The mountain ravines around Xiushui Village are cool and damp all year round, never touched by sunlight. Because the terrain resembles a coiled giant python, locals gave it a name that rhymes with the Chinese word for python—”Mang Mountain.” Legend has it that within these hills dwells a group of evil spirits who love to strip people’s skin. Usually seen in pairs or small groups, they stay quiet during the day, but at night, they come alive. The entire forest becomes eerie and ghostly, filled with floating green lanterns—ghost fires—and occasionally, one might hear a few ghastly screams, the sounds of swords clashing, and the cries of battle. These evil spirits often leave the hills to harass the village. It’s said that during those times, several families were mysteriously stripped of their skin, left as nothing more than red, bloody figures rolling on the ground, somehow still alive for a while. The sight was so horrifying—indescribably tragic. By morning, the stolen human skins were uniformly hung on large trees, creating an absolutely terrifying scene.
Just when the villagers could no longer bear the torment and were preparing to relocate the entire village, an old Taoist priest with flowing white beard arrived from outside the mountains. After personally investigating the area, the priest declared that this hill had a famous historical background—it was once a battlefield between the Ming army and the Qing Dynasty’s Eight Banners. About a thousand soldiers were slaughtered by the Qing troops, leaving behind lingering resentment that accumulated over time, eventually spilling out to harm people. However, there were far too many ghosts for him to handle alone. If he tried to subdue them directly, he might end up being defeated instead. After several days of contemplation, the priest instructed the villagers to build a “Wuxian Lingguan Temple” at the mountain ravine. He explained that if the spirits in the ravine received offerings from the villagers, they would no longer leave the valley. Wuxian Lingguan were five loyal ministers from the Song Dynasty, known for their righteous spirit. Statues of these five officials placed here could suppress the evil spirits, keeping them under the watchful eyes of deities and making them hesitant to act recklessly.
Interestingly, after the Wuxian Lingguan Temple was constructed following the priest’s instructions, the evil spirits in Mang Mountain truly stopped leaving the ravines. That very night the temple was completed, the old priest quietly left Xiushui Village without a trace, never to be seen again. The villagers then believed he must have been a celestial immortal sent down to save them.
The valleys surrounding Xiushui Village are cool and damp year-round, with no sunlight throughout the day. Due to the terrain resembling a coiled giant python, the locals have playfully named it “Mangshan” (Python Mountain). Legend has it that within these hills lurks a group of malevolent spirits that specialize in skinning people. These spirits, usually in small groups, remain inactive during the day but come alive at night, turning the forest into a ghastly scene filled with floating green lanterns and occasional inhuman screams, clashing swords, and sounds of battle. These demons often emerge from the hills to harass the village. It is said that during those days, several households were inexplicably skinned, leaving behind bloodied, writhing bodies that refused to die quickly—a scene too gruesome to describe. By the next day, the skins would be uniformly hung on large trees, a sight of utter terror.
Just as the villagers, unable to bear the torment, were preparing to relocate the entire village, an elderly Taoist priest with a flowing white beard arrived from outside the mountains. After personally investigating the hills, the priest declared that the area held significant history—it was once a battlefield between the Ming army and the Qing Eight Banners, where thousands were slaughtered by the Qing soldiers. The lingering resentment had accumulated over time, eventually manifesting as malevolent spirits that harmed the living. However, the priest admitted that the sheer number of spirits was too much for him to handle alone; attempting to subdue them might result in his own demise. After several days of contemplation, the priest instructed the villagers to build a “Five Manifestations Temple” in the valley. He explained that as long as the spirits received offerings from the villagers, they would no longer leave the valley. The Five Manifestations were five loyal ministers from the Song Dynasty, known for their righteous aura. Placing their statues here would suppress the spirits, keeping them in check and preventing them from acting too recklessly.
Coincidentally, after the Five Manifestations Temple was built according to the priest’s instructions, the malevolent spirits of Mangshan indeed ceased to emerge from the valley. The priest himself mysteriously disappeared on the night the temple was completed, never to be seen again. The villagers began to believe that the elderly priest was a deity who had descended to save them.
Since then, the Five Manifestations Temple has been regarded by the villagers as a sacred and spiritual place. Villagers would frequently come to offer sacrifices, especially during festivals. Although the spirits no longer emerged from the valley, the area outside the valley, with its ancient and disorderly graves, remained somewhat unsettled, though the threat was minimal. The villagers eventually felt at ease, but the perpetually foggy depths of the valley became a forbidden zone for them.
Of course, four fearless children, who feared nothing except their own mothers, were not the least bit intimidated by these baseless legends.
