Sanity value dropped to zero on the spot.
A chill rose from the base of his spine, shooting straight to the top of his head. Zhang Yuanqing felt like a cat whose fur had been suddenly ruffled—he jumped high in place and instinctively cursed:
"F***!"
It was a reflexive reaction to extreme shock or fright.
Now he finally understood why his shoulder had been so sore, and why the corpse by the window had been carrying a bronze mirror.
It was to check if an evil spirit was clinging to their shoulder.
When did it get on me? Was it when I entered the courtyard, or when I stepped into this room?
Who gave me the courage to go out exploring? Was it Liang Jingru?!
His mind was in turmoil, thoughts flashing by at lightning speed. Fear surged over him like a tidal wave.
Even though he had known this temple was eerie and dangerous, and had mentally prepared himself, facing an actual ghost still sent an indescribable terror through him.
Wait, I have a talisman... Zhang Yuanqing's trembling hands reached into the left pocket of his jacket, pulling out the yellow paper talisman. Desperately, he slapped it onto his shoulder.
Pa!
The corpse-suppressing talisman stuck onto his shoulder. He raised the bronze mirror cautiously and took a look—
The pale-faced man with blackened lips and dead white eyes was still clinging to his shoulder.
It didn't work. This thing wasn't a corpse-type entity…
All his remaining hopes were crushed. Zhang Yuanqing felt his shoulder growing heavier and more painful. His limbs turned cold.
This wasn't just an illusion—it was the real, tangible loss of his body's life energy.
At that moment, he thought of the corpse under the main hall's table and the worker who had died miserably beneath the window. Soon, he might end up just like them.
A wave of bone-chilling despair washed over him.
Tap. Tap.
Suddenly, at this critical moment, light footsteps echoed from the corridor outside.
The sound was faint but exceptionally clear in the silent night.
…Zhang Yuanqing's heart tightened. He quickly crouched down, hiding beside the corpse beneath the window.
The footsteps sounded familiar—just like the ones he had heard when he first entered the temple.
Tap. Tap. Tap…
The sound grew closer, heading straight toward him. Zhang Yuanqing held his breath, body tensed, heart pounding wildly in his chest.
As the footsteps passed by the window, he couldn't help but glance at the floor. Moonlight streamed in, casting a gridded shadow through the window.
The window was only waist-high. A normal person walking past would surely cast a shadow on the floor.
But there was nothing.
That meant—whatever was walking outside had no body.
Thankfully, the footsteps did not stop at the window, nor did they enter the room. They continued forward, moving into the courtyard before finally stopping.
Seconds later, the footsteps resumed—this time with a rhythmic, deliberate pattern.
What is it doing in the courtyard?
Zhang Yuanqing propped his freezing body up, struggling to stand. Peeking through the torn window paper, he focused his gaze outside.
In the moonlit courtyard, among the overgrown weeds, a pair of pristine, Western-style red dance shoes were performing a tap dance.
Moonlight, an abandoned temple, red shoes, a solo dance.
The sight was both absurdly eerie and strangely… lonely?
How could a pair of Western dance shoes exist in a Ming Dynasty mountain temple?
This temple is getting weirder and weirder… He crouched back down, choosing to wait patiently.
Minute by minute, time passed. The ghost clinging to his shoulder continued to drain his energy. His body grew stiff, the pain in his shoulder intensifying to a stabbing agony.
If this continued, he would either die from losing all his life energy or succumb to a shattered shoulder blade.
The excruciating torment continued—until, finally, the dancing in the courtyard ceased.
Zhang Yuanqing still didn't dare move. He waited a little longer before cautiously peeking out again.
The courtyard was bathed in moonlight. The weeds stood still. The red dance shoes were gone.
"Hu…"
He let out a long breath of relief and tried to stand—only for his knees to buckle, sending him collapsing to the floor.
As his nerves relaxed and his adrenaline faded, he finally realized just how bad his condition was.
His shoulder burned with searing pain, as if his bones were about to crack. His joints were stiff, his blood felt sluggish.
Shaking, he grabbed the bronze mirror. The reflection showed a pale, exhausted young man with dim eyes and a lifeless expression—he looked like a dying patient on his last breath.
And on his shoulder, the black-lipped spirit continued to cling, staring at him in eerie silence.
If this goes on, I'll die for sure. But what can I do? I can't touch it…
The pain in his shoulder was so unbearable that he had to lean against the wall for support.
His gaze shifted to the worker's corpse beside him. Their postures were identical.
"So that's how it is…" Zhang Yuanqing let out a bitter laugh.
He could already see his fate unfolding. He could almost hear the grim reaper's sigh.
Yet he refused to give up. His mind kept working at full speed, desperately searching for a way to survive.
Then, in a sudden flash of insight, he remembered something—
The corpse beneath the main hall's table.
"The two corpses had different levels of shoulder damage. The one under the main hall's table had a shoulder wound that wasn't fatal. The ghost let him go? No, spirits don't show mercy…"
"Then why did he hide under the table…?"
"When I first entered the temple, the red dance shoes were already following me. But when I stepped into the main hall, they left…"
At that moment, Zhang Yuanqing's dim pupils lit up with newfound hope.
The main hall—he had to get back to the main hall!
He immediately forced himself up and stumbled toward the door. Every step was agonizing, as if he carried a mountain on his back.
Thud!
He fell, crashing into the overgrown weeds. He could no longer stand.
His teeth chattered violently. It felt like he was trapped in the depths of winter, with the cold draining his life away.
Summoning every ounce of strength, he crawled toward the main hall. He forced himself to keep his eyes on it, to never lose sight of his goal.
That way, his hope would not fade.
What should have been a one-minute walk now seemed as distant as the ends of the earth.
But then—just as he crawled past the temple threshold—
A ghastly wail echoed in his ears.
His shoulder suddenly lightened.
The freezing cold, the dizziness, the stiffness—all of it vanished.
Zhang Yuanqing rolled onto the stone platform, scrambling to his feet. Stumbling, he pushed open the hall doors and flung himself inside.
A warm candlelight flickered within.
Its glow dispelled the darkness, bringing an overwhelming sense of safety.
Lying flat on his back, panting heavily, he felt alive again.
"That was terrifying… But I was right—the main hall is a safe zone."
This meant he now had a real chance at survival.