The ravines surrounding Xiushui Village were perpetually cool and damp, shrouded in shadow year-round, never touched by the sun. Due to the terrain’s uncanny resemblance to a coiled giant python, the locals humorously called it Mangshan (Serpent Mountain). Legend held that a pack of skin-peeling specters inhabited this mountain, roaming in small groups. They were dormant during the day, but at night, the entire forest would become eerily grim, lit only by flickering green lanterns, occasionally punctuated by inhuman screams, the clash of swords, and the sounds of savage combat. Worse still, these specters frequently emerged from the mountain to plague the village. It was rumored that on those nights, several households were inexplicably stripped of their skin, leaving behind only throbbing, crimson human figures writhing on the ground, suffering excruciatingly slow deaths. By the next morning, the harvested human skins would invariably be nailed to the tall trees—a truly terrifying sight.

Just as the mountain folk were preparing to abandon the village to escape the torment, an ancient Taoist priest with a flowing white beard arrived from beyond the mountains. After a personal investigation deep within the mountain, the priest declared that the mountain held a profound secret: it was a former battlefield where Ming soldiers had been slaughtered by the Qing Eight Banners, numbering over a thousand men. Their lingering resentment had accumulated over time, eventually manifesting as a malevolent force that preyed upon the living. However, the priest admitted the number of ghosts was too vast; he could not subdue them alone without risking being overwhelmed himself. After days of contemplation, the Taoist instructed the villagers to construct a 'Wuxian Lingguan Temple' at the mouth of the ravine, explaining that if the yin soldiers within the valley received offerings from the villagers, they would cease venturing out. The Wuxian Lingguan—the Five Manifested Spiritual Officials—were five loyal ministers from the Song Dynasty, embodying righteous integrity. Placing their statues there would effectively suppress the lingering yin soldiers, holding them in check with divine authority, thus making them hesitant to act too recklessly.

Coincidentally, once the Wuxian Lingguan Temple was built according to the Taoist’s specifications, the specters of Mangshan truly stopped leaving the ravine. That very night, the Taoist vanished from Xiushui Village as silently as he had arrived, his whereabouts forever unknown. The villagers immediately began proclaiming that the old priest was an immortal sent down to save them.

From then on, the Wuxian Lingguan Temple was regarded by the mountain folk as a genuinely sacred shrine. Villagers came to offer tributes frequently, and festivals brought great activity. Although the ghastly spirits no longer emerged from the ravine, the nearby untended mass graves from various dynasties remained somewhat restless, though their harm was minimal. Thus, the villagers finally settled their fears, yet the deep, perpetually misty heart of the mountain became a forbidden zone for them.

Of course, for the four young men—fearless of ghosts, spirits, heaven, or earth, only slightly intimidated by their own mothers—legends held no power to deter them.

The higher they climbed, the more fiercely the wind howled. The tiered steps, paved with bluestone, were riddled with potholes from years of neglect, resembling the pocked face of Little Scarface’s father. Worse still, several sections had completely crumbled, one end sticking to the ground while the other dangled precariously over the slope; a misstep there would certainly result in a bloody fall. Thankfully, two full kerosene lamps proved their worth, guiding the four figures across many perilous spots, finally bringing them to the foot of the Wuxian Lingguan Temple at twelve forty.

Gazing up, the eerie temple was built against the mountainside. The surrounding perimeter walls were utterly derelict, crumbling to ruin, while thick cobwebs clung to the blackened eaves, encircling the fierce, grimacing statues of the Guardian Generals at the entrance, seemingly trying to shield them from the elements.

“It’s been nearly two years since we came up to cause trouble. I never imagined a perfectly good Bodhisattva temple would fall into such disrepair!” remarked Young Master Liu, surveying the shoulder-high weeds and undergrowth.

“Hey, Doggy Young Master, this is a Lingguan Temple, alright? Where are you getting Bodhisattvas from? You’ve been to school—if you mention Bodhisattvas in the town next time, I’ll pretend I don’t know you, and I won’t lose face for my village chief father!” Tian Guoqiang retorted, his voice thick with dialect.

“Tch…” Young Master Liu drew out his reply dismissively. “Stop dragging your dad into everything. What does your father have to do with how I speak? Good thing he’s only the village chief. If he were the magistrate or the governor, the sky above Xiushui Village would probably have a hole punched right through it on your account.”

At his words, Little Scarface and Gou Dan burst out laughing. Tian Guoqiang’s face flushed crimson from the sharp retort, and he fell silent. Only after Young Master Liu had stepped inside the temple did he mutter under his breath, “Damn fool!”

The wind whipped through, chilling the marrow in their bones. The temple was dilapidated, but its two main doors remained intact, offering a solid barrier against the wind once closed. With this thought, Young Master Liu straightened up, executing a few empty kicks to stretch his numb limbs. He raised his head to examine the plaque above the entrance.

On the plaque, the characters for “Wuxian Lingguan Temple” stood out starkly. The calligraphy was in the Slender Gold style, and whether for warding off evil or for aesthetics, the grand characters were thickly coated in cinnabar paste. Under the dim kerosene light, they seemed to writhe, blood-red and viscous, possessing an inexplicable, unsettling demonic quality in the darkness.

Young Master Liu ascended the steps and pushed open the temple doors, which had been blown closed by the wind. The temple saw some faint worship during the day, but at night, it appeared utterly abandoned. Even though the statues had been brightly painted and the railings lacquered with vermilion, the paint retaining its vibrancy, everything now felt profoundly wrong.

Two apples and a plate of cured meat lay stacked on the offering table, accompanied by a pair of red candles burning fiercely. The light illuminated the Five Manifested Spiritual Officials in the shrine, their brows furrowed and eyes wide in apparent rage, as if roaring aloud. Yet, aside from the sound of the wind outside, the interior of the temple was frighteningly silent. The Wuxian Lingguan were originally five loyal ministers ennobled by Emperor Gaozong of Song, Zhao Gou, but here, they were not clad in the formal, second-rank crimson court robes. Instead, they were ragged, their faces greenish-blue with protruding tusks. Enhanced by the surrounding darkness, they nearly tricked Young Master Liu into thinking he had stumbled into the Hall of Yama.

“Doggy Young Master, this place is super creepy!” Little Scarface, who had just placed one foot inside, tripped over a stone statue near the entrance. When he managed to get up and saw the furious, snarling countenances of the Wuxian Lingguan staring down at him, he gasped in terror, nearly jumping out of his chest.

“Scared?” Young Master Liu found it amusing. “What’s there to fear? They’re just a bunch of molded mud, hogging the space.” He glanced at the five clay figures and murmured, “You know what it’s like to starve without food, but you people always have someone bringing you offerings.” He shook his head, picked up an apple from the offering table, and weighed it. It was a decent size, already showing a crack, likely from a village orchard. Though a small section was spoiled, for the village children, it was nothing.

Young Master Liu wiped the apple on his dirty clothes (though wiping did little good, as the apple was cleaner than his rags) and took a large, unceremonious bite. It was tart and sweet. He grinned, then tucked another one into his coat.

“Hey, Doggy Young Master, don’t bring trouble on yourself or us! Put that apple back. The old folks in the village say these Five Manifested Spiritual Officials are incredibly efficacious; they grant every request!” Tian Guoqiang scolded. As he spoke, he rummaged under the offering table and pulled out three burnt sandalwood remnants, performed a mock bow three times, and then inserted them into the ash of the bronze censer.