Chapter 167: The Living Coffin

Uncle Jianguo seemed dazed and suddenly started talking about coffins. Shaking his head, he said, “I haven’t been to the museum much. Seeing those treasures makes me itch with envy. But I know there’s a Yue King Sword there, used by Goujian. Many people covet it—it seems to be the museum’s prized possession. I heard that when it was unearthed, after thousands of years, it could still cut through steel nails.”

I replied, “The Yue King Sword of Goujian has never been displayed. What’s shown is a replica. I’ve been there several times, just hoping to catch a glimpse of the real thing.”

I paced back and forth, found a pen, and sketched on the bedsheet, mapping out the room’s height, length, and width. I drew a door at the entrance.

Then I tossed the pen to the ground.

Uncle Jianguo’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “These proportions… It looks like a rectangular coffin.”

A chill ran down my spine. “The coffin on display at the Hubei Provincial Museum is a three-piece set—a large coffin containing a smaller one, which in turn holds another. The burial items are extravagantly luxurious. The outermost coffin is almost as big as the room I’m standing in.”

And those coffins from two thousand years ago—they had doors right at the front.

Just like the structure of this room.

The door here is at the very front.

I studied the white walls. The white seemed like nothing more than an illusion. There were no tools handy in the room.

“Do you have a hammer?” I asked. “There’s something strange about the walls.” Uncle Jianguo grasped the gravity of the situation—if I hadn’t shown up yesterday, he would have been the one sleeping inside. Whether he could have survived the seven ghosts was uncertain.

Without hesitation, Uncle Jianguo kicked the solid wooden door to the ground, lifted it, and asked, “Where do I smash?”

I gave a wry smile. “I just needed a tool, and you bring a whole door? You’re too impulsive, Half-Immortal.” Realizing his mistake, he tossed the door out the window. It crashed into the courtyard below with a deafening clang.

I borrowed a set of keys from Uncle Jianguo, found the right spot, and used the largest key to strike with all my might.

A screeching, grating sound followed. Behind the white wall was a layer of copper, immovable. Little Rascal yelped in fright. Hearing the commotion, Xia Jinrong rushed upstairs with a long knife. “What the hell are you two doing? Robbing me?”

Seizing the opportunity, I lunged forward and wrested the knife from his grip.

Uncle Jianguo couldn’t help but praise, “Nice disarming move!”

Now armed with the long knife, I steadied myself and thrust it into the wall. Xia Jinrong’s face twisted in shock as he lunged at me, his gold chain swaying. Uncle Jianguo swiftly restrained him with both hands.

With a forceful pull, I tore the copper sheet apart. Two more slashes, and the sheet collapsed to the ground, revealing a massive eye painted on the wall.

A blood-red eye.

A terrifying, bloodthirsty eye.

Like an emissary from the underworld, its craftsmanship was exquisite—far more horrifying than the one we’d found in the ancient stone coffin buried beneath the five-story building.

The copper sheets on all three walls were peeled away, revealing a modern mural in shades of dark crimson and black.

Uncle Jianguo wasted no time. He strode up to Xia Jinrong and slapped him hard across the face. Despite his usual eccentric demeanor, Uncle Jianguo packed a powerful punch. The sharp smacks echoed as he cursed, “You think I’m easy to fool?”

Bruises bloomed on Xia Jinrong’s face, but he gritted his teeth in silence. “Half-Immortal, stop!” I shouted. Xia Jinrong remained mute, knowing full well that speaking would only worsen his fate.

Frustrated, Uncle Jianguo yanked the bedsheet with the coffin sketch and tightly bound Xia Jinrong. Lighting a cigarette, he muttered, “I’ll smoke first, then deal with you.” He tossed me one, and we both turned to examine the mural.

“Something’s off, isn’t it?”

Xia Jinrong stared at the mural, his pupils dilating as if his mind were slipping away.

The mural, a mix of dark red and black, depicted a single eye surrounded by demon kings from Buddhist mythology—fierce and malevolent. On another wall was a painting of celestial beings. In the Mogao Caves of Dunhuang, there are murals of heavenly maidens dancing gracefully, embodying an uplifting, masculine beauty.

But the one before us was different—rendered in dark strokes, the enchanting maiden exuded an eerie, soul-stealing allure, luring mortals into damnation.

I suddenly rolled forward. Though undignified, rolling was often a lifesaving tactic. Uncle Jianguo’s hands twitched uncontrollably, his throat emitting frog-like croaks—or more accurately, toad-like sounds.

