Chapter 94: Break Free

In the end, Ye Chan still gave the log cabin owner three hundred bucks as compensation.

She glanced around. There were only four people in the cabin altogether, and three of them were injured, lightly or severely. Ye Chan clutched the rope, cracked the door open a sliver, and hesitated. “You really want me to go first?”

Yang Baibai urged her. “When I say go, go. Hurry up before those creepy things in the woods come out.”

Fine. Ye Chan gritted her teeth, yanked the door open with a bang, and shouted, “Charge!” The Golden Crow’s plump body flapped into the air, soaring all of two meters before it crashed back to the ground, too heavy to fly. It scurried forward on its little claws instead. The big shadow and the small one waddled along like a pair of penguins. Sure enough, there weren’t many Little Bites left around—just a few scattered clumps, which Long Li swiftly and precisely extinguished.

They dashed across the shallows in short order. The Golden Crow plunged headfirst into the Mist Forest, and visibility blurred instantly. That was exactly why they’d tied ropes around their waists before heading out, linking everyone together. Yang Baibai scouted ahead while Gu Xianwang brought up the rear, wary of ancient hunter traps lurking in the woods.

Gu Xianwang’s mind had been unsettled from the start, her body locked in a tense state of combat and flight. Returning to the cabin hadn’t helped; that bus ticket had only stirred up more chaos, leaving countless questions swirling unanswered in her head. Now, shrouded once more in the forest mist, she found herself calming down instead. Her focus sharpened, and she suddenly sensed something wrong—

Long Li hadn’t been right since earlier. Her steps showed no disorder, and she stayed right on Ye Chan’s heels, but Gu Xianwang could feel the anomaly all the same. It was as if… as if Long Li had gone blind. The hawk-like sharpness she usually carried clung to her now like an empty shell.

Gu Xianwang’s heart clenched. She hurried forward a couple of steps. That bloody scent…

She thrust out her arm and seized Long Li’s wrist. Only then did Long Li seem to notice, her steps halting abruptly as she turned her head. “What’s wrong?”

Gu Xianwang kept her voice low. “Has your injury gotten worse?”

She had sensed something off when they first returned to the cabin. Long Li had spilled wine on herself, sure, but not enough to reek like that. Thinking back, the alcohol stench hadn’t seemed accidental—it was as if she’d deliberately left it on to mask something. Her wound was far worse than Yang Baibai’s, yet even he hadn’t noticed.

Long Li’s face was half-hidden in the mist, and she seemed to smile. Before she could reply, the group up ahead came to a sudden stop. Yang Baibai let out a low call. “Hey, don’t run off!”

Ye Chan sounded panicked. “I wasn’t running! Bird Lord is dragging me—holy shit, what is this?”

Their waist ropes bound them together, leaving just two meters of slack between each person. Gu Xianwang and Long Li soon felt the pull and hurried forward. Through the haze, Gu Xianwang spotted an impossibly tall shadow looming ahead. Remembering the Jorogumo they’d encountered earlier, crawling on its tree in the Mist Forest, her hackles rose. She shouted at once, “Ye Chan, get back here!”

“Ah?” Ye Chan replied, then called out again. “Come look! This seems like a sacrificial altar.”

A sacrificial altar?

Gu Xianwang froze, exchanging a quick glance with Long Li. They approached slowly. After a few steps, the differences became clear. The ground here had been excavated and treated with some kind of chemical—no grass grew on it at all. Strange patterns had been laid out at intervals using upright pebbles, but the mist blocked any full view, making it impossible to make sense of them right away. The surrounding trees had been deliberately felled to clear this platform. In the scant visibility of a little over a meter, a square altar loomed, topped by a pole that stretched toward the heavens. Cow horn-like objects were embedded along both sides of the pole, resembling crescent blades that linked its sections into a sort of Knife Ladder.

Ye Chan craned her neck, peering around the altar’s surface. Fortunately, Yang Baibai held her back from charging right in. Gu Xianwang hadn’t drawn any closer, but with her Eye Technique, she scanned upward. At the top of the Knife Ladder, just two or three meters away, something humanoid dangled, swaying in the wind.

“There seems to be a person hanging up there.”

