Chapter 54

Chapter 54

Yang Zhao rolled aside, narrowly dodging a pair of huge mandibles that snapped shut where he'd just been.

Missing their target, the mandibles clamped down on the window frame instead. A large chunk was instantly bitten out of the sturdy frame, widening the gap in the window further. The monster swung its mandibles and forced its head through the window.

Only then did Yang Zhao get a clear look at the monster attacking him: it had an extraordinarily beautiful face.

That face was perched directly above the mandibles, with delicate features and lively eyes. It even gazed at him with a faint smile. However, above that beautiful human face sat a massive, insect-like head. On either side of the head was a huge round eye—not the compound eyes typical of insects, but something closer to human eyes. In the exposed round sockets, black pupils took up most of the space, ringed with white sclera streaked with red blood vessels.

"What the hell is this thing..." Yang Zhao drew in a sharp breath, keeping his eyes on the monster as he cautiously backed away.

The monster's head was stuck in the window frame, so Yang Zhao couldn't see its whole body—only the curved mandibles opening and closing with a dull clicking sound.

The human face above the mandibles, meanwhile, smiled at him with growing delight.

Her lips moved in sync with the mandibles, as if she were trying to speak.

But the sound was too muffled for Yang Zhao to make out clearly. As he backed away, he asked Cui Tong, "Brother Cui, did you hear that? It sounds like this thing is talking?"

"What's it saying?"

Yang Zhao couldn't resist the urge to hear more clearly and actually stepped forward.

"What did you say?" Yang Zhao asked.

The lips on that pale face moved a few more times.

Yang Zhao strained his ears and this time finally heard it clearly. She spoke to him in a crisp, girlish voice: "Come a little closer..."

"Oh." Yang Zhao's expression went blank, and he actually walked toward the monster.

Cui Tong, already behind the door, watched helplessly as Yang Zhao stopped in his tracks and walked right up to the monster. No matter how he called out, Yang Zhao didn't respond.

The monster's mandibles opened fully, and Yang Zhao stood there, oblivious, between them. The monster's serrated mandibles, larger and sharper than any insect's, were like two gleaming curved blades—a single snap, and Yang Zhao would be cut in half at the waist instantly.

The thought had barely crossed Cui Tong's mind when the mandibles snapped shut. Yang Zhao's body was severed in an instant, blood splattering in all directions.

Yang Zhao himself didn't seem to realize what had happened yet, his eyes wide with shock. Only when he saw the face leaning toward him did he seem to finally wake up, dragging himself backward with his arms in terror.

"Brother Cui, Brother Cui, save me..."

Yang Zhao's lower body was useless. He flipped over and dragged himself forward on his arms, looking at Cui Tong by the door with pleading eyes. "Brother Cui, I don't want to die."

Cui Tong glanced at him. "It's not that I won't save you—look where your lower half is."

Yang Zhao stared blankly, his upper body trembling violently.

By then, the monster's head had fully squeezed inside. Cui Tong didn't linger any longer—he turned and left.

Yang Zhao, abandoned behind him, looked on in despair. Summoning every ounce of courage, he turned back for one last look.

He saw a trail of bright red blood stretching out from beneath him, his organs and intestines dragged all over the ground. His numb lower body lay crumpled in front of the monster...

The face on the monster's head seemed to smile at him, then lowered its head to pick up his lower body. After a few snaps of its mandibles, nothing remained but a pile of chewed-up flesh and blood.

"Ah—"

Yang Zhao let out a heart-wrenching scream.

The scream reached Cui Tong's ears, and he glanced back.

The house they were staying in was perfectly quiet. Despite all the commotion, the host family on the second floor showed no reaction at all.

Even the houses on both sides of the road were eerily silent—not a sound, not a glimmer of light. Dead silent and pitch black, like a graveyard.

And while the monster's deformed head had squeezed through the window, its long, centipede-like body was still exposed outside.

