Chapter 81

Plans never keep up with change.

Originally, what Li Zhuiyuan intended was a course of small plates, each labeled in sequence, cooked one at a time. But now that all the dishes had rushed into the pot at once, it was time to switch to a hotchpotch recipe—it still made for a good dish.

After all, this was about revenge. And if one could enjoy a bit of theater right at the enemy’s doorstep while taking that revenge, well, that was double the satisfaction.

“Remember, no matter what happens, if you can get out to deal with it, don’t hang back inside. We’ve set up formations outside—might as well use them. That’s also our fallback route.”

“Got it.”

“Understood.”

As they reached the temple gate, Li Zhuiyuan stopped walking.

The gate wasn’t some heavy iron or wooden structure but a half-height sliding type. It claimed to be electric, but in reality, it had to be pulled by hand. Even a child could easily climb over it.

And yet, standing at this threshold, Li Zhuiyuan picked up a different scent.

It was so strong that even Yin Meng furrowed her brow, and Tan Wenbin couldn’t stop flaring his nostrils.

Old temples tended to carry a bit of mold and decay—it was normal. But this... this brackish, putrid stench, thick enough to bead and drip like water—where did it come from?

It was as if, before them, there wasn’t a temple at all, but a swamp of long-standing rot.

Li Zhuiyuan took out his Bagua Compass, glanced down at it—“A place where evil is hidden.”

But he’d been here before. He’d even toured the temple. If the layout had truly been like this, why hadn’t he sensed anything then?

It wasn’t impossible to alter the feng shui structure of a place. He’d done it more than once. But those alterations were always built on existing foundations.

That day, during his visit, he hadn’t seen any solid feng shui layout inside. The only thing remotely resembling one had been the cracked seam beneath the general’s statue.

Normally, unless a feng shui master had supplied incredibly detailed schematics, and unless a massive construction crew had carried out a complete overhaul of the General’s Temple during daylight hours…

No. Even if the new layout could be functional, this rank stench couldn’t have taken shape overnight. There was time soaked into it—an odor aged into being.

Li Zhuiyuan crouched down, extended his left hand into the darkness, and scooped up a handful of damp soil. As he rubbed it between his fingers, he shielded his mouth with his right hand and softly muttered descriptive terms, cross-referencing them with everything he’d read.

To perceive the forest from a single leaf, you first needed a massive internal database. The same applied to reading the soil.

Tan Wenbin crouched beside him, imitating Li Zhuiyuan’s movements. He grabbed a handful of dirt, held it up to his face—and then licked it.

In that instant, he was transported back to his first experience in Mountain City, trying out fold-ear root for the first time.

Unable to make a sound, he could only gape and dry-heave silently.

Li Zhuiyuan frowned at him. “Binbin, what are you doing?”

Tan Wenbin finally regained his composure, sounding sheepish. “Learning. I was copying you.”

Li Zhuiyuan lowered his right hand—palm clean. Then he opened his left hand, letting the soil fall away.

Tan Wenbin’s eyes went wide. The lighting was poor—he hadn’t realized which hand Li Zhuiyuan used.

Yin Meng chimed in, “He thought you were eating dirt, so he joined in.”

Tan Wenbin: “You…”

Li Zhuiyuan said, “Water Monkeys do have a habit of tasting dirt. But that’s a bit hasty—not a good method.”

Tan Wenbin nodded rapidly. “Right, right. My bad.”

Yin Meng shifted the topic. “Xiaoyuan, why does the inside give me such a strange feeling?”

“The first time I came to Jun Mountain, I noticed this place right away. It’s practically the textbook definition of a water-burial blessed site. In ancient times, people must’ve used it for that very purpose.”

Tan Wenbin looked puzzled. “But wouldn’t a textbook site be easy to find? Isn’t concealment the goal of water burials? Burying someone here is like asking to be robbed.”

“When emperors built royal tombs, they assumed their dynasties would last forever. Nobles believed their wealth would be inherited endlessly. So building here wasn’t strange—they thought the place could be safeguarded for generations.

This water burial site was probably looted long ago by Water Monkeys. The temple above was built later as a traditional suppression measure.

Many small temples by riversides or mountains, especially in low-population areas, are like this. They’re not meant for worship. They’re talismans against evil, for peace. That’s why the things enshrined inside are often bizarre—symbolic rather than serious.

But places like this also give birth to a unique feng shui structure—where black and white intertwine, good and evil clash. The living don’t belong, and the dead don’t enter.

Some feng shui masters favor such places. They’ll build their dwellings or ritual spaces here. These places are called ‘Yin-Yang Interments’ or ‘Yin-Yang Dwellings’—combining yin residence and yang residence in one.”

Yin Meng asked, “So the fellow Corpse Retrievers here—are they walking the crooked path?”

Every trade has its own hierarchy of disdain. Within the Corpse Retrievers, Water Monkeys are the bottom rung—practically kicked out of the profession, lumped in with tomb robbers.

And even among proper Corpse Retrievers, there’s the orthodox and the unorthodox. Yin Meng’s family, though fallen, always claimed the orthodox title.

Li Zhuiyuan shook his head. “Yin Meng, your family has an old house, right?”

“Yes, in the countryside. No one lives there anymore. It’s pretty remote, so I never took you.”

“Chances are, your family house was built on this kind of feng shui site. After all, the job of a Corpse Retriever is to walk between yin and yang, crossing the Underworld River. Building a yang house on such a borderland makes perfect sense.”

Yin Meng was stunned. She hadn’t expected to be the crooked one.

