Only when that upright, elegant figure finally disappeared beyond the courtyard did Shen Xiyin lose all restraint. A soft, sticky “mm” slipped from her lips. Her legs trembled so badly she could hardly stand. Pressing a hand to her abdomen, she hurried toward the privy. Yet even there, she found no release. Panic welled up, tears shimmering in her eyes. The cramped little room was stifling and dim, with only a small window cut into the side for air.
Shen Xiyin braced herself against the frame with one hand, the other pressing hard against her belly.
But a body is not a water pouch—pressing it does not simply force the contents out. After repeated effort, only a few drops came, and already sweat drenched her brow. In the stillness of night, her muffled, broken murmurs sounded all the more jarring. Birds startled from the branches outside the window, wings flapping as leaves shook violently. Her face burned crimson. The sharp, gathering ache pressed her to the brink of collapse.
Out on the village path, Pei Su paused mid‑stride. He thought he heard faint noises and turned his head with a flicker of doubt.
Through the small window, Shen Xiyin caught sight of his distant gaze. She knew full well he could not possibly see her from that distance—yet shame surged to its peak. Her body recoiled instinctively, fingernails gouging a long, deep mark into the rotted wood of the frame.
The night lay hushed, only the stream in the distance murmuring on, clear and unbroken.
Shen Xiyin leaned against the window, drawing deep breaths, trying to steady herself after the release. After a moment, she raised a hand to cover her face, overwhelmed by shame. Like this… what was she to do?
Night returned to Bu Jun Mountain, once more quiet and serene. The sky was clear, the fog dispersed, and a bright full moon hung high, its gentle light spilling across the layered ridges. A full day and night had passed since the chaos at the memorial, yet recalling those scenes still left Pei Jun shaken to the core.
The once‑revered Master Yun Xu, now transformed into a malevolent wraith, underwent corpse‑change beneath the full moon.
Pei Jun knew he would never forget the sight: that half‑rotted body, lying still in its coffin, suddenly sitting upright. The decayed flesh oozed thick, yellow corpse‑fluid; a suffocating stench filled the air. Dense evil qi burst forth like a beast breaking free of its cage, spraying from the ruptured, festering skin. Moonlight pierced the paper windows, falling upon a face so ruined it no longer bore any trace of its former dignity. The sockets had collapsed, the eyes long since rotted away—only two hollow pits remained, seeping blood, staring straight ahead. What appeared before them was no longer a departed master, but a deadly abomination—pure poison, pure shadow.
Those standing closest to the coffin, struck by the evil qi, bled at every orifice.
In life, Master Yun Xu had reached the pinnacle of cultivation. In death, transformed into a corpse‑wraith, he was even harder to subdue—especially beneath the full moon, when yin energy was at its strongest.
The situation was dire. Even with so many eminent cultivators gathered, they could not withstand him. Those of weaker skill had only two choices: hide or flee. Yet the mountain mists refused to lift. No matter how they tried, there was no escaping Bu Jun Mountain.
Pei Jun had never missed his uncle as desperately as he did in that moment. Nor had he ever felt such an urge to roll his eyes at Xie Yusheng, who, whenever danger struck, could only clutch his head and shriek in panic.
Especially when Xie Yusheng, trembling, pointed at him in terror and stammered: “Behind you.”
Cold sweat broke out across Pei Jun’s back. Convinced his life was about to end, he forced himself to turn stiffly toward the rear—only to see the fiend still a hundred meters away, oblivious to their presence. His eyes nearly rolled clear to the heavens.
By the time the moon sank and the sun rose, the oppressive miasma had finally thinned. Only then did the gathered worthies manage to subdue the creature, sealing it inside a coffin with seven peachwood nails.
When the heavy fog dispersed, their paper-crane messengers worked again. Pei Ling quickly sent word of their safety to Pei Daoqian. On the other end, Pei Daoqian exhaled a long breath of relief upon learning both young Peis were unharmed. It seemed the ordeal was over—yet one troubling question remained. Why had Yun Xu, once the revered leader of the orthodox sects, become a malevolent spirit?
Such fiends, steeped in venom and shadow, were usually the souls of villains who had committed countless atrocities in life. Yun Xu was certainly not such a man. That left only one explanation— He had been murdered, his death steeped in grievance so deep it could not be dissolved.
In short, Yun Xu’s passing was far from simple. And if they wished to uncover the truth, there was only one way: to ask him directly.
The night was clear and bright—perfect for summoning the soul.
The heavy bell atop the mountain tolled, its deep waves of sound spreading slowly outward, until all else fell silent. Inside the mourning hall, the candlelight flickered dimly; doors and windows were tightly shut.
By now, most of the Daoist adepts had already departed from the mountain. Only idlers like Xie Yusheng remained, along with those like Pei Ling who were determined to uncover the truth, and a few who had been closely connected to Master Yun Xu.
Everything was prepared. All that remained was for the officiant to arrive and begin the summoning of the soul.
This ritual was one nearly every Daoist practitioner could perform. Yet to truly convey, without error, the thoughts of the summoned spirit required not only firm resolve but also extraordinary cultivation.
