Chapter 36 – Moonlit Night

After returning to Jieshui Studio, Wei Yang easily dismissed Mr. Li and then pushed the wide-eyed, live-stream-obsessed Sun the Otaku back to his seat. He didn’t linger at the company for long and instead chose to head straight home. Once the adrenaline rush from earlier had subsided, he began to feel a dull heaviness in his head. It was likely the so-called recoil force still at work. That wooden fish, though unassuming in appearance, had acted like a desert eagle—a deadly weapon—during the critical moment. Its effects were astonishing, but its recoil was equally fierce, leaving him utterly drained.

Feeling slightly dizzy, he stumbled to his doorstep, opened the door, and stepped into the living room with the Little Celestial Master in tow. Before he could even steady himself, he heard a rapid scurrying sound coming from the bedroom. The usually slow-moving Lao Ye was, for once, moving with full force, practically sprinting to the door. Wei Yang felt a surge of warmth in his heart and quickly crouched down. “Oh, Lao Ye, you already know I’m injured and came to greet me…”

The turtle ignored him completely, crawling right past him and chomping down on Zhang Xiuqi’s pant leg.

Wei Yang: “…”

I should’ve known this turtle wouldn’t be that thoughtful! The young con artist sighed and turned around to try and pull the turtle off. Zhang Xiuqi tilted his head slightly, seemingly understanding the turtle’s intentions, and pulled out a small bottle from his pocket, waving it in front of the turtle. “Dead.”

Inside the bottle was, of course, the Lower Corpse Peng Ji. The turtle released its grip, stretched out its neck, and sniffed the bottle intently before finally stepping aside with an air of “I’ve inspected it, you may enter now,” as if it were the true master of the house.

Wei Yang: “…”

Silently standing up from the floor, he forced a wry smile. “Brother Qi, how can Master even smell that you’re carrying a Corpse Worm?”

“Turtles have spiritual senses,” Zhang Xiuqi replied succinctly, as if he’d seen hundreds of such bizarre creatures before. His gaze was already firmly fixed on the refrigerator nearby.

Alright, it seems now isn’t the best time to delve into this. Wei Yang sighed, rummaged through the cabinet, and pulled out a few boxes of cookies, handing them to the Little Celestial Master. “I’ve already ordered food; it should be here soon. Brother Qi, have some of these to tide you over.”

Zhang Xiuqi, of course, had no objections and obediently took the cookies to the dining table to munch on. Wei Yang, on the other hand, tossed his tool bag and the gilded Bixie statue onto the coffee table before collapsing onto the soft sofa. After lying there for a while and confirming that his head wasn’t spinning as much, he pulled out the check and lightly flicked the numbers on it.

These two jobs had been quite lucrative, and he didn’t even have to split the profits with the old con artist. In just two weeks, the balance in his account had skyrocketed at an astonishing rate. Since graduating from school, this was the first time he’d experienced such a comfortable life—with a house and savings—though, of course, not counting the mental toll from dealing with supernatural threats. Before this, he never would’ve thought of himself as someone who craved stability.

This kind of money-making speed could be considered legendary, right? A faint smile appeared on Wei Yang’s face. Although Master Zeng had said there was no need to pay Brother Qi a salary, given how much money they were making, it would be unfair not to share the profits. He decided to set aside a portion for now and give it to Master Zeng once he returned. However, as this thought crossed his mind, Wei Yang felt a twinge of reluctance, though he couldn’t quite tell if it was the thought of parting with the money or the person who had helped him earn it that made him hesitate.

His gaze unconsciously drifted toward Zhang Xiuqi, who was quietly eating bear-shaped cookies at the table. Wei Yang’s eyes wavered slightly, but before the other could notice, he quickly looked away. Just then, the doorbell rang. He swiftly got up from the sofa and went to answer it. After paying for the delivery, he turned around to find that the Little Celestial Master had already put down his cookies and was sitting upright, waiting to be fed.

With a soft chuckle, Wei Yang placed the significantly upgraded takeout box in front of him. “Here’s your favorite deer tendon and braised three delicacies. Let’s eat!”

That night, perhaps because the lingering effects of the wooden fish’s percussion hadn’t completely subsided, Wei Yang fell asleep early. His usually half-curled body relaxed slightly, and his left hand unconsciously rested on Zhang Xiuqi’s body, as if seeking warmth, with his palm pressed against the other’s chest.

This should have been an entirely ordinary action, but for some reason, the red mole on the tiger’s mouth of his left hand suddenly became more vivid, as if it wanted to break through the palm and drip onto the shirt below. Zhang Xiuqi, who should have been sleeping soundly, furrowed his brows slightly, as if something was disturbing his usual peaceful slumber.

Outside the window, the moonlight grew brighter. The already full moon expanded further, hanging imposingly in the sky. Silvery chains of light seeped through the curtains into the room. Lao Ye climbed out of its water basin, leaving wet paw prints as it circled the bed, seemingly anxious.

Zhang Xiuqi struggled more intensely, his fingers curled tightly over his abdomen as if resisting something. A choked sob escaped his throat. In his dream, something had captured him, tormenting him.

