Thud...
Another knock-like sound echoed.
Something was definitely in the next room!
Zhang Yuanqing quickly swapped his rusty kitchen knife for a rusty short blade, and traded his wooden stick for a spear.
Armed, he stepped lightly out of the room. Moonlight poured down like frost, silence all around.
He crouched low, creeping toward the window.
The paper covering the window was already torn. Squatting beneath a gap in the lattice, he carefully peeked inside.
The cold, frosty moonlight squeezed through holes in the roof as sharp beams, illuminating the narrow room.
What he saw made his heart skip.
In the dim, silent room stood three old coffins, their black paint chipped and dusty.
By two of them lay dried corpses wearing worker uniforms, one with a bronze awl rolling beside it.
The awl caught Zhang's attention — half a forearm long, finely crafted yellow brass with intricate engravings and charms on the handle. Unlike all the other rusted weapons, this one gleamed golden without a hint of tarnish.
A sudden image flashed in his mind: one hand of the "Three Mountain Ladies," fingers curled as if gripping something — but the palm was empty.
Thud...
The dull sound came again, pulling Zhang's eyes to the coffin in the middle.
A sickening creak cracked through the silence as the coffin lid slid open slowly.
A bluish-black hand reached out, gripping the edge.
Then, a terrifying figure rose from the coffin.
Bathed in the moonlight streaming through the roof, Zhang saw it clearly: ragged clothes hanging off a bloated, heavily decayed corpse. Dead, bulging eyes protruded grotesquely.
Its hair was like dry straw, tangled and wild.
Heh heh~
It lifted its head toward the moonlight, exhaling a foul breath of corpse air. Two sharp fangs gleamed.
A jiangshi? A freaking jiangshi!!
Zhang's mind flashed with Uncle Ying's PTSD moments.
Of course, it was a jiangshi — otherwise what use was the corpse-sealing talisman he'd found? At this point, he decided he had enough intel and started to back away.
Time to head back to the main hall.
But then, a sudden heavy weight pressed down on his shoulder — that familiar icy coldness creeping in, crawling over his skin, raising goosebumps.
The dreaded "Shoulder Leech" ghost had arrived.
Fifteen minutes were up... Zhang's heart sank.
In this ancient temple filled with danger, he'd been too tense to count time properly, relying on feeling alone. So the timing might be off.
The appearance of the Shoulder Leech spirit was like pouring salt in the wound — and what came next was pouring gasoline on the fire.
Sensing the living scent, the jiangshi in the coffin snapped its head up, eyes bulging, locking onto the window — onto the pair of eyes spying on it.
Panic-stricken, Zhang jumped to his feet, twisted around, and fled.
Just as he turned, the coffin lid slammed shut with a heavy clang.
Not daring to look back, he ran with the ghost on his shoulder weighing him down.
Bang! Another heavy crash — the door was kicked open.
Glancing back, Zhang saw the ragged, hideous figure burst out of the room, leaping like a starving tiger, chasing him down.
A jiangshi? Where the hell was it jiang?
His face went pale. Pivoting on his heel, he used the momentum to thrust the spear into the creature's chest.
The spear's butt hit the ground, creating a makeshift anchor.
But then he saw a grotesque hole in the jiangshi's chest — the heart was missing.
The senior brother from the manual? The jiangshi was him!
The jiangshi surged forward, spear bending like a crescent moon, then snap — it broke.
No time to think. Zhang rolled past the monster's feet, his nostrils filled with the stench of decay. Behind him, he heard the heavy clang of a broadsword striking the ground.
He rolled behind the jiangshi, sprang up, and slashed the short blade at its skull.
Clang!
The blade hit like steel — barely cutting a few dry strands of hair.
Instead, the force jolted his hand painfully, nearly making him drop the weapon.
"Bronze skin, iron bones?"
Zhang was shocked as the jiangshi spun fast, blackened sharp claws digging into his shoulder.
Pain exploded.
The claws pierced his flesh; blood seeped out, staining his jacket.
The stench of blood enraged it; the red glow in its bulging eyes deepened. The jiangshi bared fangs, releasing a vile breath, snapping fiercely at Zhang's neck.
The candlelight's purifying effect still held. He forced himself calm, summoned his glowing blue inventory.
A talisman appeared in his hand.
Thump thump thump...
The once ferocious jiangshi saw the talisman and backed away, recoiling like a venomous snake.
Effective. It feared him. It was intelligent.
Zhang gritted his teeth against the burning pain in his arms, tensed his muscles, fixed his gaze on the monster, and slowly backed away with the ghost still on his shoulder.
He prayed the female ghost from the well wouldn't show up to complicate things.
Throughout, the jiangshi growled from its rotten throat, its crimson eyes locked on him.