Long Li’s eyesight wasn’t as sharp, but she could hear the robes flapping fiercely in the breeze. She whispered back, “Probably not alive, but let’s still be careful.”

With that, she started forward.

Gu Xianwang yanked her arm back, pulling Long Li behind her. In those few steps fixated on the altar, she hadn’t realized they were still holding hands. Her voice dropped to a murmur that only Long Li could hear. “Stay with me. Don’t wander off. This place is extremely dangerous.”

Without waiting for an answer, Gu Xianwang led the way. When they reached Yang Baibai’s side, he remarked, “This creepy place has been standing for centuries at least. The wood’s all rotted through.”

He planted one foot on the edge of the square sacrificial altar. With a sharp creak, a section of blackened rotten wood flipped up from the middle, spilling out a swarm of pale wriggling maggots that scattered across the ground in an instant.

Ye Chan jumped in alarm and cursed at him. “Yang Baibai, do you have ADHD or what? If you hadn’t kicked that wood, what was it going to do? This isn’t some Han Chinese relic—it’s got serious research value, got it!?”

Yang Baibai sneered. “Serious value? How serious? You planning to lead a whole team into this Ghost Yin Vortex and get them all wiped out? See that person hanging up there? That’s just a kid! Tsk, no matter which clan’s altar this is, it’s nothing good.”

As he spoke, he suddenly blew on the Ape Whistle. The sound was bizarre, like a normal whistle with an extra hole punched in it, producing only a feeble hiss like a botched attempt at whistling. Yang Baibai blew with all his might, but the noise came out faint. He kept at it for seven or eight blasts before finally stopping.

Ye Chan watched with wide-eyed curiosity. Before she could even ask, the needles overhead rustled. A black shadow leaped down right after. She knew it was the black chimpanzee Yang Baibai had summoned earlier, but amid the fog and next to this eerie Knife Ladder altar, she couldn’t help shivering, her feet instinctively shuffling backward. In that split second of distraction, darkness suddenly fell over her vision, as if coarse, hairy fabric had brushed across her cheek. Then came a thud, and the wooden platform crumbled even further.

It was Gu Xianwang’s first time seeing a black chimpanzee from such close range. In its arms, it cradled a corpse wrapped in a cloak. From the limp way it held the bundle, the body appeared to have fully rotted away, reduced to nothing but dry bones. Judging by the size, it was indeed a child—no more than eight or nine years old at most.

Yang Baibai crouched down and lifted the child out, laying it flat on the ground. The robe draped over it slipped downward, exposing the torso. At the sight, Yang Baibai recoiled and fell flat on his backside, scrambling several steps away. The sudden commotion startled Ye Chan beside him. “What is it?” she blurted, stunned.

Gu Xianwang held her back and whispered, “Something’s wrong with the corpse. It’s a dry corpse covered in green mold.”

Ye Chan swallowed hard. “…A zongzi?”

Long Li bent down and peeled back the tattered, weather-beaten cloth robe, revealing the full dry corpse beneath. At a glance, the skin seemed shriveled and desiccated, but a closer look revealed withered muscles overlaid with moist, waterlogged flesh—swollen white like skin bloated from prolonged soaking, akin to blistered pork rind stretched over strips of beef jerky. Mossy green patches dotted the damp surface, bulging in clusters like porcini mushrooms.

“It’s not a zongzi,” Long Li said. “Just an ordinary corpse, corroded by the unique climate inside this Yin Vortex. And it’s not human.”

Gu Xianwang scrutinized it from bottom to top, then abruptly noticed the skull’s unusual shape—more rounded and protuberant than a human’s, with a protruding muzzle like buckteeth and razor-sharp canines. The eye sockets were larger, too.

“This… is a monkey?” A hairless one.

“Yes,” Long Li said with a slight frown. “No idea why it was dressed in a robe and offered as a sacrifice.”

Using a monkey for sacrifice was something unheard of in any clan’s traditions.

Just then, the black chimpanzee reached out and draped the robe back over the corpse. Long Li met its gaze, then handed the body back to it. She rose and examined the Knife Ladder nearby. It was carved with intricate patterns resembling animals—eagles and water buffaloes—much like the wood carvings behind the Log Cabin.

