Taoist Priest 02

The young man froze for a moment. "How did you know something's been haunting me?"

Fang Zhiyi glanced at the pendant hanging from his neck. "How much did you waste on these trinkets?"

Zhao Chenyang looked down. "A few thousand, maybe..." Then it dawned on him, and the dullness in his eyes flickered with hope. "Master, can you tell what's wrong?"

Fang Zhiyi waved a hand. "Don't need to look—I can smell the stench from here. Go on, spill it." He kicked a small stool toward him.

Zhao Chenyang sat uneasily and began his story.

His name was Zhao Chenyang, a student at the University of Mechanical and Electrical Engineering, and a restless soul with a passion for wilderness exploration. During the long holiday, he packed his gear and set off with his roommate, Zhou Wen, into the wild.

Both had some experience, and they successfully summited a desolate mountain. But at the peak, they discovered something unexpected—a temple, its doors tightly locked, in a place where no one should have been.

Two fearless college students, undeterred, figured: We’re already here—might as well check it out.

So they scaled the wall and dropped into the courtyard. The moment his feet touched the ground, Zhao Chenyang felt a chill. Despite the blazing sun outside, the light inside the courtyard seemed dimmed, the air thick with an unnatural cold.

Not wanting to be mocked, he kept quiet and followed Zhou Wen as they explored. The temple was simple—a side hall and a main hall. The side hall was cluttered with junk, while the main hall housed a few weathered statues, their features long eroded. Just one glance inside, and Zhao Chenyang felt it again—an overwhelming sense of being watched.

He wanted to leave, but Zhou Wen challenged him: Dare to spend the night here? The wager? Bragging rights—"You’re something else."

Zhao Chenyang wasn’t about to back down. They had tents and sleeping bags, so they settled in—Zhou Wen, as if to prove his fearlessness, slept right in the main hall, while Zhao Chenyang camped in the courtyard.

Uneasy, Zhao Chenyang drifted off, only to be jolted awake by movement outside his tent. Muttering, footsteps circling—someone was pacing around him.

He couldn’t make out the words, but fear coiled in his gut. Gritting his teeth, he unzipped the tent—and locked eyes with a deathly pale face.

It was Zhou Wen.

But his lips were stretched into a grotesque grin, his eyes curved like sickles, staring unblinkingly. After what felt like an eternity, Zhou Wen slowly straightened and resumed his aimless wandering—sometimes muttering to himself, sometimes miming sweeping—until dawn, when he finally returned to his sleeping bag.

Terrified, Zhao Chenyang didn’t dare call out to him. The sight was too unnerving.

Yet when Zhou Wen woke up, he had no memory of it, brushing it off as Zhao Chenyang’s nerves and laughing at him.

Zhao Chenyang didn’t argue. He packed up in a hurry and dragged Zhou Wen away.

But back at school, the nightmare returned. That night, Zhou Wen slipped out of bed silently. Zhao Chenyang, still awake, was about to call out when he heard it again—the same eerie muttering from the temple. Zhou Wen paced the dorm, agitated, before stopping at the door, facing it, his whispers growing louder, drilling into Zhao Chenyang’s skull like boiling water.

The next day, he hauled a bewildered Zhou Wen to a Feng Shui shop, begging for help. The shop’s sage-like proprietor performed a brief ritual before selling them a jade pendant for 888 yuan.

It didn’t work.

That night, Zhou Wen sleepwalked again—this time slamming his head against the wall. Zhao Chenyang wrestled him down, the commotion drawing the dorm supervisor. After some back-and-forth, Zhou Wen was sent to the hospital, his family notified. The school questioned Zhao Chenyang, but when he mentioned the post-trip behavior, they dismissed it as stress. Still, the blood smeared on the wall prompted them to suggest a psychiatric evaluation.

Zhou Wen left with his family.

But the horror didn’t end. That same night, Zhao Chenyang heard footsteps again. Their dorm was a four-person room, but only the two of them lived there. Zhou Wen was gone—so who was walking around?

A shadowy figure muttered to itself, paused, then rammed its head into the wall. The thuds paralyzed Zhao Chenyang with fear—yet no one else seemed to hear.

By morning, the figure vanished.

It returned the next night, this time looming over Zhao Chenyang’s bed. Silent, motionless—just staring. He wet himself, too petrified to move.

Finally, he snapped. He scoured the city for exorcists, spending a fortune before stumbling into Fang Zhiyi’s path—his neck now draped with "trophies" from failed solutions.

Fang Zhiyi closed his eyes, sensing the faint Yin energy clinging to the young man.

"Alright. How much?"

Zhao Chenyang blinked. "Huh?"

"Payment. For fixing this."

"Oh! Master, name your price—I’ll pay anything!"

"Bullshit. If I say a million, you’d actually have it?" Fang Zhiyi rolled his eyes.

"I do!" Zhao Chenyang stood. "After graduation, though. My dad’s giving me a million to start a business."

"Rich kid, huh?" Fang Zhiyi raised an eyebrow.

Zhao Chenyang scratched his head, sheepish. "But my monthly allowance’s only eight grand right now."

Fang Zhiyi nearly slapped him. Eight grand? "Only"? You hearing yourself?

Late that night, in the dormitory bathroom, someone pushed open a window—and Fang Zhiyi climbed in. "Payment upfront, got it?"

"Of course, Master!" Zhao Chenyang forced a smile. If this worked, he’d live on steamed buns for a year.

Fang Zhiyi strode into the dorm and flopped onto the top bunk, soon snoring softly.

Zhao Chenyang, on the lower bunk, couldn’t sleep. "Master?"

No response.

"Master?" He began doubting this was a scam—until a sound came from the opposite bed.

A shadowy figure sat up on the top bunk, then slid down, muttering.

It grew frantic, pacing the room before stopping at Zhao Chenyang’s bed. This time, it didn’t just stand there—it leaned down, locking eyes with him through the blanket he’d pulled over his face.

It was... his own face.

Staring at that twisted grin, Zhao Chenyang nearly sobbed.