William Sherman turned around and glanced at the students huddled and shivering at the entrance of the courtyard, craning their necks to peer inside. He bent down and pressed Logan Sullivan's arm, gently saying, "Bury it first, and don't make a fuss."

Logan Sullivan used the soil he had dug up to cover the skull again, then stood up as if nothing had happened, calling the students and his subordinates to come in.

"It's fine, there are just some broken tiles and shards down there. Watch your step so you don't twist your ankle. Hurry up and get inside. Once you're in, set up the tents and keep warm." Logan Sullivan put away his small shovel, shivered as he lit a cigarette, and then stood aside, waiting for everyone else to quickly file into the house.

But Zach Warren remained at the back. She stopped in front of Logan Sullivan, and in a voice only those nearby could hear, said, "You saw it, right? Actually, there's more than one layer down there."

A chill ran down Logan Sullivan's spine. He lowered his voice and muttered, "Damn, I've never seen a place with a bunk bed on top of a communal bed—it's way too crowded. If we squeeze in too, won't the residents complain to property management? Even if they do, there's nothing I can do. The car can't get up here, and there's nowhere else to go. If we let these pampered students camp outside for a night, someone could die."

"There are indeed some taboos here," Zach Warren hesitated, "I'll go in and tell them in a bit. As long as the rituals are done properly, staying an extra night... shouldn't be a problem."

Logan Sullivan nodded and urged, "Then go quickly."

Zach Warren measured her steps to the doorway, then took two steps back, turned around, and slowly knelt down. She placed both hands on top of her head and bowed deeply toward the courtyard, performing a full prostration. The students watched curiously from the doorway. William Sherman told them to keep quiet and move back, pushing them further inside... because he noticed that the small bit of "finger" showing from Zach Warren was actually plastic, and the "hair" peeking out from under her large hood was clearly a short nylon wig.

It was as if the one kneeling there wasn't a person at all, but a plastic mannequin like those displayed in shopping malls.

...Of course, it would later be proven that Comrade Teacher William Sherman's thoughts were far too innocent.

Logan Sullivan stood against the wall of the small house, watching Zach Warren.

Zach Warren knelt at the doorway, murmuring in a language no one could identify, her voice so low that no one could make out any words, only that the sounds flowed from her mouth like running water, echoing through the courtyard. It seemed to awaken some ancient spirit, stirring something deep within everyone's hearts.

Everyone inside the hut, including the students brought by William Sherman, felt a subtle change. The young people all unconsciously lowered their heads, becoming solemn. Only Logan Sullivan still held a cigarette in his mouth, standing off to the side with a blank expression, seemingly unmoved.

"What was that?" Holly Harlow walked to the door and, after Zach Warren finished her ritual and stood up, couldn't help but quietly ask.

"Ancestral spirits." Zach Warren stood up and stiffly brushed the dirt from her pants. "I've already paid my respects. It should be fine now. Everyone, don't crowd at the door—go inside and sit. Remember not to throw trash in the courtyard, and say goodbye before you leave. If you need to relieve yourself, go farther away."

Outside, the wind howled and the snow was fierce. No one wanted to go out and freeze, but after all the strange things they'd experienced that night, everyone was afraid of breaking a taboo. Hearing Zach Warren's words, they immediately felt reassured and hurried into the house, no matter how simple it was inside—at least it was sheltered from the wind.

Zach Warren waited until everyone was inside before turning to the lingering Logan Sullivan. In the empty courtyard, she said quietly, "Director Sullivan, you were born able to 'see,' born to keep company with things others don't believe in, born to acknowledge the existence of spirits and gods. But whether passing a shrine or a temple, you've never shown the slightest respect. I heard that, for certain reasons, you entered Brightlight Temple three times, and in that place countless pilgrims dream of, you saw the golden Buddha but only nodded instead of bowing. That's not right."

Logan Sullivan flicked the ash from his cigarette onto the window sill, grinning as he nodded, "Yes, it's outrageous, not worth emulating, not worth promoting. Even the constitution recognizes freedom of religious belief, so we should respect others' faith..."

