Chapter 6: The Story Of The Mountain God Temple
"Shit..." Zhang Yuanqing muttered.
He suddenly didn't want to stay in the main hall anymore.
He felt the crushing helplessness of someone trapped in a dead end, screaming at both heaven and earth in utter futility. The place he found himself in was extremely dangerous, yet there was no way to call for help. The only person he could rely on was himself.
After agonizing over his situation, he clenched his jaw, steeled his resolve, and bent down to drag the skeleton clad in the work uniform out from beneath the table.
Riiip~
The work uniform tore easily as he did so. After so many years, the fabric had long since rotted through.
He pulled the remains into the candlelight and, fighting back his discomfort, began his examination. The person was dead, but the body still had stories to tell. Figuring out the cause of death could help him avoid the same fate.
A few broken ribs and sternum fractures. Some fine cracks along the right shoulder, though nothing too severe...
The deceased had suffered serious trauma before death, but given how much time had passed, determining the exact cause was impossible.
Next, he searched through the worker's pockets and found several brittle, yellowed sheets of paper that looked decades old, covered in small characters written in regular script. His spirits lifted. These papers had clearly been found inside the temple by this unfortunate pioneer. Perhaps they could help him understand what he was dealing with.
In the dim candlelight, Zhang Yuanqing carefully read through their contents.
"Another junior disciple vanished last night. That brings the total number of people who have mysteriously disappeared from the temple up to three. The brothers speculate that Three Paths Mountain is haunted, or perhaps some powerful demon has been coming every night to snatch people away. But the disciples here all possess cultivation, and our Master is a renowned practitioner famous for a hundred li in every direction. What kind of demon would be foolish enough to hunt on these grounds?
"As for ghosts, my Corpse Suppression Talisman and Spirit Summoning Talisman are more than sufficient. No need to trouble Master. Still, I have a bad feeling about this. I should go find Senior Disciple and discuss the matter..."
He examined another scrap of paper.
"Another person vanished today. That's the fifth. Master told us to keep it from the pilgrims so it won't affect the amount of incense being offered at the temple. He definitely knows something. Senior Disciple and I plan to patrol the area at night..."
He read the next entry.
"Three days have passed. Three more people disappeared in the meantime, but Senior Disciple and I found nothing. The nights were calm and uneventful. The dread in my gut keeps growing deeper..."
The journal entries were slowly revealing bits of the past.
"Senior Disciple was acting strange today. He seemed to have discovered something, and it made him furious. I asked him about it, but he refused to tell me. His mood was terrible. I'll try asking again tomorrow."
Zhang Yuanqing flipped to the next entry.
"The one who disappeared today was... Senior Disciple. I searched every inch of Three Paths Mountain and couldn't find him. I... I can't take it anymore. I'm going to confront Master and demand answers. The other brothers are terrified as well, and have offered me support..."
The handwriting in that last passage was noticeably messier, as though the writer's composure had shattered completely.
He continued reading.
"After persistent questioning, Master finally agreed to tell me the truth. My instincts were correct. He's known all along why the disciples were disappearing. But Master said there were too many ears around during the day. He would come by my room after sunset and reveal a monumental secret, one that concerns thousands of years of upheaval.
"After the evening meal, I waited in my room, waiting for the sun to set. Ever since people started vanishing in the night, I have never once looked forward to darkness falling... until now."
That was the final piece of paper.
Zhang Yuanqing grimaced. Is that all? This cliffhanger feels physically painful...
In his mind, he consolidated the information held within the journal entries. It seemed during a certain period, the disciples of this mountain temple had begun vanishing one after another in bizarre fashion. They were helpless against it, and panic had spread among them. Meanwhile, the temple's head priest, their master, had apparently known the reason for the disappearances all along.
And that reason was tied to a great secret spanning thousands of years of upheaval.
Maybe the reason behind the temple's decline is the key. If I can uncover that, I might complete the second main quest, Zhang Yuanqing theorized.
He tucked the brittle papers back into the skeleton's work uniform, pushed the remains back under the table—out of sight, out of mind, after all—and began thinking about his next move.
I've discovered all I can in this main hall, Zhang Yuanqing decided. If I'm going to explore this temple, I'll have to go back out there, which means confronting whatever dangers are lurking...
