Chapter 1: Morning Light Is Scarce, the Sick Are Many

The sky was shrouded in thick fog, all around dim and dark.

The earth held only dense, deep green wild grass and rivers glinting with ripples.

A man washed his face by the river, head bowed low, revealing only thick black strands on his scalp.

Each time he wiped his face, his hands came away streaked with blood; he rinsed them in the water, then wiped again—still streaked with blood.

The rippling surface reflected a faint, indistinct young face, but clearly, his eyes and nostrils bled continuously.

Blood dripped into the river, spreading and swirling like the pattern of a venomous snake.

CRACK!!!

A massive venomous snake burst from the water and bit the man’s face.

His scream was muffled inside the snake’s mouth; its gaping jaws crushed his entire face inward, bringing a suffocating sensation.

Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding…

Chu Tianshu snapped open his eyes, pupils trembling; he sat bolt upright on the bed, reaching to touch his face—the lingering sensation of suffocation and pain from the dream still clung faintly.

Both alarm clocks on the nightstand were ringing, and the phone on the bedside table vibrated audibly.

That night’s nightmare had left him drenched in cold sweat; his pajama back was soaked, his disheveled hair damp as if washed, beads of sweat clinging to his eyelids, lips cracked and pale.

But what Chu Tianshu found unbearable was not thirst—it was his heartbeat.

His heartbeat was too loud, throbbing painfully deep in his ears.

A red cord caught between his fingers pulled out a pendant from beneath his collar.

The pendant was no larger than a thumb; its front bore two unrecognizable ancient characters, its back an unknown beast-face pattern—resembling ancient Taotie motifs, or perhaps a lion or qilin, hard to say.

“Still the heart, cut the water; water cut, heart still; mind clear and calm, undisturbed by ripples…”

Chu Tianshu crossed his hands, palms feeling the familiar contours, eyes locked on his own hands, murmuring the incantation.

Reach where the water ends, sit and watch the clouds rise; the sky's light is pure and bright, draped in radiant clouds.

A deep calm, a steady feeling, spread from the pendant in his palms; the repeated incantation mingled with the alarm’s chime.

The curtains were not drawn; faint morning light filtered through the window, casting a soft glow over him, his expression gradually calming.

The phone alarm had stopped automatically; both alarm clocks had been silenced.

Chu Tianshu got out of bed, cup of tea in hand, walked to the window; the water-green tint of aged glass reflected a young man with restless, troubled eyes.

He stared at his reflection, drank two sips of hot water, exhaled steam onto the glass, blurring the features in the reflection.

Furious resistance against nightmares was meaningless.

“The medicine’s efficacy has worsened again—this past half-month, this is already the seventh nightmare.”

In the Yanhuang tradition, the Divine State of Xuan, cultivation has always split into two paths: spirit communion and martial arts, each with countless sects, too numerous to count.

Chu Tianshu was a spirit communique, but had never formally joined any sect—he inherited it through family.

His grandfather, in youth, had a miraculous encounter, acquiring a secret manual and a talisman, mastering real abilities.

Back then, his grandfather had ambition, but his own cultivation hit a bottleneck; the friends he recruited and disciples he taught rarely crossed the spirit communion threshold, so his zeal faded, and he confined himself to his ancestral patch of land.

His son and daughter-in-law never mastered spirit communion, yet they were driven; in the final decade of the last century, rumors spread that gold could be panned everywhere, turning many into billionaires. The couple entrusted their child to the elder and left to seek fortune abroad—only to vanish without trace.

The grandfather made several attempts to locate them, failed, and raised the child himself, indulging him, raising a mischievous, restless boy who freely rummaged through family books and handled artifacts.

Unexpectedly, at age five, Chu Tianshu suddenly awakened, crossing the spirit communion threshold.

His grandfather, lacking formal lineage, initially rejoiced—but later realized a child awakening too early was no blessing.

A child’s bones had not yet fused, their qi and blood incomplete yet pure; sudden awakening made them exceptionally vulnerable to yin evils.

Even non-corporeal disturbances—unusual environments, abnormal weather—could haunt the child with nightmares, causing palpitations and shortness of breath.

In ancient times, such cases rarely survived to adulthood.

Chu Tianshu trained diligently to strengthen self-control and protection, recited incantations to calm his heart, wore talismans, and especially found a potent medicine that at least broke the “won’t live to adulthood” prognosis—he was now over twenty.

A few years ago, his grandfather passed away; Chu Tianshu’s family savings and personal income sufficed for medicine costs, and life was bearable.

