Chapter 273: Trying to Borrow the Door to See People?

The moment Lu Yuan uttered the words "we'll see about that," the cellar fell into a startling silence.

It wasn't the kind of peace that came from complete resolution. Rather, it felt like that heavy bank of clouds pressing down before a storm—thick and suffocating, making it hard to even breathe loudly.

The oil lamp's flame flickered upward, its wick trembling faintly, stretching the black shadows in the corners long and thin. The light cast a bluish pallor on Iron Abacus's dried-up corpse face.

The black wooden tablet lay broken on the ground, and the fine white patterns on the fracture seemed to come alive, retracting layer by layer inward. In the end, only a single pinpoint-sized black dot remained in the center, dark and heavy, like a dead eyeball embedded deep in the wood.

Lu Yuan stared at that black dot for a moment, then said nothing more. He straightened himself up first.

His back was already soaked through with sweat. The front of his clothes clung to his skin, and when the cold wind hit, it sent a chill straight through to his bones.

But he stood firm, his gaze steady. He still carried that commanding presence that told everyone this was no time to panic.

"Cheng'an, go pry that brick loose by the door."

"Erxiao, smear black ash over the face imprint in the door crack. Don't leave any shiny spots."

"Qinghe, don't let your lamp go out. Just keep it aimed at the ground. Don't look up."

His string of commands fell, and everyone immediately set to work.

Wang Cheng'an crouched down and pried at the loose brick by the door. The brick had long been corroded brittle by salt and cinnabar, crumbling into powder at a touch. Beneath it was a layer of blackened soil mixed with crushed grass roots. When he dug it out, he found a broken-off iron nail buried inside.

Rusted red, with strands of blackened hemp thread still coiled around its body.

"Brother Lu, why was this nail buried here?"

Wang Cheng'an pinched the thing, his hands a bit unsteady.

Lu Yuan glanced at it and said flatly:

"A pressure door nail."

"This room wasn't originally meant for people to live in. It was meant to seal an opening."

"The spot Iron Abacus was guarding—this was what they used to clamp the door crack shut in the early days."

"Now that he's dead, the nail's loose, and that's why whatever's inside and outside the door dares to push so hard."

He furrowed his brow slightly as he said this, as if he was going over the whole affair once more in his mind.

That wet face outside the door. The eye fetus underground. The newly emerged, withered old face imprint on the door panel.

And the clump of yin hair in the clay jar. None of them had popped up in isolation.

They were all strung together on a single thread, and Iron Abacus was just the slipknot at the end.

Now that the slipknot was broken, the filthy things hidden in the thread were all starting to surface.

Xu Erxiao, holding the black ash, half-crouched in front of the door. He dipped his finger in and began to smear it over the face imprint on the door panel, bit by bit.

The face imprint had been faintly visible at first—the brow bone, nose bridge, and lip line could all be made out. But as soon as the black ash covered it, it was as if the skin beneath was being blurred by a cloth, its outline slowly shrinking inward.

Still, every now and then, a soft "click, click" sound came from inside the door panel, as if fine fingernails were scratching their way out from behind the wood.

"Erxiao, don't stop."

Lu Yuan said:

"Spread it thick."

"It wants to borrow the door to see people. First, make sure it can't see."

"Got it," Xu Erxiao hurriedly replied, smearing faster and faster.

Black ash covered his hands entirely, even smearing halfway up his sleeves. He looked like someone who'd crawled out of a stove pit.

Over by Zhou Heng, things were the most strenuous.

Iron Abacus's corpse was heavy. Especially now that it had gone cold, its bones felt like they were filled with lead, making it incredibly hard to drag.

Zhou Heng and Wang Cheng'an each grabbed a shoulder and a leg, hauling the corpse toward the east wall. Iron Abacus's face was deathly white, his mouth still hanging half-open. The spot where Lu Yuan had driven the nail through earlier had already congealed. But his eyes were still rolled upward, exuding a stubborn yin energy of one who refused to die.

Zhou Heng grunted as he dragged, unable to resist muttering a curse:

"This old thing can't even rest easy in death."

Wang Cheng'an was breathing heavily, and his foot slipped, nearly tripping over Iron Abacus's pant leg.

"Less talking, just lift," he whispered.

"Haven't you heard Brother Lu? Keep it away from the eye opening!"

"If that thing latches onto the corpse's qi again, we'll be in real trouble."

The two of them finally managed to move the corpse to the east wall. Lu Yuan gave it another look before nodding.