Cui Tong had seen many monsters and ghosts, but none had ever made him feel such intense nausea and disgust as this one. The monster's body appeared to be stitched together from countless corpses—some upper halves, some lower halves, linked segment by segment. The bodies formed the centipede's torso, while the arms and legs formed its many feet.

The limbs slapped hard against the ground and walls, making a dull, unsettling smacking sound.

The smacking grew louder. The monster suddenly yanked its head out of the window and turned to look at Cui Tong, then its limbs rapidly pounded the ground as it chased after him with a speed that belied its bulky frame.

Cui Tong's heart raced. It was pitch dark all around, and going into the woods would put him at an even greater disadvantage. Ahead, only one road stretched forward—that should be the way down the mountain.

Cui Tong ripped out a few paper effigies to hold off the pursuing monster while he sprinted downhill with all his might.

But the monster was more formidable than he'd expected. The paper figures were shredded in no time, and the monster quickly caught up.

The rapid smacking sounded from behind. Cui Tong didn't dare look back, only running desperately down the road. Several times, he even felt the monster's open mandibles brush against his back—yet, as if toying with its prey, it didn't bite down.

On the pitch-black mountain road, there was only Cui Tong's ragged breathing as he fled, and the rapid, high-frequency smacking.

The monster's countless limbs slapped and pounded across the ground as it ran, the sounds merging into one continuous rhythm—like some eerie, chilling death drumbeat.

By the end, Cui Tong could barely focus on the sound. He only felt that the mountain road stretched on endlessly, running straight into some unknown destination.

He kept running forward, running for his life, the gnarled trees on both sides whipping past him, yet there wasn't even the sound of wind.

The death drumbeat suddenly stopped.

Cui Tong stumbled, rolled a few times on the ground, and scrambled back up before belatedly realizing this.

He gasped for breath and looked back, seeing the monster had inexplicably stopped in the distance, no longer pursuing.

There was no light around, but the monster's pale, sickly skin was starkly visible in the dark night. Cui Tong could even see that along its arched back, each segment bore a protruding, tumor-like human face. Those faces had their mouths open, yet made no sound.

At this moment, the monster's head tilted slightly, its huge eye on the side of its head fixed on him, filled with malice.

Cui Tong faced off against the monster warily, not daring to blink or make a move.

After a standoff, the monster turned its bulky body around and left.

Cui Tong's body went limp, and he collapsed to the ground.

After resting a while, once his lungs, which felt ready to burst, finally calmed, he got up and surveyed his surroundings.

Still a straight road. Only then did he remember—when the monster had been chasing him, he'd run straight along this road without ever turning.

But he remembered clearly that the road down the mountain was a winding mountain path.

The breath he'd just caught stuck in his throat again.

Cui Tong looked toward the end of the road, where a faint glimmer of light could be seen—signs of human habitation.

With danger behind and ahead, Cui Tong hesitated briefly before pressing forward.

The road, which looked very long, suddenly shortened the moment Cui Tong took a step. After walking only a dozen or so meters, he could see the faint light at the end clearly—it was the yellow glow of an electric lamp.

An old, rundown single-story house that had clearly seen better days stood before him.

The house was built of gray bricks, its walls whitewashed, and a low fence wrapped around a small yard out front. The yard was split in two: a row of rooms on the left, and vegetable plots on the right.

For some reason, Cui Tong couldn't shake the feeling he'd seen this house before.

He hesitated at the gate, not sure if he should go in.

But just then, the front door creaked open and two people stepped out.

They were startled to see him, then warmly opened the gate and came up to greet him: "Taoist Master, why are you here?"

Cui Tong stared at them in shock, his mouth opening and closing, but for a long moment, no sound came out.

So that's why the house looked familiar—it was Zhou Lin's place.

But Zhou Lin and his wife, Zhou Xia, had been dead for over ten years.

Yet the couple before him showed no trace of yin energy; at least to the eye, they looked no different from the living.

