51: Entering the mortal world

Early next morning, just as dawn broke.

Li Muchen changed out of his moonlight flowing cloud robe and found a half-worn Taoist robe from the bottom of a chest—it was the standard-issue robe given upon graduation from Taoist University. It was blue-gray, made of ordinary fabric, washed until it was somewhat faded, with signs of wear at the cuffs.

Zhao Xiaowen and Li Shiyu were both stunned for a moment when they saw it.

"Abbot, you..." Zhao Xiaowen hesitated.

"To enter the Mortal World, one must wear the clothes of the Mortal World," Li Muchen said calmly. "That moon-white robe is too conspicuous."

He was right. The moonlight flowing cloud robe had a faint shimmer and a natural dao rhyme. Walking down a city street, it would likely draw countless stares. But this old robe was as plain as an ordinary young Taoist priest's; once he blended into a crowd, he would be hard to find.

After a simple breakfast—plain porridge, pickles, and steamed buns—the three of them headed down the mountain.

Zhao Desheng was waiting early at the village entrance, driving his battered van: "Abbot, I'll take you to the station."

"Thank you for your trouble, Lay Practitioner."

The van drove along the bumpy mountain road. Outside the window was the midsummer forest, lush with greenery. Li Muchen sat in the passenger seat, eyes closed, resting. His Spiritual Sense spread out like water, perceiving the familiar landscape as it gradually receded.

This was his first time leaving Yuntai Mountain in six months.

The aura of the Mortal World rushed toward him.

The county bus station was bustling with noise.

Li Shiyu went to buy three bus tickets to the provincial capital. In the waiting room, the smells of smoke, sweat, and instant noodles were mixed, and the clamor was incessant. Li Muchen sat on a plastic chair. His blue-gray Taoist robe was completely inconspicuous in the crowd; only a few elderly people gave him a second glance.

"Abbot, did you... leave the mountain often before?" Zhao Xiaowen asked in a low voice.

"Rarely," Li Muchen said truthfully. "The last time I left the mountain was a year ago when I first came to Yuntai Mountain."

The bus arrived; it was a half-worn minibus with narrow seats and air conditioning that worked sporadically. Li Muchen sat by the window, watching the fields, villages, and towns fly by.

The outline of a modern metropolis gradually became clear.

Skyscrapers rose like a forest, their glass curtain walls reflecting the piercing sunlight. Traffic flowed like a web, the crowds were surging, and celebrities smiled brightly on giant billboards. Everything was moving at high speed, noisy and impetuous.

In his Spiritual Sense, the city's energy field was a chaotic mess—the turbid Qi of car exhausts, the foul Qi from factory emissions, the restless Qi of gathered crowds, and... the hidden Yin Qi in the corners.

It was like a boiling pot of mixed stew.

It was completely different from the tranquility of Yuntai Mountain.

"We're here," Li Shiyu said softly.

The bus pulled into the provincial capital's bus station; it was already twelve noon.

The Lin Family's car was waiting at the exit.

It was a black Mercedes-Benz S-Class. The driver was a professional in his forties wearing a uniform. Seeing Li Shiyu, he bowed respectfully: "Young Miss."

"Uncle Wang, this is Daoist Master Li, whom I've invited," Li Shiyu introduced.

The driver sized up Li Muchen, a hint of doubt flashing in his eyes—he was too young, and his Taoist robe was so old. But being well-trained, he immediately composed himself and opened the car door: "Please, Abbot."

The car drove into the city, passed through the busy commercial district, and headed toward the villa area in the west of the city.

Li Muchen looked out the window. This area was clearly for the wealthy; the streets were wide and clean, lined with tall London plane trees that shaded rows of detached villas. Each was meticulously designed with deep courtyards.

The car stopped in front of a villa designed in a Chinese courtyard style.

White walls, black tiles, upturned eaves, and vermilion gates tightly closed. Inside the walls, one could see rockeries, flowing water, and lush trees. A plaque hung over the lintel with the words "Quiet Garden" written in a strong, vigorous hand.

"My uncle likes traditional culture," Li Shiyu explained. "He had this house specially designed."

The driver rang the doorbell.