“I’ll devour your flesh,” he snarled, his grip faltering before launching another attack.

Rolling to face him, I realized the mural was inducing madness. Little Rascal barked furiously and lunged at Uncle Jianguo, only to be kicked aside.

The dog crashed into the mural and slid down limply. Shen Yihu had reacted similarly upon seeing the painting in the stone coffin. Without time to dwell, I dodged Uncle Jianguo’s next assault and spotted the lazy morning sun outside.

Two sharp slaps snapped Uncle Jianguo out of it, and I dragged him out, tossing Xia Jinrong along for good measure.

Uncle Jianguo blinked in confusion. “What just happened? Everything was red… There was a monster named Ugly Eight.”

I facepalmed. “That was me. You were possessed.”

Uncle Jianguo grumbled, “Hmph. Who names a monster ‘Ugly Eight’?”

I turned to Xia Jinrong. “What the hell is going on?”

Xia Jinrong sneered. “Go ahead, do your worst. You won’t leave Lügang Town alive.”

Uncle Jianguo, incensed, grabbed a hammer from the windowsill and swung without warning. Xia Jinrong barely jerked his leg back in time, sweat beading on his forehead. A second slower, and his foot would’ve been pulp.

Outside, the roar of motorcycles erupted. Uncle Jianguo’s expression darkened. “We’re surrounded.”

Before coming upstairs, Xia Jinrong had called for backup. From the window, we saw a swarm of motorcycles—thirteen in total—each packed with four or five young men. Their hair was dyed in garish colors, and they brandished steel pipes and knives, blasting music as they approached.

“Uncle Jianguo, lock the gates and the doors!” I shouted.

Xia Jinrong had built this house with security in mind—high walls made breaching the courtyard difficult, and since it was his property, his men wouldn’t dare set it ablaze.

Uncle Jianguo bolted the gates and barricaded the main entrance, then opened a second-floor window. He hauled Xia Jinrong over and untied him just enough to dangle him outside.

Xia Jinrong scoffed. “You’re digging your own graves.” After a pause, he added, “Half of Lügang Town shares my surname. Cross me, and you’ll never leave.”

Unlike cities, rural towns operated on clan loyalty. Powerful figures usually came from large families—five or six brothers, each with five or six sons, meant unchecked dominance.

In Lügang Town, the dominant clans were the Xias and the Wangs. When fights broke out, injuries were collectively compensated, and widows were supported by the group. Their unity made them formidable.

Uncle Jianguo counted the motorcycles. “Thirteen. And since it’s near the New Year, they’re all young hotheads.”

A fifteen-year-old boy, likely a frequent visitor to certain adult websites, yelled, “Nephew! You okay? Uncle’s here to save you!”

Xia Jinrong frowned. “I’m fine, Uncle.”

Uncle Jianguo muttered, “Does this count as home invasion and kidnapping?”

I pondered. “Do you think he’ll call the police?”

Xia Jinrong cut in, “No. I invited you for a ritual. A dispute over payment doesn’t warrant police.” He then shouted to his men, “Stand down! I’ll be out soon.” The crowd quieted.

For safety, I called Shen Yihu. He was busy with a case but told me to handle it myself. “I’m about to lose it—seven bodies are missing,” he said before hanging up.

Next, I called Brother Jun. After a few words, he asked to speak to Xia Jinrong.

Xia Jinrong’s demeanor shifted instantly. “Brother Jun’s friend? I—I had no idea. My mistake.”

After some polite exchanges, he hung up, looking even more distressed. Years ago, Brother Jun had saved Xia Jinrong in Jiangcheng. In their world, loyalty was everything—and Brother Jun was known for his ruthlessness.

The thought made Xia Jinrong shudder. Trapped between two forces, he tugged at his hair, eyes reddening. The situation had spiraled beyond control.

I hadn’t expected Brother Jun’s influence to be this strong. Rumor had it he’d left the underworld for an auto repair shop because of a woman.

Uncle Jianguo, no stranger to bloodshed, said, “Xiao Qi, why waste words? Curse him. Set up a feng shui trap. Ruin his family. Damn his soul.”

Xia Jinrong finally cracked. “Stop! I was just greedy—I never meant to harm you.”

Uncle Jianguo scoffed. “No harm? You put my junior in a coffin!”

Xia Jinrong sighed. “Let me send my men away first.”

I agreed. Xia Jinrong opened the gates and dismissed most of the crowd, keeping only a few trusted followers.

Still uneasy, he began to explain.