But in the past two years, this miracle drug had begun showing signs of failing.

The seller offered no better alternative, only advised increasing dosage.

Originally three pills daily, one at a time, now he took six per dose; considering the drug’s side effects on internal organs, this was already the absolute limit.

Yet… he still had nightmares.

Worse, as he aged, his spirit deepened, and the nightmares’ impact increasingly reflected on his body.

Each awakening from a nightmare brought heart agitation, trembling hands, blurred vision.

As a child, even without the miracle drug, he might have lasted years.

Now, if this medicine failed, he would not survive six months—he would waste away, succumbing to sudden depression-induced death.

Chu Tianshu stared at the pendant on his chest.

No new news from the medicine side; his only hope rested on this pendant.

When his grandfather acquired the manual, he also received this pendant; according to the text, it was the lineage’s token of inheritance.

From an ordinary perspective, it was merely a heavy little piece of metal; viewed through spirit communion methods, it appeared as a small vessel, swirling with red, soft light.

Just a little more—enough to fill the red light completely.

The manual claimed that once filled, great fortune would follow—but it was vague; likely, past generations had never witnessed such fortune.

No one could say precisely how to fill it.

When young, Chu’s grandfather was bold, often injecting his own mental energy into it, even risking battles against powerful evils—yet the pendant’s red light never exceeded six or seven tenths.

In recent years, since the new century began, Chu Tianshu had done nothing extraordinary, yet the pendant’s red light had grown noticeably on its own.

At this rate, it might truly fill within half a year.

“If its normal state already calms my spirit, then even if it fills, I don’t ask for some great fortune—just let the red light surge once, eradicate this illness, and that would be best!”

Chu Tianshu silently prayed twice, sighed inwardly, tucked the pendant back under his collar, and habitually adjusted his mindset, refusing to dwell too long in negative emotion.

He drank two more sips of water, swallowed his morning pills, turned, and went to shower and change clothes.

Rural development in Hailing City had progressed well; many farmhouses now stood as two-and-a-half-story homes. His grandfather had been among the first to build one—now, in the town, it looked nothing particularly grand.

Yet living alone on the second floor of this two-and-a-half-story house, Chu Tianshu sometimes still felt it was too empty.

As he carried his dirty clothes through the second-floor living room, his old friends stood as always, motionless.

They were nine wooden figures.

Eight acupuncture dummies, shaped to represent tall, short, fat, thin, male, female, old, young—each with internal meridian points, used for practice and acupoint familiarity; four on the left, four on the right, leaning against the wall.

In the center, a square mat was laid, supporting a solid hardwood dummy.

“Good morning.”

Chu Tianshu greeted them, passing the hardwood dummy, plucked a silver needle from its head, and casually stuck it into its shoulder.

The needle, finer than a cow’s hair, bent easily—but in Chu Tianshu’s hands, it pierced the hard wood three to four centimeters deep without effort.

This acupoint stimulated blood flow to the neck and shoulders, ensuring better oxygen to the brain—in short, it relieved morning fatigue.

Morning sunlight streamed into the living room.

The wooden figures, unaware and unresponsive, held their usual stances; only the needle on the shoulder trembled slightly, reflecting a glint of light.

Chu Tianshu had gone downstairs, preparing to open the fridge for breakfast.

Suddenly, the sound of a motorcycle approaching echoed outside.

“Chu Tianshu! Chu Tianshu! Are you home?”

Chu Tianshu recognized the voice, quickened his steps, and went to open the door.

“Teacher Qiao, why are you here so early? Come in, have some tea.”

Outside stood a sturdy man in his forties, 1.7 meters tall, thinning hair, wearing a brown jacket, beside him a boy in school uniform.

Teacher Qiao was Chu Tianshu’s junior high homeroom teacher.

Coincidentally, when Chu Tianshu entered high school, this teacher also moved to teach there—their relationship remained close.

Teacher Qiao pulled the boy inside, face anxious, voice heavy with sighs.

“Ah, this is my student Li Xu. Please take a look at him.”

Chu Tianshu studied the boy—his face sallow, dark circles under his eyes, hair visibly greasy.

Clearly irregular sleep and diet, anxious mood—common among high schoolers.

But since entering, the boy’s eyes had remained fixed, silent.

When Teacher Qiao pulled him, he initially resisted strongly—but once moving, he followed automatically.

Clearly, this was abnormal.

