Chapter 63: The Beating of Drums

“Are you up to the task or not? Did you eat today?” Ren Junlin grumbled in frustration at the servant who was tasked with breaking down the door.

According to Fang Yue’s plan, the group had quietly crept up to Old Li’s room. The next step was supposed to be breaking open the door and rushing in. But to their surprise, the operation stalled right at the door.

The burly servant at the front rammed himself against the shabby wooden door, but it refused to budge. His face flushed red in confusion. The door looked old enough that, even if it didn’t collapse at the first hit, it shouldn’t have remained so completely unshaken.

“Take that log over there and use it to break down the door,” Ren Junlin ordered, changing tactics when he saw the strong servant fail several times. He directed the other servants to lift a thick piece of wood lying on the ground. It was as wide as a bowl, soaked in muddy water, wet and filthy, heavy and grimy.

Yet the servants showed no distaste, working together to heft the sodden log. Ren Junlin was known for his generous rewards, so they put in extra effort to please him.

“Hurry up, hurry up!” Ren Junlin kept urging them. The failed attempt to break down the door made him realize something was indeed strange about this house. The commotion outside surely alerted those inside, and Ren Junlin feared they might escape, so he urged his men to open the door quickly.

The servants, bracing themselves, shouted to steady their nerves and charged the log against the old door.

With a thunderous crash, mingled with a shrill scream, the whole house shuddered.

The servants froze, unsure whether to advance or retreat.

“I think something’s crying out,” one whispered.

“I heard it too.”

“Could it be haunted?”

The servants murmured anxiously, feeling an eerie chill swirling around the house.

“Break it down, keep going,” Fang Yue spoke up.

“Why have you stopped? Did you forget to eat? Do as Master Fang says, keep breaking it down,” Ren Junlin bellowed.

Reluctantly, the servants gathered their courage, shouted in unison, and rammed the log against the door once more.

Boom, boom, boom.

The crashing echoed through the rain-soaked night, clear as thunder.

Amidst the cacophony, there were faint, ghostly wails, indistinct but unsettling.

The servants struck the door dozens of times, panting and exhausted, until finally, with a loud bang, the old door collapsed.

“Let go of me! Help!” a woman’s cry came from inside, making Ren Junlin’s face change drastically.

He recognized the voice—it was his sixth concubine, Yan Qiuhong. Though he didn’t care much for this “mother,” who was younger than himself, she was still his father’s concubine. If she were defiled, Ren Junlin would lose face.

Brandishing a knife and holding a torch aloft, Ren Junlin shouted, “Follow me! Whoever catches Old Li first, I’ll reward sixty taels of silver. Everyone else gets five taels each.”

Sixty taels could buy several acres of land and secure a wife. The servants’ eyes gleamed; they dropped the log and picked up their knives and clubs, charging into the house with wild cries.

Inside, illuminated by torchlight, the servants witnessed a sight they would never forget.

A woman’s skirt stood upright as if it were a person, desperately pleading for help. The skirt was puffed out, outlining a delicate female form, yet nothing could be seen inside—just empty air.

“Old Li, you heartless wretch, our Ren family has treated you well, but you’ve learned some wicked sorcery and now harm our kin!” Ren Junlin shouted in fury, pointing at Old Li cowering in the corner.

Thump, thump, thump.

Caught red-handed and exposed, Old Li was terrified. Ignoring everything else, he frantically shook the rattle drum in his hand.

With the urgent drumbeats, the black mist scattered from the door gathered again, though hidden in the darkness, invisible to all.

A sinister aura surged out like a breached river, chilling to the bone. Children’s laughter echoed from all around—sometimes near, sometimes far, sometimes real, sometimes illusory—a most unnatural sound.

Fang Yue, upon entering, intended to seize the rattle drum from Old Li immediately. But Old Li, seeing the crowd rush in, wasted no time shaking the drum.

Fang Yue felt the thumping drumbeats striking his very soul. His mind clouded instantly, and a powerful external force threatened to wrench his spirit from his body. Clinging to his senses, he summoned his internal energy from his dantian, his blood surging, battling against the force pulling at his spirit.

In a panic, Old Li shook the strange, palm-sized rattle drum with all his might, his face visibly aging as he did.

Of all those in the room, only Fang Yue struggled against the drum’s soul-snatching power, maintaining a shred of consciousness thanks to his surging internal energy. The others—Ren Junlin and the servants—stood frozen, motionless, as if their souls had left their bodies.

The room, once noisy with their intrusion, fell into an eerie silence, save for the relentless thumping of the rattle drum.

As the drumbeat continued, black mist surged and gathered beneath the floor, as if something was about to crawl out from the depths.

Old Li kept shaking the rattle drum desperately, though he felt exhaustion overwhelming him. He could not stop.

Suddenly, Fang Yue felt a chilling sense of mortal danger—an instinct so strong he knew his life was at risk if this continued.

He realized he could not delay any longer and silently recited, “Sacrifice.”

As his merit points were consumed, a faint golden glow flickered around him, and the force tugging at his soul eased.

He was using merit points directly to counteract the soul-snatching power of the rattle drum.

“Damn it, I underestimated Old Li,” Fang Yue thought, distressed. He had expected an easy victory, but now events had taken a dreadful turn, and his merit points were draining rapidly. It had taken him ages to accumulate them, but now they vanished like water pouring down a drain.

But now was not the time to dwell on such losses—for the mortal threat he sensed was intensifying.

Fang Yue understood clearly: if he didn’t stop Old Li from shaking the drum, something truly terrifying would occur.

Gritting his teeth, he struggled to step toward Old Li. The distance from the door to the corner was only a few paces, yet each step drained his strength, making his progress slower than a snail.

Seeing Fang Yue still able to move and coming toward him, Old Li was petrified. He was now haggard and ancient, wanting to say something but unable, mute as he was. Only the rattle drum in his hand kept thumping.

It was as if a child were gleefully playing with a rattle drum.

Fang Yue’s gaze remained unwavering. Though his movements were painstakingly slow, he gradually drew closer to Old Li.

At last, he was within reach.

Fang Yue summoned all the energy in his dantian, straining to stretch his hand toward Old Li’s rattle drum.

Just as his hand was about to touch the drum, suddenly, the drumbeat ceased.