Spirit Realm Wanderer

Chapter 6: The Story of the Mountain God Temple

Damn... Zhang Yuanqing suddenly didn’t want to stay in the main hall any longer. He felt a sense of dread, as if he were in a desperate situation where no one would answer his cries for help. This place was extremely dangerous, yet he had no way to call for help from the outside world; he could rely only on himself. After much hesitation, he gritted his teeth, steeled his resolve, and bent down to pull out the skeleton wrapped in a work uniform. Rip! As he pulled, the work uniform tore easily—after all these years, the fabric had long since rotted away. Dragging the body into the candlelight, he suppressed his queasiness and began to examine it. Although the person was dead, the body spoke volumes. Figuring out the cause of death could help him avoid many dangers. “Several ribs and the sternum are broken, and there are fine cracks in the right shoulder, but nothing too serious...” The deceased had suffered severe injuries before dying, but the exact cause of death was impossible to determine due to the passage of so much time. Next, Zhang Yuanqing found several yellowed, brittle pieces of paper in the veteran worker’s pocket—they were quite old. The papers were covered in minuscule characters written in regular script. Zhang Yuanqing’s heart leapt with joy; the papers were clearly something the veteran worker had found inside the temple, and they would help him understand the history of this ancient temple. By candlelight, he concentrated on reading the contents of the papers. “Last night, another junior disciple went missing—this is already the third mysterious disappearance of a fellow disciple from the temple. My fellow disciples say that San Dao Mountain is haunted, or perhaps a demon of great power has arrived—one that comes to the temple every night to snatch people to eat. But the disciples here all possess spiritual cultivation, and our Master is a renowned True Immortal within a hundred li radius. What kind of demon would be so blind as to dare come here in search of prey? “As for ghosts and monsters, my Corpse-Sealing Talismans and Spirit-Summoning Talismans are more than enough to handle them—there’s no need to trouble the Master. I have a bad feeling about this; I need to go talk it over with the Senior Brother..........” “Another person went missing today—that makes five. Master told us to keep it from the worshippers, lest it affect the temple’s offerings. He must know something. Senior Brother and I plan to patrol at night.........” “Three days have passed, and three more people have gone missing during that time. Yet neither my Senior Brother nor I have found any clues—the nights have been calm and peaceful. My sense of foreboding has only grown deeper...” “Senior Brother has been acting strangely today. He seems to have discovered something and looks very angry. I asked him about it, but he wouldn’t tell me. He’s in a bad mood, so I’ll wait until tomorrow to ask again.” “The person who went missing today was... Senior Brother. I searched the entire San Dao Mountain and couldn’t find him. I—I can’t take it anymore. I’m going to ask Master for a clear explanation. The other monks at the temple support me, too, because they’re scared as well...” The handwriting in this passage was somewhat sloppy, suggesting that the author of the notes was on the verge of a mental breakdown. Zhang Yuanqing continued reading “After I pressed him repeatedly, Master finally agreed to tell me the truth. My hunch was right—he did indeed know the reason behind the junior disciples’ mysterious disappearances. But Master said that with so many people around during the day, there were too many gossiping ears. He promised to come to my room after sunset to reveal a colossal secret—one that has shaped the rise and fall of civilizations for thousands of years.” “After finishing my evening meal, I waited in my room for the sun to set. Ever since people began disappearing at night, I had never looked forward to nightfall quite so much…” The entry on the paper ends here. That’s it? This abrupt ending is a bit frustrating... Zhang Yuanqing grimaced. He sorted through the information on the paper: during a certain year, the disciples of this mountain god temple had mysteriously vanished one after another. The disciples were at a loss, and panic spread among them. Yet the temple’s priest—their master—seemed to know the reason behind it all. This reason was tied to a great secret that had spanned the rise and fall of civilizations over thousands of years. “The cause of the Mountain God Temple’s decline is unknown. If I uncover the root of this, will that allow me to complete the second main quest?” Zhang Yuanqing speculated. He placed the brittle paper back inside the corpse’s work uniform, shoved the body back under the table—out of sight, out of mind—and began to consider his next move. “That’s all the information from