Chapter 46.3: The Empty Bench

At the bridge’s edge, Runsheng waded into the water. He unfurled the Seven-Star Hook and flung it upward—snagging a nail—then pulled with all his strength.

After removing three nails in a row, Runsheng stopped. He retracted the Seven-Star Hook and drew out the Yellow River Spade, gripping it tightly in hand.

Before long, the temperature over the river dropped.

Even Li Zhuiyuan, standing at the bank, could feel the chill threading through the evening breeze.

Runsheng began to slow his breathing, sharpening his focus.

Finally, something stirred.

About ten meters ahead of him, a man’s back slowly surfaced on the water.

Tan Wenbin held Li Zhuiyuan’s Yellow River Spade in his right hand and jabbed relentlessly at Li Zhuiyuan’s back with the other.

Dead Sinker, Dead Sinker, Dead Sinker!

Dad, oh my god, your son’s made it—we’ve finally seen a Dead Sinker!

Li Zhuiyuan glanced back at him, helpless. Binbin’s face brimmed with excitement and tension, like he might faint at any moment.

It reminded Li Zhuiyuan of those frenzied fans at stadium concerts, losing their minds over a glimpse of their idol.

The back in the river began to slowly turn over.

Soon, the face surfaced—pale as though smeared with plaster, clammy and white, with fluid endlessly dripping from the chin.

When its eyes opened, thick white ooze poured from the corners, completely obscuring its gaze.

Li Zhuiyuan pulled out two sheets of Yellow Paper and folded them into bundles.

Beside him, Tan Wenbin had gone rigid.

“Zhuangzhuang!”

“Yeah!”

Pure reflex—Tan Wenbin struck a match and helped Li Zhuiyuan light the Yellow Paper.

Li Zhuiyuan waved the burning paper, chanting softly. At the end, he stuffed the half-burned paper into a bowl of yellow wine at his feet.

Tan Wenbin lit each of the small candles around them, one by one.

Every candle’s placement had been meticulously calculated, as had the arrangement of the offering space. The three nails had been removed, but not all of them. There was still room for negotiation.

The point of this gesture was to offer a slap and then a sweet date.

If the spirit was willing to talk, they’d talk. If not—if it stayed and eventually turned malevolent—then they’d have no choice but to go head-to-head.

Li Zhuiyuan lifted the wine bowl and sprinkled it over the river.

Then he held out his left arm for Tan Wenbin to support, closing his eyes to enter a half-awake, shade-walking trance.

Many incantations, including his Taigong’s murmured rhymes, served one purpose: communication.

But what could be more effective than walking the shade directly?

Why go through lengthy derivations when you can plug into the formula?

“We mean no harm. We’ve come to talk. First, we ask you not to rise and disturb the living. Second, tell us who taught you the setup.

Cooperate, and we’ll hammer the nails back in—each to his own path, yin and yang. Refuse, and from tonight on, one of us won’t have a road left to walk.”

As Li Zhuiyuan offered his arm, Tan Wenbin silently counted down in his head. When he finished, he shook the boy hard.

Li Zhuiyuan snapped out of the shallow trance—a self-imposed safety measure.

Though he’d begun learning the Method to Control Dead Sinkers, he was still a novice. Not confident enough to risk real-world use just yet.

His head swam with dizziness and pain—side effects of a forced exit from the shade-walking state. But after the migraine he’d endured at Ah Li’s, this was nothing.

The message had been delivered. Now, it was up to Zhou Yong to decide.

Zhou Yong slowly turned his back to them and began wading upriver.

“Binbin-ge, maybe you should head back.”

“No, no way. I’m here to protect you.”

“Okay, your choice. Don’t regret it.”

“How could I? Never!”

Li Zhuiyuan pointed to the setup on the ground, signaling Tan Wenbin to pack up. He and Runsheng followed from the bank while Runsheng remained in the water.

Tan Wenbin snuffed out the candles, tossed all the ritual items into a sack, slung it over his back, and sprinted to catch up—not wanting to miss another moment.

Luckily, with Runsheng in the water, even Little Yuan couldn’t tie him up and chuck him into the reeds again.

After a while, Zhou Yong came ashore.

It was clear—he was heading home.

Li Zhuiyuan tugged Runsheng’s vest, motioning to slow down. As their pace eased, Zhou Yong ahead slowed too.

He was waiting.

He meant to lead them home.

Once Li Zhuiyuan understood this, he patted Runsheng on the back, and the three of them resumed a normal pace.

They arrived once again at the little dam outside Zhou Yong’s home and stopped. Zhou Yong stood before the door.

“Dong... dong... dong...”

He tapped the door with his forehead, gently.

Soon, lights flickered on inside.

Through the wide gaps in the door, they saw a figure inside, followed by the sound of locks being undone.

“Squeeeak…”

The door opened.

Standing there was Zhou Yong’s wife.

She stood quietly.

Earlier that day, she’d lain beneath a layer of cotton under the bamboo mat.

Now, in the lamplight, they saw not only her eyes, but also her nostrils, ears, and even under her fingernails—all crammed with tufts of cotton, sprouting like weeds.

As if these tufts weren’t stuck on her, but growing from within her.

She stepped aside, letting Zhou Yong in.

Then remained at the door, not closing it—waiting, it seemed, for guests.

Runsheng looked to Li Zhuiyuan, who nodded.

They had come for dialogue. Since she’d brought them to her doorstep, there was no reason not to enter.

Inside, Runsheng glanced to the right, then visibly shuddered.

It was the first time Li Zhuiyuan had seen Runsheng react like this at a scene.

He entered too and looked right.

The girl had emerged from the rice vat.

She stood there, as if welcoming her father home.

Her eyes were wide open, filled entirely with tightly packed grains of rice.

Her arms and legs—every bit of exposed skin—were embedded with grains too.

The pristine white rice kept falling, yet the amount on her body didn’t decrease. It was as if they were growing, one by one, from her pores.

The sight made Li Zhuiyuan’s breath catch in his throat.

Tan Wenbin came in last, having fallen behind while packing up. Now, he instinctively took up a position behind Little Yuan with Runsheng.

He turned and saw it too—his mouth opened wide.

Before he could scream, he stuffed his hand in his mouth and bit down, hard.

Blood welled up—he’d truly bitten deep. The terror had numbed him to the pain.

Zhou Yong moved to the dining table and sat.

The table was old, patched with planks.

The chairs were rough, uneven.

But the dirt floor beneath them was already full of pits and bumps, so what did smooth furniture matter?

Li Zhuiyuan sat across from Zhou Yong. Runsheng sat to the left. Tan Wenbin took the right.

The woman and the girl went into the kitchen.

Soon came the sounds of a bellows, and spatulas clanging.

Yet from the doorway, there was no glow of flame, no steam from cooking.

Zhou Yong sat there, head bowed.

“Drip... drip... drip…”

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