The Invincible Female Ghost Is A Bit Of A Hopeless Romantic Chapter 258: The Vein-Pressing Nail

This was not the kind of random countryside shaman chant; it carried proper Taoist lineage.

First borrow the Four Sages to secure the sight, then use the Three Pure Ones to seize the body, next suppress the seven orifices and both gates, and only lastly open the way to question the altar.

Though it lacked elaborate liturgy, it already followed the orthodox Daoist thod of “stabilize the body first, then discern the qi, then enter the formation.”

After Lu Yuan finished the incantation, he shifted his foot and, to everyone’s surprise, was able to clearly trace the path of that thin wisp of white smoke.

“Southeast, about two zhang off.”

“There’s sothing over there.”

Before he’d finished speaking, he darted ahead a step.

The others hurried to follow.

On the left side of the hollow was a partially collapsed dirt mound covered in moss, but hollow inside.

Lu Yuan crouched, ran his hand along the rim of the mound, and his fingertip imdiately ca away with a sar of gray-white incense residue.

“Just as I thought.”

He murmured:

“There’s a little incense stool inside.”

Hearing that, Zhou Heng’s nerves went taut:

“An incense stool?”

“Who would bother with this place?”

Lu Yuan didn’t answer. He reached in and carefully peeled back a bit of the mound’s edge.

Inside the funeral bundle was indeed a tiny earthen stool, square and small—not stone, but pressed from yellow clay mixed with ash, with a crude wooden wedge around the outside.

The stool didn’t hold a statue; it held three items.

A length of charred incense root.

A small knot of hemp rope.

And a palm-sized paper figurine.

At first glance the paper figure looked human, but on closer inspection it wasn’t—limbs thin and elongated, head disproportionately large.

Around its neck was a loop tied from red cord, like folk thods for pinning a paper doll, yet with an extra hint of old mountain sorcery.

Song Qinghe took a half step back at the sight:

“This... what kind of thing is this for sealing?”

Lu Yuan’s eyes hardened:

“Not sealing, feeding.”

“This isn’t to suppress evil, it’s to plug a mouth.”

Zhou Heng felt his scalp go cold:

“A plug?”

Lu Yuan pinched the paper figure up and held it to the daylight:

“In so old mountain set-ups, they aren’t afraid of you breaking the altar or overturning the seat, they’re afraid you’ll expose its mouth.”

“So they bury small incense stools in hidden spots, one side opening to the path, the other to the earth, and they use smoke and paper people to sustain one breath.”

“On the surface it looks like warding against demons, but in truth it’s feeding the thing below to renew its breath.”

He turned the paper figure over and the others saw a small sar of black-red fingerprints pressed onto the back.

The impressions were ssy, as if so filthy substance had been dabbed by hand.

“Look at these prints.”

Lu Yuan said:

“This isn’t the hand of an ordinary paper-craft worker.”

“Soone pressed an evil seal with their own hand.”

“Once stamped like that, the paper doll is no longer just a paper doll, the incense is no longer just incense, the stool is no longer just a stool.”

“It becos a shell borrowing breath.”

He set the paper figure back under the blank yellow sheet, then took out a spare sheet of yellow ceremonial paper, a few strands of cinnabar thread, and picked up two stones.

He arranged a tiny sealing aperture in front of the earthen stool.

The setup was small but ticulous: the two stones as gates left and right, the cinnabar thread pressed across the center line, the yellow paper folded down to block the exit of yin energy from the stool’s mouth.

While arranging it he murmured:

“This is an eye-sealing buckle.”

“Not a major formation, just a temporary lock on the breath.”

“So it won’t scent the air and crawl out again.”

When he finished, he rose. With two fingers poised in midair he lightly tapped the stool’s mouth and chanted in a low voice:

“No flying clouds above, no evil doors below.”

“Left the Azure Dragon, right the White Tiger.”

“Yellow paper in the middle, cinnabar rope on the outside.”

“Mouth closed, breath closed, path closed, heart closed.”

“Evil shall not leave the stool, calamity shall not leave the earth.”

“The old fire of the solitary mountain stops here.”

“Urgently, urgently, as by the law’s command, close!”

When he spoke the final word “close,” a faint, short “pff” sound actually ca from the stool.

As if a smoldering ember had just been forcefully pinched out.

Everyone flinched.

Zhou Heng’s hairs stood up:

“There’s... sothing breathing in there?”

Lu Yuan’s expression did not change. He slid the paper figure back beneath the yellow paper, his voice cold and clipped like ice:

“It’s incense borrowing a mouth.”

“This little altar has a sealed old lead.”

“Soone uses it as an eye on the path; whoever passes here takes so of that breath, and afterward they’re easily led.”

