Seeing Iron Ox still hesitating, Zhong Cheng quickly scribbled: "We're only splitting today's gifts. What are you worried about? We're not asking for your past earnings—just nod already."
Iron Ox nodded.
The rift in their friendship had mended.
"I want to check the Ancient Shrine again. Coming with me?" Zhong Cheng asked.
"You still dare go? If the Ghost Emperor doesn't let you leave this time, you might be trapped forever. Aren't you scared?" Iron Ox swallowed hard, voice trembling.
Zhong Cheng frowned. Wasn't *Iron Ox* the one actually scared?
"What do I have to fear? I've done nothing wrong," Iron Ox retorted stubbornly.
"Good. Since you're not afraid, let's go. I need to confirm something," Zhong Cheng said.
"Confirm what?"
"Nothing major. Just a small thing." Zhong Cheng waved dismissively.
Sensibly, Iron Ox didn't press further and turned to the live stream: "We're heading back to the Ancient Shrine today!"
Viewers erupted in excitement. Newcomers read exaggerated comments about yesterday's eerie events—whispers of something sinister hidden inside. Curiosity flared.
Gifts flooded the screen, a digital send-off for the brave.
The two stepped out, walking toward the Ancient Shrine.
...
Moments later, they stood before the Ancient Shrine.
Zhong Cheng froze just past the fence, staring inside in utter disbelief.
"What's wrong?" Iron Ox asked, noticing his odd stillness.
Zhong Cheng didn't answer. His gaze remained locked on the interior, as if he'd glimpsed the ultimate secret behind a bronze gate.
Iron Ox thought he was faking suspense for the stream—until he followed Zhong Cheng's line of sight.
And froze too.
Dusk settled. Golden light poured through the shrine's entrance, banishing shadows, revealing everything clearly.
Two portraits rested on the stone altar: left, a man; right, a woman—the groom and bride.
But... how?
Zhong Cheng had *taken* the groom's portrait yesterday. Kicked it. Torn it. Thrown the pieces away.
Why was it here—intact?
"Holy crap! How's the portrait back... and not even damaged?!" Iron Ox shuddered, slipping into dialect.
"Could a villager have repainted it?" Zhong Cheng asked, throat tight.
"Dunno..."
Damn.
Zhong Cheng took a slow breath. *It's just a portrait.* Why were they so spooked?
Maybe Grandpa repainted it... but was that *really* it?
The shrine felt bright, yet unnervingly cold.
"Let's check closer. If it's new, I'll spot it," Zhong Cheng said.
"Really go in?" Iron Ox's voice wavered.
"Stay here if you're scared."
"Go? Obviously! Who's scared of whom?" Iron Ox puffed his chest—pure bravado.
He turned to his phone: "Villagers! The destroyed portrait's back! Re-entering the Ancient Shrine is dangerous. Send gifts for protection—ciao~!"
More gifts poured in.
Normally, Zhong Cheng would've rolled his eyes at the stunt. Now, his focus was locked on the portrait.
They climbed the fence. Inside, Zhong Cheng's steps slowed, unease prickling his skin.
He recalled last night: led by a specter into a grand, palace-like shrine.
His eyes darted to the far wall—searching for a hidden passage.
Only rough, weathered stone met his gaze. Fragile. Ancient.
He tapped the wall—here, there—fiddled, dislodging loose grit. Solid. No secret path.
*Just a dream.* Relief washed over him.
Turning back, he approached the portraits calmly.
His casual glance sharpened. Brow furrowed. He leaned closer—face now inches from the canvas.
"Identical..."
Horror gripped him. Every brushstroke, expression, nuance—even tiny flaws—matched *exactly* the one he'd shredded yesterday.
No way.
Unless it was a photocopy... but this *was* the original.
He'd torn it himself. How could it be whole again?
As an art student, he knew: no master could replicate a traditional Chinese brush painting *this* precisely from memory. Impossible.
He *wanted* to believe it was a different piece. But there was no difference.
*Identical.*
A photocopy? But Bao Hua Village had no copier.
"New painting?" Iron Ox called, confused by Zhong Cheng's frozen stance.
"Right—if it's new, paint smell would linger. Thanks, Iron Ox."
Zhong Cheng sniffed hard near the canvas. Faint pigment scent... aged. *Old.*
His heart sank.
"...This might be yesterday's portrait," he whispered, swallowing hard.
"What?! You *tore* it! How?!" Iron Ox jumped back.
"Don't know. Let's check where I threw the pieces."
They left, searched the area thoroughly—hundreds of meters. Nothing.
They locked eyes. Pure dread. Disbelief.
*Is this real?*
"I don't care if it's haunted. I'll tear it again and see how it 'recovers'!" Zhong Cheng declared fiercely.
Unease coiled inside him, but the words were out. No backing down now.
Back at the shrine, Zhong Cheng lifted the portrait—ready to destroy it once more—when Iron Ox's voice stopped him.
