Chapter 62.2: Descent into the Ancestral Hall

Li Zhuiyuan opened his eyes and wiped the bloodstains from the corners with his sleeve. He couldn’t keep brute-forcing the calculations like this—he’d overestimated himself and underestimated the ancients. A new approach was needed, or he'd end up blind again.

Since this was an Ancestral Hall and the walls bore ancestral instructions, what if he tried viewing things from the perspective of a Qi Clan descendant? Like switching to shortcut mode: skipping proofs, memorizing theorems. It felt like cheating—but once he got into the mindset, he realized it actually worked.

The three stone walls reshaped themselves in his mind, forming a new message. Clearly, this was a message left by the Qi Clan ancestors for their most promising descendants.

And by “promising,” it was pretty lenient—evidently, the ancestors had already anticipated a decline in the clan’s talent over time.

The new message had three parts, conveyed not through words, but through meanings that could only be grasped, not directly described.

First: any descendant who reached this level could claim a notebook. The message included its location—beneath a specific brick in the Ancestral Hall. After reading, it was to be returned for future descendants.

Second: this location was a wondrous, bounded place—blurring the real and the false. It was chosen precisely for this reason. The message explained how to enter that space and where the exit was.

Third: if the clan ever faced calamity and had to relocate, the feng shui of this place could be altered. Instructions for the change were also included.

Li Zhuiyuan smiled in relief. Thankfully, he’d changed tactics in time to discover that the answers had been right here all along.

And it was brilliant, really—if the descendants ever left, whether by choice or by force, they could curse whoever occupied the place afterward by altering the feng shui. A brutal sort of legacy.

But clearly, no one had done it. Maybe the incident had been sudden, or the descendants too incompetent to qualify as “promising,” never seeing the ancestors’ message.

Li Zhuiyuan called Runsheng over and had him pry up the brick at the marked spot.

Runsheng dug under it with a small spade, loosened the brick, and soon pulled out a box.

With trembling excitement, Li Zhuiyuan opened it—only to frown. It was empty.

Someone had taken it. Most likely, a Qi Clan descendant had retrieved the notebook and never returned it, ignoring the ancestor’s instructions to make others earn the right to read it.

But then again, ancestors had their ideals, and descendants had their realities.

That notebook had probably been lost during the clan’s upheaval—or maybe buried with one of them in a nearby mountain grave.

A real pity...

Li Zhuiyuan’s heart ached. The Qi ancestors had chosen this place to settle precisely for its natural spatial rift. If they were skilled enough to identify and utilize it, the notes they left behind had to be priceless.

The method to enter the rift was simple: in the surrounding area, one just had to deliberately dim their own three inner flames—essentially bring misfortune upon oneself.

The exit was located at the tai chi symbol inside the Ancestral Hall.

That little girl who’d followed them onto the train had inadvertently provided the entry conditions. Li Zhuiyuan himself shouldn’t have been affected—but because of his deep ties to Xue Liangliang and the others, he’d been dragged in... like the steel pipe in Runsheng’s hand.

But those Qi ancestors... they really were maniacs. To study the spatial rift, they willingly damaged their own life force. A real “seek the Way in the morning, die content by evening” kind of madness.

No wonder the later generations declined—those with the most talent died the fastest.

"Runsheng-ge, are the outside tasks done?"

"All done, just like you said. But, Little Yuan, are you really okay?"

Clearly, Runsheng had seen the blood still on his face.

"I’m fine. Not going blind this time." Li Zhuiyuan pointed to a green stone on the east wall, then a black one on the west. He was about to point to one on the north wall...

Suddenly, a wave of danger slammed into him.

His eyelids trembled uncontrollably. His heart pounded like a drum.

He collapsed forward onto his hands and knees.

He sensed that if he pointed to the red stone on the north wall and told Runsheng to pry and rearrange it, disaster would befall him—inevitably.

"Little Yuan?"

Li Zhuiyuan stood up and walked to the hall entrance. He picked up a bronze sword that Runsheng had taken down earlier from the eaves. The blade was polished smooth; under moonlight, it just barely reflected his face.

He began reading his own physiognomy.

In an instant, the world spun. He fell flat on the floor.

He had broken the taboo again—reading his own face. But he had no choice.