Xie Yusheng said to the two young Peis: “If your family head were here, none but he would preside over such a rite. But since he is absent, I wonder who will take his place?”
Pei Jun shared his curiosity.
Before long, from the shadows beyond the reach of the candles, a figure emerged—moving with measured steps. He wore flowing white robes, his bearing ethereal, like an immortal.
Pei Jun’s eyelids twitched at the sight. “Why is it him?”
Xie Yusheng smiled knowingly. “So, it is him.”
Pei Ling was unsurprised. “As expected.”
The newcomer was Wang Xuantong, head of the Changyang Wang clan. His birth name was Wang Yuan, but he later renamed himself “Xuantong,” drawn from the *Dao De Jing*: ‘To merge with the light, to dwell with the dust—this is called Xuantong.’ The name signified that he had united himself with the Dao, attaining the highest realm.
Within the Daoist world, there is a saying: “South Pei, North Wang.”* The “Pei” refers to Pei Su, the current head of the Pei clan; the “Wang” points to none other than this man.
In truth, Wang Xuantong’s mastery of the Dao and his reputation were far inferior to Pei Su’s. A few years ago, the Changyang Wang clan was hardly prominent among the great Daoist families. Yet Wang Xuantong was adept at gilding his own image.
Take this so‑called epithet “South Pei, North Wang”—most likely spread by Wang himself. Originally, few knew him at all. But once his name was paired with Pei Su’s, people began to remember him, even imagining that anyone mentioned alongside the Pei clan’s master must surely be formidable. He also excelled at embellishing his own persona. In recent years, countless little anecdotes have circulated in the Daoist world—stories crafted to highlight virtue and moral conduct. Without exception, the protagonist was Wang Xuantong.
To Pei Jun, his mannerisms seemed little more than an imitation of his uncle, with the air of a clumsy mimic. He could never bring himself to admire the man. Yet, unexpectedly, Wang Xuantong had gathered a fair number of supporters.
Indeed, during the chaos of the previous night, it was Wang Xuantong who discovered the demon’s weak point and, together with several renowned adepts, subdued it. After that, his fame grew even greater.
Among the many distinguished figures attending the memorial, he now ranked high enough that entrusting him with the soul‑summoning ritual was not unreasonable.
Luo Xuan, chief disciple under Master Yun Xu, stepped forward and bowed to Wang Xuantong. “We must trouble you,” he said.
Wang Xuantong replied courteously, “No need for formality. To serve the honored one is my privilege.” With that, he spoke no further. Approaching the coffin, he raised his sword—a ghostly blue radiance spread from his body, encircling the coffin. At once, the coffin trembled.
Watching from the side, Xie Yusheng muttered, “So the man does have some real skill after all.”
No sooner had Xie Yusheng spoken his praise than the Wang clan head suddenly spat out a mouthful of blood.
Xie Yusheng raised his fan to cover his face. “Tsk, tsk, tsk.”
Wang Xuantong’s expression darkened as he stepped back a few paces.
At that instant, a stream of black vapor seeped from the cracks of the coffin. The vapor rose slowly, gathering in midair until it formed an image. It was a tower—plain, ordinary, seemingly nothing remarkable.
Luo Xuan stared at it, baffled. “What does this mean?”
Wang Xuantong shook his head regretfully. “Forgive me. My art is not refined enough to discern the honored one’s intent with clarity. When I summoned his spirit, I asked who had harmed him, whether he bore grievance to voice. With an ordinary soul, I could have read the meaning clearly. But the honored one has long been tainted by corruption; most of his soul‑sense has already scattered. I gave all I had, and this single clue is all I could find.” His gaze fixed upon the image wrought of black mist. “This tower.”
Pei Ling asked, “You mean Master Yun Xu’s death is closely tied to this tower?”
Wang Xuantong replied, “Exactly so.”
Pei Jun looked left and right, but saw nothing unusual. “Isn’t it just a tower like any other?”
Xie Yusheng shook his fan. “Not quite.”
Pei Jun turned to him. “What do you see?”
Xie Yusheng answered, “Nothing definite. But you were wrong to say such towers are everywhere.”
Pei Jun frowned. “How so?”
Xie Yusheng lifted his fan and pointed toward the pattern above the tower’s summit. He said, “The water‑subduing beast carved upon this tower is a motif unique to the Xunyang region. Xunyang has long been called the ‘City of Rivers and Lakes’—the name itself tells you how abundant the waters are there. Buildings along the Xunyang River often bear such carvings, meant to calm the waters, secure the riverbanks, and ensure favorable winds and timely rains.”
Luo Xuan said, “But I have never heard my master mention any tower in Xunyang.”
Xie Yusheng replied, “Nor have I.”
His gaze darkened. “Perhaps he was unwilling to speak of it—or perhaps he could not.” Then, casting a mocking glance at Wang Xuantong, who was quietly wiping away blood, he added, “Or maybe this fellow’s cultivation is not exactly reliable, and he made a mistake.”
For the first time, Pei Jun found himself in full agreement with Xie Yusheng. He said bluntly, “If Uncle were here, he would never make such an error.”
