Chapter 92: Juxian Garden

Ning Zhe carried Lan Shiwén through the deep, ink-green woods of Chuyun Mountain, crashing through thorns as stiff as steel needles and grass blades as sharp as knives, none of which could pierce his thick, resilient fur.

But brown bears have poor eyesight, and their field of vision pales compared to raptors like golden eagles or owls; Ning Zhe sprinted forward along the direction Lan Shiwén indicated, like a tiger charging up a mountain, until the dense vegetation around them gradually thinned, and the thick canopy above began to crack open, letting in weak, pale sunlight through the gaps in the branches.

Ning Zhe burst out of the deep forest, his broad bear paws landing on a winding stone path climbing upward.

“We’re here.” Lan Shiwén jumped off Ning Zhe’s back: “This is the tourist trail. We took a shortcut earlier; keep going up a bit more, and we’ll reach Juxian Garden.”

Ning Zhe reverted to human form and looked up at the towering Chuyun Mountain. Before him, an ancient mansion was half-hidden among the dense treetops, a corner of its high wall and crane-tile roof glinting faintly, as if half-concealed behind a pipa.

Two steps forward revealed a small shrine by the roadside, before which stood a tiny, three-legged bronze tripod with two handles, burning three bright yellow incense sticks.

The shrine looked strangely familiar.

Ning Zhe stepped closer and saw a clay statue painted in vivid colors inside the shrine—not the usual child god of wealth he had seen before, but a triad of deities standing side by side.

On the left stood a young man dressed in brocade and fine robes, radiant and dignified, with thick eyebrows and large eyes, holding a small peach talisman in his palm.

In the center was a round-faced, cheerful child, no more than five or six years old, hugging a small cloth sack.

On the right stood a hunched old man with white hair and beard, a prominent forehead, heavy earlobes, and a benevolent expression, wearing a golden longevity lock around his chest.

“These are the Three Immortals of Yunling,” Lan Shiwén said at once. “In the mainstream mythologies of the Yangtze and Yellow River basins, Lu Xing and Wenchang Jun refer to the Wenqu Star, governing scholars who endure cold windows and rise to officialdom through imperial exams. But in Yunzhou’s original beliefs, Lu Xing usually means the God of Wealth—favoring fortune over talent.”

The lands of Jiuzhou have long histories, and each region holds its own mythological systems—similar yet distinct—with the Central Plains and Chu lands being the most representative.

The belief in Yunzhou that Lu Xing is a god of wealth is not mainstream; Wenqu Star and Wenchang Jun are far more common terms. In the temples of the Central Plains, Lu Xing Wenchang Jun is typically depicted as a scholar-official in red robes, wearing a large red flower.

Not as a child, like this.

Ning Zhe lingered before the Three Immortals’ shrine for several minutes, found no other notable clues, then joined Lan Shiwén in climbing the winding stone path up the mountain.

Everyone says the Shu roads are hard, but the trails of Chuyun Mountain were hardly easier; the two spent nearly twenty minutes to cover this final stretch.

The long path twisted like a snake, its tail exposed outside, its body deeply buried within the dense forest.

At the end of the stone path stood an ancient, heavy mansion gate: rows of blue bricks fitted perfectly into a seamless stone wall, its central red door painted as crimson as blood, edged with gleaming gold trim, showing no trace of age or decay.

A lavish gate, yet devoid of nobility—the blood-red lacquer radiated an eerie aura.

Ning Zhe looked up: on either side of the grand gate hung couplets, but unusually, the paper used was not the common red paper of ordinary homes, but stark white as snow.

The white couplets on the wall bore red characters, identical to those on the door of the stilted house inside Chuyun Mountain Villa:

【Gate welcomes fortune through spring, summer, autumn, winter】

【Door gathers wealth from east, south, west, north】

【Ten Thousand Years Without End】

A blessing of excellent meaning, yet rendered in white paper with red ink, it felt profoundly unnatural—had this place truly once been a Daoist temple?

A heavy lock hung on the vermilion door; Lan Shiwén stepped forward and inserted the rusted key he had taken from Ji Yunying into the lock. Click. The lock opened.

“Let’s go,” Lan Shiwén said, leaving the key in the lock, then pushed open the door and stepped into the gloomy mansion slumbering deep in the mountains.

Beyond the gate, the first sight was another winding stone path, like a spirit serpent coiling along the ground, flanked by flowers: peonies, peonies, roses… The sun above was dim and dull; the courtyard was thick with stagnant death, yet colorful blooms bloomed in succession along the path, vying for beauty in the gloom.

Along the flowerbed, every few steps stood a pair of small stone toads squatting by the path, each holding a rusted copper coin in its mouth, eyes wide open, staring at the coin within.

“Money to buy a life?” Ning Zhe frowned slightly: “No, not that.”

The coins in the toads’ mouths were round with square holes—ordinary copper coins, not the soul-buying coins of the Five Thieves of Wealth.

Beyond the vibrant flowerbed, the path ended at another wall, pierced by a transparent window and crowned by a full, moon-like archway.

Through the archway, a distant door could be seen deep within the courtyard. This Sihe courtyard had at least three gates.

A three-compound mansion—any dynasty would deem it the residence of the wealthy. Clearly, the Yin official who converted this temple into a summer villa had considerable fortune.

Beyond the archway, the broad courtyard revealed two statues: one black, one white. The black was basalt, the white was marble; springs flowed continuously from their peaks, and lush greenery flanked both, thriving in the gloom, vibrant and dripping with life.

Four spacious side rooms encircled the statues, their doors closed but unlocked.

=9+ Shu _ Ba

Wooden doors, paper windows, copper locks—the rooms held no light, only quiet, dark stillness.

“Be careful,” Lan Shiwén warned. “This isn’t a tourist spot for photos. We came through the key—when we stepped through that gate, we entered another world. This haunted mansion is called Juxian Garden. You know what kind of immortals it gathers.”

“Understood,” Ning Zhe nodded slightly. “We’re here for Ji Baichang’s inheritance. Where do you think he hid his money? Where should we start?”

“...Keep going,” Lan Shiwén said.

Through the third gate, they left the courtyard with the statues and entered the central courtyard of Juxian Garden.

The central courtyard was much smaller than the outer two courtyards; at its heart lay a small grove of emerald bamboo surrounding a clear, tiny pond.

Across the pond, the main hall’s door came into view.

“Strange…” Ning Zhe recalled the layout of Juxian Garden, and a strange unease rose in his chest.

The architectural layout of Juxian Garden was a classic Sihe courtyard—but unlike the Sihe courtyards common in Yongzhou.

“Traditional Sihe courtyards are four wings embracing a central courtyard. Entering the first gate, you should see the main hall; the second courtyard holds the side rooms; only after the third courtyard should you find ornamental features.”

Ning Zhe’s mind flashed through ancient mansion designs from various dynasties, but none matched the layout of this Juxian Garden.

“This Juxian Garden’s layout is the complete reverse of a normal Sihe courtyard: flowers, plants, stone ornaments—all placed on the outermost perimeter. The side rooms are in the second courtyard, while the main hall, which should be at the entrance, is buried deep at the very center.”

It was as if a garment had been turned inside out—its brilliance hidden within, its seams exposed, making it look nothing like a place meant for living.

(End of Chapter)