Passerby: Secret Image of Ancient Scrolls

The illusion faded, but the river water did not.

The cracks on the ice surface were still there, and the black mist that had been driven back by the golden light had dissipated, but something was churning beneath the ice fissures.

It's not water, it's a hand.

Countless grayish-white hands emerged from the ice cracks, their nails long and curved, gleaming with a deathly white.

They clung to the edge of the ice, one by one, layer by layer, like a swarm of ants crawling out of an abyss.

Lin Jian's breath caught in her throat. She saw those hands, saw them gripping the ice, saw them crawling towards her. Her camera was so hot she could barely hold it.

Shen Xun's calm voice came through: "Aim the camera at those hands and press the shutter."

A flash of light illuminated the ice. The white light sliced ​​through the ice, and the first few hands flinched as if burned. But the others surged forward immediately, more numerous and faster than before.

Ye Zhuo had already swung his entrenching tool. The blade struck the first row of hands, breaking the grayish-white bones and sending fingers flying, which continued to twitch on the snow.

The severed wrist wasn't bleeding; only grayish-white steam seeped from the cut, in wisps, intermittently, like the steam billowing from an old-fashioned train. The severed fingers were still moving, crawling towards her feet, crawling up her legs.

"Old Gu! Get up!" Ye Zhuo roared.

Old Gu knelt on the ice, soaked to the bone, his face a mixture of river water and tears. He heard it, but his legs wouldn't obey him. He watched the hands reaching out from the ice cracks, watched them crawl towards him, watched them grab his shoes.

Shen Xun slammed his peachwood staff down. Golden light exploded, and grayish-white mist surged into the air.

On the ice, more hands surged forward. He stepped to the left, blocking Old Gu; he swung his staff to the right, repelling the hand reaching for Ye Zhuo. His golden blood was still flowing, dripping onto the ice, and those hands only dared to extend around the places where the golden blood had dripped.

Lin Jian was taking pictures. The flashes exploded in the darkness, and the hands recoiled for a moment before surging back. She knew it was futile, but she dared not stop. She was afraid that if she stopped, those hands would crawl to their feet.

She bit her lip and looked through the viewfinder at all the gray and white hands, densely packed like a flowing wall, making the hairs on her body stand on end.

Ye Zhuo's shield slammed onto the ice, shattering a row of outstretched hands. Her entrenching tool swung horizontally, severing three wrists. The severed hands continued to move, writhing on the ice, crawling in the snow. Her boots stepped on one, crushing it, then stepped on another, crushing it again. Her breathing grew heavier, her arms heavier, and the grayish-white mist sprayed onto her clothes, corroding small holes.

She didn't stop.

She didn't dare stop.

Shen Xun stood at the front, twirling his peach wood staff with both hands, firmly blocking the circle of strange hands a step away, protecting the people behind him.

Seeing that they could not break through the group's defenses, the strange hands began to retract their hands underwater.

A brief, deathly silence descended upon the ice field.

The sound of the wind and snow was terrifying, drilling straight into everyone's mind and creating a strange resonance with something deep in their soul, making their scalp tingle.

Suddenly, the ice beneath my feet began to crack and shake. The black river water surged and crashed against the cracked ice, widening the cracks with each impact.

In no time, the ice beneath everyone's feet was continuously smashed and broken apart.

Those grotesque hands, like snakes, once again snaked and twisted as they rose from the water, reaching for everyone's ankles, intending to drag them all into the river and make them their new toys.

The moment the ice shattered, Old Gu's body plummeted. His hands gripped the edge of the ice, his fingernails digging into it, leaving ten white marks. The hand that reached up from the riverbed grabbed his ankle, its nails digging into his flesh, pulling him downwards.

He looked down and saw the hand, and the ring on that hand, polished to a shine, exactly the same as it had been thirty years ago.

He didn't struggle; he just stared at the ring for a long time.

Then he let go.

He loosened it himself. He wanted to see her, to see what she had become.

Ye Zhuo lunged forward and grabbed his wrist. Her boots dug into the ice as she leaned back, pulling Lao Gu upwards. The shield was gone, the shovel was gone, she had nothing left but her hand, gripping his wrist tightly.

"You fucking get up here!" she yelled.

Old Gu was dangling from the edge of the broken ice, his ankle still being held by that hand.

He looked at Ye Zhuo and smiled.

At that moment, another strange hand swiftly grabbed Ye Zhuo's ankle. Ye Zhuo raised his leg and stomped down hard. The hand shattered, turning into a pile of rubble under the hard boot.

Grayish-white mist spread out from under the shoes and merged into the water.

Ye Zhuo pulled Lao Gu up. The two of them fell onto the ice, panting heavily, their chests heaving.

Old Gu suddenly saw a dark figure rushing towards him.

With a "smack," Ye Zhuo's hand landed squarely on Old Gu's face.

"Xiulian wants you to live." Ye Zhuo's icy voice pierced Old Gu's ears.

Lin Jian, holding her camera, squatted on a piece of floating ice. Hands reached out from all directions, grabbing the ice beneath her feet and closing in on her.

She had nowhere to retreat. The fleeting effect of the flashing lights could not rid her of this clinging leech. Those hands were still reaching out, one by one, from the ice cracks, from the river water, from the darkness.