the main hall. Since we have to explore the ancient temple, we’ll definitely have to go outside—which means we’ll have to face the dangers inside the temple head-on...” “In the urban legend about the Sheling Tunnel, there was a worker who managed to survive. If I follow in his footsteps, I might just figure out a way to make it out alive.” After careful consideration, Zhang Yuanqing walked to the entrance of the main hall and opened the two lattice doors, which were still in relatively good condition. “Squeak~” The wooden door hinges emitted a sound that made one’s teeth ache. Leaning against the doorframe, he poked his head out and looked around. It was deathly quiet outside; aside from a desolate and eerie atmosphere, he saw no signs of danger. After observing for a while, he stepped over the threshold and walked along the cobblestone path to the left of the main hall, heading toward the rear courtyard of the Mountain God Temple. The moonlight shone like water over the undulating wild grass. After walking for a minute or two, a cluster of buildings came into view ahead. They were several connected single-story buildings forming a vast courtyard compound—black tiles, white walls, and a single-row ridge line, with latticed windows and doors beneath the eaves. The lattice doors were all dingy—some open, some fallen over, and some tightly shut—and the paper used to cover the windows was tattered and torn from the ravages of time. The moonlight shone brightly, like frost settling on the ground, and he used its glow to take a quick look at the layout of the backyard of the Mountain God Temple. In addition to the courtyard before him, there was an arched gate on the east side—somewhat reminiscent of the private quarters of wealthy families in TV dramas and movies, which often featured such an arched gate to connect different courtyards. In the courtyard next door stood a towering tree, its foliage lush and its branches gnarled. “Huh....” Amid the undulating weeds in the courtyard, he discovered several skeletons clad in work uniforms. He cautiously approached and examined them closely. Each skeleton was severely damaged, with broken bones visible beneath the work uniforms, but unlike the one in the main hall, the shoulder bones here were intact, showing no cracks. “These people all suffered terrible injuries before they died—their deaths were truly gruesome...” A gust of wind blew by, causing the branches and leaves to rustle. Amid the faint rustling carried by the wind, Zhang Yuanqing thought he heard a whisper, plaintive as a lament “Help me, help me...” In the desolate, deathly silent night, a cold sweat broke out on Zhang Yuanqing’s back. He stood frozen in place. After a long while, the wind died down, and the mournful whispers faded away with it. That courtyard next door seemed a bit dangerous, but whatever was inside hadn’t come over... He exhaled silently, stepping through the overgrown weeds that covered the courtyard, and walked under the eaves, intending to explore this siheyuan. This seemed to be where the temple’s disciples lived; it was piled high with dilapidated, dust-covered furniture, and the air was thick with a faint, musty odor. Zhang Yuanqing searched each room one by one, finding nothing out of the ordinary—until he pushed open the lattice door at the far east end. “Creak~” The door, sealed away for who knows how many years, swung open once more, sending a shower of dust cascading down. Zhang Yuanqing brushed the dust off his shoulders and scanned every corner of the room with a wary gaze. In this room, abandoned for many years, a corpse lay leaning against the wall by the window, slumped at an angle. Judging by the clothing and the miner’s helmet that had rolled to the floor, it was another veteran. Stepping over the threshold and into the room, Zhang Yuanqing shivered, feeling inexplicably as though the temperature around him had dropped significantly. “It’s a little cold…” He cautiously approached the corpse, unbuttoned its tattered clothes, and, as usual, examined the condition of the skeleton. This time, however, he saw no shattered bones—the skeleton was perfectly preserved. But when he turned his gaze to the shoulder bone, his pupils contracted. There was a jarringly wide crack running across it. It was identical to the crack on the shoulder of the corpse in the main hall, except that the injury on this skeleton was far more severe. “Only the shoulder bones of this one in the room and the one in the main hall are fractured—is that a coincidence?” he muttered to himself, feeling somewhat uneasy. Then, Zhang Yuanqing noticed that the corpse’s pants pocket was bulging, as if it were hiding something. He reached in and pulled out a yellowed ancient book, a dusty copper mirror, and a yellow paper talisman. The yellow talisman was adorned with twisted patterns drawn in cinnabar, somewhat resembling runes; these patterns converged to form a character