At this he lifted his gaze slightly and looked deeper into the hollow.

“This thing isn’t the main altar.”

“It’s the tongue in front.”

“The one that truly talks is further back.”

A mountain breeze drifted slowly from the hollow’s mouth, bringing a faint, elusive sweet incense scent.

Lu Yuan’s brow twitched.

He could sll that it wasn’t simply incense ash or burning offerings; it had a faint sweet-sanguine note mixed in.

Sweet to the point of stifling, lightly tallic—like sothing blood-like had been mixed into candle oil.

The mont he slled it, he knew the setup ahead was likely more entrenched than they’d thought.

“Let’s go.”

Lu Yuan said softly.

“This is only an outer tongue. The real mouth is ahead.”

They dared not tarry and hurried deeper.

But just as they were leaving the mound, there ca a light “crack” from inside the dirt mound behind them.

Like a wooden sliver snapping.

Like soone gently knocking a door under the soil.

Lu Yuan stopped mid-step and spun around.

The yellow paper over the stool’s sealed mouth slowly bulged at one edge. A thread-thin black shadow pushed out like a strand of hair, inching outward.

In the next instant the black thread withdrew sharply and slid silently beneath the yellow paper.

Zhou Heng’s face drained white:

“It’s running—running away?”

Lu Yuan stared at the dirt skin, his eyes suddenly cold:

“It heard us co.”

He patted the dust off his robe, his voice so low it was barely a throat-clear:

“This trip has only just begun.”

From the deeper pinewood at the end of the mountain path ca, faint and remote, the sound of a wooden fish being struck.

Dong.

Very light.

Like soone tapping a wooden block in the far distance.

Yet that single strike pressed the whole air of the hollow down.

No one spoke; everyone felt that whatever was in these hills was finally beginning to open its eyes.

When Lu Yuan heard the wooden fish, his feet did not move.

The thing most feared in mountain sorcery was not the glaring fla or obvious calamity, but that distant, watchful tapping.

You can barely hear it with your ears, but in the chest it feels like a strike, tightening the mind.

Moreover, the breath he’d just sealed in the hollow had begun to stir.

The shady ring around the mound seed to dissipate layer by layer, and even the grass at their feet bent subtly in the sa direction.

Wang Cheng'an and Xu Erxiao, who had been steadier before, swallowed and whispered:

“Brother Lu, why does the wooden fish keep going one beat at a ti?”

“It sounds eerie.”

Lu Yuan did not answer right away. He looked further along the mountain path, then said quietly:

“It’s not a wooden fish.”

“It’s soone knocking the mouth.”

The others verified with alarm:

“Knocking the mouth?”

“What do you an?”

Lu Yuan raised his head a little:

“It ans the thing inside knows we’ve moved its tongue.”

“It’s probing the route and calling at the gate.”

“In old mountain practices, so feeding grounds don’t rush to attack; they will first use knocks, wind shifts, smoke returns to see if the people outside are unsettled or steady.”

“If you are panicked, it’ll press down on you.”

“If you’re calm, it’ll keep quiet and wait for the next wave.”

Song Qinghe, face pale, forced herself to ask:

“So what do we do now?”

Lu Yuan placed his hand lightly on the earthen stool.

“Not leaving yet.”

“Since it knocks the gate, we must answer with our own rule.”

“The mountain ways won’t let it seize all montum.”

He then took three items from his bag.

A short length of red cord, an old copper coin, and a neatly folded square of yellow ceremonial paper.

The red thread was leftover from last night, the coin the one sared with black residue earlier, the yellow sheet the spare used when sealing the eye.

He laid them in his palm with a calm expression.

“Everyone step back three paces.”

“Don’t step on that line of earth.”

“No one speak, just watch my rites.”

They complied.

Lu Yuan placed the coin on the ground a foot in front of the stool’s mouth, pressed the red thread over the coin, pulling the thread ends left and right to form a tiny arc.

Finally he folded the yellow sheet into thirds and placed it behind the coin like a small flag.

The arrangent looked simple but was exacting in aning.

The copper coin represents tal, to steady the mouth; red thread represents fire, to bind breath; yellow paper represents earth, to press yin.

Together they ford a small “borrowed-position seal to close the gate.”

Zhou Heng goggled and whispered to Lin Zhaoxuan:

“Is this considered a formation?”

Lin Zhaoxuan looked at the items and slowly shook his head:

“Not a big formation, just a response array.”

“He’s temporarily borrowing local objects to press it so the other side can’t continue probing the gate.”

Lu Yuan planted his feet, left foot slightly turned in, right foot centered; his hands ford a precise altar-raising sign in front of his chest.

