In that instant, a prickling numbness surged through Gu Xianwang’s body like an electric shock. She snapped to her senses, realizing that what she had seen earlier might not have been entirely a dream. Where had it begun? Could it have been the very moment the raindrop fell—that she had actually woken up then?
That voice in the alley—thinking back now, hadn’t it been Long Li’s?
Long Li and that God Stick? Why? Had they already spoken in the restaurant, though no one else recognized it? Had she seen through the God Stick’s true identity? No, he wasn’t some fraud at all. Had he actually deciphered the Witch Clan’s celestial script in Ye Chan’s notebook?
Her heart pounded wildly. A sense of dread already coiled in her gut. That woman—that woman had ditched her again? From the start, ever since emerging from the Yin Vortex, had she never planned to bring her along at all?
Gu Xianwang ground her back teeth together, yanked her wrist sharply, and snapped the rope clean in two. She leaped to her feet, stuffed her gear into her equipment pack, shrugged on a spare tactical jacket, and bolted out the door.
The entire Earth Immortal Residence lay shrouded in darkness, plunged into another blackout. Water stains splashed across the first-floor corridor tiles. In the little courtyard, the ancient tree thrashed in the wind and rain, its sparse leaves quivering. Block out the patter of rain, and the silence was downright chilling. Even deep in these mountains, it was barely past midnight—there should have been night owls stirring, watching TV, playing cards, knocking back drinks, anything—
But nothing. Every trace of human sound had vanished. No lights anywhere.
The unnatural hush set every nerve in Gu Xianwang on edge, slowing her steps to a creep. She eased up to Long Li’s door. The courtyard-facing window was locked tight, curtains drawn shut, giving nothing away inside. Ear to the door crack, she heard no hum from the air conditioner—right, the power was out. After a moment’s thought, she raised her hand to knock.
Her palm had just brushed the door when her peripheral vision snagged on a slip of paper wedged in the threshold.
The handwriting was precise, each stroke sharp as a blade: Xianwang, please wait patiently for two days. The tiger’s lair is perilous—do not risk it, I beg you. Once I bring back Ninth Master, I will apologize in person. L.
Predictable. Utterly expected. Gu Xianwang’s left eyelid twitched twice as a cold, grinding laugh escaped her lips.
Rage ignited. Danger be damned. She seized the doorknob, twisted viciously—crack!—and popped the entire lock free. The hinges groaned in protest, swinging the door feebly ajar.
Chilly damp filled the room. The bed was pristine, untouched. She stepped inside. Empty as a tomb—save for the trash bin beside the TV cabinet, where tissue wrapped a wad of soiled cotton balls, stained crimson with fresh blood.
Gu Xianwang felt ready to explode.
Wait for the Thunder Sundial? Like hell she’d wait! And she’d actually believed her!
She slammed a fist into the cotton pillow, spent her fury, then kneaded her brow to force calm. That’s when she caught it: a faint, muffled dripping in the room. Staccato plips, culminating in a sharp drip every few heartbeats.
Hunting the sound, her gaze fixed on the bedside window curtain—an arm’s reach away. The folds hung stiffly, as if draped over something slender and elongated, like an old freestanding clothes rack.
No feet peeked from beneath.
Just a small puddle pooling on the tile floor.
She drew a sharp breath, mind flashing to the door’s noisy opening earlier. No one had poked their head out to check. Now the door gaped half-open, framing a slice of corridor. If she tugged that curtain now, her back would be fully exposed to the gap. Indescribable—the room felt empty, yet suffocatingly crowded, sinister presences lurking in the shadows beyond sight.
No time for hesitation. Every second squandered here let Long Li slip farther away.
Gritting her resolve, Gu Xianwang lunged forward. Her toe hit the floor just as thunder crashed through the mountains. In the same instant, she ripped the curtain aside. Nothing lurked behind. The alley-facing window stood wide, rain lashing in through the frame, whipping the fabric into a thin, wavering shadow.
