Village Temple
Raindrops, carrying the stench of mud, clung to her face. As she stumbled and pushed open the rotten wooden door, the creaking of the decaying wood drowned out the shouts of her pursuers behind her. A string of broken copper bells hung from the temple eaves, their bells covered in green rust. When the wind blew, they only produced a muffled thud, like an old man's sigh stuck in his throat.
The old locust tree in the courtyard was leaning to one side, its gnarled roots clinging to the cracked bluestone slabs. The offering table under the tree was covered with a thick layer of dust, but the porcelain bowl in the very center was polished to a shine. The bowl was filled with half a pool of clear water, reflecting the wisps of clouds that had leaked down from above, and it was clearer than any puddle she had seen along the way.
The hall was even darker, with only a hole in the west window letting in beams of light. The light beams didn't contain wood ash, but rather looked like extremely fine gold dust floating in the air.
The clay sculptures on the shrine were no longer recognizable, with only half of a faded red robe hanging down. The embroidered patterns on the hem of the robe gleamed coldly in the shadows—not the usual dragons and phoenixes, but rather like entwined vines. At the end of the vines, a pair of eyes were hidden. She rubbed her swollen eyes and looked again, and the patterns had become ordinary scrolls. Only the prayer mat in front of the shrine remained, still carrying a trace of lingering warmth.
She clutched the hem of her tattered shirt and moved inside. As her shoes rolled across the ground, she suddenly touched something hard. Looking down in the light from the window, she saw a silver thread half-circled in the crack between the bricks. The thread was covered with a thin layer of moss, but tiny glimmers of light still seeped out from under the moss, winding along the crack like a silver snake hidden in the shadows, silently coiling around the foot of the shrine.
A breeze drifted in through the window, carrying a strange fragrance—not the smell of incense or candle smoke, but more like the sweet scent of wild peaches dried in the sun, mixed with the damp, earthy smell, filling the entire hall. Her throat tightened, and she was about to find a corner to curl up when she heard a soft sound from behind the shrine. It wasn't the rustling of mice, but the subtle rustling of fabric, as if someone was gently adjusting their posture through the shadow of the clay sculpture. She stopped abruptly, cold sweat instantly soaking her back.
Beside the futon that was still warm from the previous moment, a withered leaf had appeared out of nowhere, its tip pointing towards the shrine, yet its edges showed no sign of being blown by the wind. And within that slanting beam of light, the golden dust suddenly froze, piecing together a blurry shadow in mid-air—like a hand gently pressing against the red robe of the shrine.
Actually, she didn't really want to live anymore. Rather than living a life of constant fear, she'd rather rush out and be torn to pieces by the Imperial Guards, never to be reborn as a human again, at least so that she wouldn't be this Yin family girl anymore.
She clenched her fists, her nails almost digging into her palms, while a chill crept up her spine from the back of her neck. The sound from behind the shrine faded again, but the withered leaf stubbornly leaned towards the shrine, as if pulled by an invisible force.
She took a deep breath, and the sweet fragrance of wild peaches suddenly intensified, making her eyes sting. The days when she was chased by pursuers and the despair of being stuffed into a bridal sedan chair as a sacrificial maiden swirled in her mind along with this strange smell.
"Who..." she began in a hoarse voice, her words echoing against the temple walls. The shadow behind the shrine shifted, the red robe drooping even more, the faded fabric brushing against the clay sculpture with a very faint hissing sound, as if someone in the shadows had lifted a corner of their robe.
Her legs went weak, and she knelt on the prayer mat, only to find a thin crack in the blue brick beneath it. Blood seeped from the crack, and the blood fell into the ashes on the offering table, burning a small black hole. The rain outside the window had stopped sometime earlier, and the shouts of the pursuers had ceased. The entire village temple was so quiet that she could hear her own heartbeat.
The vine patterns on the shrine faintly revealed a blood-red hue again. Staring at the patterns, she vaguely saw countless priestesses being pushed into the temple, and in the end, the person in the scene became herself. The shadow behind the shrine slowly peeked out half a face—not a hideous monster, but a face that resembled her seven-tenths, a relieved smile on its lips, "Finally, I've waited for you..." The voice, like damp cotton wool, muffledly entered her ears. She was startled and leaned back, her knees hitting the blue bricks. The bowl of water on the offering table swayed, and the reflection of the broken clouds shattered into silver scales.
