Damn... Zhang Yuanqing suddenly didn't want to stay in the main hall any longer.
He felt trapped in a dead-end, desperate, with no one to call for help—neither heaven nor earth responded.
This place was extremely dangerous, yet he couldn't ask anyone outside for aid. The only person he could rely on was himself.
After hesitating for a long time, he gritted his teeth and steeled his resolve. He bent down and pulled out the skeleton wrapped in the work clothes.
Rrrip~
The protective suit tore easily during the tug. After all these years, the fabric had long since rotted away.
Dragging the corpse into the candlelight, Zhang endured the discomfort and began his examination.
Though the person was dead, a body still "speaks." Figuring out the cause of death could help him avoid many dangers.
"The sternum and some ribs are broken, there are fine cracks on the right shoulder, but not too severe..."
The deceased had clearly suffered heavy trauma before death, but the exact cause remained unclear due to the long time passed.
Next, Zhang Yuanqing found several yellowed, brittle sheets of paper in the worker's pocket—old and fragile.
The writing was tiny and neat, in regular script.
His heart leapt. These papers were obviously found by the worker in the temple, a clue that could help him understand the ancient temple's situation.
Using the candlelight, he carefully read the contents:
"Last night another junior brother disappeared—this is already the third strange disappearance among the disciples. The brothers say the Three Mountains are haunted, or a powerful demon has come, coming every night to the temple to snatch people to eat. But our cultivation and protective talismans are strong, and Master is renowned within a hundred miles. No demon would dare show up here."
"As for ghosts, my corpse-sealing talisman and spirit-summoning talisman are enough to handle them. No need to bother Master. Still, I have a bad feeling and want to talk with Senior Brother…"
"Today yet another person vanished—this is the fifth disappearance. Master told us to keep it from the pilgrims, lest it affect the temple's incense offerings. He must know something. Senior Brother and I plan to patrol at night…"
"Three days passed, and three more disappeared, but Senior Brother and I found no clues. The nights were calm. My ominous feeling only grew…"
"Senior Brother acted strangely today. He seemed to discover something and was very angry. I asked him, but he said nothing. His mood is off. I'll ask again tomorrow."
"Today, the missing person is… Senior Brother. I searched all of Three Mountains but couldn't find him. I can't take it anymore. I have to ask Master for the truth. The other brothers support me—they're terrified too…"
The handwriting was rough here, revealing the author's mental collapse.
Zhang Yuanqing read on:
"After much questioning, Master finally agreed to tell me the truth. My premonition was right—he knows the reason for the strange disappearances. But he said that by day, with so many people talking, he can't reveal it. After sunset, he will come to my room and tell me a secret—a great secret tied to the rise and fall over thousands of years."
"After dinner, I waited in my room for sunset. Since someone vanished at night, I've never looked forward to darkness so much…"
The note ended there.
No more? That abrupt stop left Zhang Yuanqing feeling frustrated.
He pieced together the info: at some point, disciples at this Mountain God Temple vanished one after another under mysterious circumstances.
The disciples were helpless and gripped by panic. Yet the temple's caretaker—Master—seemed to know why.
This reason involved a secret connected to thousands of years of rise and decline.
"Could uncovering the cause of the Mountain God Temple's decline be the second main quest?" Zhang guessed.
He put the brittle papers back into the corpse's work clothes and pushed the body under the table. Out of sight, out of mind.
Then he considered his next move.
"The main hall only holds so much information. If I want to explore the temple further, I have to go out—and face the dangers inside."
"There's a rumor among the Sheling Tunnel workers about someone who survived. Following their trail might reveal how to survive."
After thinking it through, Zhang Yuanqing approached the main hall's door and opened the two intact lattice doors.
Squeak~
The wooden hinges groaned painfully.
He leaned on the doorframe, peeked out carefully left and right. Outside was silent and desolate—no immediate danger in sight.
After a moment's watch, he stepped out and followed the cobblestone path on the hall's left side toward the temple's back courtyard.
Moonlight poured like water; wild grass swayed as Zhang walked for a minute or two before a cluster of buildings appeared.
It was a group of connected bungalows forming a large courtyard, with black tiles and white walls. The roof ridges formed a straight line; lattice windows and doors hung under the eaves.
Some doors were gray and dusty, some ajar, some fallen, some tightly shut. The paper sealing the windows was torn and decayed from age.
Under the bright moon, like frost on the ground, Zhang scanned the courtyard's layout.
Besides the bungalow courtyard, there was an arched gate on the east side—reminiscent of the back courtyards in period dramas, connecting different sections.
The adjacent yard had a towering old tree with thick branches twisted in knots.
"Huh…"
Among the waving grass in that yard, Zhang spotted several skeletons wrapped in work clothes.
He approached carefully and examined them one by one. Each skeleton was badly damaged, with broken bones visible beneath the protective suits. But unlike the skeleton in the main hall, their shoulder bones were intact, without cracks.
