In the mountain woods, Chen Chuan gripped a machete in hand, the Xuejun Saber and a bulging pack strapped to his back, as he climbed the mountain alone.
It was nearing July, a season when venomous snakes and crawling insects infested the mountains. However, he had come well prepared, bringing plenty of insect repellent in advance, slathering on medicinal ointment, and donning an anti-scratch smock that gave him virtually head-to-toe protection.
Even if any vermin appeared, he was well shielded.
The mountain path had gone untrodden for many years, its traces long since obliterated.
Fortunately, after walking for over half an hour, he discovered a broken mountain path paved with stone steps. Judging by the style, it was left over from the Old Era, most likely from the same period as the mountain god shrine. This made finding his way much easier. Whenever he encountered briars and thickets along the route, he hacked them away with the machete, carving out a path that would also ease his descent later.
The mountain was not particularly high, only five to six hundred meters, though some sections were steep. That posed no obstacle to him; once he found the trail, he ascended in a single breath, his breathing not even shifting.
Despite it being the height of summer, the woods were gloomy and cool. Now that he had reached the summit, the temperature dropped unnaturally low, making him feel as though he had stepped back into winter.
Yet he felt no chill; if anything, the cold was quite comfortable.
At last, the mountain god shrine came into view. Before the temple stood two stone lantern pedestals shaped like monstrous ghost heads with bulging eyes and sharp cheeks, their edges long worn away by wind and rain, leaving only faint traces of their original ferocity.
In front of the shrine stood an archway gate. The flanking walls had already collapsed, leaving only half of the front wall standing, overrun with weeds and creeping vines amidst the scattered rubble.
Past the gate lay an open clearing and a winding uphill path, from which the eaves of the shrine above were already visible.
Upon reaching this spot, however, the chirping of insects and birds that had filled the woods vanished entirely. Everything turned deathly quiet, broken only by the occasional gust of wind.
Here, he took out his water bottle and took a sip, then made his way up the path. Before long, he stood in front of the shrine. Both leaves of the main door had long since collapsed and rotted away. Stepping over the threshold, he saw that the interior was not particularly large—roughly a hundred square meters. Dust and broken bricks littered the area, shattered beams and pillars lay strewn across the floor, and more than half the roof had caved in, leaving barely enough cover over the altar.
He walked closer, only to find the pedestal where the deity's idol once stood completely bare.
No surprise showed on his face.
According to prior intelligence, this urban legend's roaming grounds had expanded across several surrounding peaks; to make it manifest in the shrine, an offering was required.
Setting down his pack, he first retrieved a bamboo basket containing a stunned white goose prepared beforehand, followed by an incense burner, a thick sitting cushion, and a tin of old tea leaves.
Some of these items had come from Cheng Zitong, while others had been acquired by Ren Shu from various contacts based on the descriptions in the dossier.
To resolve this urban legend, he had gone to considerable trouble; never before had he prepared so thoroughly for an urban legend.
He took some tea leaves from the old tin, tipped them into a clear glass tumbler he had brought along, and poured hot water from his thermos over them. Rather than drinking it, he set it aside.
Next, he lit the incense burner. Once the fragrance drifted throughout the hall, he carried the bamboo basket over to the altar, slaughtered the white goose, and laid it out as a sacrifice.
Afterward, he walked back, resting his saber across his knees as he sat cross-legged on the cushion.
Judging from previous circumstances, this urban legend required sacrifices and repeatedly demanded them, which suggested its activities were tied to offerings. This was remarkably similar to the flying head, meaning it could very well be worn down and dispelled through the same method.
Yet this was merely a hypothesis. The situation surrounding this urban legend was rather complex and difficult to scout out in advance; what it truly was remained uncertain. His plan for this excursion was straightforward: if it was within his power to handle, he would resolve it; if not, he would retreat first and consult with Cheng Zitong rather than courting unnecessary danger.
He waited patiently. As the surroundings remained quiet, he did not waste time, regulating his breathing to quietly guide the growth of his mutated tissue, occasionally adding fresh incense to the burner.
Outside, the sky gradually darkened. Seeing this, he lit several torches, planted them around the interior, and returned to his seat.
Much later, a chewing sound seemed to reach his ears. His heart stirred. Looking up, he saw that the white goose on the altar had already vanished.
And the sound had not come from ahead—it was coming from behind.
His eyes flickered. With a subtle push from his legs, keeping his torso perfectly still, he rose smoothly from the ground and turned around. The moment he turned, the chewing ceased, and something dark and indistinct seemed to have appeared outside the temple entrance.
Picking up a flashlight from beside him and taking hold of the Xuejun Saber, he walked toward the doorway. Reaching the threshold, he shone the beam outside. At some point, a hunched statue had appeared there, facing away from him.
Rather than a deity, it was far more fitting to call it a demonic idol. The statue's fingers hung so low they nearly brushed the ground; its torso was massive while its lower body was spindly, and it was perched there as if squatting.