In the Sheling Tunnel urban legend, one worker managed to survive. If I can track his path and follow it, maybe I can find a way to make it out alive too.
After careful deliberation, Zhang Yuanqing walked to the main hall entrance and pushed open the two well-preserved lattice doors.
The wooden hinges creaked loudly, and the sharp, painful squeal set his teeth on edge. Leaning against the door frame, he stuck his head out and had a quick look around. It was dead silent outside. The desolate, eerie atmosphere aside, there was no visible danger.
After observing for a while, he stepped over the threshold and followed a cobblestone path along the left side of the main hall, heading toward the rear courtyard.
Moonlight flowed like water over rolling waves of dead grass. After a minute or two of walking, a cluster of buildings appeared ahead.
On closer inspection, he noted several connected single story structures that formed a large traditional Chinese courtyard. The white walls were topped with black roof tiles, with a straight ridgeline running across the top. Lattice windows and lattice doors sat beneath the eaves. Some hung open, some had fallen off their hinges, while others were shut tight, but every door seemed coated in grime. The paper that had once covered the windows had been chewed away by time, leaving nothing but tattered scraps.
Bright moonlight spilled across the ground like a layer of frost. Zhang Yuanqing used that light to survey the layout of the temple's rear courtyard.
Aside from the courtyard right in front of him, there was also an arched gateway to the east, reminiscent of the connecting passages that joined different courtyards in wealthy estates depicted in period dramas.
Through the archway, he could see a towering tree growing in the neighboring courtyard, its gnarled and twisted branches holding up a thick, lush canopy.
"Hm?"
Zhang Yuanqing spotted several more skeletons wrapped in work uniforms scattered among the overgrown weeds in the courtyard. He approached each one cautiously and examined them. The damage to these skeletons was severe, with snapped and shattered bones clearly visible beneath the uniforms. However, unlike the skeleton in the main hall, the shoulder bones on these remains were perfectly intact, without a single crack.
These people all suffered horrific trauma before they died, Zhang Yuanqing observed with a shudder. Such brutal deaths...
A gust of wind swept through the courtyard, rustling the leaves. As he listened to the sound of the passing breeze, he caught something else woven into its sonic tapestry. It sounded like a weeping, pleading whisper.
"Help me... help me..."
He broke out in cold sweat, which dripped down his back. He stood frozen in that desolate, deathly-silent night, every muscle rigid with tension. After what seemed an eternity, the wind died down, and the mournful whispers faded with it.
The neighboring courtyard seemed to harbor significant danger, but whatever was in there hadn't come over. Zhang Yuanqing exhaled silently, waded through the waist high weeds, and stepped beneath the eaves, ready to explore the courtyard.
The courtyard he entered appeared to be where the temple's disciples had lived. Broken furniture was scattered throughout, liberally coated in dust, and a faint smell of decay hung in the air.
He searched the rooms one by one. Nothing remarkable turned up until he pushed open the lattice door of the easternmost room.
Creak~
A door which had been sealed for untold years swung open again, sending a cascade of dust down on Zhang Yuanqing. He brushed the particles off his shoulders as his eyes cautiously swept across every corner of the room.
As he examined the long-abandoned space, his gaze fell upon a body slumped at an angle against one of the walls, just by the window. The clothing and the miner's helmet on the floor confirmed it as another one of the trailblazing party.
Zhang Yuanqing crossed the threshold and entered the room, shivering as the surrounding temperature seemed to plummet without explanation.
"It's cold..." he muttered.
He inched toward the remains, unfastened the tattered clothing, and examined the bones as before. This time, there were no shattered ribs or fractured bones. The skeleton was completely intact.
However, when his gaze shifted to the shoulder bones, his eyes narrowed. The shoulder blades were split apart, with large, exaggerated cracks all along the bone. It was the same type of damage as he had seen on the shoulder blades of the skeleton in the main hall, except far worse.
"Only the body in this room and the one in the main hall have cracked shoulder blades. Is that a coincidence?" he muttered uneasily.
He then noticed the corpse's trouser pocket was bulging, as if there was something hidden inside. He reached in and pulled out three items: a yellowed ancient booklet, a grimy bronze mirror, and a yellow paper talisman.
The talisman was inscribed with twisted patterns drawn in cinnabar, resembling some form of arcane script. The patterns converged to form a character that looked like the traditional Chinese word for "corpse."