A moment later, the gate slowly opened. A man in his fifties, wearing a traditional Chinese buttoned shirt, stood inside. He looked refined, but a deep weariness was locked between his brows. He was Lin Xiaoyu's father, Lin Wenyuan, a history professor at the Provincial University.

"Shiyu is here." Lin Wenyuan forced a smile, but when his gaze fell on Li Muchen, he was slightly taken aback. "This is..."

"Uncle, this is Daoist Master Li from Qingfeng Temple on Yuntai Mountain," Li Shiyu quickly introduced. "Abbot, this is my uncle Lin Wenyuan; he's a university professor."

"Layman Lin, may the blessings be infinite," Li Muchen performed a greeting.

Lin Wenyuan returned the greeting, his attitude polite but distant: "The Abbot has traveled far and worked hard. Please, come in."

Crossing the threshold, there was a spirit screen carved with landscape reliefs. Bypassing the screen, the view suddenly opened up—a spacious front courtyard paved with bluestone, with a bluestone fish pond in the center where koi swam leisurely. The main house was a three-story Chinese-style pavilion with carved doors and windows, ancient and elegant.

But as soon as Li Muchen stepped into the courtyard, his brows furrowed slightly.

In his Spiritual Sense, the energy field of this villa... was very wrong.

On the surface, it looked wealthy and peaceful, but deep down, a cold aura was flowing. It wasn't emanating from a single room; rather... the entire house was steeped in this atmosphere.

It was as if it had been "pickled" in something for a long time.

"Abbot, this way please," Lin Wenyuan led the way.

Passing through the front courtyard, they reached the main hall. The furnishings were all mahogany furniture, and the curio shelves were lined with porcelain, jade, and ancient books. Famous paintings and calligraphy hung on the walls, and sandalwood incense burned in the corner, its smoke curling upwards.

A middle-aged woman wearing a silk cheongsam, with exquisite makeup that couldn't hide her haggardness, stood up from a grandmaster chair. She was Lin Xiaoyu's mother, Su Wanhua—a well-known businesswoman in the provincial capital who ran several high-end beauty salons.

"Hello, Abbot." Su Wanhua's voice was a bit raspy, and the bags under her eyes were heavy, clearly showing she hadn't slept for days. She still had the aura of a strong business woman in her movements, but at this moment, that aura was being crushed by deep anxiety.

After simple pleasantries, Lin Wenyuan invited Li Muchen to sit in a mahogany armchair.

A servant brought tea sets, a full set of purple clay, and the tea was top-grade Jin Jun Mei. Su Wanhua brewed the tea herself, her movements skilled and elegant, but her fingers trembled slightly.

"Abbot," Lin Wenyuan began, choosing his words carefully, "Shiyu should have told you about Xiaoyu's situation. We... are not superstitious people, but we are truly at our wits' end."

Su Wanhua pushed the teacup in front of Li Muchen, her eyes reddening as she added: "Xiaoyu used to be a very cheerful child with good grades; she never gave us any trouble growing up. But since... since that incident, she's like a different person."

"Can you tell me more about 'that incident'?" Li Muchen asked.

Lin Wenyuan sighed: "A month ago, Xiaoyu and three classmates were doing a project in the Old Library at school. It was after nine in the evening, the library was about to close, and the librarian was urging them to leave. But these kids... for some reason, they started playing the spirit of the pen game in the reading room."

He paused, his voice dry: "They used an old fountain pen found while the library was cleaning the basement, a cultural relic from the republic of china. The librarian said the pen was in an iron box with a seal on it that said 'Do Not Move'."

"The children were curious, so..." Su Wanhua took over, her voice choking, "When she got home that night, Xiaoyu said she was having nightmares. We didn't pay much attention, thinking she was just tired from studying. Who knew that later..."

"Later, she started sleepwalking," Lin Wenyuan said with a bitter smile. "Once in the middle of the night, we heard movement in the hallway. When we got up to look, Xiaoyu was in her pajamas walking in circles in the courtyard, muttering something. What she said... we couldn't understand; it sounded like a dialect, yet also like an ancient language."

"Bruises also appeared on her body." Su Wanhua's voice trembled as she pulled up her sleeve—there was a purple pinch mark on her wrist. "I went to pull her, and she looked back at me... that look, it wasn't Xiaoyu's look at all. Then she grabbed my hand with terrifying strength."

