Desolate Mountain, Ruined Temple

The chill behind him grew ever stronger, as though an icy venomous snake were slowly slithering up his spine. Zhang Xuan shuddered several times without meaning to, his teeth chattering faintly.

The scene before him began to twist and shift.

The mountain path, clear only moments before, gradually darkened, as though they were walking not along a trail leading out of the mountains, but down a passage into the icy depths of Avici Hell.

His breathing grew increasingly rapid. An invisible hand seemed to have seized his heart, squeezing tighter and tighter.

Just as Zhang Xuan felt he was about to suffocate, a large hand suddenly pressed down on his shoulder.

"Daoist! Daoist!"

The Monk's voice exploded like thunder, dragging Zhang Xuan out of his daze and back to reality.

He looked up. At some point, the Monk had doubled back and was now shouting at him.

Seeing Zhang Xuan's unfocused eyes, the Monk gritted his teeth, exerted force through his palm, and lifted him bodily into the air!

Whoosh—

The world spun before Zhang Xuan's eyes. Within a few breaths, he had landed heavily on the ground.

Strangely, however, what he felt beneath his backside was not cold mud and water, but dry earth.

"It actually... doesn't hurt?"

Of course it did not hurt. The Monk had used an internal martial art akin to "striking an ox through a mountain." He had not learned this skill after entering the monastery; it was a technique he had possessed before shaving his head and taking monastic vows. Zhang Xuan, however, knew none of this.

Still dazed, Zhang Xuan came to his senses and looked around.

The steadily rising water had finally reached the ruined temple's last step, where it had miraculously stopped.

"This temple... there's something strange about it!"

His expression grave, Zhang Xuan hurriedly looked back.

In the distance, the Monk's tall figure was racing through the water.

His movements were extraordinarily nimble. Every time he crouched to gather strength, a great spray of water burst up beneath his feet. Within a few breaths, the Monk had leaped onto dry ground and landed steadily beside Zhang Xuan.

Glancing back over his shoulder, the Monk seized Zhang Xuan's arm. "Come on, inside!"

The Monk shoved open the dilapidated wooden door and rushed in without hesitation.

Zhang Xuan followed close behind. The moment he crossed the threshold, the icy presence at the back of his neck miraculously vanished.

He breathed a sigh of relief and was about to tell the Monk what he had discovered, only to see that the other man's expression remained grave.

"Daoist, something was definitely watching us from the shadows just now."

The Monk spoke quietly, his wary gaze sweeping their surroundings. "But for some reason, that feeling of being watched disappeared as soon as we entered this temple. Still..."

He paused, his thick eyebrows knitting tightly. "Don't let your guard down. That thing might have deliberately driven us in here."

Zhang Xuan's heart tightened.

His lower body was soaked with rainwater, and the chill spread through him like a festering sore clinging to the bone.

Inside the ruined temple, the light was dim, and the air was thick with the stale smell of incense ash.

"This temple... something's wrong."

Zhang Xuan murmured under his breath, his gaze wandering between the statue and the surrounding walls.

The rain grew heavier, yet the ruined temple was frighteningly quiet.

Upon entering the ruined temple, they were greeted by a scene of desolation.

Rubble littered the floor amid sprawling weeds. A few dim shafts of daylight leaked through the damaged roof, falling in mottled patches over the clay statue in the center.

The clay statue's hands stretched out at unnatural angles, as though trying to grasp something forever beyond its reach. Its fingers were long and twisted, their tips mottled with red that might have been paint or dried blood.

The clay statue's head was nowhere to be found. The jagged break at its neck looked as though some living creature had gnawed it clean off. That broken edge reminded Zhang Xuan of the headless corpse in the black coffin.

An indescribable odor hung in the air, dampness mingled with mold and a trace of peculiar fragrance, like something left over from a sacrificial rite. Every breath felt oppressive.

Zhang Xuan involuntarily took a step forward. The crunch of loose stones beneath his foot broke the temple's deathly silence.

Crack—

A bolt of lightning tore through the sinister sky, turning heaven and earth a ghastly white.

The flash shone through the gap in the doorway, bathing the ruined temple in that same pallid light.

In that fleeting flash, Zhang Xuan's gaze fell upon the Headless Clay Idol.

An inexplicable shudder crawled up his spine—the statue clearly had no head, yet he felt that in the empty space above its neck, a pair of eyes was staring at him through hollow sockets in the darkness.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh...

Gusts of wind laden with the mountains' cold dampness blew into the temple through the rotting doorway.

Zhang Xuan felt as though he had plunged into an ice pit. He turned toward the Monk, only to find him staring at the clay statue with an equally grave expression.

He looked away and walked to a corner of the ruined temple. "Let's find something to make a fire. This temple has something sinister about it. We'll leave once the rain stops."

The Monk nodded. That was precisely what he had been thinking.

He had traveled far and wide and seen much of the world. He had often heard old people say that abandoned temples were no longer dwelling places for gods and Buddhas, but refuges for wandering souls and wild ghosts.

"When a temple falls to ruin, its god departs."

"Enter no abandoned temple, lest disaster follow you in."

The two searched the temple and found some dry branches, presumably left behind by earlier travelers.

The Monk took out a fire striker and lit a campfire in a corner far from the clay statue.

After taking off their soaked clothes, the two warmed themselves around the fire in silence.

The Monk's brow remained tightly furrowed, as though he were pondering something.

Zhang Xuan, meanwhile, felt a jumble of emotions—he had fled the Celestial Master's Mansion to escape disaster and seek that slender chance of saving himself, yet the bizarre sights and encounters along the way left him increasingly uneasy.

This was clearly the path the Celestial Master's Ordination had pointed out. Why were there so many uncanny happenings along it?

Fortunately, Monk Sanjie, who was traveling with him, seemed a reasonably upright man. Only...

Casting an almost imperceptible glance at the Monk, Zhang Xuan felt there was more to him than met the eye.

He looked big and burly, with an honest, simple face, yet his words and actions throughout their journey revealed a rare character: rough on the outside, perceptive within.

Still, Zhang Xuan had no desire to pry too deeply. In times like these, who would dare venture out into the world alone without a few secrets of their own?

"Ugh, this damned weather! The rain comes whenever it pleases. I'm going to freeze to death!"

The sudden voice came from the doorway. A rotund figure rushed inside, bedraggled and brushing rainwater off himself.

The Monk swiftly shifted into a kneeling position, ready to rise at any moment.

Zhang Xuan discreetly scooped up a handful of dust mixed with charcoal ash and clenched it in his hand.

The newcomer looked to be in his early twenties, slightly plump and fair-skinned, with a harmless-looking baby face.

He wore the sort of scholar's robe common among men of learning these days. Numerous patches had been sewn into its hem, making him look like an impoverished scholar.

As Zhang Xuan and the monk studied him, the fair-skinned fat man followed the firelight and looked their way.

"Oh my, to meet two masters out here in the wilderness! What good fortune!"

At the sight of Zhang Xuan and the Monk, a cheerful smile immediately blossomed across the fair-skinned fat man's face. His closely set features relaxed, making him look especially warm and welcoming.