Translator: CinderTL
"Normally, it wouldn't be unusual for a few workers to run off at that time. Some were just day laborers hired locally. But what's strange is that they had nearly finished their work, yet hadn't been paid."
After hearing about the newcomers' attire and behavior, Jiang Cheng was fairly certain of their identities.
They were Night Watchers.
Their presence here confirmed that a supernatural event had indeed occurred, and judging by the circumstances, it seemed to be a particularly troublesome one.
Time was pressing. They had already lingered here too long, and Jiang Cheng worried that Huai Yi couldn't handle things alone.
"Curator," Jiang Cheng asked, "from what you said earlier, these missing workers... could they have met with some misfortune as well?"
Curator Zhou sighed, giving him a knowing look that seemed to say, "You're right." "We don't know what happened to them afterward. They sealed off a vast area around the site, and police guarded it day and night, preventing anyone from approaching."
"But I later heard that the Black Clothed Men entered that very night. Then, around dawn, people began emerging one by one."
"In total, they carried out ten bodies."
Hearing about ten bodies, Jiang Cheng immediately sensed something was amiss. According to Curator Zhou's earlier statement, only a few workers had gone missing.
Could the rest be...?
"You're right," Curator Zhou sighed, as if a great weight had been lifted from his heart, though his tone carried a hint of regret. "Some of the bodies belonged to the missing workers. The rest were those Black Clothed Men."
Seeming reluctant to dwell on the topic, Curator Zhou turned his head and changed his tone. "After dawn, the Black Clothed Men vanished, presumably having left. The police gave the construction team a blueprint and instructed them to follow it."
"From that day forward, the police kept a close watch on the construction until it was completed."
With a wave of his hand, Curator Zhou gestured around the room. "Many of the screens, walls, and other features you see here were arranged according to that blueprint."
Jiang Cheng nodded, following Curator Zhou's gaze. Some of his earlier doubts were now clarified. "No wonder I felt something was off when I came in."
"Some say the original feng shui here was unfavorable. The people who came were Feng Shui Masters, and they altered it," Curator Zhou said, his eyes tinged with melancholy. "I heard from the older generation that changing feng shui goes against the will of Heaven and invites retribution. Perhaps those Black Clothed Men were..."
Curator Zhou trailed off, shaking his head.
"Oh, right!" Curator Zhou suddenly remembered something. "We've also managed to decipher part of the message the man left on the mirror."
Jiang Cheng's eyes lit up. "What does it mean?" he asked immediately.
Curator Zhou frowned, recalling the words. "Method correct, book, it emerged, failure, only, try, heart, corrode, Devil, no time left."
"It's a very ancient language," Curator Zhou explained, sounding somewhat regretful. "This is all we could decipher."
"Thank you, Curator," Jiang Cheng said casually. "I was just curious. By the way, what happened to the man's belongings that were left at the Folk Museum after his death?"
"Oh, you mean those exhibits? They were packed up and taken away. As for where they ended up, I'm afraid I don't know."
"I see," Jiang Cheng nodded.
Creak—
The gate swung open, and Wu Qing walked in carrying two cups of milk tea. "Thank you, Senior Sister," Jiang Cheng said with a smile, accepting the milk tea and handing one to Fatty.
With Wu Qing back, it wasn't convenient to continue their conversation. Jiang Cheng stood up to take his leave.
Curator Zhou even escorted them out, remarking along the way that he wasn't sure why he'd shared so much with them, perhaps it was simply old age.
After leaving the library, Fatty slurped his milk tea and leaned in, whispering, "Doctor, why did Curator Zhou tell us so much? Could there be a trap?"
"And Wu Qing... she seems off, too. Could she be involved?"
Suddenly, Jiang Cheng, who was also sipping his milk tea, stopped walking.
Immediately, Jiang Cheng's expression darkened, his lips tightening as he stopped drinking his milk tea. He stared down at the cup, his fingers trembling slightly.
Fatty's eyes widened slowly, the milk tea in his mouth suddenly losing its flavor.
"Holy shit, is this milk tea poisoned?!" He hurled the cup five meters away.
The next moment, Fatty watched in disbelief as Jiang Cheng's lips moved, spitting out several tapioca pearls from the milk tea. Then, he picked up the straw and resumed slurping.
"They even put tapioca pearls in it," Jiang Cheng muttered, "so tasteless."
Fatty turned to look at the milk tea he had thrown like a grenade. How the hell has the Doctor survived this long? he wondered.
But since he owed his survival to the Doctor's protection, Fatty leaned in familiarly. "Doctor, what do you make of the foreign man Curator Zhou described?"
"The state his corpse was found in was identical to Xiaolin and Xiaoting's. They were killed by the same entity," Jiang Cheng said casually.
"A Stalker Ghost!" Fatty's back went cold.
"Mm," Jiang Cheng nodded. "And did you notice? Curator Zhou's description of the secret room closely resembles the Activity Center's warehouse after we restored it."
"Both had several chairs, and a mirror hung on the wall. I suspect there was once a hexagram pattern on the warehouse floor, but it was erased."
"Yuan Xiaoyi and that foreign man both did the same thing."
Fatty nodded repeatedly, stroking his chin and saying in an odd tone, "Doctor, it seems they were all performing some kind of ritual."
"Exactly. And this ritual is connected to the Stalker Ghost," Jiang Cheng recalled. "The method was correct. The book—it came out. Failure. Only—try my best. Heart—corrosion. Devil. No time left."
Fatty blinked, his voice tinged with regret. "Those were the words the man left by the mirror. Too fragmented, unfortunately. Otherwise..."
"The method in the book was correct, but I had no time left. I could only try my best. Failure." Jiang Cheng's tone shifted abruptly. "It came out."
The cold words escaped his lips like an ancient prophecy, carrying an indescribable abnormality.
Fatty's upper and lower jaws trembled uncontrollably. For some reason, these words conjured a series of dark, gray images in his mind, like medieval prophecies.
"It's out," Fatty said, turning to Jiang Cheng, his pupils constricting. "Who is it? What exactly is that Stalker Ghost?"
Jiang Cheng set down his milk tea and pondered for a moment. "Heart, corrosion, Devil," he murmured, tilting his head toward Fatty. "Heart-Corroding Demon."
(End of the Chapter)
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