Chapter 48.2: The Well Trap

Behind them on the ground, Zhou Yong was still writhing.

Tan Wenbin looked at him, still shaken. Even though they had just shared a table, he couldn’t help feeling afraid of the Dead Sinker.

“Binbin-ge, once we’re back, I’ll teach you some techniques to deal with Dead Sinkers.”

“Really? That’d be amazing!”

Then, both of them said in unison:

“Don’t tell my dad.”

“Don’t tell my dad!”

They both laughed.

Runsheng couldn’t be in two places at once. They definitely needed another hand. Earlier, it had felt like that classic puzzle of getting the wolf, the goat, and the cabbage across the river—either he or Runsheng had to stay behind to keep an eye on Zhou Yong to prevent any mishaps.

Li Zhuiyuan closed his eyes to rest. He was exhausted.

Just as he was sleeping soundly, someone shook him awake. “Xiaoyuan, Xiaoyuan.”

Li Zhuiyuan opened his bloodshot eyes.

Runsheng looked at him with concern but didn’t say anything to dissuade him. Instead, he asked, “I did everything just like you said. What do we do next?”

Li Zhuiyuan stood up, took the Bagua Compass, and walked under the bridge.

Runsheng protected him as they descended, worried the boy might slip and get swept away by the river.

Li Zhuiyuan began explaining the modifications needed under the bridge. There was no need for major construction—just small adjustments to the existing setup. Runsheng could manage it alone with the tools.

Li Zhuiyuan had also noticed that while Runsheng-ge wasn’t great with calculations, he had an excellent memory. Every instruction given was remembered clearly and executed without error.

“Got it memorized, Runsheng-ge?”

“Got it.”

“Mm.”

Li Zhuiyuan nodded—and collapsed forward.

Runsheng caught him just in time and carried him back to the riverbank. After instructing Tan Wenbin to look after Xiaoyuan, he grabbed the tools and climbed up the side of the bridge.

Tan Wenbin had already prepared clean water and paper balls. This time, although Li Zhuiyuan was semi-conscious, he didn’t have a nosebleed. But blood was seeping from the corners of his eyes.

“This…”

Tan Wenbin tried to wash it off with water, but the blood kept reappearing. Since it wasn’t a nosebleed, he didn’t know how to stop it.

All he could do was rest Li Zhuiyuan’s head on his lap and massage the boy’s temples, hoping to ease his fatigue.

“Xiaoyuan, Xiaoyuan…”

Li Zhuiyuan was awakened again. He opened his eyes and asked,

“Runsheng-ge, why are you covered in blood…”

“Xiaoyuan, I’m fine. It’s your eyes that are bleeding.”

“Oh.” Only then did Li Zhuiyuan realize his vision was filled with a crimson haze.

He struggled to his feet, squatted by the river, and splashed water on his eyes.

Though blood was still dripping, his vision at least cleared up somewhat.

Looking back at Runsheng, he saw the man was covered in mud and lime, with several scrapes on his hands and feet oozing blood.

“Xiaoyuan, check it.”

“Mm.”

“Come on, I’ll carry you into the river.”

Runsheng carried Li Zhuiyuan into the water. Li Zhuiyuan tilted his head upward. Instead of inspecting the "construction details," he checked the feng shui formation directly.

After wiping the blood from his eyes three times, he confirmed the formation had been altered.

“Runsheng-ge, you did great.”

“What do I do next?”

“Runsheng-ge, you can rest now.”

“Then let’s go sleep at my uncle’s house. I really don’t think you can hold out much longer.”

“No, I have one last thing to do—and it’s the most important.”

“I’ll do it.”

Li Zhuiyuan fell silent.

Runsheng understood.

“Then… can you handle it?”

“I have to. We don’t have much time. They could arrive as early as tomorrow night.”

There are two types of feng shui formations: natural ones and man-made ones.

Natural formations last long—unless a massive geographical shift occurs, they remain unchanged, shaped by millennia.

That’s why the ancients often chose burial sites based on them, relying on their longevity.

Man-made formations are like nets cast in rivers to trap fish. If not regularly maintained, the net will tear and the fish will escape.

This small river’s layout was simple, but fragile. Li Zhuiyuan had already noticed some deviations during the daytime inspection. It was time for the other party to do some repairs.

Of course, they could choose not to—but they’d at least come to check the “practice problem’s” result.

So Zhou Yong had been fooled. What he thought was a permanent setup was only ever temporary. If left unmaintained, he’d soon rot in the river or at home—dragging his wife and daughter down with him.

This couldn’t wait. Before dawn, everything had to be set up—then he could rest and recover…

Back on shore, Li Zhuiyuan sat in front of Zhou Yong.

Walking the shade.

Runsheng and Tan Wenbin vanished, leaving only Zhou Yong, now extremely weak, like a fish that had been flopping on land for too long.

Good. Because Li Zhuiyuan was equally exhausted.

