Chapter Sixty-One: The Witch Granny

At this moment, on the floor of the Sage’s Temple, five corpses lay arranged in neat rows. All were adult men, around thirty years old. Without exception, their bodies had been stripped bare, their abdomens slit open, and every last organ removed. Bloodstains covered the ground, darkening at the edges, a sign that several hours had passed since their deaths. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood.

Feng Yuan had not expected to witness such a scene upon entering; he felt as if he had stepped into a slaughterhouse and nearly fainted from fright.

He recognized all five men on the floor—they were fellow villagers. One was even the son of Feng Changshun, who had died only recently; Feng Yuan had seen him just a few days prior. Who could have imagined that, so soon after Feng Changshun’s death, his son would also meet his end here?

“This must be the work of some evil spirit,” Feng Yuan muttered, frowning as he observed the bodies. Each corpse was wreathed in a faint, dissipating black mist.

“Young Master, this sinister aura is just like what we saw at that family’s house earlier,” Hu Xiao said, glancing at Feng Yuan.

“Yes,” Feng Yuan nodded, looking toward the direction of the Feng family estate beyond the temple doors. The black mist lingering over the corpses was identical to the ominous cloud above the Feng residence. It seemed likely these five deaths were tied to the Feng household.

It had only been a few days since they had dealt with the weasel demon, and now there was another haunting. Truly, trouble never comes alone.

Feng Yuan looked at the corpses, feeling a headache brewing. Clearly, he would have to visit the Feng residence to root out the evil within, lest it spread chaos and calamity among the villagers.

“Let’s go back to the village and inform the others to handle these bodies first,” Feng Yuan said to Hu Xiao. The two of them left the temple and headed outside.

Upon returning to the village, they notified the others to deal with the corpses at the sage’s temple. With that, Feng Yuan and his companion left the matter to the villagers and went home.

Investigating the Feng residence in broad daylight was out of the question; they would have to wait until night and sneak in quietly. Entering by day would only get them branded as thieves, and no one would believe tales of hauntings in someone’s home.

Despite the current era of peace, such frequent appearances of demons and evil spirits did not bode well. Traditionally, such disturbances were rare except in times of turmoil. The prosperity of the nation seemed suddenly fragile.

Of course, it was possible that these things had always existed, and Feng Yuan had simply been unaware, having never cultivated before.

No matter the times, strengthening oneself was always most important. Only by holding the sword in one’s own hands could one shape one’s destiny.

After breakfast and a brief rest, Feng Yuan sat down at his desk as usual and began writing his novel.

In the days that followed, the golden light above Feng Yuan’s head grew steadily fainter, but the light emerging from his novel only increased in brilliance and intensity, for reasons he could not explain.

Feng Yuan did not trouble himself with the details; so long as it benefited him, that was enough.

Meanwhile, in the village, at the Feng residence...

Within one of the estate’s secluded courtyards, Feng the Elder—now in his fifties—paced anxiously with several servants outside the inner chamber, eyes fixed on the room beyond.

From within, black smoke billowed—just like the smoky haze Feng Yuan and Hu Xiao had seen. Every so often, terrible screams echoed out, chilling the blood and turning the servants’ faces pale.

Only the master of the house appeared unshaken. Aside from the anxiety etched on his brow, he betrayed no other emotion.

“Master, Master, something terrible has happened!” called the steward, rushing in from outside and leaning close to whisper, “The villagers have discovered the five dead men!”

“So be it. No need for panic. You made sure to leave no evidence, yes?” Feng the Elder asked, fixing the steward with a stern glare.

“None at all.”

“Good. If anyone investigates, find someone to take the blame.” Feng the Elder’s voice was low.

“Yes, sir.” The steward bowed and departed.

“It’s been all night. Why is there still no result?” Feng the Elder muttered, glaring at the shut door. “Granny Ghost, how much longer? I’ve done everything you asked. Why haven’t you yet found the one who killed my son?”

Inside the room sat an old woman garbed entirely in black. Her age was indeterminate; her skin was charred, her head shaven, her face wrinkled like cracked bark. Her visage was lifeless, and her eyes were stark white, with no pupils visible—a terrifying sight.

This woman was known as Granny Ghost, a shamanic witch whom Feng the Elder had paid handsomely to find. It was said she had been possessed by spirits since childhood and wielded supernatural powers, able to divine what others could not.

After Feng Fugui’s disappearance, with his fate uncertain, Feng the Elder had sought Granny Ghost’s help, paying a steep price to bring her into his home in hopes that she could discover his son’s whereabouts.

At this moment, Granny Ghost sat cross-legged, hands fluttering before her chest as she chanted incantations. With each motion, black smoke billowed from her fingers and drifted forward.

On the floor in front of her stood five large bowls, each containing a set of human organs—heart, liver, spleen, lungs, kidneys—soaked in fresh blood. The stench of blood was overwhelming.

These were the organs of the five dead men Feng Yuan had found in the sage’s temple. To locate Feng Fugui, Granny Ghost had instructed Feng the Elder to procure the viscera of five men of similar age. He had promptly dispatched his men to capture and kill the victims and bring back their organs overnight.

For Feng the Elder, killing a man was as trivial as crushing an ant. He had no fear—wealth was power, and in every era, the rich were above reproach. Thus, he ruled the village with arrogance, bullying men and women alike. Though the villagers resented him, none dared speak out.

As Granny Ghost performed her ritual, five ghostly figures rose from the bowls—none other than the souls of the murdered men. Their faces were blank, expressionless.

With a wave of her hand, Granny Ghost bound the souls together with black smoke, forcing them to merge. The five spirits howled in agony, their wails piercing, their struggles frantic, but the merging continued relentlessly.

At last, the five specters fused into a single monstrous entity: one head, five pairs of arms and legs, all sharing a single body—a grotesque and evil abomination.

“It is done,” Granny Ghost said, a sinister smile curling her lips. She produced a white vial from her robes and, with a word, commanded the creature inside. The monster shrank and was drawn into the bottle.

Granny Ghost rose, seized her staff, and stepped outside.

The door swung open. Feng the Elder, waiting anxiously, hurried forward.

“Well? Granny Ghost, is it done?” he demanded.

“It is done,” she replied in a rasping voice. “Tonight, you will learn your son’s fate.”