The city god temple''s silhouette shimmered on the horizon as Feng ducked into a back-alley guesthouse. The blind man collapsed onto a peeling iron bed, inhaling sharply from a snuff bottle until grayish pallor flushed crimson. The mute girl crouched in the corner, her shadow stretched long in the sunset — headless.


    "Half-human, half-ghost." Feng lifted her chin with his peachwood sword. "Leaning spectral."


    The blind man gripped her wrist, fingernails leaving blue crescents on bloodless skin: "No pulse. No breath." He tore her collar open, revealing three corpse-green bronze nails embedded in her neck. "Sealed orifices anchor her between realms. Remove these, her soul disperses."


    Midnight found them at a funeral supplies shop. Feng grabbed the last black umbrella on the shelf — thirteen grave willow ribs bound with burial soil twine.


    "Fragile in storms..." the portly shopkeeper yawned, cut off as Feng smeared cinnabar mud mixed with incense ash across the canopy.


    Back at the guesthouse, when the blind man began blood-sigiling the umbrella ribs, the girl convulsed violently. Feng unfurled the umbrella over her crown. Yin energy vortexed beneath the canopy as black smoke streamed from her facial orifices — a rat-tailed infant spirit clutching bronze vessel shards cackled midair.


    "Purge!" Feng''s sword pierced the spirit. Gray rodent fur sprouted from his palm, crawling up his forearm like parasitic vines. The girl collapsed, her form translucent enough to see mold stains through her body.


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    The blind man croaked a Nuo opera requiem, vibrations shaking dust from window frames. The girl''s eyes rolled white. Charcoal scraped wall plaster: "VESSEL IN SEDAN... LORD GREY''S VAULT..." Bloody claw marks punctuated the message.


    Paper-Craftsman Chen''s shack stood among tombstones. A hunched old man dripping corpse-oil twine from his fingers looked up: "Phantom sedan requires midnight-cut grave willows with dew." Blackened teeth glinted. "For curtains... three bloody nails from troupe leader."


    En route, the blind man calculated: "To break death pacts, we need yang essence forged by lightning."


    "You think thunder-struck wood is some back-alley radish?" Feng thrust his right hand forward, filthy rodent fur quivering like poisoned wheat sprouts.


    "West mountain. Tonight."


    At 3 AM, coin fragments seared through fabric. Feng kicked open windows to a downpour. They arrived drenched as lightning struck a withered tree — within its charred heart lay half a peachwood sword engraved "Heavenly Master Manor, Wu-Yin Year (1998)".


    "Celestial thunderwood!" The blind man hooked the branch with his cane. As Feng struck the trunk, rodent fur disintegrated into ash, leaving lightning-shaped scars. The girl scrambled forward, carving "10cm" into bark with charcoal.


    Wood splintered with thunderclap resonance. Feng caught the falling jujube core — yang lightning essence crystallized within, anathema to rodent sorcery.


    Carving leftover wood into an Eight Trigrams amulet, the girl''s form solidified upon wearing it, though gray film clouded her eyes.


    "Enough scraps for three phantom sedans." Paper-Craftsman Chen licked wood shavings, eyeing the drenched group. "Ten percent commission."


    Rain hammered the guesthouse''s tin roof. Feng toweled the girl''s dripping hair as the blind man traced cracks on the broken sword: "Wu-Yin Year Heavenly Master theft..."


    The girl pointed southwest. Coin fragments on the table aligned toward the temple eaves'' Chaofeng beast — its stone eyes embedded with bronze shards.