Chapter 46: Candlelight Shadow Puppets

Even a ninth-stream cultivator suddenly struck by the ghostly wails of five hanging corpses would have their soul shaken on the spot, their body and spirit separating within three to five breaths, rendering them immobile.

When Old Qian handles affairs for the Master, five hanging corpses charging like this usually ends it.

The five hanging corpses split into three squads, each targeting the front door and the two windows, launching their assault.

The stepmother hid beneath the window, while the bamboo dragonfly outside the courtyard transmitted the views from every angle back to her.

The stepmother curled her body into a posture resembling “Heaven-Pointing Kick,” her slender frame impossibly supple; her long leg swept upward and crashed down—CRASH!—kicking the entire window clean out!

CREAK…

The window landed in the courtyard but did not shatter; instead, it automatically reconnected, clicking and clacking as it reassembled into a cage.

Then it rose automatically into the air!

The five hanging corpses were pulled and dragged by an irresistible force, all tumbling headlong into the cage.

CRASH—the cage door slammed shut, locking all five hanging corpses inside.

These hanging corpses were yin soldiers, lacking physical form. The cage was only three feet square, yet the five of them twisted together like waterweeds inside, struggling desperately but unable to escape.

The cage’s bars were the former window frames, no thicker than a thumb, yet they crackled with lightning, sparking and hissing, causing the hanging corpses to shriek in agony.

Old Qian stood outside the courtyard, his aged face expressionless as a still well.

If the hanging corpses won’t do, then other methods will.

After all, the Master’s orders must be carried out.

He pulled from the shadows behind him a dripping wet net cage, opened it, and the drowned ghosts immediately surged out, ferocious and menacing.

These drowned ghosts were half-human, half-fish: some had fish tails and human torsos, others fish heads with human legs, some had fish bodies but human arms, and others looked human but were entirely covered in scales.

Without exception, each bore a gaping maw, long fangs protruding beyond the lips, and elongated fish whiskers fluttering on either side, bristling with thorn-like barbs!

In the thick, viscous yin energy, these drowned ghosts moved like fish in the sea, swimming with effortless speed—faster than the hanging corpses had been.

Each had devoured countless living people who had drowned, carrying with them a heavy stench of blood and malevolence; as they charged into the courtyard, they lunged toward the open window to slip inside.

Inside the house, a single lamp flickered, casting shifting shadows.

A beautiful woman stood behind the window, while a young man sat behind her, looking helpless.

What a delicious, succulent meal!

The drowned ghosts opened their monstrous mouths and lunged forward.

The window was small—barely large enough for two drowned ghosts to enter at once.

Yet there were only two meals, so they scrambled, several drowning together at the window.

One, the strongest, broke free and surged ahead, darting into the house first.

It snapped its jaws at the woman—but though she appeared stiff, her movements were astonishingly swift, her steps a blur of “flash-and-flicker.”

It lunged and bit repeatedly, each strike missing.

The drowned ghost, not clever, abandoned the woman and turned to attack the young man.

Behind it, the other drowned ghosts all poured into the room.

Suddenly, the lamp inside the room went out—they didn’t care; without light, they had the advantage.

But then, they felt the world spin wildly—the once-square room suddenly became spherical, shrinking at terrifying speed.

They were inside a sphere!

The tables, chairs, furnishings, and even the man and woman all flattened into thin sheets, rapidly sucked outward.

The drowned ghosts crushed and collided with each other, all netted in one go.

This was not a real house—it was a shadow puppet technique, using light to cast shadows, deceiving both the drowned ghosts and Old Qian outside.

The drowned ghosts had thrown themselves into the net, rushing into the sack.

The sack’s opening lay right behind the real window!

The stepmother tightened the sack in her hands, shrinking it to the size of a gourd; the drowned ghosts inside writhed and struggled without pause.

Xu Yuan’s family “trade” was the theater next door.

This old theater could host opera troupes or stage shadow puppet plays.

Xu Yuan’s father had mastered shadow puppetry—not only could he perform and sing, he could craft puppets from all manner of materials.

This was naturally a “Craftsman Cultivator” skill, passed down to the stepmother as well.

Old Qian frowned, sensing this was getting tricky.

He began fiddling with his broken bottles and jars.

“I’ve seen great sights in the Southern Capital with the Master.”

“Do you think these tricks can stop me?”

Shanhe County isn’t even as big as one “fang” of the Southern Capital.

He found a small jar, dull and unremarkable, freshly dug from beneath the corner wall, still caked with dirt.

The jar was sealed with a bowl; when lifted, the mouth was covered with mulberry paper soaked in pig’s blood, lime, and rice paste.

Inside, the contents seemed to sense something, growing wildly excited, slamming against the walls—the tough mulberry paper bulged outward with each thud, thudding loudly.

“Calm down, calm down,” Old Qian said to the things in the bottles and jars, showing remarkable patience, his face wearing a gentle smile.

Earlier, when he released the hanging corpses and drowned ghosts, it was like driving laborers to work.

Now, it was like calling his own grandson to rise and study.

Old Qian aimed the jar’s mouth at the courtyard and murmured, “Eat well, eat your fill,” then yanked off the mulberry paper seal.

WHOOSH—

Instantly, thick, murky yin energy erupted like a flame, a massive shadowy sludge crawling up the courtyard wall, surging over it and skimming the ground toward the house where Xu Yuan and the stepmother stood.

Wherever it passed, it left behind a deep trail of yin erosion—as if scoured by concentrated acid.

The stepmother snorted coldly, standing defiantly by the window; in her hand, she now held the candlestick from the table.

In the darkness, the monster rushed closer, its stench overwhelming!

It had no visible organs—just a massive, black, sticky mass, one zhang wide.

It could shape its body at will into limbs, claws, horns, and more.

As it reached the house, countless tendrils spread from its body, trying to slither through every crack—the window, the door seams—anything to get inside.

The stepmother saw it and turned pale, snarling: “Madman! You’ve bred a Corpse Water Monster!”

“It takes at least one hundred and fifty corpses, their rotting fluids seeping out, to reach this stage!”

Outside the courtyard, Old Qian heard the stepmother’s words—and for the first time, his face lit up with the expression of “a fellow traveler met in a distant land.”

Shanhe County was too small, too backward.

His “children” in the bottles and jars rarely met anyone who understood them.

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(End of Chapter)