A row of clay Muddy Figurines stood along the edge of the eaves, each about the size of a child’s palm, their features blurred and hollow, as if casually pinched and molded by someone’s hand.
Suddenly, one of the Muddy Figurines snapped its mouth open and cried out in a strange voice: “The artifact is in the southeast! The artifact is in the southeast! The artifact is in the southeast!”
The Daoist Elders hurriedly rushed out, their hands forming Jieyin as they respectfully gazed up at the Muddy Figurine on the eaves.
A Daoist Elder with an ethereal and otherworldly appearance murmured, “Southeast, southeast… Let me think. Could this southeast be that bewitched Wanggui Forest?”
Those around him involuntarily shivered, fear evident on their faces.
***
Inside the only inn in the Town.
A group of weary travelers took their seats. Among them, a noticeably shorter boy curiously asked the man beside him, “Brother, are we staying at such a nice inn today?”
The man gave a bitter laugh. “Order whatever you want later. Kids are pitiful.”
From his words, the boy sensed something and nervously swallowed. “No, no, brother, what do you mean?”
The man patted the boy’s shoulder. “Kid, don’t ask too much. What’s the point of knowing so much anyway? In any case…”
His black-and-white eyes gave the boy a sidelong glance, meaning unclear. “You’re not going anywhere.”
The man turned, the tools clinking inside his Qiju Bag tied at his waist.
After all the strangeness on the journey and the current reckless behavior, the boy’s face was pale.
He lowered his gaze to the fierce blood-red tattoo on his arm, the pattern twisted and menacing, as if alive, staring fixedly at him.
The boy suddenly shook his hand, and his Daoist robe bounced as he forced himself to abandon any thought of escape.
Outside, a few passersby walked by the inn, while inside, the Daoist Elders had already gathered around a table, drinking and feasting heartily.
The boy stared at the cup of wine meant to dispel sorrow, biting his teeth as he pulled a piece of broken silver from his Shixiong’s pocket.
His Shixiong glanced at him as he gulped down from a wine jar.
The inn’s waiter was bored, watching them crack sunflower seeds. The boy approached him.
“Big brother, I’m Daoist Cong Xin. May I ask your name?”
The waiter sneered, spitting out a sunflower seed shell. He appraised him briefly.
“Niu Miao. Three waters for Miao.”
Cong Xin was stunned. “Miao”? For ordinary folk, that wasn’t an easy character to recognize.
He felt a bit ashamed. After all, he couldn’t even properly read the scriptures now, and his Jieyin was clumsy. In short, he was a complete failure.
The waiter handed him a handful of seeds and said casually, “Going to Wanggui Forest to die, huh? I, Niu Miao, have seen plenty. None have ever escaped. They all look like ‘The wind is bleak, the Yi River cold; a warrior leaves, never to return.’”
Something whooshed past his ear. Cong Xin blankly repeated, “What cold?”
Niu Miao rolled his eyes. “You illiterate little brat, the Master would be pleased to see you.”
Cong Xin blushed deeply and widened his eyes. “Wh-what? Illiterate? I can read! I can read! It’s just the poem…”
He stammered and couldn’t finish.
Niu Miao laughed heartily and then stretched out an arm to press on his shoulder. “You’re likable, kid. If you want to hide out in the Town, come to my place.”
Cong Xin paused and sighed slightly, shaking his head. “I’ve signed the Ritual Contract. I can’t run anymore. Thanks for your kindness, brother.”
Niu Miao couldn’t help but affectionately pat Cong Xin’s head.
Cong Xin was young, his skinny hands barely visible from his oversized Daoist robe, faint scars visible on his wrist.
Niu Miao sighed.
“Wanggui, Wanggui… Has anyone ever truly returned from that strange forest? I don’t understand what you high cultivators do. Why would anyone want to go looking for death? Strange indeed! Master, I just don’t get it.”
No one knew exactly when Wanggui Forest had come into existence. It had once been an ordinary thicket, but countless lives had piled up there.
The emerald leaves had turned bloodstained, the forest wind carried the stench of decay — a killing ground rife with countless ghosts and spirits, that much was certain.
