Beast Unleashed

　　As the silver needles found their marks, a hush fell over the chaotic scene.

　　Zhang's second son's violent trembling subsided, the bleeding from his nose ceased, and the froth at the corner of his mouth dissolved.

　　His breathing evened out, returning to a normal rhythm.

　　Relief washed over Grandpa, but one look at Granny Liu's face told him the ordeal was far from over.

　　Her expression remained grave, her brow furrowed in concentration.

　　He watched, his blood running cold, as she gently pressed her hand against the now-still man's abdomen several times.

　　To Grandpa's horror, he felt a lump, the size of a baby's fist, rising beneath the man's skin.

　　It moved erratically, a disturbing ripple just beneath the surface.

　　Granny Liu, a silver needle clutched in her hand, tracked its movement, her face a mask of intense concentration.

　　Several times she attempted to pierce the lump, but it shifted unpredictably, evading her every move.

　　"Sister Liu," Grandpa leaned in close, his voice barely a whisper, "What is that thing?"

　　"The weasel's doing," she muttered, her voice strained. "It's a manifestation of its resentment, a malevolent energy. If we don't release it, He is doomed."

　　Beads of sweat beaded on her forehead as she continued her pursuit of the elusive lump, her needle flashing, but always a second too slow.

　　Finally, she looked up at Grandpa, her expression urgent.

　　"Lao Wu, we need a basin of well water. It must be ice-cold, fresh from the well!"

　　Without hesitation, Grandpa sprinted to the well, his heart pounding.

　　He hauled up a bucket brimming with the icy water, the chill radiating through the wood, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat of the night.

　　"What now, Sister Liu?" he gasped, his chest heaving, setting the bucket down beside her.

　　"Douse him with it," she instructed, her gaze never leaving the pulsating lump.

　　The frigid water cascaded over Zhang's second son's body, a shock that would have startled the living.

　　But the possessed man barely flinched.

　　He twitched slightly, then lay still. In that brief moment when the icy water made contact, the lump stilled.

　　Granny Liu, anticipating the opportunity, struck with lightning speed.

　　Her needle found its mark, piercing the lump with a soft pop.

　　A cry escaped her lips as she manipulated the needle with deft precision.

　　The lump erupted, spewing forth a stream of black, viscous fluid that reeked of decay.

　　Grandpa gagged, his stomach churning, and stumbled back.

　　The smell, acrid and nauseating, was like a physical blow.

　　But Granny Liu, to Grandpa's amazement, seemed unfazed.

　　She remained steadfast, her focus unwavering.

　　The black ooze flowed freely, the lump shrinking with every pulse.

　　At last, the flow subsided, leaving behind nothing but a faint discoloration on the man's skin.

　　Zhang's second son drew a shuddering breath, and color slowly returned to his face.

　　Relieved, Granny Liu sank down onto the dirt floor, her entire body sagged with exhaustion.

　　But any hope of respite was short-lived.

　　 Before they could even register what was happening, Zhang's second son, back from the brink of death, suddenly shot upright.

　　 His eyes, wide and unseeing, turned an eerie white, the pupils now nothing more than bloody pinpricks.

　　Panic surged through the old shaman. She scanned the room, her gaze darting back and forth, searching every nook and cranny.

　　Zhang's second son, now a grotesque parody of a human, scrambled to his feet, his back arched at an unnatural angle, and scuttled across the floor with astonishing agility, his movements fluid and eerily familiar.

　　There was no mistaking it now, the long, thin tongue that protruded from his mouth, the way he moved, all pointed to one terrifying truth:

　　 he wasn't entirely human anymore.

　　A series of growls and chitters, sounds that sent chills down Grandpa's spine, escaped his throat.

　　"Sister Liu, what's happening?" Grandpa backed away, clutching his cleaver tightly.

　　Fear, cold and sharp, gripped his heart.

　　"There's another one," Granny Liu yelled, scrambling to her feet, her eyes darting around frantically. "A more powerful spirit! We need to find it, Lao Wu, and destroy it, or he's as good as dead! "

　　With a trembling hand, she lit her pipe, the pungent smell of tobacco filling the air.

　　Fueled by adrenaline, Grandpa scoured the yard, his cleaver a blur as he slashed at shadows, his eyes peeled for any sign of the creature. But the yard was eerily empty.

　　The possessed man, now a horrifying hybrid of man and beast, lunged at Granny Liu, who met his attack with surprising force, swinging her glowing pipe with the fury of a woman defending her life.

　　But the possessed man, empowered by the weasel spirit, felt no pain.

　　He pressed his attack, driving Granny Liu back.

　　"Find it, Lao Wu, find it!" she cried out, parrying a blow that would have shattered bone.

　　 But Grandpa was at a loss.

　　He'd searched every inch of the yard, but the creature was nowhere to be found.

　　His gaze swept the yard again, his mind racing.

　　"It's not in the yard," he muttered to himself, "So it must be…" A flash of white caught his eye.

　　High above, on the rough-hewn beam that spanned the ceiling, something flickered.

　　A tail, long and bushy, as white as freshly fallen snow.

　　Yellow weasels weren't white.

　　 But legend had it that a weasel with white fur was a being of immense power, its spirit older, wilier than its brethren.

　　 Was this, could this really be the source of the second brother's affliction, this phantom-like creature with the snowy tail?

　　Grandpa grabbed a teacup from the table and hurled it at the spot where the tail disappeared.

　　The tail twitched, confirmation enough.

　　"You foul demon," he roared, his voice full of rage.

　　One by one, he grabbed teacups, bowls, anything within reach, and flung them at the creature.

　　A high-pitched squeal split the air as a head emerged, finally revealing itself.

　　A pair of beady black eyes glared back at Grandpa, filled with malice.

　　Grandpa's blood ran cold.

　　Perched high on the beam was a creature both familiar and strange:

　　a weasel, sleek and muscular, with eyes like black beads, but its tail, unlike any he'd seen before, was a plume of purest white.

　　Legend held that the more powerful the weasel, the greater the presence of white in its fur.

　　This creature, with its tail like freshly fallen snow, sent a tremor of fear through the old man's heart.

　　Its power was undeniable.