Passerby: Secret Image of Ancient Scrolls

In the boundless darkness and nothingness, Shen Xun heard a voice from nowhere asking him if he was willing to be a "passerby" in the human world and guard the barrier that separates Yin and Yang.

He extended his hand.

The moment the peach wood staff landed in my palm, it felt weightless, yet it was as if it had carried the weight of thousands of years.

He could never see what was hidden behind the Yin-Yang barrier, nor could he fathom the origin of that peering gaze.

That indifferent gaze has been fixed on him since that day, following him like a shadow for hundreds of years.

All he knew was that thing was waiting, waiting for its hourglass to burn out completely, waiting for the barriers scattered across the human world to collapse, waiting for the rules that maintained the stability of the human world to finally show a trace of irreversible loosening.

For hundreds of years, my soul has been falling into this dark void more and more frequently. Today is the third time.

Just then, several otherworldly auras wafted in from afar, pulling Shen Xun back to reality.

The night was as still as ink, like a block of obsidian, devoid of moon and stars, even its atmosphere heavy with stagnation. The wind swept through the treetops, the trembling of the branches and leaves producing a soft, hoarse sound.

Shen Xun sat quietly on a bench under a tree, his back straight, wearing a pair of heavy black sunglasses. In his left hand, he held a smooth peach wood cane, the tip of which lightly touched the bluestone slab.

The top of the staff is carved with a small snake head sculpture. The snake's eyes are a very light black color, and they faintly gleam with a cold light in the dim light. The staff is vaguely engraved with a few hair-thin lines that meander down from the snake's head. They seem to be naturally formed, or perhaps they have been soaked in some kind of cold aura. There is a faint light hidden deep in the snake's eyes.

Passersby occasionally cast glances at him, noticing his sunglasses and cane. Some were curious, some pitied, but all were blocked by his indifference. He even deliberately slowed the pace of his cane's touch on the ground by half a beat compared to a normal person. This is how a blind person should be.

Half of the gourd-shaped jade pendant spun between his fingers. The pendant was smooth and cool to the touch, and a faint warmth spread along his fingertips, quietly suppressing the fleeting seriousness between his brows.

This jade pendant had been with him for hundreds of years, never leaving his side since the day he received the peach wood staff. Even the gold pattern hidden deep within the jade was brighter than it had been back then.

He waits here quietly, following a guidance ingrained in his very being, guarding a destiny that transcends time.

The hourglass mark on his left chest was slightly warm, like a scalding grain of sand embedded deep within his skin, a reminder that time was silently slipping away. When the golden light of the hourglass completely dimmed, the barrier between yin and yang would shatter, and the mortal world would cease to exist.

Now, time is running out.

This trip tonight came more urgently than he had anticipated.

The mark would dim slightly every few moments, and the instant it dimmed, there would be a brief, stabbing pain, as if something had been drawn from his body.

The crisp sound of leaves falling to the ground a hundred meters away, and the crawling sound of insects in the cracks of blue bricks, clearly penetrated into his ears. Centuries of immersion in martial arts, coupled with the hourglass mark that enhanced his perception to the limit, had made his senses far beyond those of ordinary people.

His ear tips tightened slightly, trying to catch some subtler sound—not the wind, not insects, but something deeper than the night, slowly creeping in from the other end of the alley.

He gently tapped the peach wood staff. Each time the tip of the staff touched the ground, a faint golden light would spread out along the cracks in the blue bricks, like a pebble thrown into water, spreading silently and then disappearing just as silently.

He was probing, trying to gauge the depth of that aura, and to find the source of that power.

The wind suddenly stopped.

Even the flow of time seemed to slow down. The branches and leaves on the treetops suddenly stopped swaying, and the streetlights at the alley entrance flickered, emitting a faint "buzzing" sound, as if something was crawling across the filaments. The whole world fell into a suffocating stillness, as if someone had choked it.

At the alley entrance, a gray-black mist quietly swept in, seeping into every inch of the street through the cracks in the bricks and the withered leaves. The mist didn't seem to be pouring in from outside, but rather seeping from the ground, carrying a damp, rotten earthy smell mixed with some indescribable sweet and pungent odor.

As soon as the mist touched the tip of the peach wood staff, the staff trembled slightly, and the copper bell wrapped with red rope below the snake's head made a "sizzling" sound, as if it were being burned by something.

Even more eerie, a thin layer of white frost instantly condensed in the cracks of the bluestone slabs through which the mist passed, its shape twisted like a ghost, faintly echoing the outline of the black shadows that rapidly condensed in the air.

The white frost melted quickly upon contact with the mist, leaving a damp residue that was chillingly cold.

A bit of coolness touched the tip of Shen Xun's boot, and the sensation climbed up the sole of his shoe, like an ice needle piercing his sole.

Shen Xun's fingertips paused slightly, and his grip on the peach wood staff tightened.

A very fine golden line slowly emerged from the surface of the jade pendant, winding upwards along his wrist and down to his forearm.