Originally, only foolish people seeking fame would come here, arrogantly throwing away their lives, adding their bones to the forest floor.
Until the prophecy of the Muddy Figurine appeared—
“The artifact is in the southeast, the artifact is in the southeast.”
In that southeast direction, the Wanggui Forest could not be ignored.
But the place was thick with Yin Qi. No cultivator who entered ever returned alive.
How many ghosts hid in that eerie forest remained a terrifying unknown.
The surrounding villages still kept the custom of offering Sacrificial Boys and Girls to pray for protection. The things in the forest were unlike ghosts or gods—they were worse.
Cong Xin shivered violently, his Qiju Bag trembling at his waist.
He bitterly regretted having spent so long inside the temple to forge his weapon, only to lose his life for it. Desperately, he rubbed the tattoo on his wrist, which suddenly burned fiercely, startling him awake.
His lips quivered pale as his heart sank into an endless abyss.
Terrifying.
Wanggui Forest was dark and silent, even the birds were quiet.
The dense canopy blocked the sun, looming trees shadowing the northern yellow sands.
Under the scorching sun, entering the forest felt chilling cold.
From the shadows, countless pairs of eyes seemed to open quietly, watching, staring, like patient hunters waiting for their prey to step into a trap.
The lead Shixiong swallowed hard.
This ghostly forest radiated a sinister Yin Qi all around. His pupils contracted as he gripped his weapon tightly, sweat beading on his forehead as he cautiously stepped deeper into the forest.
Everyone knew the truth—they were destined to become bones here, either devoured or having their souls taken.
Who wanted to die? But trapped in the mountains, they had no choice.
Too quiet—almost as if there were no ghosts here at all.
Suddenly, someone whispered in alarm, “A Town!”
Everyone was startled.
Taking a few more steps, they saw before them a Town.
White walls and black tiles lined up in neat rows, every corner exuding the charm of a water village.
The bluestone pavement lay atop grass, the boundary between the two starkly distinct.
Like a dream.
They couldn’t help but step into this strange Town.
***
Walking along the main street, the shops included rice stores, butcher shops, and cloth vendors.
In front of one shop, an unfinished embroidery featuring mandarin ducks rested on a low stool, as if the owner had been distracted and left mid-work.
Flags fluttered in the wind, yet the entire Town was deserted.
Cong Xin halted, staring at white walls smeared with childish graffiti—a black Ghost stretching across the sky, surrounded by various terrifying little ghosts.
“Blank space? What’s that blank space?” Cong Xin furrowed his brow, noticing the child’s self-portrait: one hand raised high, the other seemingly holding something.
The Shixiong’s group had moved on, unwilling to be alone. Cong Xin didn’t dwell on it and hurried after them.
- Fragrant grass—
- Evening wind—flute’s faint sound.
- Sunset beyond the mountains.
Everyone shuddered.
A song, carried by the wind.
The hauntingly beautiful flute blended with the song, terrifying in the silence of the Town.
Following the sound, they found a low, flat manor.
Through the paper windows, faint and eerie figures could be seen.
The doorframe was inlaid with Gold and Jade, glittering dazzlingly in the sunlight, almost too bright to look at.
The singing grew clearer.
“From the edge of the sky, to the corners of the earth, half of my friends have fallen—
“A pot of turbid wine, to drain the last joys; tonight’s farewell dreams chill my heart.”
The lead Shixiong involuntarily stepped forward, seemingly bewitched by some dreadful force.
He carefully pushed open the paper window, his pupils contracting sharply as his whole body trembled with fright.
A brain-eating Ghost Fox and a patchwork Patchwork Doll, pieced together in bits and pieces.
The only ghosts he could recognize.
Even these fierce fiends sat obediently by the side.
The being who could silence them all…
Countless grotesque and deformed figures wore scholar’s robes, donned human clothes, their hands and claws folded on the desk.
Bloodstains stained the pure white disciple robes, crimson chunks of flesh faintly visible between the pale teeth.
Sinister ghost children laughed, their innocent voices carrying a strange purity.