"Don't let its heels touch the ground."

"This death road of his isn't completely severed yet. That eye down below still recognizes the path."

Hearing this, Zhou Heng immediately grabbed a rag, wrapped it around Iron Abacus's ankles, and lifted his feet a few inches off the ground. The action was crude, but it held steady.

With all this bustling inside the room, that heavy yin energy from before finally seemed to be suppressed by a notch.

But just as that notch was suppressed, a very faint sound suddenly came from outside the door.

"Thump."

It wasn't a knock, nor did it sound like hitting the door.

It was more like someone in the yard, tapping a fingernail lightly against the stone steps outside the door.

Everyone's movements stopped at the same time.

Lu Yuan's gaze darkened. He turned his head toward the door.

The door was made of old wooden planks, covered with oil-paper windows. It was hard to see clearly through it anyway. But now, by the lamplight, as he peered through the door crack, he could vaguely make out a thin black shadow on the other side.

Like someone was standing at the door, but not rushing to enter, not rushing to leave either. Just waiting there quietly.

"It's back again?" Wang Cheng'an whispered.

Lu Yuan raised his hand to signal him to be quiet, then slowly walked to the door and pressed his ear against the panel.

There was utter silence outside at first.

After a moment, a faint, slow breath of air drifted in through the crack. The sound was vague, like someone with water in their mouth, or mud clogging their throat—impossible to make out clearly, yet it sent a chill down the back of everyone's necks.

Lu Yuan straightened up without even lifting his eyelids, and said coldly:

"It didn't leave."

"It just changed its opening and is waiting outside now."

Lin Zhaoxuan frowned: "You're saying that face outside isn't completely dead yet?"

"Can't say if it's dead or not," Lu Yuan replied. "But both it and that eye underground don't dare to force their way in yet."

"If it were to ram the door right now, things inside here would fall into chaos."

"It's waiting for us to let our guard down."

Song Qinghe's face turned pale. She gripped the lamp tighter and whispered:

"So... so we have to tough it out?"

Lu Yuan nodded, his voice low but steady:

"Tough it out."

"Until dawn."

"As long as the rooster crows once, yang qi rises, and those two will have to rest for a while."

He paused, glancing at the oil lamp in the room.

The wick was burning thin, but the flame was still steady. Its light shone on the corner of the wall, casting a thin frost-like layer over Iron Abacus's corpse and the broken wooden tablet.

Lu Yuan paused again, then added:

"But before that, we need to clean up the qi inside the room."

"Zhou Heng, go seal the window cracks."

"Cheng'an, take that basin of cold water off the kang and put it outside. Don't leave it in the room."

"Erxiao, sprinkle another layer of salt on the threshold. Don't be stingy with it."

"Qinghe, move the lamp to the table. Don't leave it on the floor."

The others immediately set to work.

Zhou Heng found some old newspapers, tore them into strips, and used paste to stick them over the window cracks. As soon as the paper was on, the wind outside started pushing hard against it, causing the newspaper to bulge slightly, as if something small was trying to lift it from underneath.

Wang Cheng'an carried the basin of cold water, pushed the door open, and dumped it in the corner of the yard. When he came back, he made sure to thicken the line of salt by the threshold.

Xu Erxiao simply grabbed the whole salt bag, crouched by the door, and scooped handful after handful onto the ground. The threshold was now covered in a thick, white layer, like a dusting of frost.

After all this tidying inside the room, the chilling yin energy indeed weakened by a few more degrees.

But Lu Yuan didn't relax at all.

He stood in the middle of the room, looking down at the floor as if listening for something. After a moment, he slowly crouched down and pressed his ear to the brick.

The ground below was very quiet.

But within that silence lay a faint, incredibly subtle sound.

Like something deep in the mud was shrinking back inch by inch.

Shrinking back extremely slowly, extremely cautiously, like a bug being pressed back, or like a fetal creature that had just barely opened one eye, quietly withdrawing its breath.

"It's still there," Lu Yuan said in a low voice.

"What's still there?" Wang Cheng'an asked hurriedly.

Lu Yuan looked up, his gaze deepening a bit:

"It's not dead."

"It just retreated a bit further."

"That true Eye Bed down below got pushed back by us, but it remembers this room. It remembers Iron Abacus. It remembers this path."

"Tonight, as soon as we relax, it'll surge up again."

Hearing this, everyone's hearts tightened.

Now they truly understood.

