Aria's haunting caused such an uproar that no one dared to go near the mountain, let alone the well.
But the terror didn't stop there—the deaths spread to the village.
One morning, the village chief's family of seven all died in their house. The strangest thing was, before they died, they had all opened their mouths wide, their eyes filled with horror as they stared in the direction of the well. Even more eerie was that before they were buried, their faces grew weasel-like fur, covering their entire faces. In less than a day, their heads had completely transformed into those of weasels—a sight of pure evil.
The village elders claimed that all wells were connected, and Aria must have climbed from that well to the one in the village chief's house, terrifying the family to death.
As for why they turned into weasels, it was said that the family had once killed someone near the Huang Daxian temple. Huang Daxian had cursed their corpses in retribution. Even though the temple had been torn down, Huang Daxian's presence remained!
These words terrified the entire village, spreading panic. After all, nearly everyone in the village bore some responsibility for Aria's death. Now that she had become a vengeful spirit, who wouldn't be afraid?
Orwell also knew things had reached an unmanageable point. Lucky and Aria had joined forces to seek revenge—next time, the victims wouldn't be limited to just the village chief's family.
With a vengeful ghost and a demonic Huang Daxian, the village was doomed!
Sure enough, a few days later, more villagers died. Their bodies floated atop the well water, which had turned a deep scarlet, as bright as blood.
Some claimed they often saw a cloaked woman squatting by their well. Those who spoke of it would find their entire family dead the next day, their corpses piled at the well's mouth—all frightened to death.
Once buried, these victims' faces would also morph into weasel-like visages, grotesque and sinister.
As the death toll rose, the bodies were buried on the mountain, which soon earned a new name: the Siberian Weasel Graves. The words on their tombstones would fade away, eventually transforming into the image of a weasel—as bizarre as could be.
The remaining villagers, fearing for their lives, filled in all the wells. They preferred fetching river water over going near any well again. But the deaths didn't stop. Even when some wells were filled in, at exactly midnight, they would revert to their original state. Then, Aria would crawl out from the darkened well mouths… and claim more lives.
Seeing that the people in the village were dwindling and more were dying, Orwell couldn't bear to watch Lucky and Aria continue their killings. So, he sold the gold, silver, and jewelry his uncle had hidden away and used the money to hire a high monk to help the village.
The monk went up the mountain with Orwell. It was noon in summer, and the sun was scorching enough to cause heatstroke. Yet when the monk looked into the dark mouth of the well, he broke into a cold sweat.
He said the vengeful spirit beneath the well was too powerful—with his level of cultivation, he might not be able to subdue it. He could only try his best.
After saying this, the high monk jumped in. At that moment, Orwell heard countless horrifying ghostly screams as a surge of resentful energy shot into the sky, terrifying him so much that his hands and feet trembled.
"Wah, wah…"
The dreadful wailing continued endlessly. The monk made no sound from the well, though Orwell occasionally saw flashes of golden light emanating from within.
After about ten minutes, the monk suddenly crawled out. His robes were tattered, the Buddhist beads around his neck were gone, and as soon as he emerged, he spat out a mouthful of blood.
"There's more than just an evil spirit in that well—there's also a fully grown weasel. This old monk nearly died down there. Little brother, I'm afraid I can't help you. Here's your money back—this is beyond my power." The monk, barely alive after escaping, was filled with fear and quickly returned the money, wanting nothing more to do with it.
Hearing this, Orwell was desperate. This monk was the most renowned within a hundred miles—if even he couldn't help, where else could Orwell turn?
Orwell dropped to his knees and begged, saying, "Monk, have mercy! If you won't intervene, everyone in the village will die! For the sake of the Buddha, save them! These are human lives!" Most importantly, Orwell didn't want Aria and Lucky to keep killing—Uncle Two had said they'd go to hell for this.
The monk sighed. It wasn't that he didn't want to help, but the ghost's resentment was too strong. On top of that, she had taken so many lives, feeding her malevolent energy, and with an adult weasel aiding her, even the most powerful monk would be helpless.
No matter what the monk said, Orwell refused to get up. He kept kneeling and pleading until, finally, the monk relented.
The monk said subduing the vengeful spirit was impossible, but he could sacrifice ten years of his life to cast a Buddhist seal, trapping the spirit in the well for thirty years.
After thirty years, the spirit would break free—and he couldn't predict what would happen then.
Once the monk finished speaking, he began chanting incantations and set up a formation around the well. Before long, sacred scriptures covered the well's entrance. At first, the scriptures glowed golden, but the light slowly dimmed. The monk coughed up blood, his face pale, his body weakened to the extreme.
The monk explained that this spell would shorten a person's lifespan and consume their vital energy, making it a forbidden technique. However, its effects were powerful enough to suppress the evil spirits for thirty years. During these years, no one should approach the well, or the consequences would be unimaginable.
After giving his instructions, the monk chanted "Amitabha Buddha" in farewell. At that moment, something from the bottom of the well seemed to struggle to break free, but each attempt was repelled by a golden light.
Suddenly, a weasel crawled out from the well. Orwell called out "Lucky," but the weasel merely glanced at him before running away.
It turned out the monk's spell could only suppress spirits, not demons. While Aria remained sealed at the bottom of the well, Lucky was able to escape.
From then on, no more deaths occurred in Sanniu Village. Later, when the village rebuilt its dam, all the residents moved away, leaving only the mountain and its eerie Siberian Weasel Graves.
Orwell didn't go far, settling in a nearby area. But when the thirty-year period ended, he discovered Lucky had returned, frequently bringing Aria both "food" and living people - providing energy to help Aria break the seal.
If Aria were to escape, no one could predict how many might die. Anxious, Orwell sought out the monk again, only to learn he had long since passed away. Before his death, however, the monk had left a note for Orwell, delivered by one of his disciples.
Opening the note, Orwell found just six words: "Find Tattoos of Gods and Ghosts!"
After much searching, Orwell located this place a year ago, but the tattoo parlor was closed until recently, when I finally opened my doors...
Orwell was overjoyed, but I appeared too young to seem capable. To test me, he reasoned that if I couldn't even handle Lucky, he would need to find someone else. But when I successfully drove Lucky away and returned alive from the Siberian Weasel Graves, it proved I had genuine skill.
Now Orwell truly believed in me and formally asked for my help.