"All of them suffered terrible trauma before death—died miserably…"
A gust of wind rustled the leaves, and amid the "shush shush" of the branches, Zhang thought he heard faint, sorrowful whispers:
"Help... help…"
In this dead, desolate night, cold sweat trickled down his back.
He froze on the spot. After a while, the wind stopped, and the mournful whispers faded.
The neighboring yard seemed dangerous, but nothing had come out.
He exhaled silently and stepped over the wild grass, entering the eaves to explore the bungalow courtyard.
This seemed to be where the disciples lived—piles of old, dusty furniture and a faint smell of rot filled the air.
Zhang checked each room but found nothing special—until he pushed open the easternmost lattice door.
Creak~
The door, sealed for unknown years, opened again, dust falling like rain.
Zhang brushed the dust off his shoulder and cautiously scanned the room.
In this long-abandoned chamber, near the window, lay a corpse leaning against the wall, slumped sideways.
Judging by the clothing and the dropped miner's helmet, this was another senior worker.
Crossing the threshold, Zhang shivered as the room felt inexplicably colder.
"A bit chilly…"
He cautiously approached the corpse, undid the tattered clothing, and examined the bones. This skeleton was well preserved—no fractures.
But when he looked at the shoulder bones, his pupils constricted.
Like the corpse in the main hall, this skeleton's shoulder had exaggerated cracks—only this one's injuries were more severe.
"Is it just coincidence that only these two corpses have cracked shoulder bones?" he muttered uneasily.
Then Zhang noticed the corpse's trouser pocket was bulging.
He reached in and pulled out a yellowed ancient booklet, a dull bronze mirror, and a yellow paper talisman.
The talisman had twisted red cinnabar lines resembling runes, converging into a symbol resembling the traditional character for "corpse."
Staring at the talisman, Zhang's vision flashed with glowing blue text:
[Name: Corpse-Sealing Talisman]
[Type: Consumable]
[Effect: Corpse Sealing]
[Description: A powerful talisman created by the Night Wanderer God, the nemesis of all undead and evil spirits. Applying it to the forehead seals the corpse.]
[Note: Single use only.]
The blue text resembled his status panel—clearly a "Spirit Realm" prompt.
Since entering this eerie ancient temple, this was the first such hint.
"This must be an important item." Zhang folded the talisman and tucked it into his jacket pocket, zipping it up.
Then he hesitated and unzipped it again.
He recalled a trope from a wuxia novel—a master swordsman wrapped his sword in cloth and carried it on his back.
One day, a challenger appeared while he was eating.
And then the swordsman was gone.
Cause of death: inconvenient to unwrap the cloth...
Zhang then picked up the ancient booklet and bronze mirror; no info appeared for them.
He placed the mirror aside and carefully flipped through the fragile, yellowed pages of the booklet.
It read:
"I have been studying at the Three Mountains Niangniang Temple for two and a half years. I have learned to read and write. Senior Brother says that once Master completes the rites to release the souls back to the mountains, I can officially be inducted to practice the Moon Swallowing Soul Nourishing technique—a beginner's method to become a Night Wanderer God."
"The Yan King's rebellion rages on; smoke and fire spread. Master, as the strongest of the Night Wanderer Gods from the Song family, must descend to release the dead spirits. Otherwise, until the war ends, the Yin calamities will rise again, and the people will have no peace…"
Zhang rubbed his sore shoulder. Judging by the content, this was a diary recording the author's life and cultivation at the temple.
The handwriting matched that on the papers found in the main hall corpse's clothes.
Mentions of "Yan King's rebellion" placed the timeline in the Jingnan Campaign era.
Yet Zhang wasn't sure if this temple truly existed in history—terms like "cultivation," "Night Wanderer God," "breathing techniques," and "talismans" gave it a mystical vibe.
He stretched his aching shoulder, glanced warily around the room, listened outside for any sound, and continued reading.
Soon, he reached the follow-up to the main hall notes—the earlier pages were torn out.
The continuation said:
"Sunset. Night finally fell. I heard knocking and eagerly opened the door. Standing outside was not Master, but Senior Brother who had disappeared last night."
"Senior Brother, missing for a day and night, had returned. But I felt no joy—he was dead. The returned one was a corpse. His chest was bloodied; his heart was missing."
"Senior Brother stared at me blankly and said: Don't trust Master…"
The handwriting here was jagged and shaky—clearly, the author was mentally shattered writing this.
Turning to the next page, Zhang found no further entries—the diary's author never wrote again.
"Hiss… Don't trust Master? What does that mean?"
Zhang felt a chill down his spine from this twist.
Was the temple caretaker the one who killed Senior Brother? The mastermind behind all these disappearances?
He rubbed his shoulder and put the booklet back into the corpse's pocket.
Then he reached for the bronze mirror, about to leave.
But out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at the mirror—and suddenly froze.
Moonlight streamed over the mirror's surface, reflecting his image.
Behind him, a figure clung to his back.
The person's face was pale, lips deep purple, with white pupils.
Their head rested sideways on Zhang's shoulder, those white eyes dead and unblinking.