Chapter 37: The Serpent in the Shadows

Lin Han stood under the dim glow of the snake temple's lanterns, a thin layer of sweat forming on his forehead. Just moments ago, his name—"Lin Han"—had appeared on the stone wall behind the altar. The carvings were deep and forceful, as if someone had meticulously etched them with a blade.

"Walau eh…" he muttered under his breath, a sinking feeling tightening in his chest.

"What did you see?" Noya stepped closer, her breath carrying a faint scent of clove.

Lin Han didn't answer. Instead, he reached out, fingers tracing over the cold, weathered carvings. Suddenly, his touch met something wet—thick and sticky. His brows furrowed, and he raised his hand to his eyes.

It was blood.

"No way…" His body stiffened, a shiver crawling up his spine. He instinctively took a step back—only to bump into Noya.

"What's wrong?" she asked, eyes sharp with alertness.

Lin Han raised his hand again, but the blood was gone. As if it had never been there.

He clenched his jaw. There was something deeply wrong with this temple.

In the distance, sirens from Bangsar echoed through the humid night—faint, then close, then distant again, like an unspoken warning. He inhaled deeply, but immediately regretted it. The sharp stench of rotting durian, mixed with the faint metallic tang of blood, surged into his nostrils, making his head swim.

A flash of lightning illuminated the temple spire, casting long, eerie shadows. And in that brief moment—

A hunched figure stood before the altar.

Slowly, the figure turned.

An old man, his face a landscape of deep wrinkles, eyes sunken and glinting with an unnatural gleam in the flickering candlelight. But the most disturbing detail was what lay beneath his robes—

A flash of silver.

The emblem of the Genting Group.

Lin Han's breath hitched.

Genting Group. The shadow giant that loomed over Malaysia's underworld—casinos, finance, real estate, power. What the hell was their connection to this abandoned temple?

Before he could speak, the old man's voice rasped through the silence.

"You… shouldn't have come."

Lin Han stared intently at the old man. His eyes flickered under the dim light, carrying an unfathomable depth, as if he could see through everything. That silver Genting Group emblem flashed briefly beneath the folds of his black robe, hinting at something that could not be ignored.

"Who… exactly are you?" Lin Han's voice was low, tinged with wariness.

The old man did not answer. Instead, he slowly raised his bony fingers and gently pressed against an intricate carving on the temple's main hall wall. In an instant, the stone wall slid open soundlessly, revealing a narrow passageway shrouded in darkness. From within, a faint, damp stench of blood seeped out, mingling with the scent of ancient incense.

Noa instinctively gripped Lin Han's arm, her fingertips cold. She lowered her voice, struggling to mask her unease:

"Lin Han, don't you feel it? The air here… it's like—"

She hesitated, her throat tightening as if words failed her.

"Like someone… died here."

Her voice was barely above a whisper, yet it slashed through Lin Han's spine like an invisible blade.

"Walau eh…" Lin Han exhaled slowly, sweat forming on his forehead. "What the hell is this uncle up to?"

At last, the old man spoke, his voice rasping like it came from beneath the earth:

"Your arrival… was destined. Step forward, or turn back."

With a gentle push, the stone door fully opened, revealing a pitch-black corridor stretching into the unknown. At its distant end, faint candlelight flickered like dying embers in the wind.

"Are we going in?" Noa's breath quickened. Her fingers drifted towards the gun holster at her waist.

Lin Han inhaled deeply. The air carried a disturbing mix of damp decay, the metallic tang of something long forgotten, and a lingering trace of sandalwood. He glanced at the old man, then back at the corridor. Somewhere in his mind, a voice whispered:

"If you don't step inside, you'll never know what secrets lie within."

He lifted his hand, gently clasping Noa's wrist, offering her a firm gaze.

"Let's go."

Together, they stepped forward. The darkness swallowed them whole, as if they had entered another world.

Behind them, the old man sighed softly, murmuring under his breath:

"May you find the truth you seek…"

Then, the stone door slid shut, sealing off all traces of the outside world.

The night breeze brushed through the old streets of Kuala Lumpur, carrying the damp scent of the city. The air was thick with a mix of overripe durian and the smoky aroma of grilled skewers, creating an odd blend that made one's stomach churn. Neon lights flickered erratically, casting shifting red and yellow reflections on the damp pavement. Shadows slithered between the crowds, vanishing and reappearing like restless phantoms lurking in the dark.

Lin Han and Nuoya moved through a narrow alley, the muffled sounds of the city gradually fading behind them. Nuoya's fingers traced the grip of her firearm, her sharp gaze scanning their surroundings.

"Walau eh, do you feel that?" she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lin Han tensed slightly, his eyes narrowing. "Feel what?"

"Someone's following us."

Somewhere in the distance, the sound of police sirens from Bangsar wavered in the wind, their eerie wails merging into the background noise of the sleeping city. The rhythm was off—like something unseen was moving along with them, keeping just out of sight.

Their destination lay ahead: an abandoned temple, hidden away in the ruins of forgotten alleyways. The Snake Temple. Few still remembered its existence, save for the elders who whispered rumors of its past—a gathering place for a secret sect long since lost to time. Now, it stood as nothing more than a crumbling relic, its statues wrapped in vines, its deities left to rot.

Lin Han halted before the temple's entrance. The doors were shut tight, their once-vibrant carvings now obscured by a thick layer of moss. It was as if the place had been left untouched for decades, waiting, watching.

"We're going in." He spoke in a low voice.

The moment they stepped onto the temple's stone steps, a wave of rancid air rushed out—an overpowering stench that carried the sour rot of durian mixed with the raw, metallic tang of blood. It hit Lin Han like a fist to the face, making his stomach churn.

Nuoya pressed a hand over her nose, frowning. "This smell… it's not normal."

Lin Han didn't reply. His body moved instinctively, shifting his weight slightly as his right hand hovered near his weapon.

"Listen," Nuoya suddenly whispered, her grip tightening around his arm. Her breath was steady, but her body language screamed tension.

The wind slithered through the broken tiles of the temple, creating an eerie wailing sound. But beneath it—faint, almost imperceptible—came another noise. A voice, perhaps.

A whisper.

And from the crack between the temple's doors, a dim, flickering light seeped out.

"Someone's inside." Lin Han's voice was calm, but his muscles coiled like a spring.

"All the more reason to check it out," Nuoya said, stepping forward before he could stop her.

The doors groaned as they swung open, revealing an abyss of darkness.

Lightning tore across the sky, illuminating the temple's interior for a brief second. And in that second, Lin Han saw him—a hunched figure shrouded in a tattered black robe.

The old man's fingernails were tinged blue, his bony fingers trembling slightly as if weaving invisible threads in the air. His breath came slow, deliberate. But Lin Han's attention snapped to something else—the faint glimpse of a symbol beneath the man's robe, flashing for only an instant.

A Genting Group insignia.

Lin Han's blood ran cold.

"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice steady but edged with steel.

The old man lifted his head. His face was creased with time, his eyes unreadable. Then, his lips curled into a slow, knowing smile.

"Ah neh…" the elder muttered under his breath, his voice rough like gravel scraping against stone.

Lin Han barely had time to register the words before a sickly glow pulsed from the temple walls. Strange, intricate symbols began to emerge—runes, etched in what looked like dried blood, slithering like living things across the decayed stone.

The air grew thick.

The whispers became a chorus.

"Run!" Nuoya hissed, grabbing Lin Han's wrist and pulling him back.

But just as they reached the threshold—

The ground trembled beneath them.

And from the depths of the temple, something massive, something inhuman, lunged toward them.