Chapter 175 Master 2 Burning the Voodoo Doll at the Crossroads

The paper figure is thin, yet it can run wildly on its two legs, and you have to grit your teeth and tense your muscles just to keep up with it.

Its movements were stiff, yet incredibly fast, like lightning. You stretched out your arm several times—but you couldn't reach it at all!

You're thinking of taking a detour to launch a sneak attack, but the paper figure's legs don't bend; it just walks straight forward.

If you can't catch it now—you're going to run into a wall!

Your heart tightens; your intuition tells you it won't stop, but even so, you dare not slow down even a fraction. But what about the wall?

Sure enough, the paper figure crashed straight into the wall and disappeared as if melting into the air in the blink of an eye.

this!

You felt like the wind was blowing on your feet, so you had no choice but to rush forward. The wall was right in front of you, its gray brick surface covered with cold, hard cracks in the moonlight.

There was nothing else we could do but crash into it.

Your teeth chatter, your eyes burn—this is purely a physiological rejection that makes your heart pound and your eardrums buzz. At the last moment, you maintain your speed, close your eyes, and stretch your arms forward—bang!

It wasn't as painful as I had imagined.

The cold wall didn't break your arm or shatter your skull, but your palm touched something stiff yet light. You suddenly opened your eyes and found yourself clutching a paper figure!

It struggles, the paper wrinkled from the sweat of your hands, yet it maintains its stiff running posture.

A paper figure that can withstand wind pressure is no different from an ordinary large piece of paper in your hands, except that it can kick its legs.

Next is the crossroads.

The old man didn't tell you when to burn the paper figure, and you didn't have time to think about it. A sinister intuition told you from the palm of your hand that you had to get rid of it immediately.

You ran wildly, desperately heading towards the street corner.

The path behind the house was deserted, and the moonlight spread across the dilapidated cement road, making it look like a cloth bitten by insects.

You've been studying here for five days now, and you're already very familiar with the alleyways. You even recognize many of the neighbors. But tonight, it feels just as strange as when you first arrived.

The low houses on both sides were silent. The neighbors who would smile at you and chatter with you in their local dialect during the day seemed to have vanished. Occasionally, a dog's bark drifted from afar—and you even had the energy to wonder why there were dogs everywhere?

This isn't just a casual lapse in attention. The area you live in is considered a busy downtown area, but whether it's day or night, packs of stray dogs roam freely as if no one is there.

You haven't seen many Thais treat these dogs well. They don't attack humans, and they live peacefully together.

As you thought about it, your tense mood eased a little, and then you remembered again: Oh dear! A crossroads!

Thanks to that moment of distraction, you unknowingly ran away from that excessively gloomy alleyway, only breathing rapidly, your throat burning, and clinging tightly to the paper figure as you ran forward.

The wind whistles past your ears, as if pushing you forward. Finally, under the streetlights, the shadow of the intersection appears ahead.

During the day, this intersection is unremarkable, just two roads intersecting. But now, under the cover of night and the moonlight, it appears unusually empty and eerie.

The four streets, like four outstretched arms, stretch straight into the depths of darkness. Telephone poles stand tall, their dim light bulbs flickering erratically—what are they trying to warn you of?

Even if you lack knowledge, you've already learned from those videos featuring pretty girls and handsome guys that crossroads have always been places where yin and yang meet, and where ghosts and spirits roam. By day, it's a thoroughfare for people, but by night, it becomes a blurred boundary between life and death.

We need to hurry!

You put the iron basin down and took out the lighter with one hand. Because you were so nervous, your hand was trembling. Fortunately, your "father" was not stingy with himself. He only bought the cheapest items for your mother and you, but for himself, he bought brand-name items that were windproof, shockproof, and specially designed.

Lighting it wasn't difficult; the flames shot straight up at the paper figure—

"Whoosh—" A sudden gust of cold wind swept in!

The flames were almost instantly suppressed, as if they were about to go out.

Your heart pounded, fearing the paper figure might escape. Without thinking, you quickly unbuttoned your coat, opened it, and wrapped yourself tightly around the brazier like a bell. The fabric billowed in the wind, shielding the flames, finally allowing them to safely lick the paper surface.

But this fire is burning way too slowly! You knew it couldn't be ordinary paper.

You were still staring at the paper figure, afraid it would cause trouble, but you didn't notice that a wisp of evil wind slipped in from under your coat, precisely luring the flames to bite onto the hem of your clothes.

In an instant, flames suddenly shot up from the edge of the coat, like a hissing red serpent, instantly climbing up your arm. The air was filled with a strong, acrid smell of burning; you could clearly smell the pungent odor of burning fabric, as if the entire night sky was trembling from the heat of the flames.