Ye Chan came to her senses and fumbled for her phone. The light was too dim, though; every shot she took came out like a still from a horror flick, leaving her drenched in anxious sweat. Right then, the Golden Crow—which had been huddled on the ground—leaped to its feet, feathers flaring out like an inflated feather duster. At the same moment, all four of them heard a resounding drumbeat echoing from across the cliff. The drum had a distinctive metallic ring to it; that single boom crashed like thunder, sending a jolt through their hearts.

Long Li snapped to attention. “Move—now! The Mist Mirage is opening!”

“Huh?” Ye Chan frantically snapped off several more shots, quality be damned. “What about the corpse—”

Yang Baibai scowled. “Leave it. We can’t deal with it—let’s go.”

Gu Xianwang asked, “How many beats on the Bronze Drum does it take to open the Mist Mirage?”

“Seven,” Long Li replied. “From open to closed, exactly seven—one every forty seconds or so.”

It was the only time she’d ever observed the Mist Mirage’s cycle of opening and closing in the Mist Forest.

“No time left.” Gu Xianwang’s skin prickled with cold, the pain in her shoulder fading into the background. She had no time to wonder why the Bronze Drum was thundering at this exact moment. “We need to move—now.”

Ye Chan was just as desperate to leave, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. “Bird Lord won’t budge!”

Won’t budge?

Gu Xianwang’s instincts sharpened. She scanned the treetops first, but the mist revealed no trace of those bamboo-jointed monsters from before. Her hesitation made Long Li turn back as well—and in that instant, a faint whoosh sliced through the air from behind. It was so subtle that her prior vigilance was the only thing that saved her. She twisted sideways and thrust out her arm—

At the same moment, Long Li reached out too. Together, one in front and one behind, they seized the lashing rope that had struck without warning. No, not a rope—this slick, greasy texture. Gu Xianwang shot a glance sideways, and her scalp crawled. Protruding from between her clenched fingers was a segment of pink tongue covered in bumpy nodules, its tip still gripped in Long Li’s hand.

She muttered a low curse, disgust churning in her gut, but she didn’t dare let go. If she did, the thing might lash out at Long Li again. Tracing its length, her brows knitted tighter and tighter. A chill wind stirred the fog, sharpening the shadowy outline: a creature about the size of the Golden Crow crouched on the ground. Its limbs were stubby, it had a long tail, and its skin gleamed an ominous purple—like some venomous salamander.

“Long Li, let go. It looks poisonous.”

Gu Xianwang pulled back, only then noticing why Long Li hadn’t released her grip. The trapped tongue segment was even more grotesque up close. A fleshy bulb protruded from the end—a miniature mouth lined with a dense thicket of razor-sharp teeth, perfect for gnawing off a knuckle-sized chunk of flesh. The thing coiled around her wrist, writhing desperately to slip free from between her fingers.

The second thunderous boom of the Bronze Drum reverberated through the air.

Gritting her teeth, Gu Xianwang yanked the dagger from the sheath strapped to her arm. Before Long Li could stop her, she swung—and severed the tongue clean through.

In response, the Golden Crow behind them craned its neck and unleashed a frantic series of shrill chirps: cheep-cheep-cheep! The sound sent an inexplicable shiver racing down Gu Xianwang’s spine. The tongue piece in Long Li’s hand didn’t go limp. Instead, it thrashed like a serpent. In the blink of an eye, a fresh toothy maw sprouted from the stump, snapping open to lunge at her.

Long Li snatched the new head and slammed it to the ground. She stomped down hard with her boot, then doused it with a thorough spray of insecticide.

A glance back revealed the salamander-like Earth Toad not fleeing but swelling up instead, as if issuing a challenge.

Long Li spoke urgently. “This is the root form of the Jade Flute Earth Toad—its immature body. We need to go. Don’t tangle with it.”

Yang Baibai let out a curse and snatched a rotten branch from nearby. He charged forward like a farmer spearing a weasel and thrust it out in a fierce stab. In an instant, the Earth Toad’s regenerating tongue coiled around the stick and splintered it into sawdust.

Seizing the opening, he herded the group along, bellowing, “Run! It’s not just poisonous!”

