Man, Zhang Yuanqing suddenly didn't want to stay in the main hall anymore. He felt a deep sense of helplessness—like he was trapped in a crisis, calling heaven and earth for answers, but neither responded. The situation here was extremely dangerous, yet he had no means to seek help beyond himself. After much hesitation, he bit his teeth and braced himself, bending down to pull the skeleton wrapped in his work uniform out. *Pluck—* As he pulled, the protective work uniform tore easily—after all these years, it had long since rotted. He dragged the body to the candlelight and, despite the discomfort, began examining it. Though the person had died, the body still spoke—understanding the cause of death would help him avoid many potential dangers. "The sternum and ribs are fractured in several places, and there are fine cracks on the right shoulder, but not severe…" The deceased had clearly suffered a serious injury during life, though the exact cause of death remained unclear due to the passage of time. Then, Zhang Yuanqing found several yellowed, brittle sheets of paper tucked in the pockets of the elder worker—papers that had been there for quite some time. Written in small, regular script on the paper. Zhang Yuanqing felt a surge of joy—clearly, the paper had been found by a veteran worker at the temple, which would help him learn more about this ancient temple. With the candlelight, he focused and read the contents carefully. "Last night, another novice brother went missing. This marks the third such mysterious disappearance among our fellow disciples. The brothers report that the mountain has been haunted—perhaps a high-level spirit or a powerful demon has come to the temple each night to take people and devour them. Yet our many disciples are well-versed in cultivation, and our master is renowned throughout the surrounding hundred miles as a true cultivator. How could any spirit or demon dare come here to feed?" "My corpse-sealing and spirit-summoning talismans should be sufficient to handle any such spirits—no need to involve the master. I have a bad feeling about this, so I must go and consult with the senior brother." "Today, another person has gone missing—this brings the total to five. The master has instructed us to keep this secret from the visitors, otherwise it might affect the temple’s offerings. He must know something." "I plan to patrol at night with my senior brother..." "Three days have passed, and three more have gone missing during this time. Yet we haven't found any clues—night after night, the wind has been calm. My unease grows stronger..." "My senior brother has been acting strangely today. He seems to have discovered something and is very angry. When I asked him, he wouldn't tell me. He's in a bad mood, so I'll wait until tomorrow to ask again." "Today's missing person is... my senior brother. I've searched every corner of San Dao Mountain and can't find him. I—I can't take it anymore. I'm going to find the abbot and find out what's going on. The other monks and nuns support me—they're also afraid." The handwriting is a bit messy, indicating that the note-taker is beginning to break down. Zhang Yuanqing continued reading: "After pressing him, the abbot finally agreed to reveal the truth. My intuition was correct—he indeed knows the reason behind the mysterious disappearances of our brothers." Yet Master said that during the day, people are numerous and talkative, but after sunset, he would come to my room and reveal to me a great secret—one that has shaped the rise and fall of the temple over thousands of years. "After dinner, I would wait in my room, waiting for sunset, ever since someone disappeared at night—I had never looked forward to dusk so eagerly." He placed the brittle paper back into the worker's uniform, pushed the figure back beneath the table, and thus made eye contact vanish, then began to consider what to do next. "The information from the main hall is all that we have. If we're to explore the ancient temple, we must go out—and once outside, we'll have to face the dangers within. "In the legends of the Shē Lin tunnel, one worker survived. Following his path, perhaps we can discover how to survive as well." After careful thought, Zhang Yuanqing walked to the entrance of the main hall and opened the two well-preserved lattice doors. "Creak—creak—" The wooden hinges emitted a sound that made one's teeth ache. Bracing against the doorframe, he peered out, left and right, and found the outside quiet—only slightly desolate and eerie, with no immediate threats apparent. After observing for a moment, he stepped out and walked along the stone path to the left of the main hall, heading toward the rear courtyard of the Shān Shén Temple. The moonlight flowed like water, and the wild grasses swayed gently. Zhang Yuanqing walked for a couple of minutes, and soon ahead, a cluster of buildings came It was a cluster of connected two-story buildings forming a spacious quadrangle courtyard, with black tiled roofs and white walls, featuring a straight row of eaves. The eaves bore latticed windows and latticed doors. The latticed doors appeared dull and gray, some open, some slightly tilted, some closed, and the paper used to seal the windows had worn thin and torn over time. Under the bright, silvery moonlight, as if the ground were covered in frost, he scanned the layout of the rear courtyard of the mountain temple. Besides the courtyard before him, there was an arched gate on the eastern side, reminiscent of the style often seen in TV dramas for wealthy households, used to connect different courtyards. Adjacent to this courtyard stood a towering tree, its branches lush and thick, with twisted, strong limbs. "Hm..." As he walked through the grassy, undulating courtyard, he spotted several skeletons wrapped in safety vests. He approached them carefully and examined each closely. The skeletons were severely damaged, with only fragments of broken bones visible beneath the vests—except for the one in the main hall, whose shoulder bones remained intact, free of cracks. "These people all suffered terrible injuries before they died—dying in a most惨 manner..." A breeze blew through, causing the leaves to rustle softly. Amidst the rustling, Zhang Yuanqing faintly heard a mournful whisper, like a plea: "Help! Help!" In this desolate, silent night, cold sweat