The glow on the cloth didn’t fade completely.

  It peeled away in threads—like a cracked eggshell—then, after a breath of stillness, began to pulse again from underneath.

  My heart, which had just started to loosen, seized right back up.

  The light flickered once—

  and I almost sucked my soul back into my lungs.

  “Why is it glowing again?!”

  I jolted upright from the divine seat, half-hysterical.

  “I swore the oath! I cleared the grievance! I released the soul! What else do you want, divine bureaucracy?!”

  Lian didn’t even look surprised. A faint crease touched his brow as he murmured,

  “It’s never that simple.”

  I opened my mouth to argue—

  when a familiar snap cut through the air.

  A folding fan.

  “How na?ve,” came Hua’s voice, smirking as always, a touch of mockery hiding behind it. “You think the Cloth of Shape defines only one shape? What you think it is, your backyard plaything? One use and you toss it away?”

  I froze, blinking.

  They were both back—standing on either side of me.

  “Wait—how did you two get out?”

  Lian gave me a sidelong glance.

  “Once the first form is broken, the illusion dissolves.”

  “Ah.” My stomach dropped. “So while I was judging that poor kid’s case, you two were just… watching?”

  “I was outside the formation,” Lian said calmly. “I couldn’t hear what you said to him.”

  I looked toward the altar.

  Half of the white silk had burned away, and new crimson letters crawled across what remained:

  Qu Clan’s Second Grievance: the Red Well of Taoying Mountain. The offering table by the well combusts on its own.

  The air shifted.

  Cold. Heavy.

  Inside the cloth, a few surviving red threads quivered—like something unseen reaching out from the dark.

  “System…” I whispered. “What kind of lore horror is this supposed to be now?”

  Silence.

  Of course. When things get serious, the System ghosts me faster than anyone.

  “Look,” Hua said sharply. “The corner.”

  I turned around.

  At the far end of the ancestral hall, a stone door had creaked open. Behind it—

  a narrow tunnel, slanting toward the mountain’s back.

  Fog oozed through the opening. The air reeked of wet earth and incense.

  Only one broken lantern flickered at the entrance, dim as a dying firefly.

  Lian’s voice was low.

  “This one… I’ll ask.”

  “Huh?”

  He looked at me, eyes unreadable but cool as frost.

  “You just untied the child’s soul. Your form is unstable; your words might disturb the balance. I’ll begin this trial. I’ll check in on… whoever’s waiting in that well.”

  We followed the path up the mountain.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Sure enough—there it was.

  An old stone well, half-buried under the cliff, overgrown with blood-red vines. The water shimmered faintly, with a hint of crimson beneath the surface.

  Beside it stood a rotting offering table. Its wood was blackened, yet somehow, it was still smoking, as if freshly burned.

  Lian frowned and covered his mouth with his sleeve.

  “This place reeks of blood. The well’s been fed human offerings.”

  My knees nearly buckled.

  “I’m sorry—what did you just say? Fed human—?”

  “Did you really think the plague curse in this village was held down for three generations by prayers?” Hua chuckled darkly, drawing a dagger from his fan’s spine. “They used boys as seals. Girls as sacrifices. You, my dear divine lord, are sitting on quite the throne of bones.”

  Before I could retort, a burst of blue flame flared from the offering table.

  A faint female figure rose from the smoke.

  Her clothes were torn, her hair dripping wet—but her face…was soft. Gentle. Almost kind.

  Almost.

  Her eyes, though—empty.

  Like she hadn’t really woken up in a hundred years.

  Lian stepped forward.

  “Are you… from Qu Village?”

  She nodded faintly.

  “Why are you bound to this well?”

  Her voice was slow, far-away.

  “I was… the temple’s maiden. When the plague came, they said the well was cursed. They said a virgin must be drowned to cleanse it. I was fifteen. They called me the ‘goddess.’ Three days without food, seven nights of cleansing. Then… they lowered me in.”

  My skin crawled.

  “And after that… you never woke up?”

  She smiled—a fragile, broken smile.

