Chapter 81.2

During his last visit, Li Zhuiyuan had only discovered the hollow beneath the general’s statue. He hadn’t expected there to be such a grand internal arrangement. At the time, wary of the slumbering Dead Sinker below, he had refrained from Walking the Shade to investigate further.

But now, as they passed the second office window, the scene inside was different.

Though the interior followed the same uncanny structure—small outside, massive within—this room wasn’t empty. At the far end stood a six-step platform, and atop it, a bedframe. On that frame lay an elderly man.

His lips were red, face pale. Dressed in burial robes, hands folded over his abdomen, he looked utterly serene.

It was the same man they’d seen the other day, whose every movement revealed the traits of a seasoned Corpse Retriever—Mao Zhushan’s master, Mao Chang’an.

He was dead?

Beside the bed was a mourning couplet. The inscription at the bottom: Disciple Mao Zhushan.

Tan Wenbin blinked. “The old guy got offed by his own disciple?”

How could that be? Just a few days ago, the man had looked hale and hearty. And now, right as they came knocking, he just happened to die peacefully of old age?

Given that Mao Zhushan had personally greeted them and led them into the temple, tonight’s event had clearly been orchestrated by him. So most likely, he’d gotten rid of his master in advance to avoid interference.

This main office just happened to align with the position of the main burial chamber in a water grave. From the window, the dead old man really did look like he was lying atop a central tomb platform.

Li Zhuiyuan reached for the door handle.

He wanted to go in and take a closer look, even though he knew it wouldn’t serve much purpose. Tonight’s real event was taking place at the general’s statue.

But still, he wanted to see.

Yet just as he turned the handle, a strange wind stirred around them. Like a sealed tomb cracking open, it brought a shrill, hollow whistle in its wake.

The sudden disturbance made Li Zhuiyuan release the handle.

From beyond the corridor, a pool of sludge began to gather and rise, slowly molding into a humanoid form. When the mud peeled away, what emerged was a faceless body.

Yin Meng and Tan Wenbin immediately pulled out their Yellow River Spades, ready to fight—that was the reason they’d come tonight.

But Li Zhuiyuan said calmly, “She’s far from us. She can’t see us right now. Cast the net.”

Yin Meng and Tan Wenbin quickly unfurled the Homecoming Net, draping it over the three of them.

Sure enough, although Qiu Minmin was walking toward them, her pace was sluggish. Unlike the training room incident, she didn’t lunge or attack.

This was the consequence of not staying on the corridor—even Dead Sinkers had restrictions inside a yin-yang dwelling.

Eventually, Qiu Minmin stepped onto the corridor. Instantly, she floated upward, clinging to the ceiling, darting through the hallway at high speed.

But with the Homecoming Net shielding them, she couldn’t detect their presence. Soon, she returned to the main hall and vanished into it.

Threat neutralized.

Li Zhuiyuan hesitated, then glanced again through the office window. The old man remained motionless. The mourning couplet beside him looked freshly inked, the words heartfelt and sincere.

He no longer attempted to open the door. Instead, he signaled to remove the net, and the three continued down the corridor, approaching the main hall. They circled to the rear, hiding in a shadowed corner to observe.

Around the hall stood many small black stone lions, and above, bronze swords hung from the beams.

These hadn’t been present last time. Clearly, they’d been brought out specially for tonight.

They created a ward—a two-way barrier. Unless there was a loud disruption, those inside wouldn’t notice anything from outside.

Normally, this place saw little traffic at night, and the yin house setup alone was enough to block most external interference.

However, in Li Zhuiyuan’s eyes, the whole arrangement felt crude and forced, as if it had been thrown together with little regard for its surroundings.

Through gaps in the doors and windows, they could only glimpse faint greenish lights inside. Everything else was obscured.

To enter, they’d either have to break the formation—or Walk the Shade.

“What’s wrong with you?” Yin Meng nudged Tan Wenbin, who was swaying unsteadily.

Tan Wenbin took a sharp breath, trying to shake off the drowsiness. “I got plenty of sleep earlier today, but now I suddenly feel really sleepy for no reason.”

Just then, the light inside changed.

It shifted to a milky white, glowing outward in soft halos.

Tan Wenbin’s eyelids drooped involuntarily. He twisted his thigh hard to stay awake, but tears of exhaustion began to well uncontrollably in his eyes.

Li Zhuiyuan said, “They’re conducting a ritual in there.”

Yin Meng asked, “Why don’t I feel anything?”

Tan Wenbin yawned, rubbing his eyes. “Because you’re slow on the uptake.”

Yin Meng shot him a glare. “Xiaoyuan, whatever they’re doing now—it’s the perfect chance for us to strike. Should we just break the formation and charge in?”

Li Zhuiyuan didn’t answer right away.

Yin Meng wasn’t wrong. It was the ideal moment for a sneak attack. Mao Zhushan and Ran Qiuping hadn’t shown any honor in their dealings either.

But Li Zhuiyuan glanced behind him, then ahead, and finally shook his head.

“No. Let’s wait. The Dead Sinker beneath the general’s statue is still asleep. The main course hasn’t been served yet. No need to rush.”

Yin Meng nodded.

Tan Wenbin kept twisting his thigh, fighting the urge to sleep. He was about to Walk the Shade.

And what he’d said earlier wasn’t wrong—Yin Meng truly was slower to react.

