Chapter 22: A Distinguished Guest Arrives, Part Two

Chapter 22: An Honored Guest Arrives, Part Two

The old man curled his lips into an enigmatic smile, but did not answer directly. Instead, he turned to the table and addressed the others, “This little play never fails, does it? I must have said these very words seventeen or eighteen times now. In a moment, your expression will serve as our appetizer, just as before. Hehehe~”

“You couldn’t be more right, sir,” someone else chimed in, laughter bubbling up among the group. “This is a show that never grows old, heh heh~ heheheh...” The company burst into chuckles and guffaws, some shaking with mirth, others laughing more heartily, but amidst this scene, their amusement took on a distinctly eerie air.

Under the flickering lamplight, their shadows stretched long along the walls, forming a myriad of strange shapes. These silhouettes twisted and wove together in rhythm with their laughter, sometimes interlacing, sometimes separating, as though performing a silent, macabre shadow play.

Even with his slow wits, Zheng Ji now sensed that something was awry. His face clouded with uncertainty as he stammered, trying to appease, “Elder, good villagers, please don’t make light of me. I... I am not a brave man, I spook easily.”

“Oh?” The old man stroked his beard, his tone mocking. “Faint of heart? Yet you dared to cross the haunted graveyard near Black Pine Post at this late hour? I’d say you have quite the courage. Or perhaps you already know what I’m about to say?”

As he toyed with Zheng Ji as a cat might with a mouse, a harsh voice suddenly rang out from a nearby table.

“Let me guess—you’re about to say that the main course tonight is ‘me.’ Same old script, nothing new there.”

The old man’s gaze darted over, his expression soured. “Hmph! Young whelps have no sense of decorum. Such poor breeding, giving away the punchline before the act is played. Spoils all the fun.”

“Hmph! I’m just hungry,” the voice retorted. “Came for a meal, not a farce.” With that, a figure shot up from his seat—a Daoist priest whose very appearance sent chills down the spine.

This priest was one-eyed and one-armed. His single eye was sunken and cold, glinting with a sinister light, while the other socket was a hollow void. His left sleeve hung empty, but his right arm was thick and powerful. His robe was tattered and stained with unidentifiable filth and blood. His hair was matted like dried grass, tied into a rough knot. When his lone eye swept the room, all who met his gaze instinctively looked away.

This was none other than Zhang Sanlu, who had been traveling down the mountain for several days.

The old man, unsettled by this fearsome figure, hesitated, though he refused to show weakness. He tried to retort, but before he could utter a word, Zhang Sanlu slammed his bundle onto the table with a thunderous “thud.” Raising his voice, he declared, “Your tricks are stale. Since you’re lacking a main course, allow me to treat you to a real feast! Let’s see if you’ve the teeth for it!” With that, he untied the bundle.

Within lay the severed head of a Daoist, jaws bared in a grimace, eyes wide open. The blood-stained face was as lifelike as if it still drew breath.

Seasoned though the gathering was, the sight made them flinch, a collective hiss escaping their ranks.

Then Zhang Sanlu roared, slamming his palm onto the table with a resounding crash: “What’s this? An honored guest at your door, and you expect me to serve myself?!”

No sooner had his words fallen than the chaos erupted. With a bang as if smoke exploded, the room was filled with the sounds of overturned tables and chairs, shattered dishes, and a sudden cacophony.

In the blink of an eye, the once lamp-lit, bustling hall transformed into a wild, haunted night, cold mist curling beneath a lurid green bonfire. Surrounded by its unnatural glow were grotesque mountain spirits and monsters, fiends and horrors of every stripe—some with horns, some scaled, others shaped in ways no human mind could fathom.

The banquet’s fruits and delicacies reverted to hearts, livers, spleens, lungs, and kidneys—strange and sinister offerings in the darkness, as though the feast had become a ghastly ritual for both eye and palate. Under the flickering light, the organs seemed to pulse with a new, unholy life.

The red ones shone like rubies, their carved surfaces gleaming temptingly; with each bite, the “juice” flowed like springwater, a soft chewing sound spreading through the still air.

The brownish-red ones were tender and elastic, expertly diced, skewered on elegant forks, like the most alluring stars in the night sky.

The yellow ones, irregular in shape and striking in hue, drew every gaze; each crisp bite left a lingering aftertaste.

The white ones, light and delicate, released a subtle fragrance the instant teeth broke their surface, then melted on the tongue, blending with their juices for a lingering savor.

The black, oval ones, cool to the touch and artfully prepared, offered a strange, tantalizing flavor with every bite—a journey into the unknown.

By now, not a soul remained in the courtyard. In this cursed little yard, not a trace of humanity could be found—only pigs, dogs, wolves, foxes, rats, monkeys, civets, and cats, along with spirits and monsters, whispering and cackling. Their laughter was laced with scorn and mockery of all living things.

On the ground, severed fingers and eyeballs became playthings for the rats, rolling and tumbling as they chased them, sometimes bursting one with a squelch, sending yellow and white fluids spraying.

The whole scene brimmed with terror and the unnatural, like a nightmare from which there was no escape. The monsters’ laughter, shrieks, and quarrels wove together, chilling the blood.

Zheng Ji stared at the stew—boiled to a pulp, human hands floating within—and his stomach heaved as he vomited in horror. When he managed to stand, the truth dawned on him: the main course for this “housewarming celebration” was himself. He stood rooted to the spot, shaking uncontrollably, eyes vacant as he gazed at the horror before him—a veritable hell of animal spirits and fiends. His heart pounded wildly, but his legs trembled so violently he could not utter a word. His eyes bulged, lips quivering, and he stared helplessly at the one remaining figure, the one-eyed, one-armed Daoist.

After a moment, tears welled in Zheng Ji’s eyes. In the midst of these demons and monsters, the Daoist seemed more like a demonic king than any savior.

Sure enough, the monstrous priest barked out a command, sweeping away the illusion with a single gesture, then slammed a human head onto the table, chatting with gruesome ease about feasting on human flesh and blood.

Zheng Ji tried to flee, but his legs felt as though they were filled with lead; he could not lift them. His mind was a blank, unable to think, forced to watch this nightmare banquet unfold.

“The main dish is right here! What’s the preparation, then? An honored guest arrives, and you can’t even offer a proper welcome?!”