The higher they climbed, the more intense the wind howled. The stone steps, long neglected, were riddled with potholes, resembling the pockmarked face of Xiaoma’s father. Some steps were even broken, with one end stuck to the ground and the other hanging precariously. A misstep could easily result in a bloody fall. Fortunately, the two kerosene lamps they carried proved useful, helping the four of them navigate many dangerous spots. By 12:40, they finally reached the foot of the Five Manifestations Temple.
The eerie temple, built against the mountain, was surrounded by dilapidated walls. The dark eaves were covered in spiderwebs, seemingly protecting the fierce guardian statues at the entrance from the elements.
“It’s been almost two years since we last came here. Who would have thought that a once-prosperous temple would fall into such disrepair!” Liu Dashao exclaimed, looking at the overgrown weeds and shrubs around them.
“Dashao, this is the Five Manifestations Temple, not a Bodhisattva temple! How can you, an educated person, make such a mistake? Next time we go to town, don’t say you know me. You’ll embarrass me and my father, the village chief!” Tian Guoqiang retorted in a thick local accent.
“Whatever,” Liu Dashao scoffed, dragging out his words. “Stop bringing up your father all the time. What does my speech have to do with him? If he were the county magistrate or governor, you’d probably poke a hole in the sky of Xiushui Village.”
His words made Xiaoma and Dogdan burst into laughter, while Tian Guoqiang turned red and fell silent. As Liu Dashao entered the temple, Tian Guoqiang muttered under his breath, “Jerk!”
The wind howled, chilling them to the bone. Although the temple was in disrepair, the two doors were still intact. Closing them would help block the wind. Thinking this, Liu Dashao straightened up, kicked his legs in the air to relieve the numbness, and looked up at the temple’s plaque.
The words “Five Manifestations Temple” on the plaque stood out starkly. Written in the “thin gold” calligraphy style, the characters were coated with a thick layer of cinnabar, perhaps for exorcism or aesthetic purposes. Under the dim light of the kerosene lamps, the characters seemed to writhe like blood, exuding an indescribable sense of eeriness in the night.
Liu Dashao ascended the steps and pushed open the wind-battered temple door. While the temple saw some incense during the day, it appeared utterly desolate at night. Although the statues were painted and the railings coated with bright red lacquer, everything felt strangely off.
Two apples and a plate of cured meat were placed as offerings on the altar. A pair of red candles burned brightly, illuminating the Five Manifestations statues in the shrine, their brows furrowed in anger as if roaring. However, only the sound of the wind outside could be heard; the temple itself was eerily silent. The Five Manifestations, originally five loyal ministers enshrined by Emperor Gaozong of the Song Dynasty, were now depicted in tattered clothes, with green faces and fangs. In the darkness, they almost made Liu Dashao feel as if he had accidentally entered the Hall of the King of Hell.
“Dashao, this place is really scary!” Xiaoma, who had just stepped inside, tripped over a stone statue at the entrance. When he got up and saw the Five Manifestations glaring at him, he let out a yelp, his heart nearly leaping out of his chest.
“Scared?” Liu Dashao found it amusing. “What’s there to be afraid of? They’re just clay statues, taking up space.”
He glanced at the five statues and muttered, “Those who are hungry have no food, yet those who don’t need it always get offerings.” Shaking his head, he picked up an apple from the altar and weighed it in his hand. The apple was quite large, with a crack in it, likely grown in the village. Although a small part was rotten, it was nothing to the village children.
Liu Dashao wiped the apple on his dirty clothes (though the apple was cleaner than his clothes) and took a bite, finding it sweet and sour. Grinning, he tucked another apple into his pocket.
“Hey, Dashao, don’t bring trouble on yourself. Put the apple back. The elders in the village say the Five Manifestations are very responsive to prayers!” Tian Guoqiang scolded, pulling out three leftover incense sticks from the altar. He pretended to bow three times and then inserted them into the incense burner’s ashes.
Of course, four fearless little rascals—braver than anyone, except perhaps their own mothers—would never be deterred by mere baseless legends.
The higher they climbed, the more fiercely the wind howled. The stone steps, long neglected, were now full of potholes, resembling the pockmarked face of Xiao Mazi’s father. Some were even broken in half, one end stuck to the ground, the other dangling from the slope. Anyone careless enough to step on them would surely end up with a broken head. Fortunately, the two full kerosene lamps proved extremely useful, helping the four boys pass many dangerous spots. By 12:40, they finally reached the foot of the Wuxian Lingguan Temple.
Looking ahead, the eerie temple was built against the mountain, its once-proud walls now crumbling and broken. The blackened eaves were covered in spiderwebs, wrapping around the fierce-looking Guardian Deities at the temple doors as if trying to protect them from wind and rain.
