Corpse Puppet Master

The smell of thin porridge drifted through the meal hall, mingling with the damp chill of stone and the sour tang of bone ash smoke that clung stubbornly to every robe. Gu Muye sat cross-legged on a low bench, bowl cupped between his palms, breath rising faintly in the morning cold. The long hall's draft slipped through his hair and sleeves, brushing against bare skin with a chill that refused to leave, no matter how many layers he wore.

The benches groaned softly beneath shifting bodies. From outside came the occasional creak of a weathered door and the muted whistle of the wind as it curled through the cracks in the wall. The lanterns above flickered, their flames trembling in the cold air, casting uneven light across the scuffed floors and rough stone columns.

Beside him, Zhou Min blew across the watery porridge, his lips tightening in quiet dismay. His round face was still heavy with sleep, pale beneath the yellow glow. Across the worn wooden table, three other outer disciples hunched over their bowls: Hui Yan, whose narrow eyes rarely missed a movement; Qiu Sheng, stocky and sharp-boned, his mouth pulled sideways by an old scar; and Lian Ru, silent as always, her gaze fixed not on them, but on something far behind their shoulders.

A gust rattled one of the hanging bone charms above, sending its faint chime echoing across the rafters. Their sound mingled with the soft scrape of spoons and the rustle of robes, forming a rhythm that felt as familiar as breath.

At first, Gu Muye had believed the warmth he felt toward Zhou Min came from the soul that had once burned through his body, but over time, the haze had cleared. The connection had shifted into something quieter, rooted in moments shared at tables like this, in low whispers exchanged when the halls were still. Zhou Min had earned that closeness not through memory, but presence.

Zhou Min broke the quiet first. "Tastes worse than yesterday. Or maybe it's just my mood," he murmured.

"It's always worse," Qiu Sheng muttered, circling his spoon through the watery mix. "Porridge's as thin as corpse water."

Gu Muye chewed slowly, the grains sticking to the roof of his mouth. Each bite was soft yet rough at the edges, as though barely cooked. Hunger made it tolerable, but only just. He swallowed and let the warmth settle, shallow and fleeting.

Hui Yan leaned closer, voice barely above a breath. "Forest team left early this morning. Two haven't come back."

"The Bone Shade Forest?" Zhou Min asked. His voice was steady, but his hand tightened slightly around the bowl.

"Where else?" Hui Yan didn't look up. "They went to gather corpse mushrooms. Six of them, but only four returned."

"They weren't supposed to go deep," Gu Muye said quietly, although he already knew that didn't matter.

Lian Ru stirred her bowl without looking up. "The forest doesn't care how far you go. Things wander."

"Or someone made them vanish," Hui Yan added, eyes flicking to the door. "Everyone wants more powder. Accidents are convenient."

No one argued. The truth had a way of sitting too heavily for words.

Gu Muye watched the others closely. Hui Yan's restless eyes continued to scan the room. Qiu Sheng's grip on his spoon had whitened his knuckles. Lian Ru's fingers trembled slightly where they touched the edge of the table.

Fear wasn't always loud. Often, it waited in the quiet, unspoken and constant.

Zhou Min's lips twitched, an attempt at levity. "I'd rather scrub the furnace than walk the forest paths."

"The forest doesn't care about preferences," Qiu Sheng muttered without lifting his gaze.

Gu Muye returned to his food. The chill had sunk deeper now, dulling the warmth in his chest. He chewed, not for taste, but because he had to.

"Next group leaves in three days," Hui Yan said. "Older disciples pick the names."

Zhou Min looked up, the light catching in his eyes. "We just got our monthly corpse-refining powder. If we're picked and lose it..."

Lian Ru answered softly. "We might lose more than powder. We might lose our veins. Or ourselves."

Gu Muye adjusted slightly, feeling the small pouch hidden within his robe. The powder was cool against his skin, a constant reminder of what it cost to keep pain at bay. Without it, refining corpse qi meant suffering—flesh drawn tight, veins going dark, the air turning thick enough to choke on.

Everyone understood the stakes. Those who ran out either begged, stole, or vanished.

The main door creaked open.

Every motion in the hall slowed. Conversations died.

Wu Yuan stepped inside. His robe hung crooked, belt tied carelessly, as though dressing had been an afterthought. His steps were slow, measured. His expression was unreadable, though one side of his mouth curled faintly in what might have been amusement. Two other disciples followed close behind, silent and expressionless.

Wu Yuan's gaze swept the room, pausing for a second too long on Gu Muye's table. Something shifted in his eyes—recognition, perhaps, or something colder. Then he turned and walked away.

When the door closed again, the room breathed. Spoons resumed moving. Murmurs rose like cautious birds testing the wind.

Gu Muye's table remained quiet. Qiu Sheng let out a slow breath. Hui Yan dropped his eyes. Even Lian Ru blinked more slowly, her fingers returning to her lap.

Fear never left. It only shifted to the edges.

Zhou Min leaned toward Gu Muye. "Let's finish before he finds a reason to stop us."

Gu Muye gave a small nod and drank the last of his broth. It had gone cold and bitter.

Outside, the wind picked up. Pale morning light filtered through narrow windows, laying pale stripes on the stone floor. Dust floated in the beams like drifting ash. The courtyard lay still beyond, its gravel paths damp with dew. In the distance, a bell rang once, muffled and dull.

Smoke from the furnace halls hung low and heavy. Somewhere beyond the outer wall, the Bone Shade Forest waited in its cloak of mist.

Gu Muye didn't say much as he stood, bowl in hand. Hui Yan had already gone. Qiu Sheng followed. Lian Ru slipped away with the grace of a shadow, her footsteps soft and soundless.

Zhou Min glanced his way and gave a faint smile. "Still better than starving."

Gu Muye considered that. "Until dusk," he replied.

They walked out together, the door creaking shut behind them. The wind stirred again, rattling the bone charms overhead with a sound like brittle teeth clacking.

The air was still sharp, the cold biting clean against his face. The warmth from the meal faded quickly, but the day had begun.

Gu Muye adjusted the folds of his robe and looked up once at the sky. Thin clouds stretched across it like bruises in the pale blue. There was no promise of warmth.

Still, he moved forward, his steps even, steady. Zhou Min fell into pace beside him.

It was another day. And that, for now, was enough.