TRYMBPIETM 23: The Ancient Tree’s Deep Shade(17)

Chi Qingzhou wrinkled his nose.

Within the entire farmhouse, Yin energy, resentment, and ghostly auras swirled together. The thick scent was as rich as his favorite hotpot, constantly teasing his senses.

Xing Shuangzhan slowly emerged from his shadow, glanced outside, and let out a low scoff. “Ghostly labyrinth.”

Chi Qingzhou tilted his head slightly, a trace of confusion in his expression. “When did the fog roll in? I didn’t notice a thing.”

Xing Shuangzhan had spent the night helping Chi Qingzhou trace his memories. To ensure the safety of the half of Chi Qingzhou’s soul, he hadn’t paid much attention to the outside world.

But as an apocalyptic-level vengeful ghost, he was far more sensitive to ghostly auras than ordinary people. He grabbed a wisp of the surrounding energy, identified it, and soon raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not sure. But this ghostly aura hasn’t been accumulating for more than an hour and a half—probably around an hour and twenty minutes.”

Chi Qingzhou tapped his phone. It was now 7:35 AM.

So the fog had rolled in a little after six.

He turned back to the window. “Was this the work of that ghost tamer?”

“Possibly.” Xing Shuangzhan stepped closer, his blood-red eyes filled with scrutiny.

Chi Qingzhou picked up on the hint immediately. “Did you see something in my memories last night?”

Xing Shuangzhan clasped his hands behind his back, speaking with deliberate indifference. “Those faces on the Nether Snake—you’ve seen them before. Not in person, but on missing person posters.”

The familiar faces Chi Qingzhou recalled were men and women, young and old, from different backgrounds and locations. The only common factor was that their fates were likely unusual.

Xing Shuangzhan left things vague. “The posters had their birthdates. Even without the exact time, the year, month, and day are enough to infer some patterns.”

Chi Qingzhou paused for half a second. “Using the Nether Snake to collect the souls of people with special fates… I remember that originally, ghost tamers captured naturally born Nether Snake for sacrificial rituals, right?”

Xing Shuangzhan let out a quiet laugh. “The Nether Snake can communicate between the living and the dead. Greedy fools often use them to offer sacrifices to entities they shouldn’t be summoning.”

Take the stubborn old men of the Xuanxu Sect, for example. In the past, they loved including a Nether Snake in their offerings, using it as a conduit to relay their desires.

Chi Qingzhou asked, “Do they still do that?”

“Not anymore. Ever since one of their wishes backfired, they don’t dare touch such uncontrollable things.”

Chi Qingzhou hummed in understanding. He lowered his head, deep in thought, then looked up again with a strangely subtle expression.

“Shuangzhan,” he murmured, gazing into Xing Shuangzhan’s eyes. His voice was soft, almost weightless. “That ghost tamer is creating Nether Snakes and collecting the souls of people with special fates for a ritual, isn’t he?”

Xing Shuangzhan didn’t answer—he only looked at Chi Qingzhou with a gentle expression.

He knew his little contractor didn’t need confirmation at this moment.

Chi Qingzhou continued, “The ghost tamer wants to perform a ritual. The Nether Snake connects the two realms… which means the entity he’s sacrificing to is something on your level.”

“His master, the one with the surname Qu, was also a xuanxu practitioner . Did he really die trying to save the Grand Shaman Nuoxin?”

“The Grand Shaman Nuoxin was supposed to be buried in the Puluo tribe’s sacred grounds, but was it really him who was buried there?”

“In the Puluo tribe, was the worship meant for the Grand Shaman… or for that ghost tamer named Qu?”

“And Zhu Yantong—he can come and go freely from the Puluo sacred grounds. He’s been staying there all this time… is he really not asking his master for help?”

…

Xing Shuangzhan’s “live medicinal ingredient” was at stake. There was no way Chi Qingzhou would ignore this.

After a quick wash, he headed downstairs.

The farmhouse courtyard was filled with the frantic shouts of the guests. Several crew members huddled together, shivering, pointing at the fog beyond the courtyard but unable to form complete sentences.

Ling Jiao had collapsed on the ground, her long hair disheveled. She covered her face with trembling hands, tears slipping through her fingers.

“I tried just now. I couldn’t get out. I walked five or six meters at most before losing my sense of direction. I ran for what felt like forever, but when I finally escaped the fog, I found myself right back at the farmhouse!”

Her emotions were breaking apart.

“It’s my fault! It’s my fault! I shouldn’t have asked Xiaojie to fetch my things from the village entrance. If something happens to her—”

Ling Jiao bit her lip, but her suppressed sobs still escaped in gasping hiccups.

