The Amusing Adventures of a Directionally Challenged Dad and Daughter-Chapter 117

To others, they were sacred creatures. To those two benefactors, they were just a meal.

The young novice instinctively glanced at the wishing tree. Seeing nothing amiss, he quietly sighed in relief.

The missing sacred creature had been snatched away by Old Gu Six and now lay lifeless in the kitchen of Chang’an’s space.

At noon, Old Gu Six finally got to enjoy the braised turtle he’d been craving.

"Chang’an, if we’ve eaten all the turtles from the wishing pond, will people’s wishes still come true?"

"There’s still one left. Their wishes should still come true, just slower. With so many people making wishes, one turtle has too much work—efficiency drops."

The wishers: Give us back our turtles!

They didn’t continue heading south but changed direction—though it was more of a forced detour. Even the wolf thought they were hopeless when they argued with a compass.

The natural disasters had long passed, but the roads were still filled with refugees fleeing man-made calamities.

"Auntie, where are you all from?" Chang’an asked during a rest stop when a family of over a dozen settled nearby.

This family was slightly better off, with two young men around eighteen or nineteen helping out and more male members. They must have hidden when the chaos began, narrowly escaping tragedy.

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"We fled from Zhouhai Prefecture. Are you heading west too?"

The auntie, seeing only the two of them, assumed they had also suffered misfortune and looked at them with sympathy.

"We’re heading southwest," Chang’an said. This didn’t count as getting lost—just a detour.

The auntie nodded and said no more.

By nightfall, more people arrived at the resting spot, all covered in dust and dressed in tattered clothes.

Chang’an was relieved they had disguised themselves along the way, wearing ragged clothes too. Aside from their mule cart, they didn’t stand out much.

It wasn’t too unusual—two families among the refugees had ox carts.

They traveled with the refugees for half a month before parting ways—mainly because the others knew the route.

Chang’an and Old Gu Six headed southwest, while the refugees continued west, still searching for a place to settle.

"Dad, have you heard of gu?" Chang’an asked, recalling novels she’d read about the Miao people in the southwestern mountains, where everyone supposedly raised gu.

The thought of those squirming little bugs made her skin crawl.

Old Gu Six lazily replied, "Heard of it. Don’t worry, we’re not here to steal territory."

"Is there much difference? Have you heard of the Yuan clan?"

"No. Maybe they’re extinct, or just an old family that never rose to prominence."

"Why would a treasure map end up in the sea? Isn’t that strange? The southwest is far from the coast."

"What’s strange about it? It’s not like the map grew legs and walked there. Someone must’ve thrown it or dropped it."

That night, they stayed in a rundown mountain god temple. Chang’an wondered what kind of mountain god the nearby villagers worshipped.

The statue was carved with a ferocious expression, looking eerie in the candlelight.

Since they were borrowing the place, it was only polite to leave an offering—common courtesy.

Chang’an roasted a wild chicken in the oven and paired it with a bowl of rice, a practical offering that could fill a stomach.

The wind howled outside, rattling the wooden window with a creaking sound, like someone grinding their teeth in a nightmare. It was unsettling.

Old Gu Six got up to close the window, but it seemed broken and wouldn’t stay shut.

Chang’an took out a piece of wood from her space and wedged it into the window frame, keeping it from blowing open again.

Just as they were about to rest, four loud knocks pounded on the door.

Old Gu Six moved to open it, but Chang’an grabbed his arm and shook her head.

In the wilderness at night, three knocks meant a person—four meant a ghost. The pattern had repeated: four knocks, a pause, then four more.

Whether it was real or not, they weren’t opening that door. Too much trouble.

The knocking persisted. When no one answered, the window started rattling with the same four knocks.

Old Gu Six narrowed his eyes and whispered, "Chang’an, sit cross-legged, close your eyes, and chant the Cleansing Heart Mantra. Don’t open them until I say so."

Chang’an obeyed—but then asked, "Dad… how does the Cleansing Heart Mantra go?"

"…Never mind. I forgot it too."

Whatever was outside alternated between the window and door, hammering away until Chang’an’s patience snapped.

"Little Silver, go bite it to death!"

As the four knocks sounded again, Chang’an flung the door open and released the wolf.

"Enough already! We ignored you, and you just keep at it?"

The silver wolf chased the figure, who dodged and leaped around with surprising agility, avoiding its teeth.

Old Gu Six stepped forward and kicked the intruder into the hall, then grabbed his leg and swung him in a circle.

Turns out, it wasn’t anything supernatural—just a person!

The man wailed and begged for mercy, his makeup ruined by tears, making him look even more horrifying than his earlier ghostly pallor.

Dressed in red with that smeared face, he’d terrify anyone who saw him.

Chang’an kicked him. "Talk. Why the haunting act?"

The man sobbed on the ground. "I—I just wanted to rob some money! I didn’t mean to hurt anyone!"

Chang’an: This was the first time she’d seen someone use ghost impersonation for robbery. At least it was creative.

Then the man spoke again, stammering, "I—I'm not... I was just pretending... but this place... it's really... not clean."

"What do you mean?"