The golden patterns weren't painted on the skin; they grew into the flesh. Each pattern was a mark of a battle with evil spirits, accumulated over hundreds of years, and had spread from the forearm to the shoulder blade.

The fog grew thicker and thicker, completely engulfing the entire alleyway entrance.

Several blurry black shadows appeared and disappeared in the fog, like clumps of condensed gray-dark currents, hazy and uncertain, drawn by an invisible force, instantly merging into the dark fog, and then instantly condensing into a shape.

Their outlines kept changing, sometimes resembling human figures, sometimes beasts, and sometimes dispersing into a shapeless cloud of smoke, as if trapped in a hellish cage, struggling endlessly.

As the shadows moved, they were accompanied by faint, intermittent sobs, sometimes near, sometimes far, making it impossible to tell whether they came from the fog or were right next to one's ear.

The sound didn't seem to come from the throat; it was more like the resonance of wind passing through a hollow bone cavity, mixed with a humming vibration in the air, making one's neck tingle.

The gold patterns on his fingertips shone brighter, yet they couldn't suppress the sudden, bone-chilling cold that rushed to the back of his neck. It wasn't ordinary cold; it was a chill that seeped from the depths of his bones, as if something was gently blowing on the back of his neck from behind.

The dark figure was less than three zhang away from him, and the gloomy mist almost completely swallowed him up. Even the air around him became thick and icy, and every breath felt like swallowing shards of ice.

Shen Xun moved.

The peachwood staff pointed with unparalleled precision to the core of the dark shadow at the very front, the area where the shadow was most intense, like a solidified block of ink, darker and deeper than the rest.

His movements were slow, yet he skillfully avoided the blurry arm that the shadowy figure swung. The dark mass landed on the tree trunk behind him, instantly corroding a charred mark. The tree trunk's texture withered at a visible speed, and the air around the mark shimmered with a faint, distorted halo, as if it had been scorched from the inside by something.

The golden light on the fingertips surged, winding upwards along the fine patterns of the peach wood staff. When it passed the snake head statue, the dark lines of the snake's eyes blended with the golden light, creating a strange silver-gray halo.

The snake's head turned slightly, as if it had come to life, and precisely aimed at the core of the shadows. The tip of the staff, glowing with golden light, pierced fiercely into the center of the shadow cluster.

In that instant, his fingertips trembled violently, as if they had touched the tip of an icy needle, and an indescribable aura spread from the staff throughout his body.

It wasn't some sinister, malevolent energy, but something more ancient and chaotic, like residue seeping from the cracks of time.

A low tremor, like the hum of a snake, came from the staff, which was instantly covered by the buzzing sound of the shadows dissipating.

"Sizzle..."

A dark, grayish-black shadow erupted from the wound like a punctured air sac, its sharp buzzing sound piercing the eardrums. The shadow's outline instantly disintegrated, like dust blown away, slowly drifting away before being swallowed and dissolved by the surging, gloomy mist.

Upon seeing this, the remaining shadowy figures suddenly went berserk, the gray and dark currents churning violently and emitting piercing screams.

They gather and disperse, and each time they disintegrate and recombine, they release wisps of black threads that fall onto the stone slab and corrode into tiny black spots, which are then quickly swallowed up by the air.

Shen Xun deftly flipped the peach wood staff in his hand, the snake head at the top of the staff swaying slightly with the movement, its eyes gleaming faintly.

His movements were so fast that he didn't seem like a blind man at all. Each strike was aimed precisely at the core area of ​​the shadowy figure by the snake's head. As the golden light flashed, the shadows scattered and disintegrated one after another.

Each time a wisp of light dissipates, a tiny crack appears in the air, as if something has been stripped from the world. The crack closes instantly, leaving a faint halo.

The gloomy fog was like an endless tide; it receded an inch only to surge in a foot. The chill within the fog grew thicker and thicker, and Shen Xun's breath condensed into a ball in the air, lingering for a long time.

What are those black images waiting for?

Deep within the fog, a much larger shadow seemed to be slowly gathering and awakening. With each movement, a subtle tremor could be felt from the ground, and the density of the fog would increase, completely swallowing up even the last remaining ray of light.

In the alley, only the faint light around Shen Xun and the deep black of his shadow remained, like two armies facing each other on an invisible boundary.

As the tremors intensified, the remaining shadows began to dissipate, not from being blasted apart, but from retreating voluntarily.

As if receiving some kind of command, they all abandoned their attack, retreated into the depths of the fog, and merged into the enormous shadow that was awakening.

The moment the last dark shadow dissipated, the mist at the alley entrance suddenly churned violently, as if it were being violently stirred by an invisible giant hand.

A chilling aura, several times stronger than before, instantly enveloped Shen Xun. The cold was not the biting wind, but a chill that could seep into the bones, creeping through his fingertips and into his limbs, making even his breath feel icy.

His fingertips trembled suddenly, and countless cold sensations came from the mist.