Chi Qingzhou understood immediately.

From her facial features, the missing Xiaojie should be Ling Jiao’s assistant—her cousin, to be exact.

Ling Jiao must have always taken good care of her, and in return, her cousin managed every detail of her life. Their bond was strong.

A few crew members, who were clearly aware of the situation, hesitated before whispering an explanation to the director.

“Apparently, Ling Jiao’s cousin left around 5:30 AM to grab her clothes. She hasn’t returned since. Ling Jiao got really worried and insisted on going out to search for her. We couldn’t stop her.”

Ling Jiao had been in the fog for six minutes, yet she felt as if she had been running for half an hour.

The director’s scalp tingled at the thought.

Something seemed to occur to him, and he turned to Lu Man for help. “Xiao Lu, is… is there really no way out?”

Lu Man instinctively looked at Chi Qingzhou.

Chi Qingzhou blinked and lowered his voice. “Ghostly labyrinth.”

“F*ck!!” The director’s legs gave out. His face turned deathly pale. “W-what do we do? Should we call the police?”

Lu Man quickly checked his phone. No signal.

The director almost collapsed then and there. If the assistant director hadn’t caught him, he would have hit the ground.

The assistant director was just as shaken. “What do we do now? Teacher Chi, do you have a solution?”

Chi Qingzhou turned to study the fog outside. “We need to observe a little longer. It shouldn’t be too big of a problem.”

He had encountered many ghostly labyrinths before. Most of the time, he could destroy the vengeful spirit behind them with one hand.

But this was the largest-scale ghostly labyrinth he’d ever seen. And with Zhu Yantong backed by a near-godly-level master, he had to be extra cautious.

The director and assistant director weren’t as familiar with Chi Qingzhou’s abilities as Lu Man was. Hearing his words, they wavered between belief and doubt.

After some thought, they decided that calling the police was still the safest bet. Supporting each other, they headed for the signal booster in the broadcasting van.

The two of them were holding up okay. The others, however, were struggling.

The farmhouse was already thick with Yin energy and resentment, weakening people’s natural defenses. Some crew members, terrified out of their wits, were on the verge of spiritual corruption.

A few became frantic, insisting on testing if they could escape.

The props team leader had no choice but to tie ropes around their waists and let them wander within a safe range.

Amidst the chaos, the main livestream and all eight guest feeds flickered to life.

Even without cameras operating, every movement was captured in crisp clarity.

Chi Qingzhou sensed the shift in Yin energy and turned his head slightly.

Immediately, the main chat and his personal livestream chat exploded with comments.

【Do you guys think this fog is kind of strange…?】

【What’s strange about it? Isn’t this just the usual fog in Qunjing Province? You see it all the time in the mornings, mostly in autumn and winter, but it’s not unheard of in summer either.】

【Nah, you’re overthinking it.】

【What’s up with those crew members? It looks like they’re trying to head back to the farmhouse, but they keep veering off course for no reason.】

【This is so creepy! The gate is only five meters away, but they’ve been walking for four or five minutes and still can’t reach it.】

【Holy crap, stop talking! You’re giving me goosebumps!】

After seeing the comments, many viewers who initially thought it was just ordinary fog started to feel uneasy watching the crew members repeatedly get lost in the same area.

A chill ran down their spines. Not wanting to focus on something so eerie, some viewers tried changing the subject in the chat to push down those unsettling messages.

The viewers who believed something was wrong with the fog grew more and more anxious. Rather than arguing in the chat, they left the stream running and moved over to Weibo to continue the discussion.

Some skeptical viewers followed along, and soon, a heated debate erupted, attracting many curious onlookers.

Within ten minutes, the hashtag #SceneryAlongTheWayGhostWall started trending.

…

Shen Wenxu sat in the conference room, listening to his master and the Paranormal Control Bureau leaders throwing sarcastic jabs at each other. His head was buzzing, so he quickly took several sips of tea to steady his nerves.

Ever since they discovered two days ago that the world-ending level ghost, Xing Su, had suddenly awakened, the Xuanxu Sect and the Paranormal Control Bureau had been at odds.

One side insisted on performing a ritual to put the Ghost King back to sleep as soon as possible, while the other believed the Ghost King had intelligence and could be reasoned with.

Neither side could convince the other, and every meeting turned into a shouting match.

Shen Wenxu had heard so much of it that his ears were practically growing calluses. He really didn’t want to listen to them argue anymore, so he quietly took out his phone to slack off.

Not even two minutes later, he blurted out, “Holy sh*t!”

The entire conference room fell silent.

All eyes immediately turned to him.