Chapter 100: The Harvest

In that moment, all the preparations and groundwork they’d laid seemed like a joke. The huffing and puffing over timing and formation placements had become completely useless.

Lin Shuyou was just about to tear off his CaCalming Talisman and initiate the spirit medium ritual. Tan Wenbin, holding his umbrella in one hand and his Yellow River Spade in the other, was ready to spring up and shield Little Yuanhou.

That intense sense of defeat might drive some people to despair, but in others, it sparks a do-or-die resolve.

Since they’d been exposed, might as well go all in!

Just then, Li Zhuiyuan placed his hands on both their shoulders and gently pressed down.

The two of them, poised to leap into action, immediately fell still.

In a competent team, there could be open debate beforehand, but once things were underway, there could be only one will.

The boy wasn’t upset about being toyed with—what baffled him was the old woman’s motive.

Granny Yu had clearly noticed their actions long ago. Yet she deliberately let them finish arranging their formations right under her nose, only to step out at the critical moment for a single line of scornful mockery.

Even the theory of exhausting them didn’t add up—she had given them plenty of time to rest.

If their opponent was truly powerful enough to afford such meaningless gestures, then whether they attacked first or waited passively for her strike didn’t make much difference.

More importantly, Li Zhuiyuan realized the woman wasn’t a Dead Sinker but a living human. In other words, though she looked almost identical to Granny Yu, she wasn’t the real one.

No matter what, Li Zhuiyuan’s first strike had to fall on Granny Yu. No one else was worthy.

That brief moment of clarity brought a new twist.

From ahead came the sound of children laughing.

“Ehehe…”

“Heehee…”

“Haha…”

A chorus of children’s laughter—mechanical, forced, unnatural. You could imagine their faces, grinning without joy, like puppets trained to laugh on command.

Yet not a single child was in sight.

Li Zhuiyuan knew that if he walked the shade now, he’d see a crowd of children gathering toward the old woman.

Meaning, her earlier shout hadn’t been directed at the three of them.

Lin Shuyou, with his sensitivity to unclean things, caught on quickly.

Tan Wenbin, though less attuned without walking the shade, could still hear faint hallucinations. With Li Zhuiyuan’s reaction, he put the pieces together.

Both Lin Shuyou and Tan Wenbin bowed their heads, foreheads touching the ground as they tried to calm their nerves and racing hearts.

This wasn’t fear—it was the jarring whiplash of going from a night ambusher to a shadow hiding in the dark again. That role reversal was enough to unmoor anyone.

Only Li Zhuiyuan kept watching the events unfold.

The old woman’s legs looked especially long now. She swung her lantern around, not as if searching the distance, but more like a kindergarten teacher checking on the children clustered at her feet.

“Have you… missed your parents…”

Still, only the hollow laughter of the children replied. No answer. Or perhaps they no longer remembered their real parents.

“I’ll tell you… your mommy and daddy… miss you very much…”

The old woman began waving her lanterns like whips.

Li Zhuiyuan’s eardrums stung ever so slightly.

And that was without even walking the shade. If he did, he’d witness her cruelty in full.

No wonder when he showed Beibei a drawing of Granny Yu, the child burst into tears. Even under hypnosis, merely recalling her was enough to wake him in fright.

Wounds on the body could heal. But the lashes left on the spirit—they could last forever.

Beibei had already been sold to Wang Chaonan and his wife for half a year. They were no saints, but they hadn’t abused him physically.

This meant that even though the children had been sold off, the old woman still had ways to bind a part of them.

It didn’t show in daily life—they lived normally. But that fear stayed, sealed in the deepest recesses of their minds.

And one day, it would surface. Like a curse. As the children grew and matured, this unspoken, inexplicable dread would warp them, twisting their very personalities.

Under the whips, the laughter ceased.

It was replaced by the choking sobs of adults.

Their parents’ grief.

Through tormenting the children, she had awakened the sorrow buried deep within the parents.