Back in the coffin shop on Fengdu Ghost Street, when Yin Fuhai emerged during the night, Tan Wenbin had jumped up to lift the coffin lid. Meanwhile, Yin Meng—who shared blood with Yin Fuhai—slept through it all.

“Go ahead. I’m curious too, what they’re plotting. Yin Meng, keep an eye on Binbin.” Li Zhuiyuan patted Tan Wenbin on the back. “Go ahead and sleep. No need to fight it this time. Come with me.”

With permission granted, Tan Wenbin slumped against Yin Meng’s back and closed his eyes.

Yin Meng propped him up, then turned to help Li Zhuiyuan—but paused.

The boy stood with his hands behind his back, eyes half-closed, completely still.

Just the way he carried himself—it had an ethereal, otherworldly grace. She couldn’t help but think of the old ancestral portraits in their family lineage.

Tan Wenbin was out cold. Curious, Yin Meng waved a hand in front of Li Zhuiyuan’s face.

Li Zhuiyuan said, “Watch over Binbin. Stay alert.”

“Xiaoyuan… are you in?”

“Mm.”

“What do you see?”

Li Zhuiyuan didn’t answer.

Yin Meng understood. He was tired of her questions.

Upon successfully Walking the Shade, Li Zhuiyuan’s vision changed. Before him appeared glowing doors.

He realized Mao Zhushan was performing a group Walking the Shade ritual. These doors were projections of individual memories.

But how was he doing it?

The hidden chamber beneath the general’s statue might house a switch between yin and yang dwellings—but orchestrating a group shade-walk? That wasn’t something just anyone could arrange. Unless… he’d borrowed power from the still-slumbering Dead Sinker.

Tan Wenbin wasn’t in sight. Li Zhuiyuan guessed he’d already entered one of the memory-doors.

He didn’t rush to follow. He could read through memories far faster than others. First, he scanned his surroundings.

Most doors were open. Only three remained shut.

He walked to one and opened it.

Inside was the face of a girl.

He’d seen that face before—in the case files, in the memorial photo at Sun Hongxia’s house. It was Qiu Minmin.

Why was her face here?

He shut the door. And now, he began to doubt the true origin of this entire environment.

He tried the second door. It wouldn’t budge. Some force within resisted him. The third door was the same.

So he turned back and stepped into one of the glowing, open doors.

Inside, Ran Qiuping sat on a chair. She looked younger than she did now, clapping her hands, smiling proudly at Qiu Minmin dancing before her.

Qiu Minmin’s dance was beautiful. Her talent was evident.

“Come, come watch my daughter dance,” Ran Qiuping beckoned to Li Zhuiyuan.

He shook his head and stepped to the right.

A black line stretched from beneath his feet, splitting the scene in two.

On the left, a mother beamed at her daughter’s performance. On the right, Ran Qiuping clutched her daughter’s corpse, sobbing in anguish.

That’s it?

Li Zhuiyuan felt nothing. The memory held no meaning for him.

He backed out and entered the second door.

Sun Hongxia sat at the dining table, eating with her son Zhao Junfeng. The boy devoured his food. The mother chattered beside him.

Li Zhuiyuan noticed Zhao Junfeng’s bowl was large and piled high with rice. Behind them, on the cabinet, hung martial arts attire and competition certificates.

“Come, sit and eat with my son.”

Just like Ran Qiuping, Sun Hongxia extended the same invitation.

Li Zhuiyuan hesitated. It was a waste of time, but he shifted rightward anyway.

In the split scene, Sun Hongxia now knelt on a prayer mat, beside her son’s photo on a stool. She kowtowed toward a high altar where Qiu Minmin’s image sat, begging forgiveness.

He exited and entered another door.

This time it was crowded—students, officers, all combing through a mountain forest in a search party.

Among them, he spotted Tan Wenbin.

A student nearby called out, “Hey classmate, come help us find the killer!”

Li Zhuiyuan ignored him. The student wandered off.

Then another passed and said the same: “Come help us find the killer!”

Still no response.

But up ahead, Tan Wenbin was immersed, taking it seriously.

He muttered under his breath, “Damn you, Zhao Junfeng, where the hell are you hiding!”

When he turned, he saw Li Zhuiyuan.

He blinked, momentarily puzzled, but still said, “Hey classmate, come hel—”

Li Zhuiyuan raised his hand and slapped him across the face.

“Smack!”

Tan Wenbin clutched his cheek, blinking with the faintest flicker of clarity. “Xiaoyuan… is that you?”

…

Meanwhile, in the real world, Yin Meng was holding up Tan Wenbin when she noticed his head tilt sideways strangely.

She reached to steady it.

Before she could touch him, his head tilted back the other way—impossibly—but it righted itself.

…

Li Zhuiyuan raised his hand and slapped again.

“Smack!”

Tan Wenbin covered both cheeks, delighted. “Xiaoyuan!”

Fully awake now.

Li Zhuiyuan hadn’t slapped him to humiliate him. It was the gentlest effective method.

In a shade-walking state, any of the Yin Clan’s Twelve Techniques or a verse from the Sutra of the Earth Treasury Bodhisattva could be torture to Tan Wenbin. One mistake might snuff him out for good.

Slapping the face was low harm with decent results.

And besides, Binbin would understand—he wouldn’t take it the wrong way.

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