The half-face disappeared back behind the red robe, but the blood continued to seep, and the dark hole gradually widened, revealing the dark red soil layer beneath the bricks, as if something alive was breathing down there. The sweet scent of wild peaches suddenly turned fishy, and her throat tightened. She remembered the mass grave she had seen before entering the village—were those female corpses, sacrificed there, all buried beneath this temple? The shadow behind the shrine chuckled softly, the laughter climbing up the brick cracks, "You can't escape. This temple should have had a new master long ago..." The words were swept away by the wind, but the temple door slammed shut, and the copper bells on the eaves shook wildly, green rust falling down like gongs for the new "guests."
She reached for the sickle at her waist—originally for chopping firewood, but now it trembled violently. Blood beads from beneath the prayer mat soaked the soles of her shoes, and from the dark red soil, several pale roots emerged, wrapping around her ankles as if trying to pull her into the cracks between the bricks. Meanwhile, the vine patterns on the shrine were coming to life inch by inch, wrapping around her head.
Amidst the excruciating pain of the roots wrapping around her ankle, she gripped the sickle tightly, only to see the pale roots suddenly freeze and then snap off with a "rip".
The sweet, pungent smell of wild peaches was dispelled by a refreshing scent of pine. The red robe behind the shrine suddenly billowed up, revealing a slender figure—a dark blue skirt that swept across the brickwork, a half-cut pine branch tucked into her hair, the pine needles still glistening with morning dew.
"Nonsense." The cold voice was like an icy mountain spring. The vine patterns instantly shrank back into clay, and the roots turned to dust. She looked up in alarm and saw that the person had a plain face, but there were faint blue lines at the corners of their eyes, like winding mountain ranges.
“I am the mountain god of this mountain,” the woman said, brushing a pine branch. “This temple should have been destroyed long ago, but some stubborn spirits are still haunting it.” She then glanced behind the shrine. “You were drawn in by the resentment of the priestesses, which is a good way of saying you escaped your prison.”
She then realized with a start that the shouts of the pursuers and the despair of the bridal sedan chair had long been cut off by the temple gates. The mountain god lightly tapped the offering table with his fingertips, and the broken clouds in the clear water bowl reassembled, reflecting the path she had come from—the white bones in the mass grave were crawling towards the temple, "They wanted to drag you down to fill the quota, so I used this temple to collect their souls."
The scent of pine wood grew stronger. She slowly loosened her grip on the sickle. She heard the mountain god say that a hundred years ago, this mountain was peaceful, but due to the villagers' superstitious sacrifices, countless women died unjustly and became resentful. The mountain god guarded the mountain and also these unwilling souls, waiting for someone who could break the cycle of sacrifice.
"Your escape is the wedge that breaks the deadlock." The mountain god's pine branches swayed gently, the temple door was pushed open again, and the light after the rain poured in. She looked at the blue lines at the corner of the mountain god's eyes and remembered the despair of being chosen as a sacrifice girl. Suddenly, she felt that this mysterious mountain god was the light that crashed into the darkness and led her to break free from the fate of sacrifice.
The sunlight and shadows of pine branches flickered on the blue bricks. The mountain god, with a wisp of green mist condensed at his fingertips, gently probed between her brows: "Beneath this temple lie the bones of the sacrificial maidens. Their resentment has lingered for centuries. Though I can suppress it, I cannot sever its roots. You escaped from the sacrifice; it was your destiny to shatter this word 'sacrifice.'" As the green mist seeped into her skin, the pain of being torn apart by the roots and the fear of being cornered by pursuers gradually dissipated, like damp mist after being dried in the sun.
She trembled all over, but not from fear. The mountain god's blue lines at the corners of his eyes brightened, like moonlight reflecting off the snow on the mountain peak: "I have guarded the mountain for too long, and my strength is dissipating. If you wish, I will possess your body and take you to Qinglang Mountain to become a disciple—the practitioners there specialize in breaking the rituals used to break the evil spirits and sacrifices of the world."
"You'll make this trip for me, and also earn a way to live for yourself, okay?" When the green breath touched her brow, she suddenly pulled back and her knees hit the blue bricks with a soft sound.