A glance back: empty doorway. Just her imagination? Gu Xianwang steadied herself, then furrowed her brow. Long Li wouldn’t have needed to climb out a window. The room was spotless—why leave only this one ajar?
Peering closer, a muddy streak marred the plastic frame: a footprint. The ball of the foot had pressed there, with sole treads stamped on the protruding ledge. Holding her palm against it, she sized it up—a man’s foot.
Someone had entered.
Yet the floor inside bore no other prints.
Gu Xianwang instantly pieced it together. The guy was a pro. By the time he slipped into her room, Long Li had already left, so he’d come up empty-handed and hadn’t bothered locking the door on his way out.
Was he part of the crew that had lured them here? Nah, probably not. He had a bit of street smarts, sure, but his moves were amateur hour—nothing like the bone-chilling vibe from back in Guizhou. At the thought, Gu Xianwang let out a wry chuckle. What a damn situation: wolves at the front gate, tigers at the back, and now some two-bit thugs eyeing them from the shadows.
No time to waste. She darted out and rapped sharply on Yang Baibai’s door, then Ye Chan’s. Silence from both rooms.
Hiss. That didn’t add up. Yang Baibai bolting made sense, but where the hell had Ye Chan gotten to?
Reluctant to give up, Gu Xianwang pounded away for a solid three minutes. At last, footsteps pattered across the tiles inside—tap-tap-tap. Moments later, the door flew open unguarded. There stood Ye Chan in her penguin plush jacket, rubbing her eyes with a dazed look. “Huh? Sister Gu, is it time already?”
Gu Xianwang paused. “…It’s past time.” If there’d ever been a time at all.
“Huh?” Ye Chan jolted awake, peering at the sky. “Oh shoot, I set an alarm and everything. Did it glitch?”
Gu Xianwang eyed her suspiciously. Ye Chan slept like the dead—that much they knew—but tonight felt extreme. “You didn’t hear a peep? Not even the rain or thunder?”
Ye Chan shook her head. “Nope. Didn’t catch a thing. Lights out the second I hit the bed.”
Something was off. Way off. This went beyond heavy sleeping. Hell, Gu Xianwang herself hadn’t heard her own alarm. She’d chalked it up to the Forbidden Witch Bone flaring up at first, but now… what if there was more to it?
This village had a bad vibe tonight.
“Grab your pack. We’re driving out. Something’s wrong here.”
Ye Chan blinked but didn’t question it. She sprang into action, swapping her pajamas for street clothes in record time. “Where’s Sister Long and the others?”
Gu Xianwang shook her head, her face set in a grim mask. She grabbed Ye Chan’s arm and hustled her toward the exit. The Earth Immortal Residence’s front desk sat deserted, the lobby door hanging half-open. Before Gu Xianwang could yank it wide, footsteps echoed from the staircase.
In that split-second hesitation, a shadow glided down. Sister A was still decked out in her daytime getup, apron dangling loose, a smile plastered on her face. But it was the kind of smile that sent ice down your spine.
“You two beauties heading out so late?”
Gu Xianwang’s voice was steel. “Innkeeper, we’re checking out.”
Sister A didn’t budge, her body half-swallowed by the stairwell shadows. “Aw, what didn’t you like about the place?”
“Nothing like that. Urgent business.” Gu Xianwang’s hand clamped on the door handle. “Keep the deposit—for the busted lock.”
She wrenched the door open. The roar of wind and rain crashed in. In the murky light, Sister A descended the final step, her meat cleaver catching the gleam of a fresh hone along its edge.
“That’s gonna be tricky, dearies.” She cocked her head. “Round here, custom says thunder-rain nights? You stay put.”
Gu Xianwang flicked a glance at the blade and smirked. “Sorry, innkeeper. Short stay, can’t play by local rules.”
She pivoted, ushering Ye Chan through the door first, then shoved her pack after and they bolted.
“To the car!”