Wang Xuantong listened to their back‑and‑forth, forcing himself to maintain a calm and steady expression. He said, “In this path, I am indeed not the equal of Lord Yucheng. Yet I dare not misrepresent the will of the departed. I swear upon the future of my entire Wang clan—I did not err.”
Pei Jun tugged at the corner of his mouth. To stake his whole family’s fate on it—clearly they had struck a nerve. But it also confirmed that this seemingly ordinary tower was indeed the clue the coffin’s occupant had meant to convey.
By the time the summoning ritual ended, it was already deep into the night.
Pei Ling stepped out of the mourning hall, murmuring the words “Xunyang” under his breath.
Pei Jun glanced at him. “What are you muttering about?”
Pei Ling raised his head. “I was saying—Xunyang again. Earlier, the clan head left a note in his study with those same two characters. And now, strange happenings keep occurring in Xunyang. I cannot shake the feeling that the place hides some secret yet unknown.”
“You’re always meticulous, noticing things others rarely pay attention to,” Pei Jun said. “So then—what do you plan to do?”
Pei Ling replied, “I want to go to Xunyang and see for myself.”
That night, Pei Jun and Pei Ling sent word to Pei Daoqian through a paper crane. Hearing their determination, Pei Daoqian no longer tried to dissuade them. He only sighed and said, “It is good for young men to seek experience in the wider world. Just remember—never act rashly, and be cautious in all things.”
The old man’s advice was the same as ever, repeated so often their ears had grown calloused. The two answered dutifully.
At dawn the next day, after packing their belongings, they prepared to descend the mountain. Halfway down, they encountered Xie Yusheng, also on his way down. Fan in hand, he smiled at them. “Heading to Xunyang? Let’s go together.”
Pei Jun frowned. “You too?”
Xie Yusheng nodded. “Of course.”
Pei Jun asked with disdain, “And what business do you have there?”
Xie Yusheng flicked his fan. “Well, idleness is idleness—might as well.”
Pei Jun’s mouth twitched, leaving him speechless. Were all these so‑called Daoist drifters as idle as he?
Xie Yusheng tapped the shoulders of the two young Peis with his fan. “What are you waiting for? Let’s be on our way.”
When word spread that the three were leaving, Luo Xuan came to see them off in person.
At the mountain gate, they passed several disciples escorting a coffin down the slope. Inside lay Master Yun Xu, who had turned into a malevolent spirit during the memorial, and the Luling Qu clan’s eldest son, pierced through the chest by his hand. Though they had been at odds with him, seeing someone alive only days ago now lifeless stirred unease.
Pei Ling lowered his head, his face heavy. “If only I had noticed the corpse’s abnormality sooner… perhaps he wouldn’t have…”
Pei Jun quickly said, “How could that be your fault? If blame is due, it lies with him for refusing to heed warnings.”
Luo Xuan echoed in comfort, “Exactly so. Don’t burden yourself.”
Pei Ling nodded, but his expression remained clouded even after they passed beyond the mountain gate.
Seeing this, Xie Yusheng tapped his forehead with his fan. “Surely you don’t believe that simply noticing the corpse’s strangeness earlier would have changed anything, do you?”
Pei Ling was taken aback. “Isn’t that so?”
Xie Yusheng chuckled. “Naïve.” He twirled his fan and teased, “Did you really think you were the first to notice Master’s corruption?”
This time it was Pei Jun’s turn to be startled. “Wasn’t he?”
Xie Yusheng glanced toward Luo Xuan’s figure, already receding into the distance. “If even an outsider like you could notice, how could the senior brother—always meticulous, with every matter of the sect under his control—fail to see it?”
“Bu Jun Mountain may not be as wealthy as Jinling’s Imperial City, but it has its share of resources. Otherwise, where would Master’s treasures and collections have come from? Surely not by robbery. In short, they wouldn’t be so stingy as to patch a roof in such a shabby way.”
Pei Jun said, “You mean he deliberately repaired the roof to look that ugly?”
Xie Yusheng replied, “If he hadn’t, how else would you have guessed how the second disciple met his end?”
Pei Ling faltered. “But why would he do that?”
Xie Yusheng said, “Isn’t the reason obvious? He wanted someone to realize that Master’s corpse was abnormal—but he didn’t want that someone to be himself.” He smiled. “How could a disciple devoted to honoring his teacher ever bring himself to say that his own master had become a fiend?”
After hearing his words, Pei Jun and Pei Ling remained silent for a long time.
Xie Yusheng clicked his tongue at them, shaking his head. “Young men—learn to be more wary.”
The silence lingered. At length, Pei Jun asked him, “And what about you? Did you notice it early on as well?”
“Me?” Xie Yusheng laughed. “Of course not at all.”
The three continued down the mountain path, unaware that Xu Yanxing was quietly trailing behind them. He would not have chosen this if he could help it. But that very morning, someone had sent him a message talisman with a chilling warning—If you don’t want your disgrace exposed, if you don’t want people to know what you did to your wife, then follow those three.
Xu Yanxing clenched his fists, his shock and fury unspent. He was almost certain now: the other person who knew of the Enchantment Maze was present at that memorial.