Chapter 11: 10. One Person Doesn

10. One person doesn’t enter a temple, two people don’t look into a well

After an unknown length of time, the sky outside the window gradually brightened.

In the darkness, Zhou Sanji, who had sat motionless as a statue, shifted his body and tucked the blanket around Zhou Chang lying on the bed: “It’s nearly the fifth watch; you’ll need to rise early and recite the ‘Pure Heart Sutra.’”

“Can you move yet?”

As he spoke, his eyes looked elsewhere, not once meeting Zhou Chang’s face.

“Can’t move,” Zhou Chang replied.

The garment Zhou Chang had taken from the small coffin before Yin Sheng Laomu’s grave had, after the incident with Li Xiamei, been reduced to only a few scattered threads. Since returning to the dwelling in Qingyi Town with Zhou Sanji, he had tried many times, but not a single thread of the ‘Thought Garment’ could be restored.

Without the ‘Thought Garment’ covering his entire body, his control over Zhou Chang’s corpse was barely better than none at all.

The air between them was thick with unfamiliar distance; Zhou Sanji cleared his throat uneasily and said, “I’ve sent word to my senior brother. When he arrives, we’ll discuss it together—perhaps we can find another way to let you walk and move, instead of lying paralyzed like this.”

Don’t rush.

For now, I’ll help you sit up and carry you to sit by the courtyard gate. By the fifth watch, everyone in Qingyi Town must stand at their own door and recite the ‘Pure Heart Sutra.’

Reciting the sutra is meant to sweep away delusions from the heart, preventing the birth of ‘Thought Demons.’”

Zhou Chang nodded and asked, following Zhou Sanji’s lead: “I’ve never learned the ‘Pure Heart Sutra.’ How will I recite it when the time comes?”

“No problem. This sutra is just a rhyme. I’ll say it once, and you’ll remember it.” Zhou Sanji smiled, raising his eyes to look at Zhou Chang—but the moment their gazes met, the warmth in his eyes dimmed sharply, his voice sinking lower: “Listen closely: the rhyme goes—‘One person doesn’t enter a temple, two people don’t look into a well, three people don’t hug a tree, never lean alone on a railing.

Don’t go out at night, don’t carry an umbrella indoors, ring the bell three breaths before facing a mirror, always knock on the main door before entering…’”

The ‘Pure Heart Sutra’ Zhou Sanji spoke was indeed just a rhyme.

Many folk taboos had been woven into this rhyme, meant to teach people that following these prohibitions would keep them pure, avoid trouble, and prevent the birth of Thought Demons.

“These rules? Few people follow them completely. Just memorize them—when the time comes, stand by your door and recite them once.”

“Besides, everyone in town recites them daily, but hardly anyone actually follows every rule,” Zhou Sanji gradually opened up.

Zhou Chang memorized the rhyme in his mind, then asked the old man: “Do other places besides Qingyi Town also rise at the fifth watch and recite this ‘Pure Heart Sutra’ every day?”

“Are there people who don’t get up to recite at the fifth watch?”

At Zhou Chang’s mention of this, Zhou Sanji’s expression turned serious: “Anyone staying in Qingyi Town must rise at the fifth watch to recite. If someone stays home instead of coming out to recite, neighbors will notice immediately and stare at you.”

“They’ll whisper to others behind your back that you’re hiding indoors, refusing to recite—soon, the whole town will be watching you, day after day, and then you’ll know what that feels like…”

“Everyone’s terrified of Thought Demons. The moment they spot even the slightest difference in someone, they react like startled birds.”

“I know nearby towns and villages also have the custom of rising at the fifth watch to recite the Pure Heart Sutra. As for farther places, I’m not sure—but even if they don’t recite this sutra, they surely have similar rituals.”

“Can these rituals truly prevent the birth of Thought Demons?” Zhou Chang frowned.

People gathered each morning to recite the sutra, yet failed to obey its rules—this ritual had become nothing but empty form, devoid of real effect.

How could a mere recitation ritual possibly prevent the birth of Thought Demons?

On the contrary… if the ritual falters or falters in any way, the collective doubts and suspicions of the people might accelerate the very birth of Thought Demons!

“I don’t know…” Zhou Sanji grinned, his expression dismissive. “We’ve tried countless methods before—yet the Thought Demons haven’t decreased, only grown more numerous…”

“Once a Thought Demon is born, it’s nearly impossible to kill.”

“They must kill people to maintain their sanity.”

“So Thought Demons multiply, while living people dwindle… Now, the living cluster in groups of towns and villages. Big cities are few, and some have even hidden in remote, uninhabited mountains—yet even there, they’re not safe from Thought Demon attacks…”

“Besides, in this world, it’s not just Thought Demons that eat people—do you think summoning Zhong Kui the Great requires no price?”

“One day, you might see what price I’ve paid.”

“So now, everyone just gets by day by day. Obey the rules if you can; if you can’t, forget it.”

Zhou Chang fell silent.

He could imagine how dangerous and terrifying this world truly was—after all, thoughts could not be restrained, and when thoughts became the root of Thought Demons, their rampant spread across humanity was inevitable.

Especially since not only the living, but also the dead, beasts, plants, earth, and stone all generated thoughts.

Yet he had never imagined that living humans had become rare creatures.

The world was now ruled by Thought Demons.

Zhou Sanji helped Zhou Chang sit up against the bedframe and carefully dressed him.

He had lain wrapped in blankets all night, still as cold as a block of ice, his face expressionless—then suddenly spoke again: “Can Thought Demons really not be killed?”

“Have you ever lain awake at night, unable to stop thinking?”

“You tell yourself to stop, but your mind won’t quiet down—do you feel you can control your own thoughts then?”

Zhou Sanji answered without looking up. He found Zhou Chang’s question absurd. “Your main task now is to find a way to move again. Everything else—you don’t need to worry about.”

“When will your senior brother arrive?” Zhou Chang, supported by the old man’s shoulders as he stepped off the bed, felt five ‘thought threads’ drift from his brow, connecting to his muscles, allowing slight coordination with Zhou Sanji’s movements, sparing him the burden of carrying him alone.

These five thought threads were all that remained of the garment from his thoughts.

Whether the Thought Garment could be fully repaired remained unknown. If it could not be restored, Zhou Chang would have to seek other means to regain control of his current body.

“I don’t know. He lives in the neighboring Maoniu Town. He left on a journey seven or eight days ago—I’m not sure if he’s returned yet.”

Zhou Sanji, one hand supporting Zhou Chang, the other holding an oil lamp, stepped aside between the two narrow beds. The lamp’s flickering flame cast blurred light across the main hall.

Against the wall facing the hall’s entrance stood a shrine.

Incense curled gently above it, the interior indistinct.

Beneath the shrine rested an offering table.

On it stood a black wooden tablet, its surface inscribed in gold characters: Memorial Tablet of Deceased Grandson Zhou Chang, Birth Date: Wu Zi, Jia Yin, Wu Wu, Jia Yin…

Zhou Chang, seated by the door on a bamboo chair, looked up and saw the black tablet—suddenly, it felt like his own tombstone.

—The name on the tablet differed from his, but the birth dates matched his exactly!

He had never expected that Zhou Chang’s birth dates were identical to his own.

A strange feeling stirred in Zhou Chang’s heart—he recalled the dream, the shadowy figures like tombstones, calling out names similar to his own…

A strange feeling welled up in Zhou Chang’s heart; he recalled the figures in his earlier dream, tombstone-like, calling out names similar to his own…