Candles, sculptures, remains, and an ancient gridded gate; beyond the gate lies a courtyard overgrown with wild grass, tipped by overturned bronze incense burners, paved with smooth river stones, and illuminated by clear moonlight. A stillness heavy with desolation and mystery. “This place seems to be perpetually in darkness.” Zhang Yuanqing raised his palm to his mouth and expelled a small blue pill held there. The method had worked—how truly clever of me… With exhilaration, he tucked the pill into his pocket, gaining a faint confidence about his future. With these items, now came hope of survival should he face the Divine Object—the Red Dance Shoes. Then he walked directly to the offering table, thought for a moment, and grasped the candlestand. Suddenly, information appeared before him: **Name:** The Candle That Never Goes Out **Type:** Fuel **Function:** Calming spirits, purifying **Description:** A Prop left behind by the San Dao Mountain Maiden; reportedly made from the oil of the Eternally Burning Beast, effective at calming spirits and purifying. **Note:** Sometimes, purification may not be beneficial. Also, it cannot be moved. Indeed, Props only yield information upon direct physical contact—having hesitated to touch the candle earlier, he hadn’t realized it was a Prop until reviewing the Documentation. “Purification might not always be good,” Zhang Yuanqing said, recalling Guan Ya’s classification: Candles are categorized as Costly; using them requires one to relinquish fear. Yet I’m deeply afraid—no real desire to risk my life just yet. So for now, I’ll stay safe in the main hall. He sat at the offering table, pondering his next course of action. “Next objective: explore the eastern courtyard, uncover hidden dangers and patterns there, and identify means to counter or overcome them. Exploration must last no more than fifteen minutes—otherwise, spectral spirits will encircle my shoulders and I shall surely perish.” “The blue pill is my back-up strategy against the Red Dance Shoes—but its effectiveness remains uncertain. Should I face it directly, either life or death awaits… So let me begin by exploring the eastern courtyard first, gain a preliminary understanding of the environment, then formulate strategies accordingly.” At this critical moment, though, he still felt some hesitation and reluctance—not daring to step outside. His survival in the past had been mere luck; whether he could survive this time remained uncertain. The condition of the eastern courtyard was unclear—its peril level unassessed—and it would be easy to perish during initial exploration. Yet, life rarely permits you to simply choose not to act. Though the task of exploring the ancient temple has no strict deadline—theoretically he could remain in the main hall indefinitely—but without a timeline, failure to complete the mission means he will likely never leave. The longer he delays, his physical condition deteriorates due to hunger, fatigue, and thirst. Eventually, any new exploration would become an impossibility. “Either way—step forward or retreat—is one cut.” Zhang Yuanqing clenched his teeth and strode boldly toward the outside. Wait—I should reconsider… Outside seems extremely dangerous… As he lifted one foot over the threshold, he hesitated, then turned back to gaze at the interior one final time, lingering on its warmth and radiance. The candlelight was soothing—dispelling gloom, purifying impurities—and instilling in him unparalleled inner courage and confidence. All right… Zhang Yuanqing stepped out with full assurance. …… The moonlight shone bright as frost, and Zhang Yuanqing walked along the left side of the main hall, following a path of smooth river stones, once again arriving at the forsaken Si-Hé-Yuán courtyard. No insect song or bird call in this night—only silence that felt unnerving. Yet silence also offered comfort; he most feared hearing the rhythmic "tap-tap" of footsteps when stepping out. “Fifteen minutes—I have only fifteen minutes to explore the eastern courtyard and complete it before spectral spirits seize me.” He entered the easternmost room of the Si-Hé-Yuán, carefully retrieving a bronze mirror from the body lying against the window frame, and tucked it into his pocket. Then he cautiously passed through an arched doorway and stepped into the eastern courtyard. The eastern courtyard was much larger than the main Si-Hé-Yuán; before him stretched a neglected garden with rock formations, pavilions, a small pond, and a towering fig tree—its trunk thick and knotted, its young green leaves reflecting the moonlight. At the base of the fig tree stood an ancient well. As his gaze swept across the rock hills and pavilion, he could see the deep end of the garden revealed by a row of roof eaves. Rather than directly heading toward the deeper structures, Zhang Yuanqing circled around the large fig tree—according to the Documentation, this tree was particularly hazardous—but after circling it, no incidents occurred. “Checking out the fig tree should help advance my exploration progress….” Zhang Yuanqing thought to himself, glancing at the dark well, then hesitating before finally deciding not to approach it boldly. He had a strong psychological aversion to wells in ghost stories. Zhang Yuanqing passed by the well and walked quietly through the wild grass toward the deeper structures of the garden. “Crack!” Suddenly, beneath his feet came a crisp sound—startling him into jumping upright. On closer inspection, he found an exposed corpse buried under tall grass, wrapped in an oxidized safety uniform; upon examination, the skeletal structure was well preserved. The body had collapsed face-down, yet its head faced backward—the skull rotated exactly 180 degrees prior to death—indicating that something had forcefully turned it. What had caused this? Zhang