The clear water on the offering table rippled slightly. She looked up at the mountain god, a hint of wariness still lingering in her eyes: "The immortal said he would possess me and lead me to Qinglang Mountain to become his disciple. This is too far-fetched. I... cannot easily believe it." Her fingertips unconsciously caressed the silver hairpin on her lapel. The old silk thread wrapped around the head of the hairpin was the one her brother Jing had tied for her when she was a child.
The mountain god's pine branches drooped gently, morning dew landing on her wrist, bringing a touch of coolness: "On the day you fled to the haystacks in the wilderness, the rain poured down. When you huddled and shivered, did half a wheat cake wrapped in oiled paper fall from the grass?" These words struck her heart like a thunderbolt. That day, her clothes were stained with blood, and her teeth chattered from the cold. It was that half-eaten, still warm cake that helped her survive the most dangerous night. At the time, she thought it was just a kind act from a passerby, but when she chased after them, she couldn't even find a trace of them.
"That cake was a gift from me."
The mountain god's dark circles gleamed softly. "On the night the young lady was chosen as the sacrificial maiden, I intended to break the formation to save her, but the vengeful spirits in the temple haunted me, slowing my progress. Later, seeing you fleeing all the way, I feared you were exhausted, so I secretly delivered cakes, not daring to appear and disturb you." She gripped the silver hairpin tighter, recalling the day her father was falsely accused of treason and her entire family was raided. She had hidden behind the artificial hill and heard the bailiffs say, "Keep this young lady as a sacrifice for the mountain god." At that moment, she felt as if the sky had fallen and the earth had shattered. If it weren't for her brother Jing, whose life was still uncertain at the river construction site, she would have long since lost the will to live.
"If you go to Qinglang Mountain, you might find traces of the person you long for." The mountain god's voice was gentle, as if he could see through her deepest obsession.
She lowered her gaze to the silver hairpin. The character "Jing" engraved on it had faded with time, yet it remained her only thought—her beloved Jing had once said, "After I finish repairing the river, I will ask my uncle to allow us to marry, and I will protect you in the future." Those words still echoed in her ears. How could she willingly remain trapped in this inexplicable sacrificial scheme? After a moment's hesitation, she slowly raised her eyes, curtsied, and said, "Since you, Immortal Master, have offered your assistance and mentioned Jing's whereabouts, I am willing to trust you this once. However… I hope you will not harm the innocent, and even more so, do not betray my trust." The mountain god's pine branches swayed gently, as if in agreement.
The blue mark between her brows suddenly burned, a soothing energy spreading through her veins, making her vision clearer, even dispelling much of the lingering chill in the hall. Straightening her clothes, she re-fastened her silver hairpin, her voice still tinged with timidity, but now filled with determination: "Immortal Master, let's...set off. To Qinglang Mountain, to find a way to survive, and also to find...the person I can't let go of." The hall doors slowly opened behind her, sunlight spilling onto the bluestone slabs, illuminating her slender yet upright figure, accompanied by the scent of pine. Her feet, just touching the morning light as she stepped out of the temple, suddenly stopped, her fingertips pressed to her brow—the warmth of the blue mark was still there, but the mountain god's words about "possessing to break the deadlock" still felt like a bizarre dream. The scent of pine gradually faded, and the faint barking of dogs echoed from the distant woods, instantly reminding her of the horrific scene of her entire family's home being ransacked, the shouts of the constables "taking back the sacrifice," and her heart tightened.
"What the immortal said is good, but Qinglang Mountain is far away, and the idea of possession is... ultimately bizarre." She murmured to herself, smoothing her wind-blown clothes, the silver hairpin dangling in front of her. "The pursuers are still around. If I rashly go to an unfamiliar mountain area, I'm afraid I'll meet with misfortune before even becoming a disciple."
Although her feelings for Brother Jing had stirred her heart, the cautious nature of a government official's daughter prevented her from gambled her life on a chance encounter with a "fate of immortality."
She turned and glanced at the village temple behind her. The temple doors had been quietly closed, and there was nothing unusual about it. It was as if the mountain god and the ghosts she had just seen were just figments of her imagination during her escape.
She bit her lip and ultimately didn't turn back. She followed the path she had come from and walked out of the woods. Yesterday, while she was sheltering from the rain, she had heard a woodcutter mention that there was a Peach Village thirty miles to the southeast. It was remote and had little contact with the outside world, making it a good place to escape the pursuit.
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