And for those who had lost their children, this was probably just another night—another ordinary night spent weeping in dreams.

The two white lanterns in her hands began to fill with moisture. The liquid sloshed with every sway.

Suddenly, she paused.

She reached out and poked a hole in one lantern, releasing a semi-black, semi-white fluid.

Then she smoothed the hole over.

She looked furious—displeased, like she’d picked up a defective product that nearly contaminated the good ones.

The old woman turned and walked back, carrying the night’s harvest.

The children’s noise and the adults’ sobbing gradually faded.

Once her figure returned to the white tent, peace fell again, as though nothing had ever happened.

Li Zhuiyuan understood—he had just witnessed a ritual. More precisely, a harvest.

And now he knew why the members of the Child Spirit Opera were so attentive to parents who brought their children to the show.

Efficiency.

Many parents love their children dearly, but can’t always be there.

From the Opera’s perspective, they too had to consider cost—so they picked the raw materials with the highest yield.

Besides, though rare, there were indeed parents who didn’t love their kids. Some even treated them as burdens, especially after divorces and remarriages.

Then there were people like himself…

But Li Zhuiyuan realized—he didn’t belong in that group.

His father had left, yes, but he understood him.

As for Li Lan…

Even Li Zhuiyuan couldn’t bring himself to say she didn’t care.

She refused to speak with her own parents, letting her secretary take calls. Yet when her son picked up, she would return and take the phone herself—though what she said was harsh.

She’d rather dive into dangerous projects, rather go hysterical, just to cut him out of her life. And from another angle, that meant no matter how crazy or painful things got, she couldn’t erase him from her mind. That’s how much she cared.

Back on the slope, Li Zhuiyuan told Lin Shuyou, “Do the face.”

“Right.”

Lin Shuyou opened his makeup box and began applying his ritual makeup.

In truth, he didn’t need it to perform the spirit medium ritual. If not for Li Zhuiyuan’s unusual difficulty in inviting spirits, that night at the school he could’ve just smeared a red mark on his face and succeeded.

It wasn’t a necessity—it was about ceremony. Confidence. Immersion. Like the rituals Great-Grandpa used to perform—rationally pointless, but emotionally powerful for both himself and the family.

Same with Lin Shuyou. He needed it to shift into character.

But the more he relied on this, the more it would fragment his personality. His future mental breakdown was almost guaranteed.

“That old woman just now wasn’t Granny Yu. The real one’s still in that white tent. She’s our first target.”

“When we strike, head straight for the white tent. You two clear a path and keep enemies off me. I’ll go destroy the original.”

“Got it,” Tan Wenbin nodded firmly, feeling over his pockets and gear.

Lin Shuyou, half his face painted, asked calmly, “What kind of malevolent spirit is this? Sounds strange.”

Tan Wenbin raised an eyebrow. If the situation were less tense, he might’ve smacked him and yelled, Are you pretending again, you bastard?

Li Zhuiyuan answered, “Emotion-Fallen Clay Figurine.”

Lin Shuyou paused, clicking his tongue. “So she’s been stitching herself back together.”

Previously, Li Zhuiyuan had only formed a vague suspicion. But after witnessing the earlier events, he was now certain.

Wei Zhengdao’s book had once recorded the Emotion-Fallen Clay Figurine—not as a type of Dead Sinker, but as a self-repair method for one.

Dead Sinkers were born of resentment. Some powerful ones, after developing sentience, began trying to heal themselves like living beings.

The Emotion-Fallen Clay Figurine was a wicked art that harvested the emotional bonds of human affection as raw material to mend its own wounds. It was a malevolent technique, a grievous offense against heaven and morality.

There was even an entry in the Yin family genealogy about this. During the mid-Ming period, a Yin clansman on his travels came upon two fishermen by a lake. Upon learning he was a descendant of Yin Changsheng, the two men invited him to sit and chat.