Yuanqing became subtly alert, then rose and prepared to continue forward. At that moment, a gust of wind swept through the garden, causing the grasses to ripple and rustle; behind him, the large fig tree seemed alive, its branches twisting gently as if breathing. “Zhang Yuanqing… Zhang Yuanqing…” A sharp, delicate voice drifted from behind—seeming to emanate directly at his ear, bringing waves of chilling unease. By instinct, Zhang Yuanqing wanted to turn and brace himself; yet in the back of his mind flashed a reminder from the Documentation: Do not turn around! “Zhang Yuanqing… Zhang Yuanqing…” Seeing no response, the voice grew more urgent—seeming to plead for him to turn. Of course, Zhang Yuanqing did not move—he remained still, silently unzipping the front of his tactical jacket and drawing forth a yellow bronze mirror, slowly raising it until it reached above shoulder height. The mirror reflected behind him—not clearly—but distinctly enough to capture the scene. From within the well, a woman in a white robe emerged—her face entirely featureless, her pale flesh gazing fixedly at Zhang Yuanqing. Good heavens… Zhang Yuanqing’s face went ashen; he turned and began sprinting forward. “Zhang Yuanqing… Zhang Yuanqing…” The voice repeated, urgent and insistent—but only watched helplessly as he ran farther away. Soon, Zhang Yuanqing passed the rock hills and arrived at a large building deep in the garden—its roof eaves aligned in one row, stone foundation, yellow soil walls. This structure was more dilapidated than the main Si-Hé-Yuán; its roof tiles were scattered and partially missing. “According to the Documentation, the Night Wandering Deity also visited this location—he only instructed not to turn around, but did not say one couldn’t return back. Therefore, perhaps the call from the woman in the well applies specifically to those who turn around. Thus, when I return, I should be safe.” He took a deep breath, steadying his surging fear and shock, focusing fully on the present moment. “Let me first explore this building.” The large structure had three doors—representing three rooms. With care, he approached the room to the far left and gently pushed open the broken wooden door. “Ahh—” As the door opened, Zhang Yuanqing stepped back immediately, adopting a defensive posture. After a pause, nothing unusual occurred. He then entered the room—the moonlight filtering through the damaged roof reaching him; he strained his eyes to maximize light intake. It was a kitchen and dining hall combined—two rows of earthen stoves built from sun-dried bricks, with utensils, water jars, cabinets—all long since decayed and covered in dust. No danger—finally found a container… Zhang Yuanqing grasped a grayish gourd ladle, and began to think creatively: “I’ve heard that child’s urine can dispel supernatural forces.” He considered whether to fill a ladle with it—but after thoughtful reflection, abandoned the idea. Although he had never formally met any young women, Zhang Yuanqing believed himself no longer a chaste youth. “Perhaps I’ve been too indulgent—giving you all so many opportunities to impress me.” He stared down at his hands, feeling deeply regretful. After thoroughly exploring and confirming that this large building was indeed the kitchen-dining hall with no special features or hazards, Zhang Yuanqing carried a rusted vegetable knife and a wooden staff into the courtyard, directing his gaze toward the final long rectangular structure. Unlike the kitchen which also served as a dining space, this building had four doors—dividing it into four rooms. Zhang Yuanqing tightened his grip on the wooden staff and knife—they might not prove useful—but they offered psychological reassurance. He carefully inspected the first two rooms—both storage spaces filled with ancient farming tools, furniture, and donation boxes—of little value. Shifting to the third room, he found it to be a weapons storeroom: swords, spears, shields, short blades hung on walls; many of the weapons had fallen due to frayed ropes. On either side of the windows stood two rows of weapon racks—one row now tilted and scattered with poles and spears across the floor. Beside the overturned rack, lay two bodies—each lying supine. Upon seeing these weapons, Zhang Yuanqing did not feel surprised—the temple disciples were trained under the San Dao Mountain Maiden to create spirit-protecting talismans; clearly, they had skills for self-defense. It made sense that they would also be skilled in dance and performance. He followed his routine—checking the bodies carefully in search of information. As he approached them, he paused with a soft “Ah!”—the two lying figures were not skeletons, but rather two dry corpses. Their skin grayed and wrinkled, pressed tightly against their bones; their abdominal regions were notably sunken. “How is it that there are dry corpses here?” Zhang Yuanqing frowned—being a student at Songhai University, he possessed substantial knowledge in science and biology. Two causes account for the formation of dry bodies: one, artificial preservation techniques; two, natural drying over time. The first cause could be ruled out—the second, however, typically occurs only in desert or arid regions. The conditions within this temple clearly do not meet such criteria. He carefully examined both corpses—no fatal wounds visible, bones unbroken by the Red Dance Shoes—but at their necks, two distinct puncture marks appeared—clearly formed by sharp fangs of a beast. “They were consumed by something that drew them into dryness… Oh!” Zhang Yuanqing inhaled sharply, his body tensing fully. At that moment, he heard a sound of “thud” from the adjacent room—as if a wooden door had been gently tapped. His skin instantly tingled; Zhang Yuanqing immediately assumed the alert posture of a swift deer, listening intently.