Fortunately, whether thanks to the jiangshi or Zhang's backward retreat, the well ghost never appeared.
Zhang slipped out of the east courtyard, reentered the main courtyard, and stumbled toward the main hall.
As he neared the ornate eaves, a phantom scream pierced his ears.
Suddenly, the weight lifted from his shoulder — all negative effects vanished.
...
Huff huff...
Leaning against the lattice door of the main hall, Zhang gasped, legs trembling uncontrollably.
Half from fear, half the aftershock of adrenaline.
Minutes later, adrenaline faded and his arm wounds began to throb. Grimacing, he stripped off his jacket and shirt.
Both arms were shredded, blood darkening into blackish pools.
Clearly, the jiangshi's claws were venomous.
Things just went from bad to worse.
"No disinfectant. No tetanus shots. How fast does corpse poison act? Am I going to die from poisoning?"
His mind raced but strangely, he wasn't scared.
Then he realized — it wasn't him being brave. It was the candle's courage.
Bathed in candlelight, his nerves calmed.
"I'm already poisoned. No point delaying. Time for plan B."
Before entering the spiritual realm, Zhang had two plans.
Plan A: Carefully explore the mountain temple, gather intel, and find a way to break the curse. Steady and safe.
Plan B, inspired by gaming with his auntie: find a pattern, find a method — try to tame the Red Dancing Shoes.
Since the yellow talismans worked for him, why not these shoes?
Guan Ya said breaking rule-based items' rules might let you control them.
"With my skills, there's no way I can slap a talisman on the forehead of a savage intelligent undead by myself."
Trying to stick a talisman on a terrifying, cunning spirit's forehead is like a kid trying to stab a grown man with a knife — no matter how scared the man is, he's not going to get hurt easily.
No more delay. Zhang pushed open the lattice door and stepped into the courtyard before the main hall.
This was where he first encountered the Red Dancing Shoes.
The full moon hung like a disk. The ancient house, wild grass, and swaying tree shadows.
He waited and waited... standing among the weeds, alert for any movement.
But no Red Dancing Shoes appeared.
They seemed to have no fixed territory — at first following him into the temple, then appearing in the courtyard, now vanished again.
Zhang sighed, his body worsening, and turned back toward the main hall.
Suddenly, his body stiffened.
Clack clack...
Between him and the hall, a pair of red shoes glowing faintly dark red, tapped the ground rhythmically — as if an invisible dancer was stepping in place.
The footfalls echoed ominously through the empty night.
"Could they pick a less creepy entrance? Every time it's this scary..." Zhang swallowed hard as his nearly escaped soul was pulled back in.
Though he hoped for their arrival, facing these strange shoes made his sanity take a nosedive.
The shoes kept stepping, heels striking the ground with crisp sounds, echoes layering in eerie solitude.
Suddenly, a blue message appeared by the shoes:
[Would you like to dance with me? If yes, please step in place.]
Clearly, they wanted to dance — refuse, and you die. The vicious shoes...
Zhang had no choice but to gamble, especially after realizing the shoes blocked his path to the hall.
Fail this dance, and he was dead.
Coincidence? Or deliberate? Did these shoes have intelligence too?
Zhang calmed himself and pictured his father's face in his mind.
He raised his foot and began stepping.
Clack clack...
Like flipping a switch, the shoes changed tempo — launching into a rapid tap dance.
The fast, rhythmic tapping rang through the silent night, over the wild grass and cobblestone path.
Under the moon, the Red Dancing Shoes twirled alone — a strange, haunting beauty.
Zhang widened his eyes, absorbing the moonlight and watching the shoes intently.
No need to memorize deliberately; just let the steps imprint on his mind.
His heart pounded like an overworked engine; ears filled with noise; fragmented images flashed through his brain.
His mind absorbed every sound: the wind, bending grass, shaking tree leaves, the shoes' taps and rhythm.
His brain processed and memorized rapidly.
After several minutes, the Red Dancing Shoes stopped, left foot crossed behind, rising on its toes.
A strange pose — but if someone wore them, it would be a proper bow.
Some politeness, at least...
Blood trickled from Zhang's nose. He muttered bitterly but then saw a phrase appear above the shoes:
[Your turn!]
The shoes had danced hundreds of steps in minutes, all different rhythms — beyond normal human memory capacity.
Zhang steadied himself, pulling a small pill from his pocket and letting it dissolve under his tongue.
His mind replayed the previous minutes in slow motion.
Clack clack clack clack...
He began stepping, awkwardly and slowly, cautiously watching the shoes.
If the shoes expected a perfect copy, no way he could do it, even with all the memory.
Seeing no reaction, Zhang relaxed and focused fully on his dance.
T