The Chaofeng beast on the city god temple''s eaves gleamed coldly in the rain. Feng ran his thumb along the fractured peachwood sword as the blind man slammed a divination plate onto the table: "The troupe leader''s bloody nails will taint the phantom sedan''s essence."
"Human puppeteers deserve death like Lord Grey." Feng''s knuckles whitened, lightning scars flickering across his palm.
Blood seeped beneath the blind man''s sunglasses: "That mute girl and the troupe leader... share blood ties."
Charcoal scraped in the corner. The girl crouched drawing interlocking circles, graphite dust staining her fingers like unresolved grudges.
The slaughterhouse reeked of rust at midnight. Feng yanked a cleaver from an icebox, its chipped edge crusted with bone fragments. As dog blood bubbled in a bucket, cinnabar sigils on the black umbrella curled inward, devouring rising malice.
"Sufficient ferocity." The blind man tapped the umbrella ribs with his cane. A butcher''s phantom flickered across the canopy. "Send the girl."
Rain passed through the mute girl''s translucent body as she stood outside the troupe leader''s compound. The umbrella''s spectral butcher smashed through wooden gates. The troupe leader jolted awake, neck veins writhing like earthworms.
Feng crouched by the wall flipping through Annals of Folk Mysteries. Yellowed pages fell open at "Malice-Induced Nightmares." He drew an inverted Bagua in blood: "Amplified slaughterhouse energy makes sleepers believe vengeful spirits hunt them — shocks three primal souls loose."
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When the array activated, the troupe leader clawed his arms till fingernails splintered — three bloodied nails rolled across the threshold as umbrella-born yin mist repelled pursuing martial performers. The girl retrieved them mechanically, only to stare at the nails later with a twisted half-smile.
In Paper-Craftsman Chen''s shack, grave willows soaked in corpse oil. The old man threaded bloody nails into a tinkling curtain. "Sedan completes at 1-3 AM." He licked jujube wood scraps. "But leave me an exit."
Feng examined the lightning-struck wood under oil lamp light. Annals lay open to blood-stained restoration techniques. When bronze nails pierced the hilt, blue flames erupted — cracks spiderwebbed through the blade.
The blind man doused flames with overturned water: "Celestial and earthly fires clash. This blade''s dead."
The girl convulsed, snapping charcoal against concrete. She scratched symbols — altar tables, nine-grid patterns, jujube wood sigils — until the stub lodged in the phrase "Lord Grey fears jujube."
"Kan 5, Li 3, Zhen 7..." The blind man traced grooves. "Flood Kan, ignite Li. Follow the charcoal path to bypass death gates."
Feng noticed the girl''s pupils reflected temple eaves — the bronze shard in the Chaofeng beast''s mouth pulsed with her breathing.
Rain renewed as Paper-Chen pushed the phantom sedan into a memorial pavilion. Blood-nail curtains glowed faintly.
Grave willows for bones, bloody nails for curtains — such a sedan fools netherworld patrols for two hours.
The girl crouched drawing matching symbols on her arm — identical to the troupe leader''s window scratches.
Feng polished his single-use sword, noticing faded text on Annals'' back cover: "1998 thunder talisman thieves shall lose three souls." Rats screeched from the temple direction, harmonizing with bronze vessel vibrations.