The two seemed completely unaware that they'd been dead for years. They grabbed Cui Tong's arms warmly and pulled him inside.

Cui Tong, unsure what was going on, didn't dare make a move. His body stiff, he let Zhou Ping guide him to a seat at the table in the main room, while Zhou Xia went to the kitchen, fetched a kettle of hot water, rummaged through a cabinet for tea leaves, and brewed him a cup of hot tea.

Cui Tong held the tea but didn't dare drink it, quietly watching the two.

They were just as he remembered: Zhou Ping had dark, rough skin and a burly build, but his cheeks and nose were flushed red—the face of a drunkard; Zhou Xia was very thin and plain-looking, with a habitual expression of humble, fawning smiles, and her back never seemed to fully straighten, instinctively hunching when she talked to people.

She was a talkative woman who wanted to chat with everyone, but she was never much good at it.

At that moment, she stood between her husband and Cui Tong, rubbing her hands and hunched over, eyeing him cautiously with a fawning smile: "Taoist Master Cui, these tea leaves are fresh—we only bought them at New Year's. We don't usually drink them ourselves; we only bring them out for special guests..."

When Cui Tong didn't respond, she rambled on: "But Taoist Master Cui is from the city, so you've probably had good tea before; you might not think much of our cheap stuff..."

Zhou Ping slapped the table, barking gruffly: "Why are you so damn chatty? I'm hungry—go make me some fried rice!"

Zhou Xia flinched, then gave her husband a placating smile: "Why get so angry over nothing? I'll go make you some fried rice right now."

She turned to ask Cui Tong: "Taoist Master Cui, would you like some? It's just plain fried rice, nothing fancy, but it's filling. His dad loves it..."

Before Cui Tong could answer, Zhou Ping had already stood up and slapped her across the face in irritation.

After the slap, Zhou Xia didn't dare say another word and hurried off to the kitchen.

Zhou Ping sat back down, took a big gulp of his tea, and complained to Cui Tong: "Sorry you had to see that. This woman's mouth never stops—she's worse than a fly!"

Cui Tong smiled, but he grew more wary.

From the moment he'd walked in, the couple's words, actions, and dynamic were almost exactly as he remembered.

If he hadn't known they were dead, he wouldn't have suspected a thing.

His gaze swept the small room, and he asked offhandedly: "And the kid? Is he settling in okay at your place? Why haven't I seen him?"

Zhou Ping chuckled: "He's doing just fine. We were afraid he might run off again, so we keep him locked in that room over there. He gets food and drink every day. Once he's a bit older and settles down, we'll let him out. His mother dotes on him—never misses a meal, feeds him twice a day."

Cui Tong continued, keeping his tone neutral: "He was only three when I brought him back, right?"

Zhou Ping smiled: "Yeah, and in the blink of an eye, he's eight. Other kids his age in the village are all in school. We'd like to send him too, but this kid is stubborn as a mule, and he kept trying to run. His mother and I had no choice but to keep him locked up at home. Once he's older and wiser, we'll see about sending him to school."

At that, Zhou Ping suddenly looked at Cui Tong and said: "This kid was brought here by you, Taoist Master, so maybe he's attached to you. Why don't you go talk some sense into him? Maybe he'll come around and be willing to settle down and behave."

Cui Tong thought for a moment and didn't decline: "Where's the kid? I'll go see him."

Zhou Ping said: "He's locked in that room in the yard. We'll go after we eat."

Just then, Zhou Xia came over carrying a big bowl of fried rice. She also had two small bowls and said to Zhou Ping: "I made a bit too much fried rice. If you can't finish it, I'll take the rest to Xiao Zhu."

Zhou Ping said: "I'll take it to him later. I'll have the Taoist Master take a look at him and talk some sense into him!"

Zhou Xia brightened at that: "Good. Maybe Xiao Zhu will listen to the Taoist Master. Last time you brought him back, he behaved himself for a good while—so well-behaved... he even called me 'Mom.'"