It wasn't a simple case of finishing a fight and being done. It wasn't just about suppressing something and being safe. This thing was born from the earth, raised over many years, and had long developed its own temperament.

It was like a starving beast. Once it tasted a bit of blood, once it caught a whiff of life energy, it would inevitably come back to ram the door, ram the ground, ram the hearts of men.

Lu Yuan didn't say anything more. He just reached out and set the short blade on the table. The blade's back clinked lightly against the surface.

"Don't panic, everyone."

"First, survive this night."

"What matters most right now isn't whether it comes again. It's that we don't fall apart ourselves."

After he spoke, the people in the room finally began to breathe a little easier.

But the wind outside was still trying to squeeze through the cracks in the door.

The lamp flame flickered, and the shadow outside the door thickened and thinned by turns.

The old bungalows in the yard were dead silent. Occasionally, a suppressed cough came from one of the rooms, only to fade away again.

The narrow courtyard of the government compound was filled with coal piles, firewood stacks, clotheslines, and old bicycles, all sunk in the gray twilight, like a slice of life that had already lost its warmth.

And Lu Yuan knew that the real trouble might not even lie in this night.

Iron Abacus was dead, but the thread behind him wasn't completely severed.

Whether it was the face outside the door or the eye fetus underground, they were just a few probing claws sent ahead. Once they truly sorted out their qi, the next time they rammed the door, it might not just be a face.

Thinking this, Lu Yuan looked around the room at the people, and finally settled his gaze on the circle of white salt by the door. His voice was low, but exceptionally clear:

"Tonight, no one is to sleep soundly."

"If anyone hears a noise outside the door, don't stick your head out yourself."

"Call for me first."

The moment these words fell, everyone's nerves tightened.

Wang Cheng'an was the first to respond. He didn't say much, but his hands kept busy. He found an old enamel mug, filled it halfway with cold water, set it on the table, and moved a stool behind the door as a temporary barricade.

Though he knew perfectly well that such flimsy measures wouldn't be of much use if something really happened, keeping busy helped steady his nerves a little.

Zhou Heng was more direct. He hoisted Iron Abacus's bound ankles up even higher, tying them to a nail in the wall. He was terrified that if the corpse's heels touched the ground, it would attract some filthy path back.

Xu Erxiao, meanwhile, stayed by the door, half-crouching as he carefully pressed the last of the salt into the door crack.

The salt was piled thickly. The threshold was already white all around, like a layer of frost. But he didn't stop. After finishing one pass, he started another, muttering under his breath:

"Don't come out... don't come out... I don't have much skill either, but don't come looking for me."

Song Qinghe sat at the table, holding the lamp steadily, but her expression remained tense.

She was, after all, a young woman. Though she had seen some battles, having an old yin-route pressed down inside the room, with a face outside the door trying to borrow a name to pry it open, it was impossible for her not to be terrified.

She bit her lip, her gaze involuntarily drifting toward Lu Yuan, as if, as long as he was still standing, the room could still hold its breath.

Lu Yuan, however, didn't give any more orders right away.

He picked up the short blade from the table, wiped the dirt off its back with a cloth, then picked up the broken black wooden tablet and examined it closely under the lamp.

The white patterns at the fracture were no longer spreading outward, but the lines were still there.

Fine and dense, one layer pressing on another, like a human face shrunk countless times, silently clinging to the inside of the wood. At the deepest point, that single black spot remained embedded like a drop of ink, impossible to dissolve.

Lu Yuan stared at it for a long time, then suddenly spoke:

"Lin Zhaoxuan."

"Yeah," Lin Zhaoxuan, who had been standing guard by the door, answered immediately.

"Come take a look. What does this fracture look like?"

Lin Zhaoxuan stepped closer, examined it by the lamplight, frowned at first, then said in a low voice:

"It looks like... a face that's shrunk back in."

"Right," Lu Yuan nodded. "This isn't ordinary wood grain."

"This is a vein nurtured by living qi."

"When this tablet was buried in the ground back then, it wasn't just to suppress the eye. It was also used to record the path."

"But that old thing, Iron Abacus, didn't tell us the whole truth."

The moment these words came out, everyone in the room fell silent for half a breath.

Lu Yuan raised his eyes and said slowly:

"He's dead. The words are cut off. But the trap isn't broken."

"Besides Iron Abacus, the face outside the door, and the eye fetus underground, logically speaking, there should be one more."