that closely resembled the Chinese character meaning “corpse”. Just as he was examining the yellow talisman, a line of fluorescent blue text appeared before Zhang Yuanqing’s eyes [Name: Corpse-Sealing Talisman] [Type: Consumable] [Function: Subdue Corpses] [Description: A talisman crafted by a powerful Night Wanderer, it is the nemesis of all corpse-like and Yin entities. Affixing it to the forehead of a Yin entity will complete the seal. ] [Note: It can only be used once. ] The indigo-blue text resembled his stats panel; clearly, this was a prompt from the “Spirit Realm.” This was the first time Zhang Yuanqing had seen such a prompt since entering the eerie ancient temple. “It must be an important item.” Zhang Yuanqing folded it up, tucked it into the pocket of his windbreaker, and zipped it shut. After thinking for a moment, he unzipped it again. He’d just recalled a trope from a wuxia novel—a master swordsman who liked to wrap his sword in a strip of cloth and carry it on his back. One day, a challenger confronted the swordsman while he was eating. And that was the end of the swordsman. The cause of death was that the cloth strip was too cumbersome to untie... Zhang Yuanqing then picked up the ancient book and the bronze mirror, but no relevant information appeared. He set the bronze mirror aside and carefully unrolled the yellowed, brittle volume, starting from the bottom of the page. It read “It has been two and a half years since I became a disciple at the Lady’s Temple on San Dao Mountain. I have already learned to read and write. My senior brother said that once our master returns to the mountain after performing a soul-liberation ritual, he will formally initiate me into the practice of the ‘Swallowing the Moon, Nurturing the Soul’ technique. This is the introductory practice for becoming a Night Wanderer.” “With the Prince of Yan’s rebellion and smoke signals rising everywhere, my Master—as the strongest practitioner of the Night Wanderer lineage of the Song Manor—has no choice but to descend the mountain to perform rites for the deceased. Otherwise, with the war still unresolved and the perils of the underworld resurfacing, the common people will find even less peace...” Zhang Yuanqing felt a slight ache in his shoulder and rubbed it. His initial assessment was that this was a collection of random notes—in other words, a diary. The diary’s contents detailed the “author’s” experiences practicing and living in the temple. Judging by the handwriting, this diary and the paper found on the corpse in the main hall came from the same source. Based on phrases like “the Prince of Yan’s Rebellion,” the timeline corresponded to the period of the Jingnan Campaign. However, he wasn’t certain whether this temple had actually existed in history, as the journal contained obscure yet impressive terms like “spiritual cultivation,” “night-roaming spirits,” “breathing techniques,” and “talismans.” Zhang Yuanqing stretched his aching shoulders, cast a wary glance around the room, and listened for any sounds outside. After confirming everything was normal, he resumed reading the journal. Soon, he turned to the continuation of the section on the main hall. The first few pages had been torn out, and the remaining text read “At sunset, as darkness finally fell, I heard a knock at the door. I eagerly opened it, only to find standing there not my master, but the senior disciple who had gone missing the night before.” “My senior brother, who had been missing for a day and a night, had returned, but I felt no joy, because… he was already dead. What had returned was a corpse. His chest was drenched in blood, and his heart had been ripped out—by someone unknown.” “The eldest senior brother stared straight at me and said, ‘Don’t trust the Master…’” These few lines were scrawled in a shaky, crooked handwriting—one can only imagine how shattered the author’s state of mind must have been when writing this passage. When Zhang Yuanqing turned to the next page, he discovered the notebook ended there; the author never wrote another entry. “Ugh… What does ‘Don’t trust the Master’ mean?” Zhang Yuanqing felt a chill run down his spine at this unexpected twist. Did the temple caretaker kill that senior brother? Was he also the mastermind behind the disciples’ disappearances, one after another? Zhang Yuanqing rubbed his shoulders, slipped the notebook back into the corpse’s pocket, then picked up the bronze mirror, just as he was about to leave. But when he caught a glimpse of the bronze mirror out of the corner of his eye, his body suddenly went rigid. Moonlight, as smooth as water, fell upon the mirror’s surface, reflecting his image—and on his back, a figure was lying face-down. That person’s face was deathly pale, his lips a deep purple, and he had a pair of white eyes. His head was tilted to one side, resting on Zhang Yuanqing’s shoulder, and those white eyes stared at him with lifeless stillness.