Suddenly, the Shixiong caught sight of a black tentacle flickering past, jolting him awake.
The overwhelming Yin Qi seeped out quietly.
He thought: if one tentacle was this huge, then the main body…
Forcing his trembling body to stay steady, a flood of terror crashed like a tidal wave.
He fought to control his facial muscles, tears welling uncontrollably in his eyes.
He mustered all his strength to raise a hand, lips moving but no sound came out.
“Run!”
The song and flute ceased.
Everyone realized something immediately.
The Shixiong suddenly froze, his expression going blank.
His eyes rolled back and he collapsed to the ground, revealing a small hole he had poked.
From that hole, a thick, fuzzy black tentacle sprouted, struggling to squeeze out.
It seemed troubled, stuck halfway because of its massive body.
Silence fell.
Only the faint breathing and pounding hearts of the Daoist Elders could be heard.
The tentacle suddenly burst through the window!
A chord snapped.
Look.
“Ahhhhh—!”
At that moment, all forgot what they had learned.
Under the pressure of fear, they fled desperately.
Cong Xin was trembling violently, cold sweat dripping from his forehead, frozen in place by terror, unable to move his legs.
“Squeak—” The wooden door was pushed open.
Tears streamed uncontrollably from Cong Xin’s eyes as he stared fixedly at the window sill.
Don’t look, don’t hear, don’t think. Unknowingly, without awareness.
Goosebumps erupted all over his body, hands trembling as he muttered, “This window… is made so strangely, so strangely beautiful.”
Light footsteps landed beside him.
Cong Xin caught a glimpse of a deep black robe from the corner of his eye.
His lips pale: “So beautiful, so beautiful—”
“Brother, you think the window is that beautiful? Or is it something else…?”
“It’s just a window! Just a beautiful window! I must find one like it when I get back!” Cong Xin babbled, interrupting hastily.
“Oh.” The warm and refined male voice was unbothered.
It was a truly pleasant voice, and in Cong Xin’s heart, a voice shouted for him to quickly turn and see the owner of such a charming sound.
“Brother, why are your legs trembling? Are you scared of something?”
Cong Xin hurriedly shook his head, afraid to waste a second, awkwardly forcing a smile.
“I- I’ve been standing too long, my legs… went numb.”
“Brother, why not turn and look at me when I speak? Am I so ugly?”
The owner of the voice laughed cheerfully, as if amused.
For a moment, Cong Xin was entranced.
He couldn’t help but turn around.
His heart split in two: one half wanting to curl up and weep—today would be his burial place; the other half excited, urging him to look, to not miss a thing.
It was a visage worthy of description as a splendid painting, glowing as if bathed in golden light.
His eyes were like the gentle spring breeze of April, his red lips curved—one smile enough to win favor even from the immortals passing down their thrones.
The terrifying blackness that darkened the sky, the thick and monstrous tentacles moist and slick as they writhed.
The overwhelming Yin Qi stained half the horizon, cold murderous intent mingled with the stench of blood.
Countless demons and ghosts crowded around, casting eerie, grotesque shadows on the ground.
“How did it bend that way?” the scholar asked blankly.
The upright Ghost Fox’s fiery red fur gleamed.
It snarled and laughed harshly, then kicked Cong Xin.
The scholar looked toward the sound. “Xiao Hong, any ideas?”
Xiao Hong quietly tucked away his fox paws and shook his head innocently.
***
【18 years old: You caught a timid Daoist outside the school, sneaking a peek through the window to learn.
You sighed helplessly. The school’s reputation must be well known for this young Daoist to seek learning but come empty-handed, imitating the ancients who chipped the wall to steal light.
The Daoist fainted from fright when caught.
Looking at this skinny child, your kindness urged you to sponsor this impoverished student.
When he wakes, he will surely thank you!
Don’t frown. Your family will fulfill all your wishes, just so your beautiful face can relax!
Morality slightly decreased! Reputation greatly increased!】
Wu You proudly said, “Hey, not bad at all! People are coming because of our reputation!
I told you—teaching without discrimination, who can rival us!
Once compulsory education arrives, the world will bow down!”
The simulation continued.
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