Deep within the fog, a massive shadow slowly writhed, its outline blurred like melting ink, yet exuding an aura that sent chills down one's spine.

Its form flickers between light and shadow, sometimes thickening due to condensation, sometimes thinning due to diffusion. With each movement, the mist churns, and even the wind seems frozen, stagnating in mid-air.

The whole world was filled only with the sound of billowing fog, the low hum of the air, and the suffocating sense of oppression that almost crushed one's chest.

The chilling aura in the fog would melt away in the golden light if it came within three feet of the staff, turning into wisps of white smoke, but the melting speed would become slower and slower.

The power of that giant shadow was greater than all the previous shadows combined.

He tilted his head slightly, his ear tips taut.

The muffled thud of the massive shadow writhing, the rustling of the flowing mist, the low hum of the air, and the almost imperceptible tremors hidden deep within were all clearly discernible.

The frequency of the tremor was strange; it didn't come from the giant shadow, but rather from the depths of the earth, perfectly matching the stinging frequency of the hourglass mark on the left chest.

Suddenly, a hoarse and obscure sound came from the mist, like rusty iron scraping against rough stone, or like some kind of deep resonance, eerie and jarring.

Without a fixed direction, it seemed to come from all directions, or as if it were right next to your ear, with layers of echoes mixed with a vibration as fine as a mosquito's buzz, forcefully drilling into your eardrum, making your scalp tingle and your whole body feel a fine chill.

The massive shadow in the fog stirred slightly, and the chilling aura intensified, distorting the air to the point of almost tearing it apart.

Just as the giant shadow was about to move, a blinding white light suddenly burst forth from the end of the alley, short and bright, like a thunderclap piercing the darkness.

That's the camera flash.

Shen Xun's ears tightened abruptly. From the direction of the flashing light, there was a very faint aura.

It wasn't malevolent, but a spark of fire originating from the same source as his power of reincarnation. The aura was weak, like a candle flickering in the wind, yet it possessed a stubborn resilience that refused to be extinguished.

The giant shadow was struck by the white light, letting out a low hiss. The black mist around it surged violently, as if it had been scalded, and began to slowly shrink back.

There was no anger in that hiss, but rather a sense of bewilderment at being disturbed, like something suddenly awakened from a deep sleep, retreating before it is fully awake.

But it didn't leave.

Its gaze shifted from the giant shadow to the direction of the flash.

It is watching.

It has its eye on her.

Shen Xun did not pursue. He put away his staff, stood up, and turned his head slightly to "look" in the direction of the flash.

The hourglass mark on my left chest suddenly became hotter than ever before.

The heat wasn't a stinging sensation, but a long-awaited resonance. It resonated with the aura of that flash of light, like two clock hands vibrating simultaneously in the air.

The owner of that aura was just a hundred meters away. And the gaze that had been watching him for hundreds of years was now fixed in that direction.

He could sense that the gaze had shifted from the giant shadow to the direction of the flashing light, tinged with curiosity.

"I've found you," he whispered, his voice carried away by the night wind without a trace.

The peachwood staff tapped on the bluestone slab, and the tremor of the staff told him that the shadows tonight were not accidental; they had come following that wisp of starlight.

The giant shadow's target was never him, but rather the spark.

Those things shouldn't be here.

But they came. They came following the flash of light.

The person behind that flash of light was unaware that they were being watched.

Shen Xun did not chase after them immediately.

He stood there, waiting for the spying gaze to completely disappear, for the fog to dissipate, and for the bluestone slabs and streetlights to reappear at the alley entrance.

The owner of that aura was just a hundred meters away.

Not one strand, but three strands.

The same spark that he shared. Following the faint light of the hourglass on his chest, it slowly drifted into his senses.

The first wisp was right before my eyes, its aura clear and unmistakable.

The second wisp of light came from a far, cold place, separated by countless barriers, its presence so faint as to be almost imperceptible. Its direction was roughly to the north, very, very far away, so far that even its vague outline was difficult to discern. That wisp of light was heavier and colder, like a spark hidden deep within the frozen earth, sealed by thick ice, only occasionally letting out a faint glimmer of light.

The third wisp was even fainter than the first, so faint that it almost blended into the very essence of heaven and earth, drifting erratically like a phantom in the mist or a wisp of silk in the wind, its very existence barely perceptible. Shen Xun exhausted his senses, yet could only confirm its faint presence. This wisp of energy was too elusive, as if it had not yet found a place to take root. Perhaps only when a specific opportunity arose, and it truly solidified, could one barely grasp its trace.

Three sparks, three directions.

His time is running out.

The hourglass mark had dimmed considerably, and the remaining glimmer wouldn't last much longer.

These three sparks must be found, lit, and entrusted before he burns out.

He waited for hundreds of years, and finally it came.

Then he slowly turned around and took his first step toward the direction of that aura.

At the end of the alley, Lin Jianpeng looked at the photograph. She didn't know what the dark figure was, or who the person wearing sunglasses was.

All she knew was that the golden light was warm.