Corpse Puppet Master

The corpse forest pressed in on every side, alive with restless sounds. Moss-draped trunks leaned close, and pale fungus clung to roots like dead hands. Water dripped from swollen caps with a steady plip, plip, tapping rotted wood. Somewhere unseen, small creatures scuttled through leaves, skritch, skritch, and the faint rustle of wings stirred damp air heavy with decay.

Gu Muye walked near the middle of the line, cold gaze fixed forward. The bone lantern behind them creaked with each step, throwing hunched shadows that danced over mossy bark. Ahead, the older disciple with the scarred hand raised two fingers. The group slowed, boots sinking into soft, wet ground.

Fang Yu wiped sweat from his brow, breath ragged. "Feels like these baskets weigh double now," he muttered, voice hoarse and low.

Jin Tao shot him a quick, narrow-eyed look, lips twitching with dry humor. "Heavier means more points. Just hope your back holds before your nerve breaks." His fingers drummed a quiet tap-tap against the basket rim.

Lan Ni passed them without a word, her scar pulling her mouth into a crooked half-frown. Her gaze flicked across the twisted trail, measuring where each root and patch of fungus lay waiting.

Zhou Min stumbled slightly, boot sliding on slick moss. Gu Muye's gaze flickered his way. "Watch your step," he murmured, voice calm but cool.

"I know," Zhou Min panted, trying to steady himself. His heart thudded too fast, sweat trickling down his back.

They reached a fork where a half-rotted stump jutted from the earth, crowned by sickly fungus fans. The older disciples guided them left, stepping over a fallen branch that cracked under Jin Tao's heel. The sound echoed sharp against the wet hush.

"Careful," Lan Ni warned, voice flat as she moved ahead. Her scar caught the weak fungus light, turning her face into something hard and unreadable.

Fang Yu shuffled closer to Gu Muye, voice raw. "You think this haul's enough? I just want that marrow-hardening pill."

"A sharper hook," Gu Muye answered without looking at him. "A clean cut matters more than a strong spine."

Jin Tao's laugh came thin and humorless. "If they don't steal it first. Points don't stop greedy hands."

Lan Ni glanced back over her shoulder, scar twisting. "Talk wastes breath. Walk."

They moved on, moss muffling footsteps. Plip, plip. Water dripped from blackened branches, and the air smelled of fungus rot and something older, bitter at the back of the throat.

Zhou Min's breathing turned shallow as he stepped around a root arching like a twisted rib. Sweat blurred his vision, and the forest seemed to tighten around him.

They reached a shallow hollow where the older disciple said, "Break." His voice rasped like bark scraped by wind.

Fang Yu let out a low groan and dropped onto a slick root. Jin Tao crouched beside his basket, fingers twitching as he weighed his harvest. Lan Ni stood with arms crossed, eyes always moving, the path behind, the older disciples, the shifting shadows.

Zhou Min stepped near a pale stump half-swallowed by moss. His boot slipped on a wet patch and he caught himself with one hand, sinking into the stump's hollow heart.

Something cold brushed his fingers, hard, smooth, and wrong. For a heartbeat, he froze. His pulse roared louder than the drip, drip echoing around him.

What is that? Zhou Min swallowed hard, sweat stinging his eyes. His hand twitched as if to close around it, but fear anchored his arm.

Gu Muye's gaze brushed over him, steady and silent. Jin Tao and Fang Yu were still whispering, heads close.

No, not now. Zhou Min pulled his hand back, breath catching. Too many eyes. Too close.

His palm still tingled with the memory of that cold shape, as if it had bitten into his flesh.

Fang Yu's voice broke the hush, ragged. "If Elder Li checks tonight, I'll lose half my share…"

"Then bury the good pods deeper," Jin Tao whispered, teeth flashing in a quick grin. "They only check the top."

Lan Ni shot them a look, voice quiet as rotting leaves falling. "Talk less. Shadows listen."

Zhou Min kept his hand tight to his side, heart hammering. Should I go back later? His skin prickled with cold and sweat.

Gu Muye studied him, eyes flat and watchful. He saw the tension, the darting gaze, the quick swallow. But said nothing.

Better to wait. Secrets reveal themselves under pressure.

The older disciple moved his scarred hand in a silent command. They rose, baskets lifting with soft rustles and the creak of strained wood. Moss squelched underfoot, soft and wet as bruised fruit.

They walked deeper. The forest smelled of wet rot and marrow. Drip, drip. Skritch, skritch. A rat-sized creature with pale eyes scuttled across the path and vanished into a hole, its claws scraping bark, skritch.

Fang Yu's shoulders drooped under the weight. "Lan Ni," he rasped, "what'll you get if your count's high?"

She didn't turn. "Better thread. Small claw. The rest, I keep."

"Smart," Jin Tao muttered, grin fading. "Points slip away faster than marrow slips from bone."

Zhou Min swallowed, fingers brushing his sleeve. The memory of that cold shape throbbed at the edge of thought. Should I tell Muye? But what if it's nothing? Or worse, what if it matters?

He risked a glance. Gu Muye moved steady as stone, basket balanced, eyes forward, face unreadable.

He's changed. Colder. Quieter. But still, he's Muye. Right?

The thought settled in Zhou Min's chest, half hope, half fear.

The older disciple lifted a hand. They stopped beside a fallen log slick with corpse fungus. Marrow pods clung in clusters near its base, pale and faintly veined.

"Gather," the older disciple said.

Fang Yu knelt first, breath whistling. His hand shook as he cut the nearest pod, the dull scrape of bone hook against rotten wood rasping in the air.

Lan Ni worked with quiet speed, choosing mid-sized pods that weighed enough but wouldn't tear.

Jin Tao moved fast, eyes sharp, mouth tight, breath shallow.

Gu Muye knelt near a root, hook slicing with measured precision. The pod dropped, damp and cool into the basket.

Zhou Min crouched last, palms still slick. The thought of the stump gnawed at him. Should I slip back? His heart pounded too loud.

Pod by pod, baskets filled. The air tasted of wet fungus and cold marrow. Plip, plip. Drops fell from swollen caps onto moss. Skritch, skritch. Something moved under the log, claws scratching.

Fang Yu cursed softly as a pod tore, pale liquid spilling onto his wrist. He wiped it off, breath shaking.

Lan Ni's eyes flicked to him, scar deepening, but she said nothing.

Jin Tao's fingers twitched, sliding a heavier pod under smaller ones.

When the older disciple lifted his scarred hand, they rose. Moss clung to knees and boots.

They walked until the trail widened into a clearing where roots curled overhead like broken ribs. The older disciple stopped.

"Camp," he said, voice hoarse.

Fang Yu dropped onto a moss patch, breath ragged. Jin Tao crouched, counting pods with a nervous grin. Lan Ni stayed standing, eyes turned to the shadows beyond.

Zhou Min sank down, sleeve brushing damp moss. His palm still remembered the cold brush of the hidden thing. Should I try tonight? His chest tightened at the thought.

Gu Muye sat beside him, gaze flicking once to Zhou Min's tense shoulders, then back to the dark forest.

Better to wait, Gu Muye thought. Stones and men reveal their truth when pressed.

Fang Yu murmured, voice rough. "Hope it's enough."

Jin Tao's reply came sharp. "Enough to keep, not enough to share."

Lan Ni's scarred mouth twitched. "Night is dangerous," she warned.

The fungus light flickered. Plip, drip, plip. Skritch. A cold wind stirred the moss and died.

Zhou Min stared into the green and black. The memory of the stump clung to him like something half-awake.

Gu Muye watched the shadows. Quiet. Still.

The forest breathed around them.