The path from the valley to the main peak was unexpectedly treacherous: loose gravel, slippery with every step. From the dense forests on both sides came rustling sounds, as if something followed me, yet nothing appeared when I turned.
The lantern oil was nearly gone, light dimming. I walked for over an hour, legs weak, chest wound throbbing with every step. But I dared not stop.
The fiend had taken the bronze coffin to Yin-Yang Abbey. I had to reach it before its plan was complete, or all would be lost.
After another half hour, I saw light at the summit—not the yellow of a lantern, but the orange of candle flames, striking in the night.
I hurried upward. The path grew steeper, gravel turning to stone steps. On either side stood stone coffins instead of lions, each carved with a name.
The first: Chen Yuandao, 1738 CE.
Second: Chen Shouren, 1810 CE.
Third: Chen Huaiyi, 1827 CE.
All the way up, six stone coffins. All bore the surname Chen.
Grandpa had said only three generations of Chen yin walkers came before me, making me the fourth. Yet these coffins dated back to the Qianlong era. The Chen family had existed in Ghost Howl Ridge for at least six or seven generations.
Grandpa had lied to me. He had never told the truth.
I suppressed my shock and cold dread, continuing upward. At the top of the steps stood a ten-foot stone gate, inscribed with three characters: Yin-Yang Abbey.
The gate stood ajar, orange candlelight seeping through. Yet the light felt not warm, but oppressive, as if a boulder lay on my chest, making it hard to breathe.
I pushed the gate open. The abbey was simple: a courtyard, a main hall, overgrown with weeds, clearly long abandoned. The hall doors stood open. Inside, enshrined, was not a deity, but a stone coffin.
It rested on the altar, its lid carved with a single wide-open eye, its pupil staring directly at the entrance, as if watching all who entered.
I stood at the door a while, hearing nothing, then slowly entered. Dust covered the floor, marked with fresh footprints and a coffin drag trail leading to the back of the hall.
I followed the trail to a rotting wooden door, which collapsed at a push. Beyond lay a corridor ending in a secret chamber.
The chamber door stood open. Glowing stones embedded in the walls cast a faint green light. I immediately saw it: on the stone platform in the center lay the bronze coffin.
But the fiend was nowhere to seen.
I stepped inside and approached the coffin. It was identical to the one in my shop, except without Grandpa's blood writing.
I was about to examine it when a voice came from behind.
"You're here."
I spun. The fiend stood at the chamber entrance, still wearing Grandpa's clothes, but its skin had turned ashen gray, its eyes vertical slits like a snake—cold, alien.
"I have been waiting for you for a very long time," it said slowly.