“My great-grandfather’s place was the same. It’s just less obvious now after renovations. Runsheng’s old house—that one Grandpa Shan lived in—shows it more clearly.

These houses usually sit on the outskirts of original villages, with few neighbors. Maybe one side connects to another household, but never all four sides.

But that’s just standard fare for Corpse Retrievers. These people…” He pointed at the temple before them. “They’ve set up shop atop a major water burial site. Among our kind, they’re doing very well.”

Jun Mountain hadn’t been developed yet. This temple had no name to speak of. Even the general statue in the main hall was one of the Four Generals of the Mo Family—no idea which temple they’d swiped it from.

And yet, they’d managed to score some kind of “protected heritage” status. Hung up a plaque. Sure, the funding and benefits were likely pitiful, but it still counted as using royal qi to guard their home.

The master and disciple pair here were, on paper, temple caretakers. In reality, they were just wearing different uniforms in the same household.

The technique impressed even Li Zhuiyuan.

His great-grandfather had to go beg the local police station for a registration. These people got the state to hang a badge on their front door.

“I don’t know what they’re planning. But now that all the living have arrived—and the dead as well—it seems the scheme is ready to unfold.

They’ve shut the doors to the yang dwelling and flung open the doors to the yin dwelling.

Once we step inside, it won’t be the same temple we visited in daylight. We’ll be entering the real yin house.

So be careful. Anything might happen inside.”

Tan Wenbin smacked his lips. “Damn, sounds impressive. If developers ever pick sites like this to build homes, wouldn't residents be getting a whole bonus unit’s worth of floor space?”

Yin Meng rolled her eyes. “Live in the yang dwelling by day, sleep in the yin dwelling at night?”

Tan Wenbin: “Why not?”

Yin Meng: “What developer would be that stupid?”

Tan Wenbin argued, “Liang said once the economy booms, real estate will soar. When the price of yang homes goes up, yin homes won’t stay cheap.

I saw it on a Hong Kong drama. Over there, cemetery plots cost a fortune. Wouldn’t be surprised if they start building condos in small cities near big ones, just to sell a cubby for ashes.

A community where the living and urns coexist—didn’t Xiaoyuan just say that’s Yin-Yang Dwelling?”

Yin Meng thought it was nonsense, but couldn’t find a solid rebuttal.

Tan Wenbin looked smug.

Li Zhuiyuan said flatly, “A small city next to a big city… That’s Nantong, isn’t it?”

Tan Wenbin: “…”

Li Zhuiyuan: “Alright. Let’s go. The show’s likely started inside.”

Yin Meng climbed over the gate first. As she landed, she winced slightly and bent down to steady herself. Then she gave the signal—safe.

Li Zhuiyuan was next. As he touched down, he noticed the ground was soft. Water seeped up where his sole pressed down.

Tan Wenbin followed. “Is it always this wet inside a yin house? And now there’s fog, too?”

Just one gate apart, and the interior felt soaked through. Mist curled upward, thickening, until only the silhouettes of nearby people remained visible.

And the fog… it was still swelling, as if disturbed.

“Stick close to me.”

Li Zhuiyuan reached back with his right hand and grabbed Tan Wenbin’s waist. His left reached forward and took hold of Yin Meng’s.

She flinched.

“Xiaoyuan…”

Her waist was ticklish. She couldn’t help it.

Normally, Runsheng took point. With him absent, the role fell to Yin Meng.

Li Zhuiyuan had to switch his grip, fingers hooked into her waistband, knuckles braced against her spine.

He had to use pressure to guide her movements.

They couldn’t go hand-in-hand. The front and rear guards always kept both hands ready to respond to danger.

They inched forward like this until they emerged from the fog.

Ahead stood a bulletin board with ID photos and names. The top row listed two full-time workers. Below were two temps.

Mao Zhushan’s name was in the top row. Beside his photo was an older man, also surnamed Mao—Mao Chang’an.

Li Zhuiyuan looked back. The dense fog behind them had vanished.

And yet, they’d only walked ten meters in.

Those ten meters had felt like a hundred.

Clearly, the Water Monkeys who looted this burial site had done good work—preserving much of the original water burial layout. That’s what made the yin house here so potent.

That ghost fog earlier—it was a common anti-theft measure in water burials.

Yin Meng pinched her own waist, ashamed she’d been so ticklish in a situation like that.

Tan Wenbin muttered, “Heh… we should custom-make uniforms with a handgrip belt at the waist.”

It was a joke, but for once, Yin Meng didn’t refute him.

A few places in the temple were lit. But the light was dim and grayish-green.

“Stay on the corridor. Don’t walk in the open.”

The corridor belonged to the yang structure. It wasn’t entirely safe—but the open space offered too many unknowns.

As they walked the corridor, they passed an office with its window open.

Inside was unexpectedly spacious.

This was supposed to be a cramped 3- or 4-square-meter reception room. But it stretched dozens of square meters.

Tan Wenbin rubbed his eyes in disbelief. Looked inside, then outside, then back again.

He’d joked earlier about scoring extra square footage. Now it seemed he hadn’t been ambitious enough.

But the room was empty. The ceiling was flat. Only the walls had recessed grooves.

It looked familiar—like something he’d seen before.

He remembered. It was just like the side chambers they’d seen in the underground tomb.

Which meant… the corridor they were walking was actually a tomb passage?

The corridor passed the office area, then turned left, leading straight to the main hall—the one with the general statue.

The lights there were brightest.

Voices echoed faintly.

The others who had entered earlier were likely gathered there.

And that hall… that was the switch. The threshold between yin and yang.

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