Chapter Ninety-Eight: The Village's Secret

Master Huo gazed at the sword, a sense of profound loss and complex emotion written across his face. Cui Yue watched him, feeling more puzzled than ever—who exactly was this disheveled man?

"Master Huo, do you know that bespectacled freak—no, I mean, that Daoist Qingquan?"

"I do not."

"Then... then why are you so interested in this sword?"

"It is nothing. I simply had some connection to the Taibai Immortal Sect many years ago." Master Huo spoke in a tone as flat as still water, then suddenly his expression darkened, and he fixed a cold, mocking gaze upon Cui Yue. "You can barely save your own skin, yet you still insist on wading into the murky waters of Shangwan Village!"

"Me?" Cui Yue was momentarily bewildered; he could not even articulate the trouble he was in himself.

Master Huo seemed to want to say more, but he stopped short, his face shifting through several expressions.

"Cui Yue! Come over here quickly!" Zhang Hao, as if having discovered a new world, shouted out to him.

"We will discuss your affairs later!" With that, Master Huo turned and walked into the mourning hall without looking back.

Zhang Hao mysteriously pulled Cui Yue into the side room where the Robed Ghost had been enshrined earlier. Cui Yue was full of confusion, wondering what kind of mischief Zhang Hao was up to now.

"Look, look closely."

Cui Yue walked over to take a look, and a strange sight met his eyes. The room remained as it was, but the embroidered shoe on the altar had turned into a pile of carbonized ash; the slightest touch would cause it to crumble into dust.

"How did this happen?" Cui Yue asked, his eyes wide.

"How would I know? It was like this when I looked. Do you think it’s because you swallowed the female ghost, causing the object her essence was attached to to dissipate?" Zhang Hao analyzed with a serious expression.

"Swallowed my foot! I clearly struck the thing down with a blade and finished off that faceless monstrosity."

"Fine, fine, believe whatever you want."

Cui Yue suddenly remembered something. Right! The old woman at the entrance of the village! This time, I must get to the bottom of this.

"Young man, there is no need to search. I know what you want to ask, and I have already come."

Cui Yue turned around, and sure enough, the old woman from the village entrance was standing before the mourning hall, her expression complex. The others gathered around her, including Xiaofeng, all eager to understand the nightmare that had haunted the villagers for so many years.

Everything had never truly begun, yet it had never truly ended.

The old woman’s name was Chen Bailian. She was over eighty years old, a native of Shangwan Village, whose ancestors had lived there for generations. She set down her cane, sat before the hall, and sank into deep recollection.

"I remember that year, I believe I was nine. I loved to play and catch fish in the river with the other village children. That day, just as we ran down to the riverbank, we discovered that the upstream flood had washed down many strange things, including several large chests piled up on the shallows. We thought perhaps a flood had destroyed an ancient tomb in the mountains and washed all the treasures out, so we ran back to the village to report it."

"Before noon, the riverbank was crowded. Almost everyone in the village, young and old, had come. We broke open the wooden chests, but to our surprise, they were not filled with gold or jewelry. They were full of costumes and props from a traveling opera troupe, along with gongs, drums, and suonas—a great pile of miscellaneous items."

"The adults in the village figured that a traveling opera troupe must have been caught in a flood while passing upstream, which was why these things had washed down the river. Since they were ownerless, everyone rushed to grab them. Some even got into fights over the spoils."

"Strange things began to happen from that day on. In the dead of night, the entire village heard a woman singing Qin opera at the village entrance. Brave souls who refused to believe in ghosts went out to look, only to be terrified out of their wits. They said a female ghost in opera attire was singing at the entrance, and the most horrifying part was that she had no features on her face—just a blank, empty space!"

"At first, no one believed it. Later, a group of strong, brave young men banded together to drive the ghost out of the village. But the next day, they all fell violently ill, nearly losing their lives. The female ghost sang her Qin opera on the stone mill at the village entrance every night. As time passed, the village was filled with panic; no one dared to step outside, and no one dared to extinguish their lamps at night."

"Only then did everyone realize we had brought home something unclean. We rushed to throw away everything we had scavenged from the riverbank, but strangely, no matter how you discarded them, the items would appear back on your table the very next day. Everyone was terrified. Some families, seeing no other choice, secretly burned the items. But even more horrifyingly, those who burned the objects found that their family members would drop dead the very next day!"

"The village fell into chaos. We hurried to find fortune-tellers from all the surrounding towns, hoping to exorcise the ghost. But every fortune-teller we hired died suddenly that very night. Eventually, no one dared to come to Shangwan Village anymore."

"As time went by, we knew this couldn't continue. Some, desperate, tried to flee the village, but the ghost had cast some sort of curse; she would not let us go. Every man who escaped became deathly ill, and within a few years, they were all dead."

"We were completely helpless, trapped here waiting to die. No one could escape, and no outsiders were willing to enter Shangwan Village. At the time, my second cousin was the village schoolteacher and held some prestige. He knew that if this continued, the whole village would be destroyed. So, he thought of a desperate measure—treating a dead horse as if it were a living one—and suggested we enshrine the items we had scavenged. We offered incense and food, and strangely enough, the village remained peaceful for a long while after that. The ghost stopped appearing night after night."

"Seeing that it worked, everyone followed suit, setting up altars in their homes to worship the scavenged items. Eventually, a few rules were established: First, every household must enshrine their items. Second, the worship must take place within one's own courtyard and cannot be taken out of Shangwan Village. Third, this worship is passed down through generations; as long as there are men in the family, there is no breaking the curse. And the last and most critical rule: whenever someone dies, the ghost will appear to claim the soul. To ensure our own safety, we had no other choice."

"Ever since then, our village has followed these rules to this day. Any outsider who breaks the rules or stays the night will be taken by the ghost—ranging from falling deathly ill to losing their lives. I don't know how much sin has been committed over these past decades."

As she spoke, the old woman struck the ground with her cane, tears streaming down her face.

The people present heard this story, all feeling it was beyond belief. This was the greatest secret of Shangwan Village. Silence fell upon them; this grudge, spanning decades, was tangled with too much sorrow and tragedy.