This Is a Living Stake

The courtyard was not small, with blue bricks paving the ground, withered grass growing thick in the cracks between them.

Directly facing the gate stood a screen wall, carved with the character for "fortune," the lotus pedestal beneath it already chipped and incomplete.

Rounding the screen wall revealed a square courtyard, with side rooms to the east and west, and the main hall to the north.

All the doors and windows were tightly shut, the window paper torn in many places, pitch black inside.

Shen Hui swept a quick glance over the residence, his brow slightly furrowed.

The entire house was shrouded in a layer of grayish mist, like a dirty veil, its depths invisible.

The mist seeped up from the ground, along the base of the walls, through door cracks and window lattices, wisp by wisp, silent yet unsettling.

In the center of the courtyard stood a person—none other than the Daoist Ji Chen the old runner had mentioned earlier.

The old Taoist clasped his hands behind his back, looking up at the eaves, then suddenly spoke: "What do you see?"

Shen Hui knew this was directed at him.

He took another careful look at the house before replying in a low voice: "There's yin energy."

"Be more specific."

Shen Hui raised his head, his gaze sweeping from the main hall's roof to the side rooms' eaves, finally settling on the several pillars supporting the main hall.

Those pillars were the places in the entire house with the heaviest yin energy.

The grayish mist crawled up from the base of the pillars, all the way to the beams, then spread along the beam frame to both sides, as if the yin energy of the whole house seeped out from these pillars.

"The main beam and pillar tops have the heaviest yin energy."

Shen Hui pointed toward the main hall. "It looks like there's something there."

The old Taoist nodded, said nothing, and simply walked toward the main hall.

Shen Hui followed closely, and the others hurried after.

The threshold was high, mostly rotted, creaking underfoot as rotten wood crumbled everywhere.

A musty, moldy smell rushed at them. Shen Hui raised a hand to fan in front of his nose. The old runner, quick-witted, raised his lantern to shine inside.

The main hall was empty, only an octagonal table against the wall, with several overturned bowls and cups on it, covered in a thick layer of dust.

On the main wall, where a scroll would hang, only a few nails and a faded mark remained.

Shen Hui followed the direction of the yin energy deeper inside, rounded the octagonal table, and stopped before a pillar.

It was a very thick pillar, thicker than the others in the main hall.

Shen Hui reached out and touched the pillar's surface; it was icy cold, not the temperature wood should have.

He then looked down at the ground.

The bricks beneath the pillar were newly laid, lighter in color than the other bricks, with chisel marks still visible at the edges.

The gaps between the bricks weren't filled with mortar, but with some black, crumbly substance, like ashes of burnt spirit money.

"It's here," Shen Hui said.

"What do you see?" the old Taoist asked again.

Shen Hui pointed at the ground. "Something's buried underneath."

As he spoke, he formed a hand seal with his right hand and pointed at the ground.

The ground immediately seemed to be pushed up from below by an invisible hand. Several blue bricks arched upward abruptly, bubbling like a spring, soil from the cracks raining down.

With a muffled puff, something was forced up from underground and rolled onto the ground.

Everyone involuntarily stepped back.

It was a skeleton.

A very small skeleton, curled up like a crushed shrimp.

The bones had turned black, with rotten cloth strips still clinging to them—likely burial swaddling.

The skull lay askew, eye sockets filled with mud, the lower jaw fallen off, revealing a few baby teeth not yet fully grown.

Most horrifying was the skeleton's posture.

Both arms raised upward, ten finger bones spread wide, as if grasping at something.

"Amitabha," Faming Monk intoned a Buddhist invocation, his prayer beads stopping in his hand.

The young runner's face turned pale, his voice changing: "This... what is this?"

The older one raised his lantern to shine closer, looked for a while, then sighed. "A child... looking at these bones, probably not even a year old yet."

Everyone fell silent for a moment. Someone asked in a low voice: "Is it one of the Liu family?"

Shen Hui shook his head. "Probably not."

He pointed at the skeleton's position.

"This skeleton is pressed tight against the pillar base, directly beneath the main beam. If it were a child who died naturally in the family, why would it be buried here?"

The old Taoist first glanced at Shen Hui, then turned to the older runner and asked, "Xu Bantou is a native of Qu County?"

The old runner quickly nodded: "This humble one's family has lived in Qu County for generations."

The old Taoist nodded, then asked:

"Do you know when this Liu family residence was built?"

Old Xu thought for a moment, counting on his fingers: "Perhaps... three... no, forty years ago. Back then, the head of the Liu family was Liu Dehou. He made a fortune in the cloth trade, opened several shops in the city, and was one of the wealthiest men in Qu County. He thought the old house was too small, so he tore down most of it, expanded eastward, and built these current rooms."

"Did anything happen when the house was being built?"

The runner paused, frowned in thought for a long while, then suddenly slapped his thigh: "Yes! Now that you mention it, I remember. When they were raising the main beam, a carpenter fell to his death—dropped right off the roof and died on the spot. Later, while digging the foundation, a wall of earth collapsed and buried a laborer. When they dug him out, he was already dead. It caused quite a stir at the time; the Liu family paid out a lot of money."

The old Taoist listened and slowly nodded.

"That's it."

He pointed at the skeleton, his voice low but each word clear: "This is a Living Stake."

Everyone exchanged glances.

"Living Stake?"

The young runner was startled. "What's a Living Stake?"

"Amitabha!"

Monk Faming chanted a Buddha's name and explained on the old Taoist's behalf: "When building a house, if the site is unlucky or stirs up the earth's Sha, there are wicked people who bury a living person in the foundation, using their soul to suppress the house—this is called 'driving a Living Stake.' The buried person's soul is trapped here forever, unable to be reborn. The house's fortune is entirely pressed upon this person. If the house thrives, they suffer; if the house declines, they suffer too."

He paused, glanced at the skeleton, and lowered his voice: "This method severely damages one's karmic virtue and is despised by the righteous path. I thought no one in the world still used it."

Scholar Li, listening nearby, changed expression several times, and the hand waving his fan slowed unconsciously.

He cleared his throat and forced himself to speak: "Well... This Humble One has heard of this before, but always thought it was just a rumor. I never imagined it was real..."

Shen Hui glanced at him but said nothing.

This guy had been trembling since he walked in; it was impressive he could still force himself to comment here.

"So, the one causing trouble is this..." The young runner pointed at the skeleton, his voice shaking, "this child?"

The moment the words fell.

Crack!

A loud noise came from overhead.