Thumbs touching, four fingers interlocked, palms forming a hollow—not truly closing—his whole stance seed to sink his energy into the earth.

He began a chant, voice low but clear, each word cutting into the mountain wind:

“Heaven clear, earth bright, sun and moon light the path.”

“Four-directional generals, hold our steps.”

“In front an underworld gate, behind an unseen mouth.”

“If offerings are perverse, sever their head at once.”

“Now I borrow earth, copper, and red cord to seal sound, seal breath, seal eye, seal route.”

“Urgently, urgently, as by the law’s command, the gate closes.”

When he said the final “closes,” he slamd both hands down.

The invisible breath was pressed by an unseen hand.

The faint wooden fish that had been tapping in the hollow paused for half a beat.

Only half a beat.

Then a heavier “dong” ca from the distant woods.

This one was not light; it was like soone knocking a heavy wooden slab on bare stone, making nearby leaves tremble.

At that signal the thin white smoke in the hollow suddenly kinked and shot straight upward, as if pricked by a needle.

Lu Yuan’s eyes hardened:

“It’s coming.”

Zhou Heng stepped forward instinctively, but Lin Zhaoxuan grabbed him back.

“Don’t move!”

Lu Yuan pulled a yellow talisman from his bag, scraped the back with his fingertip and breathed a short command, then slamd the talisman onto the ground.

“Rise!”

The talisman thudded down and stuck steadily in front of the copper coin, as though an invisible mouth had latched onto the breath trying to rush out.

Imdiately the layer beneath the hollow began to quiver slightly.

The tremor was faint, like fingers scratching the earth from below.

Song Qinghe’s face changed:

“Sothing down there woke.”

Lu Yuan stared at the dirt:

“It’s shifting position.”

“When we sealed that little stool it was resentful and began to adjust other breath outlets.”

“That shows the main altar ahead and this old head are connected.”

While he spoke he had ford a complex hand seal without anyone noticing—thumb pressing the base of the ring finger, index and middle fingers together and slightly bent, little finger tucked in, palm outward, wrist angled—part imprint, part plucking an invisible string in the air.

Lin Zhaoxuan recognized it at once and whispered:

“Is that the inquiry-atmosphere seal?”

Lu Yuan nodded, eyes never leaving the ground:

“I’m not asking the path, I’m asking the base.”

“To see where its main altar is, we must first see where its breath returns.”

He then pushed the sealed hand slowly forward, fingers still, knuckles trembling as if plucking a fine invisible wire.

He closed his eyes and intoned a short, old-fashioned verse in a deep voice:

“Ask the sky above and get no reply, ask the yellow earth below and hear its voice.”

“Mountains have mountain veins, soil has earth spirits; lend one true breath to reveal the evil gate.”

“Urgently, urgently, as by the law’s command, open the eye.”

The mont he spoke “open the eye,” Lu Yuan’s pupils constricted abruptly.

He saw—not through sight but by the echo of the breath-answer—within his mind.

Not many dozen steps into the hollow, the ground had sunk into a shallow funnel.

In that funnel, soone had long before buried a tiny stone peg. Black cord was wound around the peg and the cord’s other end vanished into the earth, as if leading deeper below.

Under the stone peg a faint reddish qi emanated.

It was neither fire qi, nor earth qi, nor rely incense smoke.

It was a mixed breath—part blood, part incense, part old corpse yin.

Dense, viscous, cold—like an invisible oil seeping along the Earth Veins downward.

When Lu Yuan opened his eyes, coldness had risen in them.

“There really is a peg.”

Zhou Heng’s voice shook with strain:

“What peg?”

Lu Yuan said:

“A vein-pressing nail.”

“One of the most sinister things in these hills.”

“It’s not ant to nail the earth; it nails the route veins.”

“If the route veins are pinned, qi must flow along it to a side, ultimately pouring into the main altar.”

Lin Zhaoxuan’s face darkened:

“So you an the route beneath our feet has already had its outlets altered?”

Lu Yuan nodded:

“Yes.”

“And not just recently.”

He exhaled slowly:

“This place isn’t a makeshift evil stash; it was raised by the book’s old ways, inch by inch.”

“Soone first pegged the route, then led incense, then placed a tongue, then nurtured the altar.”

“By the ti outsiders notice, the inside is already grown.”

Song Qinghe’s chest tightened and she asked, unable to help:

“Can the peg be pulled out?”

Lu Yuan did not answer imdiately. He looked at the surrounding tree shadows.

The mountain wind had slackened now, but the morning mist had sohow crept back, a gray-white cloth descending layer by layer through the forest.

Where there had been a few birdcalls earlier, now there was nothing—silence save for their breaths.