“It’s been nearly two years since I last came here to fool around. Never thought this once-nice temple would fall into such a pitiful state!” Liu Dashao sighed, looking at the knee-high weeds and wild grasses surrounding the area.
“Hey, Master Dog, please, this is the Lingguan Temple, okay? Where did you get ‘Buddha’ from? And you actually went to school? Next time you go to town, don’t say you know me, or you’ll shame both me and my village chief dad!” Tian Guoqiang replied in thick dialect.
“Tsk…” Liu Dashao dragged out a long, disdainful sound. “Stop bringing your dad into everything. What does my talking have to do with your dad? Thank goodness he’s just a village chief—if he were a county mayor or provincial governor, I bet you’d punch a hole in the sky of our Xiushui Village.”
As soon as he said that, Xiao Mazi and Goudan burst into laughter. Tian Guoqiang turned bright red, fell silent, and only after Liu Dashao had walked ahead did he mutter under his breath: “Damn fool!”
The wind howled through, freezing their joints. The temple was a bit run-down, but its two doors remained intact. Once closed, they’d block the wind nicely. Thinking this, Liu Dashao stood up straight, kicked his legs in the air a bit to stretch his stiff limbs, then looked up at the temple’s plaque.
The plaque read “Wuxian Lingguan Temple,” the characters oddly striking. Written in the thin, sharp “slender gold” script, perhaps for exorcism or aesthetics, each character was coated thickly with cinnabar. Under the dim glow of the kerosene lamp, they seemed to writhe like blood, giving an indescribably eerie vibe in the night.
Liu Dashao climbed the steps and pushed open the wind-blown temple door. During the day, the temple still received a bit of incense, but at night, it felt utterly abandoned. Though the deities were still painted in bright colors and the railings freshly lacquered in vermilion, everything now felt strangely off.
Two apples and a plate of preserved pork were placed as offerings on the altar. A pair of red candles burned brightly, casting flickering shadows on the five Wuxian Lingguan statues inside the shrine. Their expressions appeared fierce, as if roaring in anger, yet only the howling wind outside could be heard—the temple itself was eerily silent. Originally, the Wuxian Lingguan were five loyal ministers enfeoffed by Emperor Gaozong Zhao Gou of the Song Dynasty. Yet now, these temple statues wore not the bright red official robes of second-rank ministers, but tattered rags, their faces green and fanged. Against the darkness, Liu Dashao almost thought he had mistakenly wandered into the Hall of King Yama.
“Master Dog, this place is kinda scary!” Xiao Mazi had just stepped inside when he tripped over a statue at the entrance. As he stood up and saw the glaring Wuxian Lingguan staring at him, he screamed in terror, his heart nearly leaping out of his chest.
“Scared?” Liu Dashao found it amusing. “What’s there to fear? They’re just a bunch of clay statues hogging space.”
Glancing at the five statues, he muttered, “You guys know what it’s like to starve, but these ones somehow always get offerings.” With that, he shook his head, grabbed an apple from the altar, and weighed it in his hand. It was a fairly large apple, already slightly split, probably grown locally. Though a small part was rotten, to village kids, that wasn’t a big deal.
Liu Dashao wiped the apple against his dirty clothes (though in truth, it would’ve been cleaner not to) and took a bite without hesitation. It was tart and sweet. He grinned, then tucked another apple into his pocket.
The ravine surrounding Xiushui Village remains cool and damp throughout the year, with no sunlight to be seen. Due to its resemblance to a coiled python, the locals have aptly named it Mangshan, or “Python Mountain.” Legend has it that this mountain is inhabited by a group of malevolent spirits who are notorious for skinning people alive. These spirits, usually in small groups, remain dormant during the day but become active at night, turning the forest into a ghastly scene with floating green lanterns and occasional eerie screams, clashing swords, and sounds of battle. These spirits often emerge from the mountain to harass the village. It is said that during those times, several households were inexplicably skinned, leaving behind bloodied, writhing victims who took a long time to die—a truly horrifying sight. By the next day, the skins would be hung uniformly on large trees, a terrifying spectacle.
Just as the villagers, unable to endure the torment, were preparing to relocate the entire village, an elderly Taoist priest with a flowing white beard arrived from outside the mountains. After personally investigating the area, the priest declared that the mountain held a significant history—it was once a battlefield between the Ming army and the Qing Eight Banners, where thousands were slaughtered by the Qing soldiers. The lingering resentment had accumulated over time, eventually manifesting as malevolent spirits that harmed the living. However, the priest admitted that the sheer number of spirits was too much for him to handle alone. Forcing a confrontation might result in his own demise rather than subduing them. After several days of contemplation, the priest instructed the villagers to build a “Temple of the Five Manifestations” in the ravine. He explained that as long as the spirits received offerings from the villagers, they would no longer leave the valley. The Five Manifestations were five loyal ministers from the Song Dynasty, known for their righteous aura. Placing their statues here would suppress the spirits, keeping them in check and preventing them from causing further havoc.
