This night was destined to be long.
Sitting in the courtyard, Hu Ma silently pondered what he would face tonight.
He knew that the demonic followers of the Altar Sect were merely probing and harassing for now.
Their main goal was likely to cover for those seeking blood sacrifices.
They still didn’t know that the old shopkeeper wasn’t in the manor.
Before they could fully understand the situation, they wouldn’t dare to reveal their true abilities.
But once they realized the old shopkeeper wasn’t there, they would know the manor was empty, and that’s when they would truly unleash their fury.
That would also be the moment Hu Ma would have to step up and take charge.
And judging by the timing, it was almost time.
Hu Ma exhaled softly, pulling a half-filled jar of wine to his side.
He took a big gulp, wiped his mouth, and sighed.
Some things were impossible to see clearly from his perspective.
He didn’t understand the old shopkeeper’s intentions, nor did he know what he truly needed to face.
However, Erguotou and Miss White Wine could easily see through the old shopkeeper’s true motives and had given him some guidance from a different angle.
But they couldn’t do anything for him directly.
Outside the manor, a cold, eerie wind blew in, carrying with it strange, indescribable sounds and faint laughter.
The workers had all retreated into their rooms, not daring to light a single lamp.
They had done well tonight, but even the bravest among them had their limits.
After several bursts of extraordinary courage, they had hit a low point and were now more timid than usual.
But it didn’t matter.
Hu Ma would hold the line.
“Brother Ma…”
Just as Hu Ma was steeling himself, he suddenly heard a voice.
Turning around, he saw Zhou Datong standing behind him.
Hu Ma had commandeered Zhou Datong’s knife earlier, so Zhou had taken the knives from Xu Ji’s two lackeys instead.
Zhou Liang had one, and Zhao Zhu was carrying his beloved manure fork, which now reeked of a foul stench—apparently, it had been “enchanted.”
“What are you doing here?” Hu Ma asked in a low voice, glancing around the courtyard.
It seemed quieter than before, but the eerie atmosphere felt even more dangerous.
“We’re here to help,” Zhou Datong said, picking up a peanut from the table and tossing it into his mouth. “We don’t know what’s going on, but if even you’re talking about the ‘Four Great Weaknesses,’ we know it’s serious. Don’t keep us in the dark. If something happens to you, our good days in this manor are over too.”
Hu Ma had been about to tell them to go back and hide, but seeing their determined expressions, he paused.
Then he smiled and waved his hand. “Fine, stay here then. But listen to me, and don’t be afraid. If you feel scared, it’s better to go back to your rooms and sleep.”
Zhou Datong, Zhou Liang, and Zhao Zhu flushed red, as if they’d been insulted. “We’re not afraid!” they protested. “As Second Uncle said, why should the living fear the dead?”
But then Zhou Datong couldn’t help but ask nervously, “Where did Miss He and the old shopkeeper go? When will they be back?”
Hu Ma could only smile faintly. “Who knows?”
…
By the time the manor had successfully made it through the first half of the night, the surroundings had fallen into complete silence.
Even the performers who had been putting on a show outside the manor seemed to have sensed something.
They exchanged glances, and a few of them quietly packed up and disappeared into the dark night.
Others looked toward the manor, their faces revealing knowing smiles.
The night was eerily quiet, with only a pale, crescent moon hanging in the sky, casting its faint light over the desolate wilderness.
About half an hour earlier, less than ten miles from the manor, two figures had appeared on a small, overgrown path.
They were dressed in colorful robes patched together with tattered cloth, each holding a jar in their arms.
They walked silently, one on each side of the path, coming from the direction of Old Yin Mountain.
When they reached a crossroads, they simultaneously placed their jars on the ground and sat down.
One lit a pipe and began smoking, while the other chewed on a blade of grass.
After finishing their smoke, they stood up and waved their sleeves behind them.
Slowly, more figures emerged from the shadows—men in coarse clothing, carrying shoulder poles.
