Tang Zhou leaned against the cold well wall, the pale moonlight casting slivers across the water. At last, he recognized the man—Ling Xuzi—but barely. The figure’s skin had shrunken, drained of blood and vitality. Long exposure to the icy water had left it pale and wrinkled, like a corpse waiting for judgment.
Gathering his composure, Tang Zhou asked, “Who is this person who practices witchcraft?”
Ling Xuzi’s lips trembled, his voice trembling with terror. “The Seven-Star Divine Jade… the Seven-Star…”
“Have you seen it?” Tang Zhou pressed.
The man shuddered violently and let out a hoarse scream, his body lifting in the water. Tang Zhou reached for him, only to encounter a cold, iron claw—suspiciously cast from above—pulling at the body. He withdrew, his mind racing. In such a remote place, one misstep could mean death.
A smirking voice echoed from the wellhead: “You old Taoist priest with the big nose… still alive! No one will come to save you!”
It was Master Shen. The world tilted in Tang Zhou’s mind as the situation twisted. A hoe struck the ground, the struggle at the wellside, and then silence. “Wouldn’t death be cleaner?” Master Shen muttered to himself. “You, a priest and monk, are so filthy. In this world, only the dead are pure.” The clatter of the hoe began again, digging relentlessly.
Tang Zhou’s body shivered in the water, fingers slipping over slippery moss as he searched for purchase with his dagger. Climbing seemed impossible. Every movement carried the risk of discovery.
“Fresh peach blossoms,” Master Shen’s voice softened strangely, “Spread them on yourself to absorb their fragrance.”
Tang Zhou understood—these were the same flowers buried in secret during the dead of night.
The digging abruptly stopped. Master Shen’s voice rose in sudden alarm: “Strange! How could such a large section of the well collapse?” Tang Zhou’s chest tightened. The reflection he had glimpsed earlier might not have been an illusion.
A burning tinder dropped. Tang Zhou ducked, extinguishing it with a hiss in the water. Above, someone peered cautiously, muttering, “So, there’s no one…”
After Master Shen left, Tang Zhou surfaced. He understood immediately: the well mouth had been sealed with stone slabs. Even a master like him would have no way out.
Then, a soft, distant voice called out: “Bird, bird, what are you trying to say? It’s so dark here! I wouldn’t have come with you!”
Master Shen froze. “You… why are you here?”
Shen Xiangjun’s soft laughter answered him. “Bird asked me to come check. Sister didn’t know yet. Daddy, be good. Don’t be afraid.”
Tang Zhou’s mind raced. A fleeting thought—the kind that could unravel everything—passed through him. He felt the first real hope in hours.
Shen Xiangjun whispered, “It’s eerie here after dark. I don’t want to stay anymore.”
“Come, I’ll take you back,” Master Shen replied.
The footsteps faded. Tang Zhou pressed his dagger into a crack and climbed. Numb and slow, he struggled against exhaustion. When his strength failed halfway, he fell into the water, bones rattling. Gathering himself, he tried again.
A hemp rope descended silently. He grasped it, ascending cautiously. Near the well mouth, he loosened the rope and leapt into the morning sunlight.
The sun rose, illuminating the spring landscape. A woman stood by the rope, casually rolling it up.
“You,” Tang Zhou murmured.
She smiled wryly. “Of course. Who else? My sister? My father? Or your clever, obedient junior sister?”
Shen Yijun tossed the rope aside. “Seems you’ve seen and heard far too much about that night in the well.” She brushed back her hair. “I didn’t want you to uncover the village’s secrets… yet here you are.”
The sunlight warmed Tang Zhou as she spoke of her mother. Her voice, calm but edged with sorrow, revealed the truth: her mother, a Yi woman, had practiced witchcraft in secret. Her father discovered it, killing her to harness her arts. Shen Yijun alone carried the burden of understanding the village’s cursed history.
Tears welled in her eyes. “Fortunately, my sister knows nothing. It’s enough for me alone to bear.” She wiped them away fiercely.
Tang Zhou recalled fleeting clues: strange family behavior, subtle warnings about Yan Dan. Danger lingered for those unprepared.
Turning to the courtyard, he collided with someone soft and gentle. “Ah,” came a familiar voice.
Yan Dan looked at him, hair damp, fair as porcelain, smiling faintly. “Senior brother, why swim so early?”
“I swam all night,” he replied casually.
Concern flickered in her eyes. “It’s April… you might catch a cold. Go change quickly.”
She followed him inside, idly spinning the teacup, her tone soft. “You asked if I ever have illusions. What did you see in that well?”
Tang Zhou hummed, dressing. “Something not worth mentioning.”
Yan Dan’s gaze held his. “It’s important. Don’t give me a perfunctory answer.”
Tang Zhou considered her. “Do you already know something?”
Her lips curved faintly. “How about a trade? I tell you what I know—you lift the restraints on my hand.”
He shook his head firmly. “Don’t even think about it.”
Yan Dan stood, sighing, and left. Tang Zhou watched her go, thoughts racing: how had Shen Yijun known he was at the well bottom? Had the well edge collapsed by chance, or by design?
By the lotus pond, Yan Dan amused herself with a small fish, its cautious bites drawing her laughter. Nearby, Shen Xiangjun approached. “You talk to the fish?”
Yan Dan nodded. “They tell me things. There are vengeful spirits here, restrained, waiting. I’m lucky to have the bracelet my senior brother gave me—it wards off evil.”
Shen Xiangjun touched the smooth, warm bracelet. “He treats you well.”
Yan Dan choked, humbled. Shen Xiangjun, eyes sparkling, reached out and tossed the bracelet into the pond. “Without this, what use is cleverness?”
Mrs. Hu wrapped Yan Dan in a robe, lifting her effortlessly. Shen Yijun placed a stone slab over the abandoned well. A smile slowly blossomed, like a blooming spring flower.
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