Their matching states made syncing easier. Soon, they were in full resonance.

Li Zhuiyuan made a new discovery: beating a Dead Sinker into near-death made it much easier to follow the steps in the Black Book and control it.

But here’s the paradox: if you could subdue a Dead Sinker so easily, why bother controlling it at all?

As it stood, keeping one under control was extremely difficult. You had to create a suitable environment, maintain it, and constantly guard against betrayal.

The Dead Sinker’s very nature guaranteed rebellion.

That mother and daughter pair had started slipping out of control when Zhou Yong wasn’t killed outright.

The only exception so far was Little Oriole.

But that was because of the “thing” in the fishpond. That presence extended her existence. And now, Li Zhuiyuan wasn’t even sure where Little Oriole had gone. Maybe… it had taken her underground.

Wei Zhengdao had written in the Black Book that this was merely a powerful method for handling Dead Sinkers—not a “Taming Manual.”

After all, you couldn’t expect something in constant torment to show lasting loyalty.

Wei Zhengdao had seen this clearly. But his friend hadn’t. That guy succeeded in raising one—at the cost of turning himself into a Dead Sinker, too.

Li Zhuiyuan thought that guy was a real idiot. What kind of beast tamer jumps into the cage with the beast?

“Come on, Zhou Yong. Let me see your memories.”

Li Zhuiyuan placed his hand on Zhou Yong’s forehead.

He was too tired to dwell on the grief of Zhou Yong’s wife’s illness and death. He fast-forwarded, stopping only at the key moments.

First, Zhou Yong sobbing beside his wife’s deathbed—when a voice came from outside the window.

Zhou Yong rushed out, but found no one. Only a letter remained.

The letter said someone could help him keep his wife and daughter with him.

After his daughter died, the voice came again. He rushed out. No one. Same letter.

One night, after both were gone, Zhou Yong sat drinking in silence. The voice returned. Again, no one. Another letter. This time, with detailed instructions.

Li Zhuiyuan sighed. The other side had covered their tracks well.

Doing evil without leaving a trace—this behavior pattern reminded him of Granny Liu and her lot.

Not that Liu Yumei was necessarily evil. But both groups seemed to be tiptoeing around some taboo, terrified of being implicated.

These people did horrifying things… but never got their hands dirty.

Maybe they’d even killed the woman and girl. But for those long-suffering souls, death might’ve felt like mercy—like euthanasia.

They wouldn’t bear grudges. They might even feel grateful.

But that’s because they didn’t know what awaited them after death. If not for Li Zhuiyuan, their hatred would’ve been aimed solely at Zhou Yong.

So clean. Too clean.

Was this fear of some deeper taboo?

It’s why the black cat had been shocked when Li Zhuiyuan proposed his plan. “You righteous types really do that?”

Turns out, there was a righteous rulebook.

Still, Li Zhuiyuan didn’t back down.

At worst, he’d finish the job… and go home to hug his great-grandpa more.

Zhou Yong was almost amusing. Just three letters, and he’d given everything to rebuild the bridge and lay down formations.

Seeing the Jesus portrait in his home made it make sense. This man was always a sucker for superstition—a prime mark for deception.

Even if it meant going broke, he’d hand money to some charlatan priest, convinced he was the only sober man in a drunken world.

Li Zhuiyuan forced himself to focus. From Zhou Yong’s perspective, he said:

“Now, listen. I’ll show you… the truth.”

Wei Zhengdao’s Black Book, Step Three: Deceive!

Zhou Yong’s memory was rewound—to just before he returned home and found his wife dead. As he approached his home’s yard, he heard voices behind the house:

“Alright, I’ve killed his wife.”

“Good. She was dragging this out too long.”

“When he sees her, he’ll be heartbroken. Makes it easier for the next step.”

“Got the letter ready?”

“Yep. No need for detailed instructions yet?”

“Not yet. His daughter’s still alive.”

Li Zhuiyuan pushed on, despite exhaustion, skipping to before the daughter’s death.

Same scene. Same eavesdropping. Slight tweaks in the dialogue.

He wasn’t skipping details out of laziness—he simply couldn’t hold out much longer.

He knew this rough, forced memory-editing would cause disruptions in Zhou Yong’s memory chain.

Try it with any normal Dead Sinker and they’d quickly dismiss the false memory as a dream.

But Zhou Yong? He was gullible enough to believe it.

Plus, what Li Zhuiyuan inserted wasn’t pure fiction—it fit the logic of Zhou Yong’s memories.

He kept tweaking, jumping to the scene of Zhou Yong drinking alone after the deaths.

Outside, the voices again:

“Alright, wife and kid are dead. We can move on.”

“Yeah. He’s such a fool. I dropped the letter. He’ll cling to it like it’s his only hope.”

“Quick, toss it. He’s coming out.”

“Mm.”

• Please take a moment to rate this novel at Novelupdate.

Next Chapter >>>