Remarkably, after the Temple of the Five Manifestations was constructed according to the priest’s instructions, the malevolent spirits of Mangshan indeed ceased to emerge from the ravine. The priest himself mysteriously disappeared on the night the temple was completed, leading the villagers to believe he was a deity who had descended to save them.
Since then, the Temple of the Five Manifestations has been regarded by the villagers as a sacred and spiritual site. Villagers frequently come to offer sacrifices, especially during festivals. Although the spirits no longer emerge from the ravine, the area outside the ravine, with its ancient and unmarked graves, remains somewhat unsettled, though the threat is minimal. The villagers have thus found peace, though the perpetually foggy depths of the ravine have become a forbidden zone for them.
Of course, the four fearless children, who fear nothing except their parents, were not deterred by these unverified legends. As they ascended, the wind howled more fiercely. The stone steps, long neglected, were riddled with potholes, resembling the pockmarked face of Xiaoma’s father. Some steps were even broken, with one end stuck to the ground and the other hanging precariously. A misstep could lead to a serious fall. Fortunately, the two kerosene lamps they carried helped them navigate many dangerous spots, and by 12:40, they finally reached the foot of the Temple of the Five Manifestations.
The eerie temple was built against the mountain, surrounded by dilapidated walls. The dark eaves were covered in spider webs, seemingly protecting the fierce guardian statues at the entrance from the elements.
“It’s been almost two years since we last came here. Who would have thought this once-decent temple would fall into such disrepair!” Liu Dashao exclaimed, looking at the overgrown weeds and grass around them.
“Dashao, this is the Temple of the Five Manifestations, not a Buddhist temple! How can you confuse the two? You’ve even been to school. Next time we go to town, don’t say you know me, or you’ll embarrass me and my father, the village chief!” Tian Guoqiang retorted in a thick local accent.
“Pfft…” Liu Dashao dragged out a dismissive tone. “Stop bringing up your father all the time. What does my talk have to do with him? If he were the county magistrate or governor, you’d probably poke a hole in the sky of Xiushui Village!”
At this, Xiaoma and Gou Dan burst into laughter, while Tian Guoqiang turned red and fell silent. Only after Liu Dashao entered the temple did he mutter, “Jerk!”
The wind howled, chilling them to the bone. Though the temple was in disrepair, its two doors were intact and could block the wind. Thinking this, Liu Dashao straightened up, stretched his legs, and looked up at the temple’s plaque.
The plaque bore the words “Temple of the Five Manifestations” in a stark, thin calligraphy style. Whether for exorcism or aesthetics, the characters were thickly coated with cinnabar, which seemed to writhe under the dim kerosene light, giving off a bloody, eerie aura in the night.
Liu Dashao ascended the steps and pushed open the wind-battered temple door. While the temple saw some incense during the day, it appeared utterly desolate at night. Though the statues were painted and the railings coated with bright red lacquer, everything now seemed off.
Two apples and a plate of cured meat were placed as offerings on the altar. A pair of red candles burned brightly, illuminating the five statues of the Five Manifestations, who appeared to be roaring in anger. Yet, apart from the howling wind outside, the temple was eerily silent. The Five Manifestations, originally five loyal ministers enshrined by Emperor Gaozong of the Song Dynasty, were now depicted in tattered clothes, with green faces and fangs. In the darkness, they looked more like demons from the underworld, making Liu Dashao momentarily wonder if he had stumbled into the court of the King of Hell.
“Dashao, this place is terrifying!” Xiaoma, who had just stepped in, tripped over a stone statue at the entrance. Upon seeing the fierce gaze of the Five Manifestations, he let out a yelp, his heart nearly leaping out of his chest.
“Scared?” Liu Dashao found it amusing. “What’s there to be afraid of? They’re just clay statues, taking up space.”
He glanced at the five statues and muttered, “Those who are hungry have no food, yet those who don’t need it always get offerings.” Shaking his head, he picked up an apple from the altar and weighed it in his hand. The apple, though cracked, was still sizable, likely grown in the village. Though a small part was rotten, it was nothing to the village kids.
Liu Dashao wiped the apple on his dirty clothes (though it was arguably cleaner than his clothes) and took a bite, finding it sweet and sour. Grinning, he pocketed another apple.
“Hey, Dashao, don’t bring trouble on yourself! Put the apple back. The elders say the Five Manifestations are very responsive to prayers!” Tian Guoqiang scolded as he rummaged through the incense burner for three leftover sandalwood sticks. He performed a mock bow three times before inserting them into the ash-filled bronze burner.
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