  “The night I went under, there was wind. They sang a lullaby while they tied the ropes. Said it was destiny.”

  “I struggled. I was scared. The water was too cold. The ropes too tight.”

  Her voice dropped.

  “I sank.”

  A pause.

  Then she looked down at her own hands—translucent, dripping with red.

  “But I didn’t die all the way.”

  “Every new moon, they come and pray. They say, ‘The goddess protects us. The plague is gone.’”

  “But I did nothing.”

  Her voice faded to a whisper.

  “I’m not a goddess. I can’t save anyone. I’m just… a fifteen-year-old girl.”

  Then she lifted her gaze.

  There was tremor in it now.

  “There are thirty-seven more girls like me down there.”

  “I wasn’t the first.”

  “And I won’t be the last.”

  The cloth pulsed violently. Crimson lines bled across its silk:

  The curse does not end through sacrifice; sacrifice merely soothes fear.

  Gods do not descend upon girls; girls are drowned and buried.

  Lian turned toward me.

  “Your turn.”

  I blinked.

  “My—wait, what?!”

  Hua didn’t even hesitate. He kicked me forward.

  “Come on, oh mighty divine judge. Deliver your verdict.”

  My legs were jelly, but I forced myself upright.

  The threads under my feet vibrated faintly—each one echoing that girl’s final line: I sank.

  My throat locked up.

  Then—Lian’s sleeve brushed mine.

  Something pressed into my palm.

  A tiny scrap of paper. Barely bigger than my thumb. On it, hastily scrawled:

  Focus: the false goddess. The human used as offering.

  Name: Qu Yao.

  Solution: return her human name. Unmake the divinity.

  I stared at it.

  How the hell did he write that without me noticing?

  Still… I felt a surge of gratitude. Because honestly, I had no idea what to say.

  “I’ll do it,” I muttered.

  Catching Hua’s smirk, I coughed, hid the note in my sleeve, and straightened.

  “You.”

  My voice shook. I forced it steady.

  “You should never have been drowned.”

  “And you must not take the living down with you.”

  The threads trembled. The girl’s phantom tilted her head, uncertain.

  I clenched my fists.

  “You are human. Your name is Qu Yao.”

  “You are not a goddess.”

  A sharp crack! rang out.

  A red thread snapped.

  The sound came from somewhere deep below the well, echoing up my spine like thunder.

  Then—the crying began.

  Soft. Then louder. Long, winding sobs that turned to laughter, turned back to grief.

  “If there’s justice,” I said, voice breaking, “then today—let the whole village kneel before you.”

  She blinked.

  Then—she smiled. Blood-red.

  And burst into flame.

  Her laughter rose through the fire—clear, furious, beautiful.

  “Yes—”

  “I take my name back. And I free the Qu clan’s dead!”

  The well boiled.

  The vines shriveled.

  The cloth shrieked, the altar exploded, debris flying in all directions.

  At long last, the System’s voice returned—late as always:

  [Case Two: The Red Well — Verdict Complete]

  I collapsed onto the ground, gasping.

  “Verdict?! That was divine retribution!”

  Lian’s eyes slid toward me, calm as ever. The corner of his mouth twitched—just slightly.

  Hua spun his fan and chuckled behind it.

  “My, my. Our little god-judge certainly has a way with holy fire.”

  I turned away, refusing to rise to the bait.

  “Don’t flatter me. We only survived because we worked together.”

  Lian’s reply was quiet.

  “Mutual effort. Shared merit.”

  …Something in his tone felt off.

  Still, I pretended not to notice.

  One thought rang loud in my head:

  Please. Let the next case not start with me again.

  “There’s one left,” Lian said softly.

  “And it’ll be the hardest,” Hua added, folding his arms. “The real centerpiece.”

  I looked up at the cloth.

  A third line of crimson letters had already appeared—

  slowly bleeding into the silk.

  Case Three: The Night of the Foot Demon.

  Wait! Don’t tell me it is the fake god of feet we met on that night!