Chu Tianshu took Li Xu’s wrist, felt his pulse, and asked casually: “What’s wrong? Why not take him to the hospital? Are you suspecting he’s possessed?”

Teacher Qiao had once dealt with Chu’s grandfather—he’d seen real spirits—but as a teacher, he rarely mentioned such things.

“No.”

Teacher Qiao shook his head. “This kid comes from a wealthy family, does well academically, used to be cheerful in class.”

“But as he nears senior year, academic pressure is already heavy, and his family’s tutoring has intensified—now he’s constantly distracted, drowsy in school.”

“When teachers talk to him, he apologizes faster than anyone, cries easily, even kneels—his behavior… forget it. I even suspected domestic abuse, but he’s a strong, healthy boy, no visible injuries.”

“I spoke with his mother at parent-teacher meetings, took him to the hospital—nothing came of it. I suspect a psychological disorder, but his mother refuses to accept it.”

“This morning, I found him in the bathroom, holding scissors to his own throat. Damn it!”

Teacher Qiao cursed. “If I drag him back to the hospital now, it’ll only cause more trouble—I’m asking you for help.”

This was rash—but seeing Teacher Qiao’s state, he was clearly desperate.

Chu Tianshu compared the pulse, listened through the account, and now understood.

He studied the “Ghost Gate Medical Annotations”—though unable to cure his own mysterious ailment, treating common ailments like insomnia, nightmares, palpitations, cold deficiency, and mental confusion was well within his skill.

His income, besides occasionally exorcising spirits for people, mostly came from connections left by his grandfather, helping clients regulate their mental state.

“Indeed, his spirit is unbalanced, and he suffers from restless sleep.”

Chu Tianshu said, “This isn’t just psychological stress anymore—it’s nearing physiological deterioration. Hypnosis won’t suffice. I need to needle him.”

Li Xu showed no reaction.

Chu Tianshu pulled a handful of candies from his pocket and laid them out on the table.

“Rock candy, chocolate, Cool Pill, Mint Powder, Watermelon Frost—pick one and eat it?”

Chu Tianshu kept watching Li Xu’s eyes. Seeing no change, he didn’t wait for an answer, simply peeled off a piece of Watermelon Frost and slipped it into Li Xu’s mouth, then pressed him down onto the chair beside the table.

The table held several bottles and jars, along with a few stainless steel boxes. Chu Tianshu pried open the lids with his fingernails—inside were alcohol swabs and silver needles.

Li Xu remained perfectly still.

Chu Tianshu disliked being disturbed while needling.

Teacher Qiao stepped outside, his phone vibrated, he answered a call, but after only a few words, it was hung up.

Less than half an hour later, a car pulled up.

The village layout here was clear: vast farmland ahead, and beyond the fields ran a concrete road.

On this side of the concrete road was a river; every household had built a bridge, and beyond the bridge lay the homes.

The car stopped directly on the concrete road. A middle-aged woman with chestnut curls stepped onto the bridge, and immediately began speaking in a rapid, loud stream.

“Teacher Qiao, it’s school time—why did you bring Xu Xu out?”

“I told you he’s fine. Those saying he’s under too much stress or mentally ill are just trying to scam money—irresponsible.”

The woman hurried across the bridge toward the courtyard.

Li Xu trembled, trying to turn his head.

Chu Tianshu said, “Don’t move!”

Teacher Qiao walked over to block Li Xu’s mother. She kept advancing, her voice growing louder.

“When I was young with his father, we’d go out before dawn to gather pigweed, walk mountain paths to school, winding through eighteen bends, with only stars as company. We had to manage everything inside and out. That’s what real stress was—why didn’t we get sick back then?”

“Now he eats well, dresses well, lacks nothing—just asking him to study. He can’t even endure a little hardship…”

Li Xu’s mother was nearly at the door, within five meters of Chu Tianshu.

Chu Tianshu frowned. Suddenly, one of his silver needles veered off, flicked by his fingers, and vanished.

Li’s mother’s voice cut off. Her expression froze, then turned to terror. She reached for her throat, emitting only faint, garbled “Aba… aba…” sounds.

Teacher Qiao grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the door.

“Don’t make noise! Master Chu is needling your son—don’t disturb him. You’re fine; just pull out the needle.”

Teacher Qiao plucked a needle from Li’s mother’s neck.

“Ahh!!”

Li’s mother cut off mid-shout, clapped a hand over her mouth, staring in disbelief at the needle in Teacher Qiao’s hand.