“Xiao Qi, stay here quietly. Don’t move, don’t make a sound. Daddy will lead them away…”

A man smiled at him, his face covered in blood, making his gentle features appear both fierce and tragic.

“I don’t believe in fate, and I won’t let that damned ‘destiny’ take your life. Don’t be afraid, hold on. Daddy’s still here. Stay here and wait for me to come back…”

The man’s large, warm hand gently covered his eyes, not trembling in the slightest, like an unshakable mountain, sheltering that small world. Then, he left.

Screams, explosions, and eerie ghostly wails filled the air. The power of a formation surged in the distance, and excruciating pain wracked his body. It felt as if he had been split in two, something brutally and mercilessly ripped out of him. Zhang Xiuqi clenched his fists and suddenly sat up in bed, his heart pounding so violently it felt like it would shatter his ribs and tear through his chest. He stared blankly at the white wall in front of him, as if it held a reflection of the despairing, chilling terror of his nightmare.

Gradually, however, his racing heart returned to its usual calm. Another sound reached his ears—something was anxiously scratching at the bedside. Zhang Xiuqi blinked, somewhat dazed, and looked toward the side of the bed. Lao Ye had somehow climbed onto the headboard and was vigorously clawing at the edge of the nanmu bed, almost gouging the wood.

Another sound also gradually became apparent, softer and gentler. Zhang Xiuqi followed the hand resting beside him and saw a man sleeping peacefully next to him, his brows relaxed and content, the usual sense of urgency that often plagued him gone, sleeping so soundly.

“Ah Yang,” he finally spoke after a long while, softly uttering the two words. Everything that had happened in the dream was erased once more, his soulless mind like a calm surface of water. Even if something fell in, causing ripples, it would eventually return to stillness. However, something dripped from the corner of his eye. Zhang Xiuqi reached up and lightly touched it—transparent droplets, cool and slightly salty, as if something had cracked and was leaking uncontrollably. He didn’t know what it meant, but he wasn’t alarmed.

Gently patting the agitated turtle to calm it down, Zhang Xiuqi lay back down, careful not to disturb the man beside him. This time, however, he didn’t lie on his back but turned onto his side, mirroring the other’s posture, half-curled and quietly gazing at the peaceful sleeping face. Gradually, the leaking stopped, replaced by a sticky, sour sensation. He blinked and, lulled by the faint sound of breathing, closed his eyes once more.

In the desolate mountains, a man was running swiftly. His strides were long, displaying an agility uncommon for someone his age. The long grass rustled against his clothes, mingling with the whispering wind, creating an eerie, unsettling atmosphere.

The man suddenly stopped and looked down at his hand. In his palm was a feng shui compass, small enough to fit in his palm but intricately detailed with nine rotating layers. It contained the innate trigrams, the Luo Inscription Nine Stars, the Seventy-Two Dragons, the Twenty-Four Mountains, the Sixty-Four Hexagrams, the Twenty-Eight Constellations, and more. Even the black background with golden characters on the disk was clearly visible, and the faint dragon patterns at the four corners replaced the usual sea-level line, spanning the disk. It was so exquisite it looked more like a priceless piece of art than a tool. If someone familiar with feng shui had seen it, they would have recognized it as an antique, not one of the modern “Heavenly Mechanism Disks,” “Golden Jade Disks,” or “Later Heaven Disks,” but the most orthodox “Yang Disk,” used exclusively by the Sanliao Village and passed down directly from Master Yang.

However, at this moment, the compass was going haywire. The needle in the center of the Heavenly Pool seemed to be driven by something, spinning wildly with a buzzing sound. The black background with golden characters on the inner disk creaked as it rotated on its own. Only the star disk remained motionless, reflecting the celestial stars. Seeing the strange state of the disk, the man’s lips curled into a bitter smile. This was the weakness of Sanliao Village—their expertise lay in feng shui. Even if they could identify the source of yin energy or the root of evil, they lacked the immediate means to dispel or destroy those malevolent forces. Even though he was a rare combat-oriented feng shui master among his peers, he was still no match for those “professional” practitioners.

And his enemy was a seasoned expert in formations, a powerful opponent who could create human husks and control malicious spirits. His brother-in-law had failed to defeat the man twenty years ago, and he likely wouldn’t succeed today either. Yet, there was no trace of panic on the man’s face. After all, he was a descendant of the Zeng Family from Sanliao Village. No one was better at avoiding evil forces and breaking through encirclements than a feng shui master. He couldn’t defeat the man, but escaping wasn’t difficult.

He had already found clues about the incident from years ago. If he could escape and recover the lost soul, he could repair Xiao Qi’s spirit. Zhang Xiuqi was a more talented inheritor of the Way of the Celestial Masters than his father. If his soul could be restored… The man suddenly snapped out of his thoughts and carefully examined the compass’s readings. Without hesitation, he sprinted into the distance.

In the wilderness, the trees cast shifting shadows, and strange rocks loomed. The unusually large moon hung high in the sky, cold and sharp, like an unrelenting ghostly lantern illuminating the world, making the creatures lurking in the shadows even more frenzied. The moonlight, like snow, silently enveloped everything.