Of course, in truth, he was merely allowed to eavesdrop thanks to his ancestor’s fame.

The two men began discussing a figure with an absurdly long title: “Lord of Supreme Purity Who Commands Thunder and Yuan Yang from the Upper Realm.”

One of them claimed the lord had been deceived by a wicked Daoist, convinced of the taboo that “two dragons must never meet.”

The other man laughed, saying, “That wicked Daoist is likely shaping an Emotion-Fallen Clay Figurine for some great malevolent spirit.”

After returning to Fengdu, the Yin clansman recorded this encounter and slipped the note into the family genealogy.

In his tone, he framed the story as overhearing two masters discuss celestial affairs.

Li Zhuiyuan couldn’t tell whether the writer had deliberately obscured the truth, or if he genuinely didn’t realize that the “lord with the long-winded title” was actually Emperor Jiajing of that era.

But from this account, it was clear that this technique had a long lineage—long enough that someone once dared to use the emotional ties between imperial father and son to heal a dreadful Dead Sinker.

Obviously, Granny Yu was nowhere near that level. She had to resort to abducting children, harvesting the parental bond through quantity, not quality.

She was like a wounded beast, hiding in the shadows, quietly licking her wounds.

The Child Spirit Opera’s posters bore the name Yu Family Acrobatics Troupe, founded in 1950.

A subtle year—just after the Dragon King lineages of Liu and Qin had faltered. It was then that she crawled ashore, starting this vile practice to restore herself.

In the end, it was the absence of a Dragon King that allowed the filth beneath the river to climb ashore.

Back then, her true form must have been sealed away by a Dragon King of the Qin or Liu family. Now, feeling restored enough, she dared approach Ah Li with her lantern and curses.

Especially after Li Zhuiyuan had made his vow the day before, a warning so severe that even the other foul spirits had drawn back—yet she alone had the gall to strut up to the threshold, flaunting herself.

It fit her style, really. She thrived on shadowy misdeeds, yet still sought to be the boldest one in the room.

That’s why Li Zhuiyuan had chosen her as the first “elective question” of his walk through the rivers and lakes—not out of emotion, but calculation. The truly dreadful Dead Sinkers wouldn’t bother with preying on a lone, vulnerable girl during her family’s decline.

The ones who did—just like Liu Yumei had said—were the bottom-feeders who preyed on the weak and feared the strong.

And this one? She was the dumbest of the lot.

Perfect for him.

Lin Shuyou had finished his makeup. Gone was the guileless look—he now radiated self-assured confidence.

“When the Officer Medium channels the spirit, he slays evil without offering passage. The two of you—especially you—keep your distance. I fear the child still remembers how you tricked him last time. He might hold a grudge.”

Tan Wenbin was about to speak when Li Zhuiyuan raised a hand to stop him.

The boy smiled calmly. “Alright.”

Lin Shuyou said, “I respect your lineage. But until you come of age and walk the rivers yourself, you’re not truly useful.”

The boy nodded. “You’re right.”

His personality shift was even more dramatic than last time—maybe revisiting his past humiliation had stirred something up.

Though he now knew he was a descendant of the Dragon King, he didn’t yet realize that he had already begun his journey.

This was the first tribulation of his official walk through the world. No matter how stupid Granny Yu was, or how incomplete her recovery, she had once needed a Dragon King’s personal intervention to be sealed.

So go on. Do your best. Li Zhuiyuan was eager for the Officer Medium to solve this one for him.

Even if the White Crane Child possessed him now, once he started wailing from the beating, he’d come seeking Li Zhuiyuan’s help.

There was no point arguing with someone like this—Li Shuyou had three modes: himself, his made-up face, and the White Crane Child.

This made-up version had all the arrogance but none of the power, stuck between identities.

Useless to talk to.

“Creak…”

The white-topped tent’s flap opened again. The old woman from before had removed her makeup and changed into plain clothes. She now looked more like a hunched old crone, only vaguely resembling Granny Yu.

