The wooden puppet hand suddenly moved with a sharp click.

  Its fingertips twitched, almost like a beckoning gesture, then slowly pointed deeper into the corridor. The pale light hanging over the courtyard flickered and slid along the thin threads, gliding ahead like a lantern guiding the way.

  Lian’s gaze sharpened slightly. “Let’s go. The senior is calling us.”

  I swallowed. “Well… that’s certainly a unique way to welcome guests.”

  The three of us cautiously followed the drifting white light. The courtyard was eerily silent; the only sound was our footsteps tapping against the bluestone tiles, echoing a little too loudly—like knocking on the inside of my chest.

  Halfway down the corridor, a window beside us suddenly creaked open with a squeak.

  A wooden head slowly poked out.

  The craftsmanship was disturbingly lifelike. The face had detailed brows and eyes, even a faintly painted mustache. But the eyes themselves were set with black obsidian, staring coldly at the three of us.

  I nearly jumped out of my skin and almost screamed my lungs out. “AH—what the hell is that?!”

  The puppet head remained there, motionless, hanging out of the window. Those obsidian eyes stared straight at us. The light caught them for a moment, flashing like a real pupil tightening.

  “It’s… it’s looking at us, isn’t it?” I whispered. “Or… more like staring us down?”

  No one answered.

  Which made me even more nervous.

  “Wait… is it counting how many of us there are?” I muttered. “Should we, uh… introduce ourselves or something?”

  Just as I was debating whether I should actually speak, the puppet head suddenly made a clack.

  Its head tilted slightly.

  It looked halfway between a nod… and a mechanism getting stuck.

  Then another creak echoed from deeper in the courtyard. A door slowly opened a narrow crack, pale lamplight spilling out. The light felt oddly cold, like it was both beckoning and warning us at the same time.

  “That’s it.” Lian said sharply.

  Without the slightest hesitation, he walked straight toward the door.

  I hurried after him and whispered, “We’re seriously going in? This place uses wooden dolls just to greet guests. I swear the next step is a knife popping out of the wall—”

  Lian didn’t even turn his head. “If the senior has opened the door, we cannot refuse.”

  Hua and I exchanged a look.

  Then we reluctantly followed.

  Inside, the room was dim. A single oil lamp sat on a long table, its weak flame casting wavering shadows over the furniture.

  We had barely taken our positions when footsteps sounded from the inner room—slow, steady, approaching.

  In my mind, I had already pictured the scene a hundred times:

  an old master with white hair and beard, leaning on a cane, radiating sage-like dignity.

  But the person who walked out made all three of us freeze.

  He was young.

  Extremely young.

  At most a little over twenty.

  His face was refined and handsome, his features calm and open. He wore a dark teal robe, but the sleeves were dusted with wood shavings and rust stains—clearly the one who had been adjusting those mechanisms earlier.

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  His eyes were quiet and cold, like a deep pond without a ripple.

  I leaned toward Lian and whispered, “That… that’s your senior? Honestly you look older than him—uh, I mean more senior—”

  Lian’s face darkened instantly.

  “I’m meeting him for the first time as well,” he said coldly.

  Despite that, he stepped forward and cupped his hands respectfully.

  “Senior An.”

  The young man simply nodded.

  His gaze rested on us for a moment, as though studying us, before he spoke.

  “Since you’re here, sit.”

  His voice was calm and clear, yet carried a quiet authority that made it difficult to refuse.

  I plopped down immediately, but couldn’t help thinking:

  Senior? This guy’s barely older than me! He’s about a hundred thousand miles away from the white-bearded immortal I was expecting.

  The room fell silent.

  We had just sat down when a hidden compartment beside us clicked open with a clack, and a wooden figure slowly walked out.

  This puppet was far more sophisticated than the ones in the courtyard. It was about the height of a child. Tiny copper fittings were embedded throughout its body, and small gears rotated quietly at the joints.

  It carried a tea tray.

  Its movements were astonishingly natural.

  First it set a cup before Lian, then Hua, then me.

