Ancient architecture typically featured high beams to convey grandeur—and the Ancient Shrine was no exception.
Over ten meters above ground, crisscrossing beams blocked all window light. Above stretched only pitch blackness. Nothing visible.
Was it an illusion? The shrine’s interior had suddenly dimmed. Humidity rose. A chill seeped into the air.
A cold front moving in?
Zhong Cheng glanced outside. Clear skies. Bright daylight. Why did *only* the Ancient Shrine feel so unnaturally cold and gloomy? Strange.
Rustling.
Faint, frequent sounds returned—not just from the beams above, but from behind too.
"Oh my gosh! What’s happening? It turned icy, and these noises… Is the Ghost Emperor displeased? Zhong Cheng, just call off the annulment. Put the portrait back," Tie Niu stammered.
"It’s just a little cold with some noise. Probably a rat nest. What’s there to fear?" Zhong Cheng snapped irritably.
*A clear conscience fears no midnight knock.*
Especially now—broad daylight, righteous skies. What evil spirit would dare show itself?
Superstition really messes with people’s heads.
Ignoring his jittery childhood friend, Zhong Cheng strode toward the shrine’s entrance.
Rustling.
As he moved, the sounds multiplied. Nearly every shadowed corner whispered. Deeply eerie.
The air grew colder.
Tie Niu shivered violently, muttering prayers for protection.
Zhong Cheng frowned. *So many rats. Must be several nests.*
No wonder the shrine felt off. Those rats were definitely causing trouble.
Gotta call some Guangdong folks to deal with them.
Clutching the portrait, Zhong Cheng pressed onward.
A dark shadow shot down—grazing his nose—then smashed onto the floor.
His heart skipped half a beat.
Crack!
He looked down. A shattered roof tile.
"Damn. That was close. Almost took a direct hit."
This shrine was treacherous. "Divine retribution" could rain down anytime.
"Zhong Cheng, look! The Ghost Emperor’s angry! Put the portrait back—call off the annulment!" Tie Niu urged, eyes locked on the broken tile, voice trembling.
"Just coincidence. Don’t overreact. Make another tile fall if you can," Zhong Cheng shot back, stubborn.
He marched forward.
Crack!
Another tile plummeted—again grazing his nose.
No way. That actually worked?
Zhong Cheng instantly hoisted the portrait like a shield over his head and bolted.
Only steps to the exit, yet every second felt like charging through gunfire. No letting his guard down.
With the final step, he crossed the threshold—out into daylight.
Relief washed over him. The earlier unease vanished. Confidence returned.
He turned back. The gloom was gone. The rustling silenced. Everything looked normal.
Only the shrine’s crumbling frame remained.
So… just imagination?
"Wait for me—"
Tie Niu scrambled out, tripped on the threshold, and face-planted. Phone and selfie stick clattered to the ground.
"You okay?" Zhong Cheng helped him up.
Thick-skinned as ever, Tie Niu was fine—just a scraped knee.
"I’m fine! Let’s go! The Ghost Emperor’s furious!"
He snatched his gear and retreated twenty meters before stopping, breathless.
What a coward.
"Villagers, did you see that?! Zhong Cheng and I nearly got trapped! Send gifts to calm our nerves! Ciao~!" Tie Niu flashed a "666" hand sign, still live-streaming.
Zhong Cheng’s face went utterly blank.
No wonder he went viral. *That* dedicated.
As they walked off, Tie Niu kept nagging—*"Put it back! The Ghost Emperor’s angry!"*—drone-like, like parents pressuring marriage.
So annoying.
*Angry? Pfft. Rats knocked loose a tile. Overreact much?*
Zhong Cheng kneed the portrait frame—*snap*—then tore the paper into shreds and tossed it.
Annulment: successful.
Tie Niu fell silent.
Woof! Woof! Woof!
Back in the village, a stray dog lunged, barking fiercely. Others joined—circling, snarling, teeth bared.
They didn’t attack, but the standoff was unnerving.
Only village boys like them would stay calm.
"Why’s it barking at *me*?" Tie Niu muttered, confused.
Zhong Cheng hadn’t been here in two years—but Tie Niu was local. These dogs knew him.
Then Tie Niu realized: they were barking *only* at Zhong Cheng.
Zhong Cheng frowned. Earlier dogs had ignored him. Why now? Like he was a thief.
Tie Niu shooed them—useless. They circled stubbornly.
Fed up, Zhong Cheng grabbed a stick. He just meant to scare them—
—but the moment he raised it, twenty dogs yelped, tucked tails, and fled.
Zhong Cheng froze, stick still raised. *Did I just unlock Conqueror’s Haki?*
"Did I imagine that?" Tie Niu rubbed his eyes. Zhong Cheng looked utterly ordinary.
Yet… he’d *seen* it. A black phantom flickering around him.
Weird.
*Trick of the light? Does Zhong Cheng have a Stand?*
Tie Niu shook it off.
They walked the village lanes, swapping childhood stories. The stream ran nonstop; Tie Niu even plugged in a power bank.
As sunset bled gold, they parted ways. Tie Niu finally killed the stream.
Then he stopped. Turned.
Zhong Cheng’s shadow stretched long—*writhing*, alive. Something stirred within.
Deeply unsettling.
The shadow-thing sensed his gaze. A grotesque face surfaced—grinning coldly at Tie Niu.
"Mommy—!"
Goosebumps erupted. Tie Niu spun and ran—tripped on a stone, tumbled hard.
Knee bleeding, he scrambled up, pain forgotten, and fled blindly into the dusk.