The intense heat hits you in the face, flames lick your skin, as if they're about to burn you alive. You instinctively want to scream, tear off your coat, or even roll on the ground, but the moment you turn to the side, the wind that had stopped blows back.

You have no choice but to stay still and grit your teeth to strengthen your willpower—you know it's all an illusion.

Real flames wouldn't burn this synthetic material coat so fiercely, and once you give in, once you surrender, the paper figure will escape, and all your efforts will be in vain.

"Hold on! This is an illusion!" You roared at yourself over and over in your mind, your teeth grinding together, the veins on your face bulging. The heat was so intense you could barely open your eyes, and tears streamed down your cheeks, only to be evaporated completely.

The flames illuminated the entire intersection as if it were daytime. In places you couldn't see, the long shadows cast by the dimly lit telephone poles, illuminated by light from all directions, twisted like countless snakes struggling on the ground.

The night wind howled, its sound like the crying of an infant or the whispers of a departed soul.

Just then, a sharp pain suddenly shot through your skin!

Is this not an illusion? The flames seem... to be really burning your body, the burning sensation so realistic it almost drives you to the brink of collapse. Yes, this pain cannot be easily explained by illusion; it is real, like being pricked by needles, like being cut by a knife, every inch of skin being peeled away by the raging fire.

Your mind is instantly plunged into an abyss of struggle and entanglement—should you give in? Should you throw off this burning coat? Every instinct urges you to escape, but your reason is firmly nailed to your mind: "I can't retreat! I can't... If I take a step back, this evil thing will come back! I must live, I must live!"

You bit your tongue, and the metallic taste of blood filled your mouth. The stinging pain, however, instantly brought you to your senses. You used all your strength to steady your coat, keeping the flames firmly over the brazier.

Then.

A sharp shriek!

It was a man's high-pitched voice, sharp as a whistle, that pierced the night sky instantly. It was thin and sharp, like someone scraping glass with a knife, hurting not only your eardrums but also making your whole body feel like ants were crawling on it.

Your pupils constricted, your vision went white, and the flames seemed to engulf the entire world. You even felt that the crossroads beneath your feet had been burned into a purgatory, and the four streets had transformed into a purgatory monster with a giant cross-shaped maw.

Your body trembles, sweat drips down your back, only to be evaporated by the heat, creating a surreal sensation of alternating cold and burning. You feel like a prisoner on a rack, being skinned alive by flames. Yet, at this very moment, an unprecedented stubbornness rises within you.

Anyway—you've suffered burns far worse than this! Whether it's the countless near-death struggles in dungeons or those agonizing, bloody memories, they all remind you: what's this little burn? You can endure it.

You stare intently at the flames, focusing your attention on not making a sound, rather than on feeling the pain.

Finally, with a sudden flash of light, the pain that felt like it was burning you to ashes vanished.

The night wind died down, the flames died down, as if nothing had happened. You gasped for breath, your arms still trembling. Fortunately, the paper figure under the firelight had been completely reduced to ashes, not even a speck of gray paper remained in the wind.

The night sky fell silent once more.

You then realize that all the streetlights are brightly lit with their white bulbs, and there is no signal problem at all.

Before you could even catch your breath, suddenly, another sharp wail exploded from the depths of your mind! It was that man again, straining his voice, crying his heart out. The sound seemed to come from all directions, as if it had drilled directly into your brain, making your ears throb with blood.

You crouched down in agony, pressing your hands tightly against your temples, your face deathly pale.

But that's all there is to it.

That ghostly thing used up all its resentment to howl at you for a while, making your ears ring for quite some time, but the long-lost sense of security finally enveloped you!

For the first time since arriving in this instance and entering this home, I have this feeling of "Phew, I can finally get a good night's sleep."

That ordeal has completely drained you. Dragging your leaden legs home, you collapse onto the bed without even taking off your shoes, drifting into a deep, hazy sleep. In your dream, there are no ghosts, no sounds of blood, only a blurry darkness pressing down on your chest, making it hard to breathe.

You slowly woke up the next day when the sun rose, your throat dry.

Although you didn't sleep well, you're still in a good mood. This is because you know it's due to overindulgence and elevated cortisol levels, not because you're being possessed.

You quickly tidied up, slung your schoolbag over your shoulder, and went to Meiling's house. Her house was bright and clean, a stark contrast to the dark and oppressive atmosphere of your own home, making you feel much more comfortable as soon as you entered.

She was already waiting for you in the living room, with several hand-drawn campus maps spread out on the table, along with a few notebooks. Huimin's handwriting marked possible entrances and exits and the location of the school history room, while Minte's notes listed points to note.

You didn't beat around the bush or hide the part about your father; you told him about the master.

You have a plan to bring that eccentric school and this master together.

Let's start with the cafeteria.