Zach Warren's gaze, from behind her plastic fake eyes, seemed to land tangibly on his face. She lowered her voice even further, almost to a whisper: "In all the worlds, there are always people and things you don't know. Maybe you're really capable, but even if you were born human with great abilities, can you surpass heaven and earth, surpass fate? People can't live too arrogantly. If you get so conceited that you don't even respect the gods and Buddhas, maybe one day you'll face retribution."

The smile faded a little from Logan Sullivan's lips. He lowered his eyes to look at Zach Warren, then reached out to straighten her slightly disheveled hood and clothes, his movements careful and gentle, but his words cold: "I have a clear conscience and no wishes to ask for. Be it gods or demons, who dares judge me right or wrong? Let them be noble and great—what does that have to do with me?"

Zach Warren looked at him deeply and sighed.

She extended her plastic hand, made a few gestures in the air, muttered some incomprehensible words, and then gently tapped Logan Sullivan's forehead.

"You are a good person," she said softly. "The Buddha is merciful—he forgives you and blesses you."

Logan Sullivan didn't dodge. He even lowered his head so she could reach. When Zach Warren finished, he asked, "You were a good person in life too. Did the Buddha forgive and bless you?"

Zach Warren lifted her face, and in her stiff plastic eyes there seemed to be a trace of sorrow.

Logan Sullivan gently supported her shoulder. "Good girl, the wind is strong outside. Go inside."

Inside, Holly Harlow and Carter Shaw worked seamlessly together, quickly setting up a small portable alcohol stove. They placed a pot about twenty centimeters in diameter on top, filled with clean melted snow water. Holly Harlow set up a rack, opened a vacuum-sealed pack of beef strips, arranged them on the rack to steam and soften, then skewered them and roasted them over the fire.

Several students had already taken out their notebooks. When Zach Warren came in, their eyes lit up and they all crowded around her. A tall, skinny boy, looking a bit nervous, spoke up: "Sister, do you mind if we ask about the customs of the cabin on the mountain top?"

After saying this, he couldn't help glancing at William Sherman's expression. Seeing Mr. Sherman frown slightly, he quickly added, "Sorry, I mean, only if it's convenient... If there are any taboos, just forget it. We don't know, please don't be upset."

Zach Warren sat by the little stove and said softly, "It's fine."

She hid her hands in her wide sleeves and picked up a chocolate ball from the pile beside her—no one knew who had bought it. The little chocolate ball was individually wrapped, looking delicate and pretty. She seemed to want to try it, but, holding it through her sleeve, she turned it over and over, never unwrapping it.

The girl in red, the class monitor, quickly and tactfully picked another piece and handed it to her. "This one's good, sister, try this."

"I'm just looking. I can't eat... sweets," Zach Warren said quietly. Then she paused, and at the students' request, slowly began, "This mountain has undergone several geological changes, and the people living below have migrated and blended over many years. It's said that in the earliest days, a group of Kham people once migrated here. Those Tibetans practiced sky burial. After death, the body would be dismembered by a sky burial master, the large bones smashed, then mixed with buttered tsampa, so birds could eat it all—if the body wasn't fully consumed, it was considered unlucky. So the sky burial master's role was very important. This place was originally where the sky burial masters lived."

"Although sky burial masters were respected, they dealt with the dead all day, which was considered unlucky. So even though their status was high, people usually didn't want much contact with them."

Julian West added this from the side, and Charles Gray, hearing it, couldn't help but think of someone—Soulwarden.

Wasn't everyone both deeply respectful and wary of him?

Except for Logan Sullivan, no one else dared say much to him. Even ghosts kept their distance, as if... he would bring some terrible misfortune.

"In the following centuries, many different ethnic groups migrated here, mostly herders, with a few farmers—though there isn't much arable land here. There were several large-scale conflicts between the different groups, but after fighting, they would make peace, then intermarry. Over time, bloodlines mixed, and some other groups began to accept sky burial too, though their customs were a bit different from the Tibetans'."