There was no time to worry about what was behind them. Ye Chan scooped up the Golden Crow and hurled it into the air before sprinting ahead. “Come on, Bird Lord, pull it together! What do you have to fear from some mangy toad? We’ve got your back!”

The toss seemed to snap it out of its funk. The Golden Crow stopped bristling and beat its wings, darting swiftly through the trees. Yang Baibai might have been wearing flip-flops, but he bounded along like an Olympic hurdler, taking point while blowing the Ape Whistle from his mouth. The Black Chimpanzee kept pace, swinging from branch to branch alongside him.

Gu Xianwang shoved Long Li forward, determined to bring up the rear. Anyone who had ever braved a haunted house knew the dread of trailing at the end in a situation like this—it was pure psychological torment. She couldn’t resist a backward glance. In the distance, through the mist, the Earth Toad was ballooning larger and larger, its purple skin stretching thin enough to reveal its underdeveloped gills. Its cheeks fluttered rapidly now, emitting a sinister kekeke croak.

Her palm grew suddenly warm. Long Li had twisted back to seize her hand. “Don’t look. Keep moving.”

Long Li’s fingers were icy, but a trace of warmth lingered in her palm. As the third drumbeat crashed, her grip tightened.

In her daze, Gu Xianwang heard a massive buzzing swarm closing in from not far behind. The noise was impossible to ignore. A sidelong glance confirmed her fear: the Earth Toad had summoned the Little Bites that infested the area earlier. No wonder it was counted among the heavenly treasures—it even kept its own gang of thugs.

As the swarm bore down on them, Long Li whirled around. “Cover your mouths and noses!” She emptied the last of the insecticide canister behind them.

The terrain ahead opened up into a vast expanse, and it was time for the mist mirage to lift. The wind whipped through fiercely, and the insecticide took effect for only a moment before being scattered to the four winds. The black chimpanzee, which had been clinging to the tree trunk, suddenly leaped down. It snatched up a handful of broad leaves and branches, then began swatting wildly at the swarm of little bites.

How could that possibly work?

Gu Xianwang shouted urgently, “Yang Baibai, get it out of here! It can’t handle the little bites at all!”

Yang Baibai hadn’t even noticed that the black chimpanzee had fallen back behind them. He hurriedly blew on the ape whistle two or three times, but the creature kept flailing away from the rear. Its coat of black fur made it impossible to tell just how many little bites had plastered its body. Only then did he catch on. “It wants us to take it with us!”

Gu Xianwang gritted her teeth. In a sudden motion, she pulled the undying turtle from inside her clothes. She tilted her arm and squeezed hard against her shoulder wound. Fresh blood oozed from the unhealed gash, dripping one drop at a time onto the turtle’s shell.

To bind any heavenly material or earthly treasure to its master, one must feed it the master’s own blood.

She had read that in the Records of Heaven and Earth Fubao—and that was also where she had learned the undying turtle’s true purpose.

“Shake,” she commanded in her mind.

At once, the undying turtle began to whirl around inside the ink jade plate. Its jade mouth opened and closed, emitting a cry that human ears could not perceive in that frequency range. She had held back from using it before, believing her days were numbered and unwilling to sully it before returning it to her master. But now there was no time for such concerns. With the swarm of little bites thrown into chaos by the piercing high tones from the clashing heavenly treasures on either side, Gu Xianwang dashed forward, seized the black chimpanzee, and bolted.

The black chimpanzee was no sprinter, and its arms appeared to have been badly bitten. Long Li started to turn back to help when Yang Baibai slowed his pace. He bent at the waist and urged the others, “Stick with the golden crow—the exit’s just ahead. I’ll carry it. Don’t worry about us.”

His words had barely left his mouth when the fourth peal of bronze drum thunder rang out. Gu Xianwang frowned. Abruptly, she spotted a sliver of light filtering through the shadows of the trees ahead. The glow intensified, piercing the dense fog like a beacon. Joy surged in her heart, and she gripped Long Li’s hand tightly. The group raced onward for their lives until, with a final whoosh, they burst through the thinning veil of mist and shattered the watery barrier at its edge.

When they opened their eyes again, they found themselves back on that mountain road. Night still cloaked the sky, and their car hovered motionless just a short distance away.