Since all these rules and superstitions are outdated, what's wrong with me indulging in some me

Cheng Caijun was taken aback.

Shamanistic.

"The courtyard where the shaman lives shouldn't be so 'proper'."

As Lu Changsheng spoke, he stepped towards the east wing.

Cheng Caijun quickly followed.

The door to the east wing was also ajar. Lu Changsheng pushed the door open. It was pitch black inside. By the light coming through the doorway, he could see that the room was empty except for a few bundles of dried herbs piled against the wall, which emitted a musty smell.

The ground was compacted loess, hard as a rock when you stepped on it.

Lu Changsheng squatted down, pressed his palm against the ground, then stood up and left.

The same applies to the west wing.

It was empty; there was nothing there.

But Lu Changsheng stood at the door of the west wing longer than he did at the east wing. His gaze remained fixed on the inner wall for a long time.

Cheng Caijun followed his gaze and saw that it was an ordinary wall, made of adobe bricks, with yellow mud plastered on the surface. In some places, the mud had peeled off, revealing the straw inside.

"This wall..."

"It's too thick," Lu Changsheng finished speaking for him.

Cheng Caijun looked again, and sure enough, this wall was almost twice as thick as a normal wall, and the distance from the doorway to the inside was noticeably shorter than that of the east wing.

Chamber of Secrets.

The word popped into both of their minds at the same time.

Lu Changsheng walked in and stopped in front of the wall. He stretched out his hand, his fingertips slowly moving along the wall, inch by inch.

The mud-plastered wall surface was rough and uneven, with some places cracked and peeling, and others sunken.

His finger stopped at a certain point.

It was a small patch, about the size of a palm, and at first glance, it looked no different from the surrounding walls. But if you pressed it with your finger, you could feel that the soil underneath was softer than elsewhere, as if it had just been applied.

Lu Changsheng glanced back at the doorway.

Cheng Caijun immediately understood, turned around and went out to stand in the courtyard to keep watch.

A slight rustling sound came from behind.

About two minutes later, Cheng Caijun heard Lu Changsheng's voice coming from inside the house, very softly: "Come in."

He turned and went back.

In the west wing, a hole—or rather, a door—appeared in the wall. A whole piece of plaster had been peeled off, revealing a dark, gaping space behind it. It wasn't made of adobe, but of wooden planks, with a rusted iron ring embedded in them.

Lu Changsheng was standing in front of the cave entrance, holding the piece of "wall plaster" that had been peeled off—a thin wooden board covered with yellow mud, so realistic it was almost indistinguishable from the real thing.

"It won't open," he said softly, pointing to the metal ring. "It should be latched from the inside."

Cheng Caijun leaned closer and looked inside.

Behind the cave entrance was pitch black, and it was impossible to see how deep it was. Only a faint smell could be detected—very faint, but definitely present.

The smell was complex. There was the scent of herbs, the smell of stale dust, and a faint, almost imperceptible—

Bloody smell.

Cheng Caijun paused for a moment.

Lu Changsheng reached into the hole, grasped the iron ring, and gently pulled on it. The iron ring didn't budge; it was indeed bolted shut from the inside.

He didn't force his way in, but instead let go, took out a tinderbox from his pocket, blew on it, and held it up to the cave entrance.

A faint light pierced through, illuminating a corner of the secret room.

It was a long and narrow space, only about the width of one person, and its depth was unclear. On the outer side, there was a low table with several rough porcelain bowls on it, filled with a dark, unidentifiable substance.

Next to the low table was a straw mat.

A human-shaped creature was curled up on the straw mat.

Lu Changsheng and Cheng Caijun held their breath almost simultaneously.

The light from the tinderbox was too weak to reach that far; only a vague outline could be seen—it looked like a person, curled up in a ball, motionless.

died?

Or still alive?

Cheng Caijun's palms began to sweat.

Lu Changsheng stared at the outline for a long time, then handed the tinderbox to Cheng Caijun.

"Take it."

Cheng Caijun took the fire tinder and raised it high.

Lu Changsheng took a deep breath and squeezed into the cave entrance.

His shoulder got stuck—the opening was too narrow, barely allowing an adult to squeeze through sideways. He adjusted his angle, inching his way in until he was completely enveloped in darkness.

Cheng Caijun held up the tinderbox, staring intently at Lu Changsheng's back in the secret room.

After regaining his footing, Lu Changsheng did not immediately move forward. He stood still, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the deeper darkness, and then slowly squatted down to look at the silhouette on the straw mat.

Getting closer.

It's becoming clearer and clearer.

He was a gaunt old man.

He was curled up on a straw mat, wearing a dirty black coarse cloth outfit, his hands withered and thin.

It's Blind Chen.

The fortune teller who "determines" their fate at the village entrance.

Lu Changsheng was startled.

What is Blind Chen doing here?

He held his breath and took another half step forward, trying to get a better look at him. The light from the tinderbox flickered and shone on Blind Chen's face—

Those eyes were tightly closed, and the eyelids were deeply sunken.

But Lu Changsheng noticed that there was still a very slight rise and fall in his chest.

still alive.

He's just unconscious.

Just then, as if sensing something, Blind Chen suddenly raised his head and "looked" at Lu Changsheng. His cloudy, grayish-white eyes stared intently at Lu Changsheng.

Those eyes clearly couldn't see anything, but Lu Changsheng had the illusion that he was being seen through.

"Is it you?"

Blind Chen's voice sounded like it was being squeezed out from the depths of his throat, each word carrying the breath of death.

Lu Changsheng leaned down and put his ear close to Chen Xiazi's mouth.

Blind Chen's breathing was weak, each gasp seeming to drain all his strength. But his lips were still moving, and the indistinct syllables gradually pieced together into understandable words.

"...How...how..."

Lu Changsheng held his breath.

"What?!"

Blind Chen's fingers twitched, his withered fingertips groping and grabbing Lu Changsheng's sleeve. The force was unexpectedly strong, like a drowning person grabbing the last piece of driftwood.

"How...did you survive...?" His voice was broken and fragmented, filled with a frantic confusion, "How...how did you survive...?"

Lu Changsheng's face remained expressionless, as if Blind Chen were talking about someone insignificant.

Blind Chen's eyelids trembled violently, and his sunken eyes struggled to open. He "looked" in Lu Changsheng's direction, his grayish-white pupils darting erratically in their sockets.

"Who..." he murmured, his voice rising and falling, "You should be dead... Who saved you..."

His fingers traced up Lu Changsheng's sleeve, touching his wrist, forearm, and elbow—as if confirming something, or perhaps searching for something.

Lu Changsheng let him touch her without moving.

"Six years ago...six years ago you should have been dead," Blind Chen gripped Lu Changsheng's wrist tightly, "Who extended your life? Who?!"