Zhou Ping buried his head in his food, ignoring her.

Zhou Xia turned to Cui Tong again, unusually enthusiastic: "Taoist Master, why aren't you eating? Have some—otherwise his dad will eat it all."

Cui Tong's cheek twitched; he also found this woman way too talkative. He took a deep breath and put on a friendly expression: "Those who cultivate the Dao don't eat at night."

But Zhou Xia didn't seem to understand, pressing on: "Cultivation is cultivation—how can it stop you from eating? This is such good rice! I even added pork cracklings and cabbage—it's delicious."

As she spoke, she stared at the fried rice in the big bowl and swallowed audibly.

Cui Tong frowned and ignored her, and Zhou Ping didn't even look at her. Seeing that Cui Tong wouldn't eat, he simply picked up the big bowl and, in no time, polished off the heaping mound of fried rice.

He set the bowl down hard on the table, downed another bowl of tea, and stood up to say to Cui Tong: "Come on, Taoist Master, I'll take you to see Xiao Zhu."

Zhou Xia picked up the bowl and called after him: "You didn't finish your bowl."

Zhou Ping didn't look back. She stood there muttering to herself for a moment, then picked up the chopsticks, carefully gathered the leftover rice, and ate it herself.

As she ate, she murmured: "Such good fried rice—what a waste to leave it."

Cui Tong followed Zhou Ping into the yard and realized the kid was locked in that row of rooms.

The row was divided into two rooms: one was the kitchen, and the other was where the kid was kept.

Zhou Ping took out a key and unlocked the door. As it swung open, Cui Tong was hit by a sour, rancid stench. Zhou Ping pulled a string by the door, and the overhead bulb flickered on, revealing the room.

It was no better than a pigsty.

There was no bed in the room—just bricks stacked up with a wooden board on top.

On the board lay a blackened cotton mattress, and the sheet had long since lost its original color. The kid lay on it, facing away from them, his body looking terribly frail. Zhou Ping said he was eight, but he looked no bigger than a five- or six-year-old. The calves sticking out looked like dry twigs, as if they'd snap with the slightest pressure. His long hair was a tangled mess, making him look worse off than a roadside beggar.

Zhou Ping called out, "Xiao Zhu! Look who's come to see you?"

The figure on the bed didn't move, showing no reaction to Zhou Ping.

Zhou Ping's already ruddy face darkened. He stormed forward and kicked the thin board: "Didn't you hear me?"

The board tilted from the kick, and the frail kid on it tumbled to the ground.

Cui Tong suppressed his disgust and stepped forward to look: "He seems to have passed out."

Zhou Ping frowned, muttering "What a delicate little thing," as he turned the kid over and shouted toward the house: "Hey, woman, bring some medicine."

Zhou Xia inside responded with an "Okay" and hurriedly found medicine and water to bring over. Zhou Ping pried open the kid's clenched teeth and forced the medicine down his throat.

After giving him the medicine, Zhou Xia rubbed her hands and asked: "Should we take him to the hospital?"

Zhou Ping snapped at her impatiently, "What hospital? Have you forgotten last time when he pretended to be sick, tricked you into taking him to the clinic, and then tried to run off?"

"If I hadn't run into Zhou Kang then and he mentioned it to me, he would've already made it down the mountain!"

Zhou Xia flinched at his outburst and didn't dare say another word.

Zhou Ping then turned to Cui Tong, with a hint of complaint in his tone, "Xiaozhu is clever, but too clever for his own good. He's been lying and deceiving since he was little. Reverend, you wouldn't believe it—back when you were still in the village, he was so well-behaved, calling us 'Dad' and 'Mom' nonstop, wrapping me and his mom around his little finger. We gave him anything he wanted."

"But then? After you left for your business, he started causing trouble. One minute he'd say he felt sick and trick his mom into taking him to the clinic, then use the chance to run down the mountain. The next minute he'd say he wanted to play with the village kids, then get them to cover for him while he ran off... His mom and I were busy in the fields, and still we had to run around looking for him day and night. Who the hell can put up with that?"