She lowered her sleeve and wiped the corners of her eyes: "I took her to the hospital for a full check-up, and everything was normal. The dermatologist said these bruises... didn't look like they were caused by external force."

Silence fell over the living room.

Only the grandfather clock in the corner ticked away.

Li Muchen listened quietly, while his Spiritual Sense quietly scanned the entire villa.

Soon, he locked onto a room on the third floor.

The Yin Qi was emanating from there—thick, cold, and carrying deep resentment. But strangely, this resentment seemed to be "bound" to the room by something and hadn't completely spread out.

What concerned him more was that there seemed to be something... beneath the villa.

It wasn't Yin Qi, but something older and more obscure, like a sleeping beast breathing slowly in the dark.

"Layman Lin," he spoke, "may I see your daughter?"

Lin Wenyuan and Su Wanhua exchanged a glance, both a bit hesitant.

"Abbot, it's not that we don't believe you," Lin Wenyuan weighed his words. "It's just that the Great Masters before all wanted to see Xiaoyu as soon as they arrived, setting up altars and performing rituals, which only made her condition worse every time. Now Xiaoyu... is very resistant to seeing strangers."

"I won't perform rituals or set up altars," Li Muchen said calmly. "I'll just take a look. If I am powerless, I will leave immediately."

His words were so direct that Lin Wenyuan found it hard to refuse.

He looked at his wife, and Su Wanhua nodded slightly.

"Then... please follow me."

They went up to the third floor via the stairs on the side of the main hall.

The hallway was covered with a thick carpet, and old photos hung on the walls on both sides—Family photos of the Lin Family, from black and white to color, recording the changes of the Family.

At the end was a heavy solid wood door.

Lin Wenyuan knocked on the door: "Xiaoyu, open the door. Daddy brought a guest to see you."

There was no response.

He knocked again, his tone gentle: "Be good, Xiaoyu, just open the door for a moment, okay?"

Still silence.

Li Muchen suddenly spoke: "Layman Lin, let me try."

He walked to the door, didn't knock, but simply placed his palm gently against the door panel.

His Spiritual Sense, like water, seeped through the cracks of the door.

Inside the room, a young girl was curled up on a chaise longue by the window, wrapped in a thick cashmere blanket. Even though it was July, she was shivering. Her long hair was disheveled, covering half of her face; the half that was visible was as pale as paper, with deep dark circles under her eyes.

And around her body, a layer of faint black mist was entwined—it was thick Yin Qi, constantly eroding her vitality.

What caught Li Muchen's attention even more was the dark red mark on the girl's wrist.

It wasn't a bruise.

It was a rune.

A fragmented, ancient rune carrying the sense of a curse.

As he was observing, the girl suddenly raised her head.

Her gaze pierced through the door panel, looking straight "at" him.

That look was hollow, cold, and filled with a world-weariness that didn't belong to her age.

Then, she smiled.

The corners of her mouth curled up into a bizarre arc.

At the same time, an old woman's voice rang directly in Li Muchen's Spiritual Sense:

"You... can see me?"

Li Muchen withdrew his hand, his expression unchanged.

"Layman Lin," he turned and said to the worried couple, "your daughter's problem is indeed not an ordinary illness."

"Then what is it?" Su Wanhua asked urgently.

Li Muchen didn't answer directly but asked a question:

"That pen—the Republican fountain pen—where is it now?"

Lin Wenyuan and Su Wanhua exchanged glances, their expressions changing.

"It's... in the basement," Lin Wenyuan's voice was dry. "The day after Xiaoyu's incident, the school sent the pen over, saying it was being returned to its owner. We felt it was unlucky, so we locked it in the safe in the basement."

Li Muchen nodded: "Take me to see it."

Su Wanhua hesitated: "Abbot, that pen... is very sinister. The first Great Master we invited fell ill right after seeing that pen."

"It's fine," Li Muchen said calmly. "Some things must be seen with one's own eyes."

His gaze swept across the magnificent villa; in his Spiritual Sense, that ancient aura underground seemed to "wake up" a bit more.