Tiege Temple

Mountain Gate

The twilight, like congealed blood, coats the folds of the mountains. You stand before the mountain gate of Tiege Temple. Beneath your feet are polished green stone steps, with wild grass growing from the crevices trembling in the evening wind. Mist surges from the forest, wrapping around the eaves of the ancient temple, making the hanging bronze bells loom in and out of sight.

Just as you are about to knock, the door opens on its own. A young monk stands behind it, holding a paper lantern. The candlelight reflects on his face—pale, with a cautious smile.

"Patron, it is late, and the mountain paths are deep and treacherous. Why not rest in the temple for the night?"

His voice is very soft, as if afraid of disturbing something. You notice dark stains on the hem of his robe, but fatigue and hunger keep you from thinking too deeply. You nod and step over the threshold.

The mountain gate slowly closes behind you, letting out a heavy sigh.

Main Hall

The monk leads you through the green stone corridor and into the Mahavira Hall. No lamps are lit inside; only the flame of the ever-burning lamp before the Buddhist shrine flickers in the wind. Amidst the swirling incense smoke, a statue of Sakyamuni Buddha sits with lowered eyes, yet a faint, almost imperceptible smile seems to hang at the corners of his mouth.

A kind-faced old monk rises from a prayer mat—it is the abbot, Liaochen. He is slightly plump, his robe spotless, holding a polished string of Buddhist beads.

"You have traveled far, dear guest. I am Liaochen, and on behalf of the entire temple, I welcome you. Please accept this cup of coarse tea as a token of our hospitality."

He hands you the teacup. There is a faint, sweet cloyness in the aroma of the tea. You take it, your fingertips touching the cup's wall, but the warmth does not dispel the chill. Looking around, the ash in the incense burner seems too thick, and dark red liquid seeps from the cracks in the floor tiles in the corner.

"Our temple is remote, and visitors are rare. If you are not in a hurry, why not stay for a few days and let me show you our hospitality?"

His smile is too perfect, like a mask pasted onto his face. You take a sip of the tea, and unease begins to settle in your heart.

Monks' Dormitory

You are accommodated in a small room deep within the monks' quarters. Pushing open the wooden window, you see the pitch-black mountain forest outside, where even the chirping of insects is scarce. An oil lamp sits on the table, its bean-sized flame only able to illuminate a palm-sized area.

You lie down on the hard board bed, fully clothed. The temple makes all kinds of eerie noises at night: the wind blowing through the corridor sounds like a woman weeping, and a rhythmic thumping comes from the distance—not like a wooden fish, but more like a dull, heavy object striking something soft.

What terrifies you even more is the sound of chanting. Low, muffled male voices rise from beneath the ground, sometimes in unison, sometimes interspersed with a sharp shriek. The shriek is very short, as if someone's mouth was suddenly covered.

Holding your breath, you grip your pocketknife tightly. Instinct tells you that this temple is by no means a place of peace. When will the morning bell toll? Or will you not even make it to dawn?