Chapter 21: Denouncing the Mountain Spirits and Wild Specters

Upon hearing this, all the villagers lifted their heads simultaneously. Their gazes were either vacant, puzzled, or filled with anticipation, all fixed on Zhang Hao.

To descend the mountain...

For them now, it was such a deeply yearned-for prospect.

They wanted to go down the mountain, to return home, to see their wives and children, to reunite with their loved ones.

Gao Hai, who had been comforting the villagers, rose to his feet with a startled step and approached Zhang Hao, speaking softly, “Haozi, are you really sure this time?”

The villagers were terrified.

Having endured such ordeals, none understood better than they what was truly going on.

They had been trapped on the mountain by something mysterious, indescribable, a force that stirred the deepest fears within them.

Yet no one knew how to escape or leave this cursed place.

If Zhang Hao gave them hope now, only for them to end up back here, these villagers would truly be frightened to death—the fear within their hearts would break them, driving them mad.

This was exactly the saying the elders often repeated: people frighten each other to death.

Not because others frighten them, but because they frighten themselves.

Zhang Hao fully understood this truth. He nodded solemnly, “Don’t worry, Brother Hai. This time I truly know what to do.”

Gao Hai looked into his resolute eyes, hesitating before saying, “Then I’ll have the villagers follow you one more time.”

Zhang Hao nodded and turned to face that “eerie,” “bizarre,” and “incredibly strange” forest path.

This time, he genuinely knew how to deal with that thing.

“Folks, if everyone has rested enough, shall we go?” Zhang Hao turned back with a smile.

The villagers scrambled to their feet quickly; they had longed to leave this place.

Gao Hai remained behind Zhang Hao, occasionally tending to the villagers.

Zhang Hao paid no mind to other matters, stepping forward in his grass sandals.

The soft, muddy path beneath his feet made him furrow his brows. He glanced around now and then, then looked back at the villagers trailing behind.

Before long, they reached a spot far from the cliff’s edge.

The atmosphere among the group was strange and heavy; even the whispers that had filled the air earlier grew faint.

Suddenly, Zhang Hao whirled around to look behind him.

At that moment, he noticed that some villagers’ eyes had become unfocused, vacant, their expressions blank and confused.

“Damn your pompous self! Get lost!” Zhang Hao suddenly exploded, raising his hand and pointing fiercely at the surrounding woods, his face twisted with anger as he shouted curses.

Instantly,

the dazed look in the villagers’ eyes vanished, replaced by clarity.

Zhang Hao’s pupils dilated in surprise.

It worked!

Just as he suspected, the “mountain ghost” they had encountered this time was the kind of spirit recorded in the "Records of Mountain Wanderings"—a trickster called the “Phantom Mountain Spirit.”

This Phantom Mountain Spirit, when encountering someone with heavy yin energy, would harness that person’s yin aura along with the forest’s own to conjure illusions, causing people to lose their way—either wandering in circles or venturing deeper into the thicket.

Its main purpose was to trap people in place and drain their yang energy.

The best way to deal with the Phantom Mountain Spirit was to immediately shout curses when sensing something amiss, scaring it off by showing defiance and clarity of mind. The spirit would then abandon its illusions and let them go.

Of course, it was never just a matter of a few curses. The key was not to harbor fear in one’s heart—otherwise, the illusions would only worsen.

Seeing the villagers’ eyes clear, Zhang Hao did not hesitate and shouted, “What are you standing there for? Start cursing!”

“Come on, curse it out with your nastiest, most common insults! Curse it as harshly as you can! That damn spirit trapped us here, doesn’t want us to leave or go down the mountain. Let’s curse this bastard to death!”

At Zhang Hao’s urging, confusion flickered briefly in the villagers’ eyes.

But in that brief moment,

he saw more villagers’ expressions turn vacant and confused again.

This wouldn’t do. If these villagers couldn’t break free from their fear, they would remain trapped under the Phantom Mountain Spirit’s control.

“Damn your pompous ass! Damn your turtle son, street brat, no-good bitch! Rotten yin-yang scoundrel!”

At that moment, Gao Hai shouted curses loudly, mimicking Zhang Hao’s gestures, his face filled with righteous fury.

Zhang Hao’s heart leapt with joy, refusing to be outdone, continuing to shout, “You little shrimp-faced brat, you look like a damn hammer!”

As their curses echoed through the forest, the villagers seemed to come alive.

“Don’t want to live anymore, huh? Dare to trap me!”

“Shitting without paper, with a long-ass hemorrhoid acting all tough when you back me up!”

“You little bastard, you little sneaky, you little scoundrel, you little thief!”

“From now on, if anyone talks nonsense in front of me, I’ll have her dead! Ugly, temperamental, always picking fights—bring it on, I’m a monster, I’m a beast, I’ll make her obey!”

In an instant, the once-quiet forest was filled with a cacophony of vulgar, unfit-for-children curses.

Yet Zhang Hao’s face was lit with delight.

He noticed that as the villagers spoke out, they vented their grievances and fears through these profanities.

This was the best outcome—it meant their hearts no longer harbored fear, and naturally, they were no longer under the Phantom Mountain Spirit’s control.

Zhang Hao laughed heartily, raising his hand and shouting, “That’s it, folks! Curse the bastard! If he dares trap us, we’ll curse him to death! Let’s keep cursing as we walk, so he knows just how fierce we are!”

Without looking back, he strode forward.

The villagers no longer feared; the Phantom Mountain Spirit no longer held sway over them. Just with his grass sandals, Zhang Hao was confident he could lead them down the mountain.

For a time, a strange, peculiar procession roamed freely through the woods.

Zhang Hao led at the front, blazing a trail. Behind him were villagers from this rural mountain village, inheritors of centuries of crude, colorful curse culture—some with fierce expressions, others with grim, angry faces, all venting their emotions through torrents of profanity.

This time, they no longer felt sluggish or foggy in mind. Their eyes were clear and full of rage; their faces fierce and resolute; their words coarse and shocking.

Soon,

Zhang Hao looked ahead at the mountain path leading down and smiled.

Turning back to the villagers still cursing behind him, he said, “Folks, we’re out!”