"In the end, his mom and I had no choice—whenever we went out, we'd just lock him in the house."

"And then this ungrateful little brat holds a grudge. Won't even call us Mom and Dad anymore, just mopes around the house all gloomy. His mom dotes on him, brings him meals every day, and he doesn't skip a single bite..."

Zhou Xia protested quietly, "He's still little, you know—he's at that age where he's growing. How could we not feed him?"

Zhou Ping shot her a glare. "You think your old man's grain just blows in with the wind? Won't acknowledge his folks, but he'll sure as hell acknowledge a bowl of rice..."

Cui Tong listened to the couple bicker, his brow furrowing more and more.

The reason he'd originally chosen this couple to raise the child was because he knew they had a kind of raw ignorance and malice that had never been smoothed over.

By the world's standards, they wouldn't dare commit crimes or break the law, and they were still warm and polite to outsiders—decent enough to be called honest, hardworking folks.

But when it came to their own family, they had a whole different set of unwritten rules.

For instance, Zhou Ping was a heavy drinker with a hot temper, often yelling at and beating Zhou Xia. And Zhou Xia, though she seemed like a timid, good-hearted woman, had long been broken in—she genuinely believed in her husband's way of thinking from the bottom of her heart.

This child, falling into the hands of this couple, was never going to have a good life.

And Guiyi Mountain was a natural gathering spot for yin energy, thick with it. The child, tormented by his parents from a young age, would later die some accidental, tragic death—and with such deep resentment, there was a good chance he'd turn into a ghost king.

A ghost king that hadn't fully matured wasn't too hard to deal with, so he could take the chance to refine and subdue it for his own use.

But even though Cui Tong had seen this coming, he hadn't expected the couple to keep the child penned up like a dog.

And of course, what surprised him even more was that the kid was so stubbornly tough—even in those conditions, he refused to die. He outlasted the Zhou couple through sheer stubbornness, grew up safe and sound, and was eventually found and taken back by the Xu family.

Cui Tong glanced at the bony child on the bed, not wanting to listen to the couple bicker anymore, so he said to them, "Let's go outside for now. Let him rest."

Zhou Ping finally quieted down and strode out the door.

Zhou Xia lingered by the bed, not wanting to leave. She and Zhou Ping had never been able to have kids, and she'd always desperately wanted one of her own. This kid was good-looking and clever—if only he weren't so set on running away, she would've genuinely loved him.

She sat down by the bed, lifted the kid's head into her arms, stroked his pale face, and sighed, "Was your dad and I not good to you? Why do you keep disobeying and running away?"

The kid she was stroking suddenly opened his eyes, a pair of pitch-black eyes staring straight at her.

Zhou Xia suddenly felt a chill of unease for no reason she could name. She jerked her hands away, and his head thumped hard against the wooden bed frame with a dull "thud."

Zhou Xia, for reasons she couldn't explain, suddenly got angry. "You kid—when we call you, you don't answer. You're like a ghost."

Cui Tong, already at the doorway, halted mid-step and turned back. He saw the child's head lolled toward the door, his face blank and expressionless, those overly dark eyes staring straight ahead at the doorway with no focus at all.

Zhou Ping glanced over too, stepped forward, and poked at him. "He hasn't gone simple in the head, has he?"

Zhou Xia stood at a distance, craning her neck to look, and instead brightened. "Simple is good—simple means obedient, won't run anymore."

Zhou Ping shot her a glare. "Woman, have you lost your mind? If he goes simple, who's going to support your old man in his old age?"

Zhou Xia fell into sullen silence.

But Cui Tong also walked to the bedside, waved a hand in front of his eyes, and seeing no reaction, thought for a moment before testing, "Xu Muchan?"

The child lying on the bed gave a faint flutter of his lashes, and those pitch-black eyes turned toward him.