At the breakfast stalls by the city gate, steam rolled into the air. The smell of soy milk and toasted flatbread drifted through the morning fog. At first glance, it looked no different from any other town.

  I held a bowl of spicy Hulatang, took a loud slurp, and muttered under my breath, “Honestly, this seems pretty normal to me. It’s even piping hot.”

  Lian, however, sat on the long bench by the stall, expressionless, quietly observing the surroundings.

  “Too quiet.”

  I blinked. “Huh?”

  “Listen,” Lian said, his gaze resting on the vendor, voice flat. “If this were a normal morning of business, someone would have said something by now.”

  Only then did it finally dawn on me. I looked around.

  The vendor kept his head down, flipping flatbread and ladling soup with practiced efficiency—but from beginning to end he hadn’t uttered a single word. Not even a greeting. The customers at the tables simply ate in silence, none of them speaking to one another.

  “I felt something strange about the city’s atmosphere last night,” Lian said quietly, withdrawing his gaze. “Now it seems clear. The people here are likely… being suppressed by something. That’s why they don’t dare speak.”

  Hua stuffed the last piece of steamed bun into his mouth, brushed off his hands, and stood up. “If that’s the case, then we’ll have to poke around and find out exactly what they’re afraid of.”

  I opened my mouth to say something, but the moment I remembered what Juan had told us, the words stuck in my throat.

  …Yeah. What exactly were they afraid of?

  Lian thought for a moment. “If we want answers, there’s a senior living somewhere in this city. He might know something.”

  I slapped my thigh. “Perfect. Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

  And just like that, Hua and I followed Lian down an unnamed alley heading toward the western part of the city.

  The wind in the alley was strong, snapping our clothes and throwing dust straight into our faces.

  We hadn’t gone far when a sudden commotion erupted ahead.

  A group of people spilled out of the alley mouth in twos and threes. Men and women, young and old—and the things they were holding were downright bizarre.

  Hoes. Kitchen knives. Wooden pestles. Rolling pins.

  One elderly woman even carried a laundry bat, glaring at us with murderous intent. A little girl gripped a pair of paper-cutting scissors, the blades glinting as she waved them in our direction.

  “Hey—hold on a second!” I raised my hands defensively. “What’s all this about? We’re just passing through. We don’t owe anyone money, and we haven’t stolen anybody’s cabbages!”

  No response.

  So I tried again. “Are you trying to chase us out? Rob us? Or—”

  Still nothing.

  “Come on, at least say something!” I protested. “Is it forbidden for outsiders to walk around the city? Did we step somewhere we shouldn’t have? Or—”

  Nothing.

  Just the sound of footsteps and rough breathing.

  “Wait… are these zombies or something?” I muttered, backing up a couple of steps. “Or some kind of ghost illusion?”

  Hua pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you ever stop talking? Run!”

  Before the words had even finished leaving his mouth, the entire crowd raised their weapons and charged.

  We turned and bolted.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  The alley was cramped. Laundry hung from the walls on both sides, along with strips of salted fish. The wind whipped them around so they smacked against our faces, almost like hands grabbing at us.

  Behind us the crowd closed in. Hoes struck the ground, wooden clubs slammed into walls—clank, thump, bang—like someone beating funeral drums.

  As I ran, I shouted, “Look, if you’re unhappy, we can fight back, you know! Since when does the demonic sect follow etiquette like this? Are we supposed to politely let people chase us across ten streets first?”

  Lian shot me a cold glance over his shoulder.

  “You think we’re like those hypocrites who preach virtue and morality? Trap someone first and then lecture them about righteousness?” His voice was icy. “We don’t stoop to that.”

  With that he kicked over a bucket by the roadside. Water splashed everywhere, sending our pursuers slipping and stumbling. The whole scene instantly dissolved into chaos.

  I couldn’t help muttering internally:

  Right. Your demonic sect is very principled indeed. No rules, no reasoning—just strike first.

  But the strangest part was that those people still didn’t make a sound. Even when they fell, none of them cried out. They simply climbed back up and kept chasing, like puppets pulled by invisible strings.

  The more I ran, the more unsettled I felt. My foot nearly tripped on a stone, but Hua grabbed me by the collar and hauled me up like a chicken, tossing me over a wall.

  “What are you standing there for? Move!” he barked.