Ye Chan skidded to a halt at the alley mouth after just a couple strides. Gu Xianwang whipped around, following her stare. Down Golden Hook Town’s so-called main drag—a rutted stone lane—a procession crept through the downpour. Figures cloaked in sodden gray, the ones in the middle shouldering… a coffin.
A funeral procession? At this hour?
No gongs, no drums, no mourners wailing. Dead silent, like some eerie pantomime.
Ye Chan gulped, her teeth starting to chatter. “Th-this… this is scarier than Ghost Soldiers Borrowing the Path. Didn’t they say… no old folks left in the village?”
Too damn strange. This wasn’t just about somebody kicking the bucket. The whole street was pitch-black, not a light in sight, save for this dozen souls hauling the coffin in utter quiet. They shuffled slow, almost tiptoeing. Gu Xianwang strained her eyes and made it out: all decked in mourning white, soaked through.
They’d canvassed most of the shops by daylight. No white funeral banners anywhere.
Rain hammered their waterproof hoods, drumming loud. Gut screaming to bail, Gu Xianwang snapped, “Don’t stare.”
Boom—
Another muffled peal of thunder rumbled through the sky. She looked up on instinct, only to see countless spiderweb-like bolts of electricity exploding across the thick clouds crowning the distant mountain peaks—like a hammer smashing the bottom of a glass pane. Right after came a massive banded lightning bolt that shot into the mountain hollow like a python.
That electric glow was blindingly bright, far more piercing than any man-made light. In an instant, it seemed to light up the entire horizon. Gu Xianwang jolted in shock, transfixed as if mesmerized. A primal sense of awe welled up unbidden in her dazed mind.
“Gu… Sister Gu.” Ye Chan nudged her, then clutched her sleeve tight, unsure whether to push or pull—but with a force that was shockingly strong, as if she’d been scared out of her wits. “S-Second floor… those windows—”
Gu Xianwang frowned and looked up. Her body went rigid. Every second-floor window on the little two-story buildings lining the long street gaped open. Those deliberately antique wooden frames swung outward, and crammed into each one were several shadowy figures. The one out front—the one she could see most clearly—had snow-white hair and a face creased with wrinkles, like someone in their seventies or eighties. They held their palms out flat toward the street, as if catching raindrops or offering prayers. Every face was twisted in ferocity. Their mouths gaped wide like gorillas’ as they bared their gums with savage intensity, jaws straining as if on the verge of dislocation.
And in those quivering lower lips, every single one sported a mouthful of black teeth.
What the hell—what the hell about this was even human?!
Gu Xianwang didn’t waste a word. She scooped Ye Chan up and bolted into the alley, flung open the car door, and shoved her into the passenger seat. Without a sound, she fired up the engine, slammed it into gear, and roared off. The headlights sliced through the pitch-black night. She cranked the wheel left and floored the accelerator with a howl, shooting straight out.
There was only one road out of the village, and dead ahead lay the funeral procession. Gu Xianwang gripped the wheel, swallowing hard. Her palm mashed down on the horn and stayed there. The shrill blare echoed through all of Golden Hook Town. The procession came to a neat halt, as if appraising her. Offense be damned—who gave a shit now? She flicked her tongue over her upper lip and stomped the pedal flat. The hood couldn’t muffle the engine’s frenzied roar.
Those people—if they could even be called that—finally clocked the maniac behind the wheel. They scattered to the side in unison, clearing a narrow gap. The Wrangler slithered through like an eel along that lifeline, clattered up the dirt embankment, swung onto the mountain road, and tore away.
Ye Chan clung to her seatbelt for dear life, knees knocking together. It took her half a minute to stammer out, “We… we’re okay now, right?”
Okay? Cold sweat still beaded Gu Xianwang’s forehead. She eyed the tire pressure warning on the display screen. The rear wheels were dragging hard—both punctured, obviously. On a rain-slicked mountain road like this, they wouldn’t get far. The danger was off the charts.
Before she could reply, the rearview mirror lit up. Gu Xianwang whipped her head around. Not far behind their car, another vehicle had latched on tight!
