Chapter Thirty-Four: The Rat's Lair

I was utterly unprepared for her sudden mention of marriage. The words left me both startled and honored.

“Why, do you not agree?” she asked again, seeing my silence.

Truthfully, I was so taken aback that I didn’t know what to say. Her question snapped me out of my daze, and I promptly took the pair of red hairpins from her hands, replying, “I agree, of course I agree.”

“If you don’t believe me, I have a marriage contract as proof,” she said unexpectedly, leaving me perplexed. Though she had accepted my proposal, even initiated the talk of our marriage, there remained a gulf between us that seemed impossible to bridge.

After her words, she drew a red sheet of paper from her wide sleeve—black characters inked upon it. It was a marriage contract with both our names written, even the date of the wedding already set.

I reached out and took it, but not even the slightest smile graced her face. She looked calmly at me as I put away the contract and the hairpins, then mounted her horse and rode toward the mountains.

This was not how I had imagined it.

Ye Weiyang appeared, agreed to marry me, but her demeanor was almost too composed—cold, even. It seemed as if she had merely come, handled some business unrelated to herself, and departed once it was done, all with a detached calm.

Watching her retreating figure, I couldn’t help but call out, “Weiyang, wait!”

She stopped, but didn’t dismount. Turning to look at me, she asked with a trace of confusion, “Have you changed your mind?”

“No,” I replied immediately. Her words felt chilling.

After a pause, she said, “I’ll help with your grandfather’s matter.”

With that, Ye Weiyang rode off toward the old burial hill. Wisps of smoke soon enveloped her and within half a minute, she vanished from my sight.

That final sentence, cold as frost, made our marriage feel like nothing more than a transaction. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed true. From the start, I sought her because the village shaman told me that if I had her, my grandfather would be saved. But what was her reason for marrying me?

From her attitude, it was clear she wasn’t marrying for love. We had only met once before, hardly enough to talk about affection. I was just a young man from a mountain village, with nothing to offer someone as beautiful as her.

With the marriage contract and hairpins in hand, I returned to the ruined temple.

The village shaman, sensing my mood, asked if she had refused me. I shook my head and said she had agreed and the wedding would be in three days.

The date was written on the red marriage contract.

She didn’t ask more. I put the items away and tried not to dwell on it. After all, I’d said before that I would do anything to save my grandfather. This was the path I chose—I would not regret it.

At that moment, the villagers were still standing below the old burial hill, motionless like wooden stakes.

I found Er Pang among them.

The shaman went to examine their condition but could do nothing; their souls were held by the rat spirits. To save them, we would have to find those spirits.

Just as the shaman and I were about to return to the village to devise a plan, Er Pang suddenly grabbed my sleeve. I thought he’d come to his senses and felt a surge of joy, but when I looked back, his face was still vacant, unchanged.

Yet he kept tugging at my sleeve, and after two pulls, he began walking forward with stiff movements—not slow, but awkward. He took two steps, then looked back and tugged at my sleeve again.

Er Pang wanted me to follow him.

I glanced at the shaman; she nodded for me to go.

Er Pang led the way and we followed, heading toward our village. Once inside, he walked toward the communal house.

We followed him all the way there.

Er Pang stopped in front of one of the rooms.

His bringing us here meant something important was inside. I looked around, found an axe, and broke the lock with force, opening the door.

Inside, the air was thick with rot, and faint cries could be heard.

I lit the oil lamp but saw no one. The shaman soon discovered a large hole in the corner, covered with planks and straw. The hole sloped downward into darkness, and the crying seemed to come from within.

It sounded like children—could all the surviving children from the village be hidden in this pit?

“Let’s go and take a look!” the shaman said.

I nodded, took the oil lamp, covered it, and we entered the pit. It sloped down, winding for three minutes, and then the cries ceased. Without sound to guide us, we searched blindly.

The pit was pitch-black, with pathways branching everywhere—it was impossible to know which way to go. This must be the rat spirits’ lair; there could still be spirits lurking. The shaman handed me several yellow talismans for protection.

I held the talismans tightly, staying alert as we searched.

Suddenly, nearby, a child began to cry, and others joined in.

The shaman and I quickly moved toward the sound.

But as we approached, a loud crash sounded behind us—the tunnel we’d come through had collapsed.

I shone the lamp and saw our way out was blocked.

This was no accident; the rat spirits must have caused the collapse. The shaman and I signaled to each other to stay alert.

We pressed forward, soon entering a side chamber, which was a bit wider. In the corner, a dozen children huddled together. Some were alive, others not. The sight was so tragic I could hardly bear to look, while the shaman raged, “Such evil must be eradicated, or I have wasted my calling!”

I crouched down to comfort the children.

Though young, they knew me; seeing me, they rushed over and clung to my legs, crying.

I gestured for silence, saying, “Don’t make a sound. Big brother will take you to find your mothers.”

They nodded and stayed quiet.

The shaman checked the bodies of the children who had died. Her brow furrowed, and after examining them, she found not a single survivor among them—not even a soul remained.

We couldn’t take the bodies out now; we’d have to find a way later. The most important thing was to get the living children to safety.

The shaman led the way, and I gathered the children, following her.

Our path was blocked, so we searched for another exit. The tunnels were a maze, and even with the shaman marking our route, we ended up circling back after several minutes.

This time, she drew her peach wood sword and seemed to use some guiding method to find the way out. She said the pit was under a spell that confused travelers, which was why we couldn’t escape. This time, things were different—after about ten minutes, we emerged.

To my surprise, we surfaced in my uncle’s inner room.

Lifting the board, we climbed out. The shaman saw the ancestral shrine nearby. The red cloth was gone, revealing two names. She turned to ask, “Are these the tablets you mentioned?”

I nodded.

We decided to settle the children first. But just as we were about to leave, a cold wind swept through and the main gate slammed shut.

There was something in the courtyard.

From the corners, a dozen gray-robed Taoists emerged. They were taller than those we’d seen in the mountains—each one a head taller than me. Their robes were wide, billowing in the wind.

Their aura was formidable; these must be the leaders of the rat spirits.

“Wang Qinghua, leave Lin Yi, and we’ll let you and the children go,” said the Taoist blocking the door, who even knew the shaman’s name.

He had a long white beard and seemed to be the eldest among the rat spirits.

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