  We stumbled through seven or eight twisting alleys. Lian moved swiftly, firing sleeve arrows that slammed into the walls behind us. The sharp thuds startled the ones in front long enough for us to finally lose them.

  At last we stopped in front of a quiet little courtyard. No voices anywhere.

  The gate was tightly shut. No plaque, no door gods painted on it. Only two black stone beasts crouched at the entrance.

  I rubbed my aching knees, panting. “So… we’re here, right?”

  The stone beasts looked strange. Not lions—more like crouching leopards. Their black stone eyes gleamed eerily in the moonlight.

  I muttered to the system, “Well damn, this senior’s got style. Everyone else puts stone lions at their gate. He went with stone leopards.”

  The system replied dryly, “Or perhaps he’s worried about chicken thieves. Lions might not be intimidating enough.”

  A chill ran down my spine. Clearly this place hid some serious characters.

  We exchanged glances. Lian stepped forward and knocked three times.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  The sound echoed loudly through the unnaturally silent alley.

  We waited, holding our breath. No movement came from inside. Not even the bark of a dog.

  I whispered, “Nobody home? Maybe knock harder?”

  Hua frowned. “Don’t.”

  Lian knocked again, softer this time, almost like a coded signal meant for someone specific.

  Still nothing.

  I couldn’t help muttering, “Don’t tell me we came all this way for nothing. Maybe the senior’s not home… or still asleep?”

  Just then—

  Creeeeak.

  From deep inside the courtyard came the sound of a rusty door opening. Then a faint humming noise followed, like wind blowing across the mouth of a bottle… or someone chanting a slow, distant incantation.

  Suddenly the wind picked up. A cold white light leaked through the crack in the gate. It looked like moonlight—but colder.

  I glanced up at the sky.

  It was definitely daytime.

  I instinctively stepped back half a pace. “…Please don’t tell me we knocked on the wrong door and walked straight into a haunted house.”

  Lian’s expression didn’t change.

  “They’re coming.”

  “Who’s com—”

  Before I could finish, the gate creaked open slightly. A withered hand slowly extended from the gap and made a gentle beckoning motion.

  The air suddenly filled with the scent of aged medicinal herbs—like old incense mixed with rust.

  My chest tightened.

  Holding our breath, we stepped through the gate. Behind us, it shut with a soft click.

  The courtyard was eerily silent. The shriveled hand still hovered by the entrance, pointing toward the center of the yard.

  I gathered my courage and stepped closer—only to realize it wasn’t a real hand at all.

  It was carved from some unknown wood.

  The grain was so fine it looked almost alive. Even the fingernails had delicate red lines carved into them like veins.

  Following the wooden arm, I saw it was attached to a thin cord no thicker than a finger. The cord stretched from the gate to a wooden frame in the center of the courtyard, then branched into countless threads that spread outward like a spiderweb into the surrounding buildings.

  I looked up.

  The pale light brightened slightly, revealing the source—some strange contraption hanging from the roof ridge. It looked half like a lantern, half like a waterwheel. Gears and pulleys clicked and turned, tugging the threads so they trembled gently.

  “This… this is a mechanism?” I swallowed. “String puppets?”

  From deeper in the courtyard came a splash.

  Another rope had triggered the well’s pulley. The bucket lowered itself with a soft rumble, filled with water, and rose again. The water flowed through bamboo pipes into a flower bed, where stone beast heads spat out streams that watered each plant one by one.

  “Holy…” I stared in disbelief. “This place waters the flowers automatically? Wait—does that mean the gate earlier closed by itself too?”

  It wasn’t just the garden.

  From the woodshed came a steady clang-clang-clang, like a hammer striking metal on its own. Sparks occasionally flew into the courtyard, casting flashes of gold and red through the air.

  Hua narrowed his eyes, studying the layout of the mechanisms. Lian merely said coldly,

  “This person has a strange temperament. Even opening the door for guests is done through puppet tricks. Either he’s extremely cautious… or he simply doesn’t want to see people.”

  I leaned closer to whisper to the system, “This guy’s more particular than any master I’ve ever heard of. At this rate, the next step is probably a talking wooden servant coming out to pour us tea.”

  The system replied seriously, “Please remain alert. It might also be an automatic attack system.”

  I shuddered and instinctively edged a little closer behind Lian.