Chapter 12: The Ghostly Village Woman

At the western slope of the sun, Tan Jiuding climbed halfway up the mountain. At that time, the village was busy preparing for the evening ritual, and he easily evaded all eyes and slipped away, heading straight up the mountain.

Perhaps it was because the shaman’s shrine was built atop the mountain that people called it the “Mountain Temple,” but the place where Granny Chuan lived was undoubtedly the spot Zhuang Sheng had mentioned.

With the ritual imminent, Granny Chuan was naturally absent.

The mountain breeze stirred the fluttering five-colored flags, faintly revealing the faded characters “Mountain Lord Manifestation.” As the last rays of sunlight brushed past the thatched eaves, Tan Jiuding pushed open the half-closed door and stepped inside.

Two mountain sparrows pecking at the frosted persimmons on the offering plate were startled by the creaking sound and fluttered their wings wildly before flying out of the shrine, jingling the copper bells at the flag’s corners.

He cautiously surveyed the small deserted shrine—on the altar stood a blackwood tablet inscribed “Seat of the Mountain God.” Incense smoke curled upward, a medicine cabinet lined the wall, and scattered jars and bottles bore clear signs of someone having lived here.

At first glance, the place was simple and plain, its only merit cleanliness; yet Tan Jiuding had a vague feeling there was more to it.

He began searching, hoping to uncover some clue.

He started with the medicine cabinet nearby and rummaged through it but found only common herbs. Observing the jars, it seemed Granny Chuan had recently handled them—taken out but not yet returned. Opening them revealed nothing more than frequently used shamanic items like beeswax, quartz powder, and cinnabar.

Nothing of interest.

Only the last jar contained two pieces resembling bark, black as night, with a color oddly familiar.

“Tch, unlucky,” he muttered, recalling where he’d seen them before, disdainfully tossing them back into the jar. Then he suddenly paused, staring intently, “Wait a moment… it can’t be such a coincidence?”

Feeling something was amiss, he braced himself, took the pieces out again, sniffed them under his nose, and touched them with his tongue. Finally, his brow furrowed; he spat them out with a “pheh,” then chuckled.

“So it really is. Heh, quite interesting.”

He cheerfully pocketed the bark, now more eager to investigate further.

But the shrine was too clean and small; a single turn showed everything.

Just as Tan Jiuding felt somewhat disappointed, a cool breeze brushed past his feet. Upon careful attention, it vanished again.

“Don’t tell me it’s a ghost?” The thought made him uneasy. “Spare me, please… sigh.”

Clinging to one last attempt before running, he paced back and forth.

Just as he was about to give up, the chill returned!

Frowning deeply, Tan Jiuding crouched down, wet his finger with his tongue, and waved it close to the ground. Indeed, the wind chilled his fingertip—this was no illusion!

There was a hollow beneath the ground!

Pressing his body against the green brick floor, he listened and felt around carefully, searching every corner behind the altar. Noticing some inconspicuous scratches beneath the altar curtain, he knew he had found the right spot!

He stood and tapped the altar, testing it. Suddenly, a faint mechanical click sounded, and the altar loosened—

With a rattling like dry bones scraping, a small hole just large enough for one person appeared beneath the altar. A cold wind tinged with the scent of decaying moss seeped out, making his hairs stand on end.

“Ha ha,” Tan Jiuding laughed triumphantly, suddenly fearless. He jumped in and disappeared inside the shrine.

The hole led to a slide. Halfway down, the passage became jagged and rocky. A few more steps forward, and the space suddenly brightened.

It was a stone chamber, less than a square meter in size. Night wind wailed through the cracks in the rock, endlessly moaning. The chill he’d felt above likely came from here.

The room smelled of damp moss mixed with the acrid smoke of burning pine resin lamps. Water droplets on the stone walls shimmered under the light like watching eyes.

In one corner stood a natural stone bed; beside it, a stone protrusion served as a table. The floor and bed were covered with moisture-proof pine boards, and bedding was neatly arranged.

Clearly, this was a natural cave modified for habitation.

Tan Jiuding guessed it wasn’t Granny Chuan.

Though the shrine above was simple, it was far better than this. Anyone living here long-term, even if healthy, would surely fall ill.

Ventilation depended entirely on a narrow fissure in the cave ceiling. Rather than a secret room, it seemed more like a prison made by heaven.

Who was imprisoned here? Zhou Zhiwei? If so, where was she now?

Tan Jiuding paced the chamber, his gaze settling finally on the fire basin.

The embers had long since cooled to ash-white powder, mocking his tardiness. Mixed within the ashes were some brownish-black fragments that caught his eye. Using his dagger, he pried out a small piece and sniffed—it was Pu’er tea leaves.

“Ha, even served tea?” Tan Jiuding sneered, suspecting the tea leaves were not meant for guests, but he couldn’t immediately grasp why they were here.

Just as he was about to rise, a glance caught something beneath the tea leaves—dust-covered fragments, burnt down to roughly the size of a thumbnail, yet still vividly colored.

He picked them up, eyes wide with shock: “Could this be…the five-colored brocade?”

But upon closer inspection, it seemed somewhat different from the familiar five-colored jacquard brocade he knew. Unable to pinpoint what was wrong—since weaving and dyeing were beyond his expertise—he planned to pocket it and return.

Suddenly, his finger stung sharply, as though pricked by something.

Holding it under the lamp, he discovered an embroidery needle stuck in his fingertip! His rough, callused hands struggled to grasp it, almost crushing it with strength. The needle was unusually fine, thinner than a strand of hair, with half a length of golden thread trailing at the end.

If thrown into the fire, it might not burn completely; there was a high chance the thread was pure gold.

Golden thread and a silk-thin needle… Granny Chuan’s Mountain Temple, as Zhao Qing had inadvertently revealed. This was no coincidence.

Now he was even more certain that the missing Zhou Zhiwei had been here.

Suddenly, his ears twitched sharply.

“Who’s there!” Tan Jiuding looked up directly at the fissure in the cave ceiling, just as a figure flashed past the narrow crack with a “swish”! Pale as death, her neck twisted at an impossible angle, her eyes locking with his—

It was her! The mad village woman who had stopped the carriage!

In the blink of an eye, the ghostly figure vanished!

“Stop!” Tan Jiuding shouted, no time to feel cold. He sprang forward, sprinted back through the secret passage, climbed out of the chamber, and dashed straight to the mountaintop outside the shrine!

Alas, he was too late. When he reached the fissure’s location, only darkness and silence remained. No abnormal sounds stirred anywhere.

He had missed the woman, lost her trail.

“What a cursed place, so unlucky, so unlucky!” Frustrated by the fruitless search, Tan Jiuding spat and returned to the shrine, preparing to descend the mountain.

At that moment, he noticed unusual commotion below.

Squinting toward the distance, he recognized the glow came from the ill-omened ritual held at the ancient cursed tree.

Surprisingly, that place was not far from him.

Torches formed a circle, brightly illuminating the altar. He could even clearly make out a familiar figure, flustered and helpless.

Unaware of what had happened there, a crowd had broken into a brawl nearby—quite the lively scene. Yet it was clear this had nothing to do with Xu Qi; she stood bewildered like a child lost in a market, neither able to enter nor retreat.

A rare sight of her in such embarrassment.

“Heh,” Tan Jiuding chuckled softly, but the next moment his smile froze.

He rubbed his eyes, thinking he had misseen—

The woman being beaten by the crowd—wasn’t that the same village woman he had lost track of? How did she appear there from the mountaintop so suddenly?

A chill ran down Tan Jiuding’s spine. Could it be that he really had seen a ghost?