  My eyes widened.

  The puppet was even painted with fine decorative patterns. Its facial features were delicately drawn, and a tiny cloth towel hung from its waist like a servant’s sash.

  After finishing, it bowed and retreated to the side.

  Only then did I cautiously pick up my cup and take a sip.

  The tea tasted mild and sweet, but the fragrance was faint—more like spring water boiled with herbs than actual tea leaves.

  I couldn’t help speaking up. “This tea—”

  Before I could finish, Senior An’s voice cut through the room.

  “You encountered those people on your way here.”

  His tone was neutral, as though stating a fact—or testing us.

  We exchanged glances.

  Before we could respond, he continued.

  “When they chased you, did they speak? Did they show any expressions? What do you think of it?”

  A shiver ran down my spine.

  I set down the teacup and muttered, “What do I think? I think I saw a bunch of living people waving hoes and kitchen knives around—but not one of them said a single word. Honestly, they were creepier than ghosts.”

  Senior An looked at me with a faint half-smile, his gaze deep—as if examining me from head to toe.

  Lian slowly set down his cup.

  “Before we arrived,” he said calmly, “we heard that the change happened overnight. Right after the Moon Festival gathering.”

  He paused, frowning slightly.

  “Could it be related to the festival?”

  Senior An smiled faintly.

  But the look in his eyes was the same one a mentor might give a student whose answer barely passed.

  “You grasped the key point,” he said. “But it’s not quite precise enough.”

  I immediately perked up. “You mean something like this happens every year during the Moon Festival?”

  Senior An shook his head.

  “At the festival, everyone drinks the same wine.”

  I jumped in right away. “So the wine’s the problem?”

  My voice started confidently—but halfway through the sentence, a thought struck me and my tone shrank.

  “Wait… does everyone have to attend the festival? Then you…”

  My voice dropped almost to a whisper.

  “Senior An… you didn’t go?”

  Senior An looked at me, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

  “I’m just a craftsman,” he said. “If I can avoid trouble, I avoid it. I know nothing.”

  I froze.

  Somehow the way he said I know nothing was far creepier than any answer he could have given.

  Lian fell silent for a while, clearly thinking. After a moment he spoke again.

  “We will continue investigating this matter.”

  Then he took the silver box we had brought from the tomb and placed it gently on the table.

  “But before that… could you help us take a look at this?”

  The oil lamp illuminated the box. Its surface was dull silver, etched with strange patterns that looked almost like some sort of seal or restriction.

  Senior An reached out and touched the surface.

  His finger tapped lightly against it with a soft metallic note.

  A faint flicker crossed his eyes.

  Then he withdrew his hand and pushed the box back toward the center of the table.

  “Leave it here for now.”

  He said it lightly, almost casually—yet it sounded like he had already made a decision.

  My heart tightened. Instinctively I reached to grab the box back, but Lian pressed down on my hand.

  “Leave it,” he said quietly. “If the senior truly has a method, we can retrieve it later.”

  I reluctantly withdrew my hand, glancing at the box again. It lay quietly on the table—but somehow it felt like it might suddenly jump up and start glowing again at any moment.

  Senior An finished the last sip of tea and set the cup down.

  His voice was as light as mountain wind.

  “You’ve had your tea. Time to leave.”

  I blinked. “That’s… that’s it?”

  He looked at me again, his smile neither warm nor cold.

  “The people chasing you on the road. What did you think of them?”

  I opened my mouth to say terrifying, but Hua spoke first.

  “Annoying.”

  Senior An nodded slowly, as if hearing some profound Zen truth.

  “Annoying is correct,” he said. “Cause and effect bring their own consequences. Only when blades draw blood does one learn the truth of the heart. If you wish to walk forward, then finish the road yourselves.”

  “I allowed you a cup of tea. That is already my courtesy.”

  With that, he turned and walked back into the inner room, leaving the three of us staring at each other.

  The wooden servant promptly opened the door with a clack.

  Like it was politely kicking us out.