again.
He remembered a trope from a wuxia novel: a peerless swordsman who always carried his sword wrapped in cloth on his back.
One day, a challenger confronted him while he was eating.
The swordsman was instantly defeated.
The cause of death? The inconvenience of unwrapping the cloth.
Zhang Yuanqing then picked up the ancient book and bronze mirror, but no notifications appeared.
He first set the bronze mirror aside, then carefully unrolled the brittle, yellowed scroll.
The text read:
"It has been two and a half years since I entered the Sandaoshan Goddess Temple. I have learned to read and write. Senior Disciple says that once Master returns from guiding lost souls back to the mountain, I can formally begin my initiation and practice the Moon-Swallowing Soul Nurturing Technique—the foundational method for becoming a Nightwalker."
"The Prince of Yan's rebellion has ignited, and signal fires blaze across the land. As the strongest Nightwalker of Song Prefecture, Master has no choice but to descend the mountain to guide the departed. If the war remains unresolved and further calamities arise, the people will find no peace."
Zhang Yuanqing rubbed his aching shoulder, realizing this was a journal.
The entries detailed the author's life and cultivation within the temple. Based on the handwriting, this journal and the paper found on the corpse in the Main Hall originated from the same source.
References to "the Prince of Yan's rebellion" placed the timeline during the Jingnan Campaign.
However, he couldn't confirm whether this temple truly existed in history, as the journal contained esoteric terms like "cultivation," "Nightwalker," "Breathing Technique," and "Talismans"—terms that sounded profound yet remained obscure.
Zhang Yuanqing stretched his aching shoulders, warily scanned the room, and listened for any sounds outside. After confirming nothing seemed amiss, he resumed reading the journal.
He quickly flipped to the continuation of the Main Hall entry. The preceding pages had been torn out, and the remaining text read:
"As the sun set, darkness finally fell. I heard a knock at the door and eagerly opened it, only to find not my Master, but our Senior Disciple, who had vanished the previous night."
"Our Senior Disciple, who had been missing for a full day and night, had returned, but I felt no joy. He was already dead; what stood before me was a corpse. His chest was drenched in blood, his heart gouged out by some unknown assailant."
"The Senior Disciple stared straight at me and said, 'Don't trust Master.'"
These lines were scrawled in a shaky, distorted hand, revealing the journal's author's shattered state of mind as they wrote.
When Zhang Yuanqing turned the page, he discovered the journal ended abruptly. The author never wrote another entry.
"Hiss... What did 'Don't trust Master' mean?"
Zhang Yuanqing felt a chill run down his spine at this shocking revelation.
Had the Temple Steward murdered the Senior Disciple? Was he also the mastermind behind the disciples' disappearances? Zhang Yuanqing rubbed his shoulder, returned the booklet to the corpse's pocket, then picked up the bronze mirror and turned to leave.
But as his peripheral vision caught a glimpse of the mirror, his body froze.
Moonlight streamed like water onto the mirror's surface, reflecting his image. And clinging to his back was a person.
The figure's face was deathly pale, lips a deep purple, and eyes pure white. Its head rested sideways on Zhang Yuanqing's shoulder, those lifeless white eyes staring fixedly at him.