Despite the freezing winter cold, they wore their shirts open, their skin blue from the cold, their hands and feet cracked and bleeding.
They walked barefoot on the frost-covered ground, seemingly oblivious to the pain, their faces blank as they trudged forward.
The two colorful figures didn’t move, still holding their jars and waiting.
A few moments later, a large, round shadow appeared in the darkness, moving slowly and heavily.
As it drew closer, it became clear that it was a man carrying a massive jar—or rather, a vat—on his back.
The vat was so large it required a wooden frame and thick ropes to secure it to his body.
“Elder Aunt…” The two colorful figures bowed respectfully, first to the vat on the man’s back, and then to the man himself. “Ninth Grandfather…”
“Is that Wu fellow still in the manor?” the man carrying the vat asked, his voice cold and mocking.
“The lanterns are still lit,” one of the colorful figures replied. “The children are still working hard, but it’s not yet time for Elder Aunt to act. We’re just playing with that Wu fellow’s old flame for now.”
“Hmph, in that case, let’s open the storehouse,” Ninth Grandfather said with a cold laugh.
He began moving forward again, his pace slow due to the heavy burden on his back.
No one dared to rush him, and they followed silently behind.
After walking for half an hour, they finally reached a small, unremarkable grave mound in the wilderness.
It was overgrown with grass, with no tombstone, no offerings, and no signs of mourning.
It looked like nothing more than a small hill of dirt.
Ninth Grandfather stopped in front of the grave and held out his hand.
One of the colorful figures quickly handed him a broom, while the other began burning incense nearby.
Ninth Grandfather took the broom and began sweeping the dirt in front of the grave, muttering as he worked: “First sweep, the gods cannot see. Second sweep, the grudges close their eyes. Third sweep, the ears are clear. Fourth sweep, the master arrives at the door…”
The grave looked ordinary, and countless villagers had passed by it over the years without noticing anything unusual.
But as Ninth Grandfather swept, a strange wind began to blow, and the surroundings grew eerily quiet.
Even the pale crescent moon above was slowly obscured by dark clouds.
The night grew darker, and the dirt in front of the grave grew thinner, revealing two wooden doors set into the ground.
The doors were slanted, with rusted iron rings attached to them.
Seeing the doors, Ninth Grandfather stopped sweeping and looked around smugly. “Open the storehouse,” he said.
The two colorful figures eagerly grabbed the iron rings and pulled the doors open, revealing a dark, earthen cellar below.
“Hurry, get inside!” one of them said excitedly, pulling out a small bell from his robe and shaking it.
The sound was faint, but the men with the shoulder poles, who had been standing motionless, suddenly stirred and began moving forward.
They entered the cellar and soon emerged carrying several yellow sacks.
The sacks were made of an unknown material, and something inside them seemed to be wriggling, as if trying to break free.
Ninth Grandfather and the two colorful figures smiled gleefully at the sight. “Carry them away,” Ninth Grandfather ordered. “After a year of waiting, the blood sacrifices are finally in our hands…”
The men with the shoulder poles obediently lifted the sacks and lined up, ready to follow the sound of the bell and leave.
But just then, in the dead silence of the night, a cough rang out—right behind them.
Everyone turned in shock and saw two figures standing on the path they had come from.
One was an old man with his hands behind his back, and the other was a large black dog, growling softly.
“Sweeping graves and calling at doors in the dead of night,” the old man said, his voice low and sighing. “The tricks of the Altar Sect are becoming more and more common.”
“Who are you?” the two colorful figures asked nervously, clutching their jars tightly.
But Ninth Grandfather wasn’t fazed.
He sneered and said, “Shopkeeper Wu, you’ve grown clever. You left your men as decoys while you hid outside?”
“Your work is too sloppy,” Shopkeeper Wu replied, stepping forward.
His face became visible in the dim light, and his smile faded. “If it weren’t for me covering for you, do you really think the Red Lantern Society wouldn’t have noticed your tricks?”
Cliffhanger! If you enjoyed this chapter, please vote to support the story!