beaded on his back. He stood rigid in place, motionless, for a long while. When the wind finally ceased, so too did the weeping whispers. The adjacent courtyard seemed a bit perilous, yet nothing from within had moved toward him. He exhaled silently, stepping through the overgrown grass toward the eaves, intending to explore this quadrangle courtyard. It appeared to be the living quarters for the temple's disciples, filled with old, dusty furniture, and an atmosphere of faint, decaying odor. Zhang Yuanqing examined each room in turn, making no remarkable discoveries—until he pushed open the lattice door at the far eastern end. "Creak~" The door, long sealed for unknown years, was once again pushed open, dust cascading down. Zhang Yuanqing brushed the dust from his shoulders and scanned each corner of the room with a watchful gaze. In this room abandoned for many years, by the window, a body lay against the wall, slanted and tilted. From the attire and the fallen miner's cap, it was clear that this was another elder. Stepping over the threshold into the room, Zhang Yuanqing shivered, sensing that the temperature had noticeably dropped. "A bit cold..." He cautiously approached the body, unbuttoned his tattered garments, and as usual examined the bones. This time, however, he found the skeleton intact—no fractures. Yet when his eyes settled on the shoulder bones, his pupils narrowed. There were pronounced cracks on the shoulder bones of this corpse—similar to the crack pattern on the main hall's body—but this one had suffered more severe injury. "Could it be a coincidence that only the shoulder bones of this body—this one in the house—have fractured, while the one in the main hall hasn't?" he murmured, somewhat uneasy. Then, Zhang Yuanqing noticed that the dead man's trouser pocket was swollen, as if holding something inside. He reached in and pulled out a yellowed ancient scroll, a dull gray copper mirror, and a yellow paper talisman. On the talisman, red ink had drawn twisted patterns resembling characters, which together formed a shape remarkably similar to the traditional character for "corpse." As he examined the yellow paper talisman, a glowing blue message appeared before him: [Name: Talisman of Stabilizing the Corpse] [Type: Consumable] [Function: Stabilizes the Corpse] [Description: A powerful talisman created by the Night-Wanderer God, effective against all types of corpse-like spirits and阴 entities. Simply affix it to the spirit's forehead to seal it.] [Note: It can only be used once.] The glowing blue message resembled his attribute panel—clearly, this was a hint provided by the "Spirit Realm." Since Zhang Yuanqing had entered this strange ancient temple, he had never seen such a prompt before. "It must be something important," he thought. He folded it neatly and tucked it into the pocket of his combat jacket, then zipped it closed. After a moment's reflection, he opened the zipper again. He recalled a literary trope from a wuxia novel: a master swordsman who often wrapped the back of his sword in cloth and carried it with him. One day, while having dinner, a challenger approached him and issued a challenge. And then the swordsman vanished—his cause of death being the difficulty of unrolling the cloth. Zhang Yuanqing then picked up the ancient scroll and the bronze mirror, but neither displayed any information. He first set the mirror aside and carefully unfolded the yellowed, brittle scroll from its rolled edge. The text read: "I have been a disciple at the Lady of the Three Paths Temple for two and a half years. I now know how to read and write. My senior brother says that once my master completes the ritual of guiding the spirits back to the mountain, I will be formally admitted to the order and begin practicing the technique of 'swallowing the moon to nourish the spirit' "The Prince of Yan has rebelled, and unrest has spread throughout the land. As the strongest of the Night-Wanderer lineage of the Song family, my master has been compelled to descend from the mountain to guide the spirits of the deceased. Otherwise, with the war still unresolved, further calamities will arise, and the people will find no peace at all..." Zhang Yuanqing felt a slight ache in his shoulders, rubbed them gently, and initially judged the text to be a casual journal—essentially, a personal diary. The entries detailed the author’s experiences and daily life during their monastic practice. Based on the handwriting, the paper used in this journal matched that of the scrolls found on the main hall’s corpse, suggesting a shared origin. References such as "the Prince of Yan's rebellion" pointed clearly to the historical period of the Jingnang Campaign. Yet he remained uncertain whether this temple actually existed in history, as the journal contained terms like "meditation," "Night-Wanderer," "breath control," and "spirit incantations," which sounded both profound and unfamiliar. Zhang Yuanqing moved his aching shoulders, scanned the room with cautious vigilance, listened to the sounds outside, and confirmed that everything was normal before continuing to read the Soon, he turned to the subsequent entries of the main hall section, the earlier pages having been torn away. The later content read: "Sunset. Finally, night fell. I heard knocking at the door, so I hurried to open it—standing there wasn't my abbot, but the senior brother who had gone missing the night before." "The senior brother, missing for one full day and night, has returned—but I feel no joy. For... he is already dead. What stands before me is a corpse. His chest is soaked in blood, and his heart has been removed by someone unknown." "The senior brother stared straight at me, saying: 'Do not trust the abbot...'" Was it also him who was responsible for the successive disappearances of the disciples? Zhang Yuanqing rubbed his shoulders, placed the scroll back into the corpse's pocket, then picked up the bronze mirror, ready to leave. Yet as he glanced casually at the mirror with the corner of his eye, his body suddenly went rigid. The moonlight flowed like water onto the mirror's surface, reflecting his image—yet on his back, someone lay curled. The person was pale, with deep purple lips and bright white eyes. His head rested against Zhang Yuanqing's shoulder, and those white eyes stared at him with a lifeless stillness.