She stepped out, making a strange buzzing noise like a cicada. Soon, the woman who had performed “A Love Affair with a Python” earlier emerged from the neighboring tent to support her.

The two of them headed toward the largest tent at the far end—likely the storage for the troupe’s supplies and equipment.

Li Zhuiyuan said in a low voice, “This is our chance. Move!”

Lin Shuyou tore off his CaCalming Talisman, retrieved a half-arm-long trident from his bag, and twisted his neck sharply.

Muttering under his breath, his aura shifted.

“Wicked fiends, I slay without mercy~”

As the words left his mouth, his pupils turned into vertical slits—the White Crane Child had descended.

The White Crane Child glanced down at Li Zhuiyuan.

Li Zhuiyuan met the gaze.

Perhaps due to the presence of a true evil spirit nearby, the child didn’t bother settling old scores. Instead, he performed the Three-Step Praise: two false steps, one true, leaving a trail of afterimages as he rushed toward the two women.

Tan Wenbin called out in surprise, “Not there, it’s—”

“Binbin, same difference. Let’s go!”

Li Zhuiyuan sprinted for the white-topped tent, Tan Wenbin close behind.

Originally, the plan was for all three of them to charge the white tent. But even when forming the plan, Li Zhuiyuan had made contingencies.

The White Crane Child would naturally seek out the strongest evil spirit present. Let him. Whether attacking or defending, he’d buy time.

As long as the tool worked, that was enough.

Li Zhuiyuan reached the white tent and lifted the blanket flap, coming face to face with the clay figurine of Granny Yu perched on the water jar.

The figurine began to tremble.

“So you recognize me?”

The trembling intensified—as if pleading for help.

“Binbin, smash the jar!”

“On it!”

Tan Wenbin tossed aside his Black Umbrella of Rebirth and gripped the Yellow River Spade with both hands. He swung with full force.

“The umbrella—!”

Li Zhuiyuan hadn’t expected him to discard it, but it was too late to warn him. He shifted slightly behind Tan Wenbin.

“Crash!”

The water jar shattered, spraying out some of its black liquid. A bit splashed onto Tan Wenbin.

Grief overtook him. Though still in his first romance, he suddenly felt as though he had fathered countless children—only to have every one of them stolen away.

His heart ached, heavy and bitter.

Tears streamed down uncontrollably.

“Xiaoyuan-ge… why am I… so sad… sob…”

“Watch the door.”

With the jar broken, the figurine atop it, propped by stilts, still stood upright.

Li Zhuiyuan stepped forward, eyes flaring—he initiated the shade-walk.

Through this new vision, he saw the figurine shrouded in black mist, its surface crisscrossed with cracks like a shattered porcelain statue painstakingly glued back together.

She was nearly whole—except for the eyes, still empty hollows.

A little more time, and even those would’ve been patched. Then, no matter how broken, she’d be whole again.

No wonder she dared to provoke them first—she thought she was nearly restored.

Li Zhuiyuan now saw the brilliance of choosing his own path and unraveling karmic threads. It not only gave him the initiative, but it landed him here before she could recover fully.

He reached into his pockets for seal ink, drew sigils on both arms.

Then, with thumb-nail cuts across his ring fingers, he painted a second layer of blood-drawn spells.

Next, he took out the curse-breaking talismans Ah Li had made for him and plastered them across his arms.

Finally, he bit down on his tongue, drawing fresh blood, and spat it over the talismans.

If this was a sneak attack, and he had a shot—he’d go all in.

No ordinary person could stack so many rituals at once. Only a boy like him, lying in bed at night, would spend time working all this out.

With everything in place, his eyes bloodshot, Li Zhuiyuan formed the hand signs: right thumb sliding down the left fingertips, then left thumb down the right.

Then, both thumbs thrust straight into the hollow eyes of the Granny Yu figurine.

Next Chapter >