He circled slowly toward the front. Once he saw it clearly, his expression tightened.
To his astonishment, it was a headless Mountain Ghost statue!
Thoughts raced through his mind. He had not known of this condition beforehand, which meant his previously conceived method for neutralizing the urban legend was completely misaligned and likely had to be scrapped entirely.
Typically, when dealing with an urban legend that had originally been complete but later broken, the correct approach was to find the missing piece.
If that was the case, the Mountain Ghost had never been after offerings at all—it was searching for its lost head! Otherwise, there was no resolving it.
That head was not something that could be found on the spur of the moment. Without hesitation, he decided to retreat, leaving his belongings in the shrine behind as he backed away.
Yet after only a few steps, movement stirred behind him. Looking up, he saw the Mountain Ghost statue come to life, rustling as flecks of lacquer and plaster shed from its form.
A thought crossed his mind, and he halted in his tracks.
Leaving might be simple for him, but if the Mountain Ghost was dissatisfied with this offering, it might go looking for the nearby villagers. While the villagers had experience dealing with it, simply walking away and leaving things unchecked was not how things should be handled.
He stared at the Mountain Ghost statue, tightening his grip on the Xuejun Saber. Since he couldn't easily leave just yet, he wouldn't.
The Mountain Ghost statue had now straightened up, appearing to be at a distance of about two to nearly three meters away. Facing Chen Chuan's direction, it leaped straight toward him.
Shifting his footing, Chen Chuan sidestepped. The statue crashed into the ground with a dull thud, shaking loose a cloud of dust that billowed into the air.
Having missed its target, it paused for a fraction of a second, then lunged again in quick succession.
Chen Chuan evaded continuously, his mind growing calm. The statue's speed was nothing exaggerated; he could easily dance around it.
Yet that was only because it was him standing here. The real threat of an urban legend lay not in blunt physical assaults, but in its formless, invisible erosion.
Even now, its effects were becoming evident. As he dodged, he noticed the influence steadily mounting. At this rate, he had to find a solution.
Dodging once more, he retreated inside the shrine. Stepping into the area enveloped in the incense fragrance, the blurring effect creeping over his body lessened slightly.
Taking up the machete, he waited for a brief moment until the statue leaped down from above. Evading sideways, he swung the blade against the statue's body, smashing a large chunk of it to pieces.
Yet the blurring over his own form suddenly intensified, and within a few breaths, the shattered section on the statue mended itself as though it had never suffered a blow.
Seeing this, he concluded that any contact would aggravate the erosion, even through an intermediary object, and that sheer force could neither destroy nor delay it.
He pondered where on earth this thing's head could be.
He suspected it might have been the work of the Flying Head Cult. At one point in the past, the Flying Head Cult had knocked the heads off deity statues all over the region. If that was what happened, it was already destroyed and impossible to recover, rendering this a dead end.
Yet right at that moment, a detail occurred to him: Legends of the Three Mountains stated that the Mountain Ghost 'devours with its belly, chewing as though savoring sweets.'
Right—devours with its belly!
A possibility struck him, and he snapped his gaze toward the statue's abdomen. Could it be just as he suspected?
Thoughts spinning rapidly, he decided to take a gamble.
Evading another attack, he grabbed the thermos and downed the remaining water in one gulp. Drawing a deep breath, he mobilized the mutated tissue within his body.
At the same time, he seized the cup of tea. By now, there were no tea leaves inside—only writhing black worms. Waiting for the statue to leap up and hit the ground again, he flung the liquid, splashing it entirely over the Mountain Ghost statue.
The moment the worms touched it, they burrowed into the statue's body, corroding small holes across its surface and noticeably slowing the Mountain Ghost down.
Now was the moment. Seizing that split second, Chen Chuan drove his feet into the ground and lunged forward. He plunged one hand straight into the statue's belly, the sensation like piercing through a layer of tough rawhide.
And with that contact, the invisible erosion surged violently.
Yet he remained unswayed, rummaging through its interior until his fingers snapped around something. His eyes sharpened, and with a vicious yank, he pulled out a blue-faced, fanged head—not stone or plaster, but a genuinely desiccated head!
'It really was here!'
The head hadn't been taken away by anyone—it was inside the Mountain Ghost's own belly all along!
Chen Chuan hesitated no longer. Seeing the statue on the verge of regaining mobility, he slammed the head onto the jagged stump of its neck and held it down firmly. The statue shuddered and convulsed violently; only after a long moment did it finally go still.
Chen Chuan watched as wisps of blood seeped from the fractured seam at its neck, trickling slowly downward. Moments later, the sound of cracking reached his ears. Fissures spread across the statue's entire body, pieces breaking away before it disintegrated into a heap of dust and ash, crumbling completely to the ground.
Chapter 161