Chapter Eighteen: The Legend of the Treasure Casket (Part One)

I heard the village chief outside, lowering his voice as he said, “There’s no one inside. That boy must be dead, right? Otherwise, should we search somewhere else?”

Someone quickly responded, “We can’t keep searching. Anyone who falls into Lady Autumn Frost’s hands—how could they possibly come out unscathed? Last time I saw it with my own eyes, I couldn’t stomach meat for over a year—I was sick to my stomach!”

“And who knows where Lady Autumn Frost might have dragged that boy? If we follow the mountain road and end up at her temple, do you think we’ll make it out alive?”

The village chief said, “I just can’t shake the feeling there’s something odd about that boy. I still think we should look for him—if he’s not dead, we’d have a hard time explaining ourselves to the Lady.”

The man replied, “Uncle, let’s just drop it! No matter how clever that boy is, could he really escape from her hands?”

“If you ask me, it’s a waste of effort…”

As he was speaking, someone else said, “Chief, I see blood under that tree behind us. That boy was probably dragged up there and gutted.”

The village chief finally let out a sigh of relief. “That makes sense! Let’s go back!”

Someone else suggested, “Uncle, should we wait for his uncle to come and grab him too? Wouldn’t that take care of next year’s matter as well?”

Another person hesitated, “We already sacrificed his nephew, now we’re thinking of offering his uncle as well—isn’t that a bit much…”

The first speaker glared. “If we don’t offer outsiders to the Lady, should we offer you instead? You’ve seen it yourself—Lady Autumn Frost is getting pickier these years. She doesn’t want the old, only the young and tender.”

“Don’t forget, your child is about the same age as that wretched ghost!”

The other man fell silent, and the village chief sighed, “Enough. Don’t say any more—it’s their fate. Let’s go.”

Only when those people had gone did Hu Sanqi turn to me and ask, “Tell me, were those people right or wrong?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

Hu Sanqi said, “People—all of us seek fortune and avoid calamity, weighing pros and cons for our own sake.”

“From your perspective, they’re guilty. But from theirs, they’re blameless.”

“Xiao Yun, remember this: someday, when you face everything on your own, the first thing you must do is consider yourself. Do you understand?”

I nodded, half comprehending. “Godfather, will you help me this time?”

Even though I knew it was unlikely Hu Sanqi would help, I still couldn’t help but ask.

True to form, Hu Sanqi shook his head. “I’ve told you many times—your own tribulation must be borne by yourself. No one can help you through it.”

I couldn’t help but protest, “But didn’t you just intervene earlier?”

“Did I?” Hu Sanqi looked at me, expressionless. “That was just the lingering ghostly aura from the Demon-Faced Tumor acting up inside you.”

Hu Sanqi was always fond of spouting nonsense with a straight face—sometimes even he didn’t believe what he was saying, but his expression never wavered.

Knowing I’d get nothing more from him, I changed the subject. “Godfather, tell me about the Spirit Hall Casket—what’s it all about? If I know, at least I won’t be caught off guard.” I pleaded.

Unable to resist my questions, Hu Sanqi finally said, “This matter goes back to the time when an ancient tomb was discovered behind the temple on the mountain.”

The hill behind the temple was an obscure place, but because an old temple stood at its foot, people called it “the hill behind the temple.”

Even the locals couldn’t say when the temple was built or which deity it was originally dedicated to. All they knew was that no one could stay in that temple.

The nameless ancient temple wasn’t especially large or small, and it was made entirely of red bricks. In those chaotic times, even the grandest landlords’ homes couldn’t rival its imposing structure.

Back then, wandering monks and Taoists would often find shelter in such abandoned temples. But anyone who entered—monk, Taoist, or beggar—never survived more than three days. Strangely, all were found frozen to death inside, even in the height of summer, with a layer of frost coating their corpses.

Some villagers tried to install a statue of a deity to ward off the temple’s evil, but no matter what idol they placed, it never lasted more than five days. By noon on the fifth day, the statue would inevitably collapse.

Eventually, no one dared set foot in the nameless temple again.

That is, until one day, a fierce-looking, one-eyed Taoist moved in and broke the rule of “no living person survives three days, no idol survives five.”

Not long after the one-eyed Taoist arrived, the mountain behind the temple was overrun with fleeing insects and serpents. In broad daylight, venomous snakes streamed down the mountainside like a river, the larger snakes leading the way with the smaller ones following, never pausing.

Everyone assumed it was a sign of an impending earthquake and fled into the mountains to wait it out—but nothing happened.

Later, a fortune-teller declared it wasn’t an earthquake. He said a dragon was about to rise behind the temple, and where a dragon dwells, snakes dare not linger. If you doubt it, go see for yourselves—have the mountain rats disappeared too?

Someone did go to look, and found rats lying dead in swathes across the mountainside, their bodies strewn everywhere. Some people even slit open their bellies, only to discover they’d died of sheer terror.

Rumors about the dragon behind the temple became ever more fantastic. Some even claimed to have seen a white dragon soaring skyward above the mountain.

Such tales might fool ordinary folk, but not those with real skill.

At the time, the chief of the most notorious local gang, Gentle Breeze Hall, Xu Zhenshan, brought his lieutenants to the mountain.

Gentle Breeze Hall’s strategist, Old Beggar, immediately saw through the mystery. The entire mountain behind the temple was a giant, circular tomb, with the nameless temple as its entrance.

Anyone entering the temple would be struck by the tomb’s chilling aura, which was why people froze to death, even at the height of summer.

Old Beggar concluded that the one-eyed Taoist was no real priest, but a grave robber in disguise. It was he who disturbed the tomb, unleashing the earth’s energy and driving the rats and snakes into a frenzy.

Upon hearing this, Xu Zhenshan wanted to kill the Taoist and seize the tomb for himself.

But Old Beggar said, “Not yet. The tomb gate isn’t so easily opened. Let the Taoist open it first.”

“When you see blood seeping from the temple’s threshold, that will be the sign the Taoist has breached the tomb.”

So Xu Zhenshan and his men waited at the temple entrance for days. Just as their patience wore thin, blood began to flow from within the temple.

Crimson blood oozed through the cracks in the stone, pooling on the ground outside.

How many lives would it take to spill so much blood? Even those ruthless bandits had never witnessed such a sight. All eyes turned to Old Beggar, who reassured them, “Don’t worry. This is just the Taoist releasing the tomb’s deadly energy. Once the blood meets the sun, it will disperse. We wait a little longer.”