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 homophonic name—Mang Mountain. Legend has it that within these hills lurks a group of evil spirits who love to peel human skin. In small groups, they remain quiet during the day, but at night, they come alive. The entire forest becomes eerie and ghostly, filled with floating green lanterns—occasionally punctuated by inhuman screams, sounds of swords clashing, and desperate cries of battle. These evil spirits often leave the hills to harass the village. Back then, several families mysteriously had their skin stripped, left as nothing more than red, bloody figures rolling on the ground, somehow still alive, enduring unbearable agony. The sight was horrifying—words fail to describe. By morning, the stolen human skins would all be uniformly hung on large trees, a terrifying sight indeed.
Just when the villagers could no longer endure the torment and were preparing to abandon the village entirely, an old Daoist priest with flowing white beard arrived from beyond the mountains. After personally exploring the area, the priest declared that this hill had a notorious past—it had once been a battlefield where Ming soldiers and Qing Banners clashed. About a thousand people were slaughtered by Qing troops, leaving behind endless resentment that never dissipated. Over time, this hatred accumulated and began to harm the living. However, there were simply too many ghosts. Alone, the priest could not possibly subdue them all. If he attempted to confront them head-on, he might end up defeated himself. After several days of contemplation, he instructed the villagers to build a temple dedicated to the Five Manifestations of Lord Ling (Wuxian Lingguan), explaining that if the spirits in the ravine received offerings from villagers, they would no longer leave the valley. These Five Manifestations were five loyal ministers from the Song Dynasty, embodying righteous energy. Statues of them placed here could suppress the evil spirits, keeping them under divine watch and preventing them from becoming too reckless.
Interestingly, once the temple was built exactly as the priest instructed, the evil spirits of Mang Mountain truly stopped leaving the ravines. That very night, the old Daoist priest quietly vanished from Xiushui Village, never to be seen again. The villagers believed he must have been a deity descended from heaven to save them.
Since then, the temple of the Five Manifestations became a sacred, spiritual site in the villagers’ eyes. People regularly came to make offerings, and during festivals, the temple became especially lively. Although the spirits no longer emerged from the ravines, the ancient burial grounds outside the valley remained somewhat unsettled—though no longer a serious threat. The villagers thus finally felt safe. Yet, deep within those mist-covered ravines, a forbidden zone remained.
Of course, four mischievous boys—fearless of heaven and earth, but only of their mothers and fathers—had the guts of giants and were certainly not frightened by mere baseless legends.
As they climbed higher, the wind howled more fiercely. The stone steps, long neglected, were now riddled with potholes, resembling the pockmarked face of Xiao Ma’s father. Worse still, some had cracked in half, one end stuck to the ground while the other dangled precariously on the slope—stepping on one would surely result in a bloody fall. Fortunately, the two full kerosene lamps came in handy, guiding the four boys through many dangerous spots. By 12:40, they finally reached the foot of the Five Manifestations Temple.
Looking up, the gloomy temple clung to the mountain. The ruined walls around it had long collapsed, and the blackened eaves were covered in spider webs. These webs seemed to protect the fierce-looking Guardian Deities at the temple doors, as if trying to shield them from wind and rain.
“Must be nearly two years since I last came here,” Liu Dashao sighed, gazing at the knee-high weeds and wild grasses surrounding the temple. “Never thought a temple for Bodhisattva would fall into such a sorry state!”
“Hey, Dude,” Tian Guoqiang replied in thick dialect, “for your info, this is a Lingguan Temple, not a Buddhist one! You went to school, right? Don’t mention knowing me when you’re in town next time, or you’ll shame me and my dad the village chief!”
“Pfft…” Liu Dashao scoffed with a long-drawn-out sound. “Stop dragging your dad into every conversation. What does my talk have to do with your dad? Thank goodness he’s only a village chief—if he were a county or provincial leader, our sky in Xiushui Village might’ve already been torn wide open!”
At this, Xiao Ma and Goudan burst into laughter. Tian Guoqiang turned bright red and fell silent. Only after Liu Dashao had walked ahead did he mutter under his breath, “Damn fool!”
The wind howled through, chilling their bones. Though the temple was in ruins, its two doors remained intact. Once shut, they would block the wind nicely. Thinking this, Liu Dashao stood up straight, kicked his legs in the air, and stretched his stiff limbs. He looked up at the temple’s plaque.
The plaque bore the words “Five Manifestations Temple,” written in the elegant “slim gold” script. Whether for warding off evil spirits or aesthetics, the characters had been thickly coated with cinnabar. Under the dim glow of the kerosene lamp, the red letters seemed to writhe like blood, giving off a strange, eerie vibe in the darkness.
Liu Dashao climbed the steps and pushed open the wind-blown temple door. During the day, the temple still received some incense offerings, but at night, it felt desolate. Though the gods’ statues were once painted in bright colors and the railings coated in vermilion, everything now felt strangely off.
Two apples and a dish of cured meat were placed as offerings on the altar. A pair of red candles burned brightly, casting flickering shadows on the Five Manifestations in the shrine, making their eyes seem fierce, as if roaring in anger. Yet all that could be heard was the wind outside—the temple itself was eerily silent. Originally, these five were loyal ministers enfeoffed by Emperor Gaozong Zhao Gou of the Song Dynasty. But now, instead of wearing the bright red official robes of second-rank ministers, they were dressed in tattered rags, their faces green with fangs bared. In the darkness, Liu Dashao almost thought he had accidentally entered the Hall of King Yama.
“Dude, this place’s kinda creepy,” said Xiao Ma, who had just stepped inside when he tripped over a statue at the door. As he stood up and saw the glaring Five Manifestations staring back, he let out a startled yelp, his heart nearly leaping from his chest.
“Scared?” Liu Dashao chuckled. “What’s there to fear? They’re just clay statues taking up space.”
He glanced at the five statues and muttered, “At least you don’t starve. Unlike real people, you always get food offered to you.”
He then grabbed an apple from the altar and weighed it in his hand. It was a decent-sized one, slightly split—probably homegrown. Though a small part had rotted, to village kids, that wasn’t a big deal.
Liu Dashao rubbed the apple against his dirty clothes (though it would’ve been cleaner if he hadn’t), then took a bite. It was tart and sweet, and he grinned. He took another bite and tucked the rest into his pocket.
“Hey Dude, don’t go messing with spirits and harming yourself! Put the apple back! The elders say the Five Manifestations here are very responsive—whatever you ask for, they’ll grant!” Tian Guoqiang scolded. As he spoke, he rummaged through the incense tray beneath the statues and pulled out three half-burned incense sticks. He bowed three times solemnly and inserted them into the ash-filled bronze incense burner.
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