She hugged the camera tightly and closed her eyes.

She could hear her own heartbeat, one beat after another, like someone tapping on her ribs.

Then she heard the sound of a cane.

笃.

A soft sound, not loud, yet it felt like a blow to her heart.

She opened her eyes and saw Shen Xun standing in front of her, the golden light at the tip of his staff blocking the hands from reaching her.

"Stand up," he said.

Lin Jian struggled to his feet on the ice, roaring as he climbed up and stomped down on the hands.

One after another.

Ye Zhuo picked up the shield and entrenching tool and stood in front of Lao Gu.

Those hands reached up from beneath the ice, emerged from the cracks, and appeared at her feet. She slammed her shield down and swung her entrenching tool, blocking the hands.

Old Gu touched his swollen face, watching the hands, watching them be driven back again and again, only to surge forward once more. His legs were still trembling, but he stood up. He didn't speak; he simply stood beside her.

The wind and snow suddenly stopped.

The hands suddenly stopped.

It didn't withdraw; it stopped.

They hung in mid-air, as if waiting for something.

Then they started to shrink back.

They retreated into the ice crevices, into the river, into the darkness.

The cracks on the ice are still there, and the river water is still churning, but those hands are gone.

Old Gu was panting heavily, staring at the ice fissures and the grayish-white mist still billowing out.

"They're gone?" Lin Jian's voice trembled.

Shen Xun did not answer.

He stared at the widest crevice in the center of the ice, at the still churning river water, and at something moving in the darkness.

It's a hand, or something else.

It's coming out.

The ice surface exploded.

The river water gushed out from the ice cracks, carrying with it the grayish-white mist, the sticky black tide, and something else.

It had no shape, no outline, just a thick, impenetrable black mass, suspended above the ice, like a tightly clenched ball of ink.

Those hands grew out of its body, not ten, not a hundred, but countless, clutching all the light tightly in their palms.

It has no eyes, but it sees.

It looked at Old Gu's guilt, at Ye Zhuo's tension, at Lin Jian's fear, and at Shen Xun's golden blood.

The fingertips of every hand were trembling, as if they were laughing.

Old Gu stared at the black mass, at those hands, at that mass of resentment that had burned for thirty years.

His tears fell again, and he knew what they were.

That's Xiulian.

That was Xiulian, whom he had been trapped at the bottom of the river for thirty years.

She became like this because of him.

Shen Xun stood at the very front.

He gripped the peachwood staff, golden blood still flowing, dripping onto the ice and being swallowed by the surging river.

He looked up at the black mass, at the hands, at the things that were crawling up from the bottom of the river.

He knew that it wasn't Xiulian; it was an evil entity, an obsession, something disguised as Xiulian.

It can absorb obsessions; Old Gu's guilt, Lin Jian's fear, Ye Zhuo's tension, and even the power of reincarnation marked on Shen Xun's body all become its nourishment.

It has been nurtured for thirty years, waiting for this day, waiting for these people with heavy karma to walk into its trap.

Shen Xun frowned, and the mark on his left chest flashed wildly. He could clearly feel that there were several auras in the shadows, firmly locking onto this place, like lurking venomous snakes, waiting for him and this thing to both be injured.

He lowered his gaze to the cold, sharp fangs at the snake's head on the peach wood staff, his fingertips hovering above it, a faint sense of melancholy passing through his heart.

The mark on his left chest was burning hot. It was an ancient technique engraved in the souls of the guardians of the Reincarnation Well throughout the ages, a forbidden art to form a blood pact with the extraterrestrial shadow body.

He once stumbled into that chaotic realm where there was no sky or earth, only boundless darkness and countless shapeless shadows swirling and wandering within it. They fed on souls and drank from obsessions, and if they were led to the human world, it would be a catastrophe.

The remaining shadow forms are all brutal and bloodthirsty. Once they set foot in the human world, they will indiscriminately devour all the remaining souls that linger in the mortal realm. They will also shatter the minds of those who are naturally perceptive, causing them to go mad and collapse in endless auditory and visual hallucinations.

Only this one, at the moment when he mistakenly entered the chaos and his soul was almost torn apart, did not rush up to devour him immediately, but instead stood in front of him when the group of shadow bodies surrounded him.

It has no fixed entity and can take on any form it has ever seen. Its form and nature are both unpredictable, so he gave it a name in his mind: Impermanence.

The ancient method of forging a blood pact is a system of checks and balances that firmly imprints a mark.

Once the blood pact is established, each time it appears, it must use the guardian's original golden blood as a catalyst. And each time it reveals its true form and uses its original power, after returning to the Chaos Realm, the blood pact will automatically draw the corresponding original golden blood from its bloodline.

That is the very source connected to the soul; if even a fraction of it is lost, it takes months of cultivation to recover.

This is the price it pays for being able to set foot in the human world and interfere with the cause and effect of the mortal realm; it is also the only shackle that allows it to restrain this extraterrestrial shadow body.

But right now, there is no better option.

The evil creature is incredibly ferocious, and lurks in the shadows, ready to kill.

Shen Xun stared at the sharp fangs on the peach wood staff and finally made up his mind to use the forbidden blood pact that had been sealed for a thousand years at the cost of his soul.