"As long as that one hasn't surfaced, we haven't truly closed the loop."

"One more?" Zhou Heng was stunned. "You mean... there's something else?"

"Not something else," Lu Yuan said. "It's another stretch of path."

"When a foul thing borrows a path, it never walks just a single thread."

"It needs one head outside the door, one head underground, and an opening in the middle to transfer qi."

"What Iron Abacus guarded, and what we've suppressed, is only half of that opening."

"The real clue might be somewhere else."

Hearing this, Wang Cheng'an's face changed a little:

"Then what do we do? We've already come this far. How is it still not over?"

Lu Yuan didn't answer immediately. He just examined the broken black wooden tablet from all angles, then finally handed it to Lin Zhaoxuan.

"You hold onto this."

"If there's another noise outside the door later, don't act first. Just watch that black dot on the tablet."

"If the black dot bulges outward, it means the one down below is borrowing qi again."

"If the black dot shrinks inward, it means the one outside the door is trying to grab the path."

"As long as one of them gets impatient, we can counter-press them using the opening they reveal themselves."

Lin Zhaoxuan took it solemnly and nodded.

"Understood."

By now, the sky outside had completely darkened.

"Shh... shh..."

The sound wasn't loud, but it had a distinct rhythm, like someone deliberately lightening their footsteps, afraid of disturbing the people inside.

Lu Yuan's gaze immediately sharpened. He tapped his finger on the windowsill and whispered:

"There's someone outside."

The people in the room all looked up.

"Don't make a sound," Lu Yuan said.

"First, listen."

The footsteps came a little closer, but stopped at the end of the yard.

Then, as if someone had muttered something, it was impossible to make out through the window paper. All they could hear was a vague, nasal sound.

Then, the person seemed to change direction, and the footsteps slowly moved away.

Only then did the people in the room breathe a slight sigh of relief. They continued to keep watch, each in their place.

The night deepened, inch by inch.

The wind outside was light. The old tree branches on the courtyard walls swayed gently in the shadows, occasionally brushing against the newspaper on the window, making an extremely faint rustling sound.

Inside the room, the lamplight was dim. The flame licked steadily at the wick, casting a yellowish pallor on everyone's faces, as if they were covered in a layer of old paper.

Time passed, drop by drop. No one spoke any unnecessary words.

Until, after an unknown length of time, another sound came from outside the door.

This time, it wasn't footsteps, nor a knock.

It was an extremely faint sound—like someone using a fingernail to slowly scratch the back of the door panel.

"Sccchhh—"

The moment the sound came out, everyone in the room felt a chill run down their spines.

Lu Yuan's eyelids lifted. His hand was already on the hilt of the short blade.

"It's here," he said.

His voice wasn't loud, but it was as hard as a nail.

"Don't move."

The flame of the oil lamp in the room flickered slightly, then suddenly shrank.

On the other side of the door, the face imprint that had been blurred by the black ash began to slowly emerge again, just a fraction.

Though the features still couldn't be clearly seen, the texture of the wood grain faintly revealed what looked like an eye, quietly looking into the room through the door.

Lu Yuan stared at that change, and the corner of his mouth suddenly twitched.

"Cheng'an."

"Bring me the salt bowl."

Wang Cheng'an responded with lightning speed, reaching for the small bowl on the table and handing it over.

Lu Yuan took it. With a flick of his wrist, he poured the entire bowl of salt at the base of the door panel.

The moment the salt hit the ground, a short, sharp, muffled screech came from outside the door.

"Eep!"

Like something had been scalded, hastily retreating.

The face imprint on the door panel twisted along with it, the grain seeming to lose all its qi at once, the entire face sinking rapidly inward.

Lu Yuan sneered and said in a low voice:

"Trying to borrow the door to see people?"

"You haven't even crossed the threshold, and already you've got a mouthful of salt burn."

But just as he finished speaking, the white light that had been suppressed underground gave a faint flicker.

Once.

Then again.

Like the eye down below was responding to the commotion outside the door, trying to lift its head once more.

Lu Yuan's expression instantly darkened.

"They really are connected," he said slowly.

"When the one outside retreats, the one below tests."

"When the one outside advances, the one below follows."

Lin Zhaoxuan tightened his grip on the broken black wooden tablet and said in a low voice:

"Then we can't let them reconnect."

Lu Yuan said nothing. He just slowly drew the short blade halfway from its sheath. The blade gleamed with a cold light in the lamplight.

The qi inside the room tightened once more.