When had a needle appeared on her neck? She hadn’t even stepped near the man holding it.

Only now did Li’s mother begin to notice the interior of the house.

She’d assumed this was just a doctor’s home that Teacher Qiao knew well—since the doctor hadn’t yet reported to the hospital, they’d come here.

But now, it didn’t seem that way.

Above the door hung a small Bagua mirror. Through the doorway, she glimpsed a corner of the living room, with a wooden stand.

On the stand hung several brushes of different styles, and two antique brass wind chimes.

Beside the stand were glass jars common in herbal shops, filled with red substances—she couldn’t tell if they were Zhu Sha or something else.

“This… this…”

After observing for several minutes, Li’s mother’s face shifted colors. She grabbed Teacher Qiao’s sleeve, trembling, and asked, “Teacher, has my son been possessed?”

“Did you notice something, which is why you brought him here to this master?”

Teacher Qiao paused, looking at the woman with a complex expression.

He heard in her words deep concern—nothing but maternal love for her son.

You don’t believe in mental illness, but the moment I mention possession, you believe it, right?

“Li Xu…”

Teacher Qiao stared at the mother before him, held back his words, then sighed. “He really has encountered something unnatural.”

After all, psychological disorders and possession symptoms are often hard to distinguish. Whichever helps Li Xu more, we’ll accept.

Chu Tianshu should’ve heard this—he can help reinforce this explanation later.

Hearing this, Li’s mother grew even more anxious, watching the room cautiously, whispering under her breath.

“In our village, people who got possessed turned into fools—dirty, sleeping beside trash, forgetting to care for their own mothers. Our Xu Xu must never become like that…”

Another car drove up on the concrete road. Teacher Qiao turned to look—it was one he’d never seen in this village.

But Li’s mother recognized it instantly, hurrying over: “What are you doing here? Aren’t you negotiating a deal?”

“It’s blown!!”

Out stepped a burly man, slightly pot-bellied, with a full beard, his face tense.

“I came to see what’s going on. Asked at the school—so, is he faking again?!”

The man shouted loudly, “Li Xu, you’ve gotten big now—daring to skip school? You…”

Li’s mother yanked him hard, whispering urgently into his ear.

His expression turned skeptical, he stopped shouting, and followed her into the courtyard.

Li’s mother introduced him to Teacher Qiao: “This is my husband.”

Teacher Qiao nodded to him: “Ah, Mr. Li. Hello.”

Mr. Li stepped closer, offered a cigarette, his face uneasy. “Really possessed? Teacher, could this be a child faking it? The college entrance exam is near—missing class won’t do.”

Mr. Li glared at Li Xu, his eyes bloodshot.

“Missing class means falling behind for life. Even if he really is possessed, he can tough it out—wait until after the exam to treat him properly!”

Push him harder, and your son will race ahead to the finish line.

Teacher Qiao muttered inwardly, then politely chatted with him.

Mr. Li seemed in poor condition—his cigarette burned fast, sweat glistened on his face, and he kept rubbing his neck.

Less than ten minutes passed before he could no longer wait—he stepped toward the house.

“I won’t shout. I just want to take a look.”

Mr. Li’s morning deal had collapsed—he was already upset. But since arriving here, he felt worse—dizzy, nauseous, as if his brain and head weren’t in the same place.

Yet his mind remained packed with the single thought: drag his son back to class.

Gradually, he forgot everything else—only that thought remained. As he walked forward, his eyes bulged, desperate to find his son, the bloodshot veins in his eyes more pronounced.

“I’ll see if this little brat’s faking. Even if something’s happened, why can’t he just endure it…”

Mr. Li muttered, his eyes widening, his voice lowering, thick and muffled like sweet, rotting sludge in his throat.

Teacher Qiao blinked—too late to stop him. He watched as Mr. Li stepped forward and firmly planted his foot across the threshold.

Hum!!

The Bagua mirror above the door trembled faintly, flashing a glint of brass.

The wind chimes on the stand inside began ringing spontaneously, clinking wildly.

Chu Tianshu suddenly looked up, fixing his gaze on the bloodshot eyes at the doorway.

The supernatural entities in this world’s main setting won’t emphasize horror or mystery, but resemble early novels blending urban life, esoteric arts, divination, martial arts, and spirits—a world where combat limits remain grounded, where ancient customs collide with modern legends in an urban backdrop.

That’s also a sentimental attachment of mine.

As for the side realms, they lean more toward wuxia style.

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(End of Chapter)