And the result was... horrifying.

His current fate was worse—many times worse—than what the girl in red had inflicted on Liangliang and the others.

Back then, they were merely drained of longevity—their flame of life sputtering out. But now, his reading revealed something far worse: a face of “hated by gods and ghosts,” a fate worse than death. Every calamity imaginable—deformity, misfortune, ruin—was lining up for him.

Why?

"Little Yuan, what's wrong?"

"I’m okay, Runsheng-ge." He pushed off Runsheng’s helping hand and looked back at the wall.

He reanalyzed the consequences of changing the layout.

First, all the corpses beneath the pool would turn into Dead Sinkers. They’d swarm into the village and massacre every living soul.

Li Zhuiyuan didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, this village deserved it.

But what then?

He had no way to control the Dead Sinkers. If they didn’t vanish after taking revenge, they’d spread—maybe to other villages, even towns. A catastrophe of his own making.

In fact, the more the feng shui was overturned, the stronger the resentment of those corpses would become. It was likely they’d never stop with just the villagers. The disaster would be inevitable.

And that... would fall on him?

Hadn’t he done the same back in Nantong? Wasn’t Great-Grandpa the one who taught him this approach? Was it just because Great-Grandpa wasn’t around to protect him now?

No. Back then, it had been child’s play. This was something else entirely. Even with Great-Grandpa here, it wouldn’t be enough.

He couldn’t understand—why could bandits and killers go unpunished, while he had to bear the burden for avenging the wronged?

He looked up at the night sky. If he didn’t have to stay quiet, he would’ve screamed at it: What kind of justice is this?!

"Little Yuan, you..."

Runsheng was visibly unsettled. Little Yuan bleeding, collapsing, getting angry—it was too much.

"Runsheng-ge, just let me be."

"Okay..."

Runsheng squatted in the far corner, quietly lit some incense, and pulled more offerings from his pocket to eat. When there was nothing else to do, eating was always a good choice.

Li Zhuiyuan sat cross-legged, fingers digging into the cracks between the bricks beneath him.

He forced himself to calm down.

But the moment calm settled over him, it worked too well. Pain twisted his face. He lowered his head, murmuring “A-Li” over and over to keep the oncoming attack at bay.

"Huff... huff..."

He looked up again and took a deep breath.

Sacrificing himself to avenge the people in the pond? No way.

Xue Liangliang would report everything. The police would come. Justice would be served.

Still, it left him with a bitter taste. Regret. Resentment. Frustration. They added up—small, but many—until his feelings turned complicated.

Heh. So he still had feelings?

For a moment, Li Zhuiyuan wasn’t sure whether he should be happy about that.

Even if those feelings faded quickly after appearing, at least they sparked once.

Then he thought of the dwarf father and son. Evil as they were, their methods were airtight—almost as if they were avoiding something on purpose.

He thought of Liu Yumei and Uncle Qin, how they lived in Great-Grandpa’s house and treated him like any ordinary boy, doing their best not to cross any lines.

Finally, he thought of someone else.

He had always wondered why that person never wrote clearly that helping Dead Sinkers fulfill their grudges could also bring their dissolution.

He always thought that whenever he saw a feng shui layout, his first instinct was to twist it into something extreme. Sure, that was partly his own sadistic curiosity—but the books guided that thinking. If it wasn’t taught, he wouldn’t know how.

"Heh..."

He laughed.

He’d figured it out. The answer was Wei Zhengdao—False Righteousness.

What he wanted was a result. If the straight path came at too steep a cost, then he’d just take a detour—lie a little, trick this so-called righteousness. As long as things looked proper on the surface, all would be well.

After all, it was just a hypocrite.

"Runsheng-ge, this green one, this black one, and this red one—pry them all up in the order I said. But for the red one, don’t put it into the green slot just yet."

"Got it."

Runsheng picked up the tools and quickly finished the first two steps. Then he handed the red stone to the boy.

"Little Yuan, what now?"

"Now, let’s make some noise.

Remember the house closest to the Ancestral Hall? The one where we ate her corn? Binbin-ge found the cured meat there too."

"Yeah, I remember."

"Runsheng-ge, go there and bring that woman here. Be fast. There’s a man in the house too—if he resists, don’t be polite."

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