As Zhang Yuanqing studied the talisman, a line of glowing blue text materialized before his eyes.
【Name: Corpse Suppression Talisman】
【Type: Consumable】
【Function: Corpse suppression】
【Description: A talisman crafted by a powerful Nocturnal Specter. The bane of all corpse-type yin entities. Affix it to the entity's forehead to complete the seal.】
【Note: Single use only.】
The glowing blue text resembled his attribute panel. Clearly, this was a prompt provided by the Spirit Realm. It was the first time he had seen such a prompt after entering this eerie temple.
This must be an important item, Zhang Yuanqing concluded. He folded it carefully and tucked it into his windbreaker pocket, zipping it shut.
After a moment's thought, he unzipped the pocket again.
A running joke from a martial arts novel had just crossed his mind. In that novel, a certain swordsman of extraordinary skill liked to wrap his sword in cloth and carry it on his back. One day, a challenger confronted the swordsman while he was eating, and then the swordsman was no more. The cause of death? The cloth wrapping was too inconvenient to undo...
After unzipping his pocket, Zhang Yuanqing picked up the ancient booklet and the bronze mirror. No information prompts appeared for either.
Setting the mirror aside, he carefully opened the booklet, its page corners curled and the paper yellowed and brittle. There were more journal entries inside.
"It has been two and a half years since I joined the Temple of the Three Paths Mountain Goddess. I have learned to read and write. Senior Disciple says that once Master returns from his mission to guide restless souls to peace, I can be formally initiated and begin cultivating the Moon Swallowing Soul Nourishing Art. This is the foundational method for becoming a Nocturnal Specter.
"The Yan Prince has rebelled. War rages everywhere. As the strongest practitioner of the Nocturnal Specter lineage in Songfu, Master had no choice but to descend the mountain and put the dead to rest. If the war continues and a plague of yin calamities rises on top of it, the common people will have no peace at all..."
Zhang Yuanqing massaged his shoulders to dispel the ache that had begun creeping through them. This was a personal journal, essentially a diary. The entries chronicled the author's experiences living and training in the temple. Based on the handwriting, the author of this diary was the same person who had written the papers he'd found on the skeleton in the main hall.
The reference to the "Yan Prince's rebellion" marked the author's experiences as happening during the Jingnan Campaign. But Zhang Yuanqing wasn't sure whether this temple had truly existed in history, given that the journal contained words like "cultivation," "Nocturnal Specter," "breathing arts," and "Talisman Arts," none of which belonged in any normal historical record.
He shrugged his stiff shoulders, cast a wary glance around the room, and listened for any sounds outside. Satisfied that nothing was amiss, he continued reading.
Before long, he reached the continuation of the account laid out in the papers he'd found in the main hall. Those pages had apparently been torn out from this journal. His eyes scanned the pages.
"Sunset. Darkness had finally fallen. I heard a knock at the door and rushed to open it, full of anticipation, but the person standing outside was not Master.
"It was Senior Disciple, who had vanished the night before.
"He had been missing for an entire day and night, and now he had returned. But I felt no joy, because... he was already dead. The thing that had returned was a corpse. His chest was drenched in blood, and his heart had been carved out by someone... or something.
"Senior Disciple stared at me, unblinking. 'Do not trust Master...' he said."
These passages had been scrawled out, the characters crooked and uneven. It wasn't hard to imagine the state of mind the writer had been in. Zhang Yuanqing turned to the next page, but there was nothing more. The diary's owner had not written another entry.
He let out a sigh.
"What does 'do not trust Master' mean?" he muttered.
The sudden twist sent a chill burrowing deep into his chest.
Had the head priest killed Senior Disciple? Was the master the one responsible for the disappearance of all the other disciples? He rubbed his aching shoulders and tucked the booklet back into the corpse's pocket. He picked up the bronze mirror and made ready to leave.
Just then, his gaze drifted across the mirror's surface, catching a glimpse of it from the corner of his eye. Immediately, his entire body went rigid.
Moonlight rippled like water across the mirror's face, which reflected his own image. And on his back, clinging to him, was a figure.
Its face was a ghastly white. Its lips were a deep, bruised purple, and its eyes were pure white, devoid of pupils. It rested on his shoulders, its head tilted sideways, staring directly at him with those dead, blank eyes.
