I paced over slowly. The leading corpse planted the dark banner, and the six behind it thudded the stone coffin onto the ground—judging by the sound, it was heavy as hell. I glanced at the pairs of eyes peering from the darkness—Shen Yihu and his crew.
Damn cowards, hiding over two hundred meters away.
The six corpses set down the coffin, moving in eerie unison before lining up motionless by the riverbank, unflinching against the biting wind.
I thought to myself, *Aren’t you guys cold standing there?* Then it hit me—they were dead. They couldn’t feel anything. They didn’t even know they were corpses.
Seven corpses carrying a coffin across a river defied physics. Dead bodies and a stone coffin should either sink or be swept away. There had to be something unnatural at play. Shen Yihu’s impatient voice echoed from the darkness, “Master Xiao, why aren’t you moving? Contemplating life?”
*Contemplate this, you idiot. I’m figuring out the quickest escape route in case this goes south.* I pulled out my jade ruler, its faint blue glow pulsing.
The seven corpses stood still, and so did the seven ghosts beside them—rigid, trembling occasionally, with centipede marks on their ankles. These ghosts had suffered for years, toiling under some unseen force. I thought they’d escaped on those oxen, yet here they were, perched on the corpses’ necks, crossing the river with the coffin.
At ten meters away, I studied the three female ghosts dancing atop the coffin. Something was off. They didn’t feel like ghosts—too much unnatural energy, yet not quite demonic either. Like they’d been *made*, not born from nature.
At five meters, all fourteen pairs of eyes—seven corpses and seven ghosts—snapped toward me. Black, white, lifeless. I’ve always hated eyes.
Fear didn’t matter now. I just didn’t want to look. I gripped my talismans—corpse-suppressing and ghost-sealing—and let the jade ruler’s glow intensify. With a burst of speed, I roared, **”I am Xiao Qi, fifteenth disciple of the Ghost Sect! Show yourselves, fiends!”**
Like a sprinter, I dashed, slapping talismans onto each corpse and ghost faster than Bolt’s 100-meter dash.
When I stopped, none of them moved. They just stood there, waiting. I didn’t hesitate.
I found silver needles embedded in the corpses’ necks and strange patterns on their arms. Stuffing mud into their mouths and ears, I fished out cold, inscribed iron plates—seven in total. The engravings were illegible, swirling like dragon-script. I pocketed them for later study.
With the needles and plates removed, the corpses swayed and collapsed, lifeless for good.
The ghosts didn’t resist either.
Too thin, too broken. I almost pitied them. The centipedes on their ankles writhed as if alive. Pressing the jade ruler to one ghost’s ankle, I felt nothing—no reaction.
These ghosts were bred from Flying Centipedes.
The corpses weren’t stolen by Gu Xiulian.
So why were they here? Gu Xiulian had vanished days ago after escaping. Was he lurking nearby?
I clenched my teeth. Shen Yihu’s team was close. If Gu Xiulian showed up now, he’d be signing his death warrant.
Channeling the jade ruler’s power, I recalled the *Blood Lake Liturgy* from the Orthodox Sect. These ghosts had suffered enough.
*Humans should live human lives.*
*Ghosts should pass on.*
It was time.
I drew a circle beneath them with the jade ruler and began chanting. Thirteen repetitions in, their expressions flickered—awareness returning.
One ghost spoke—a coal miner from Shanxi, dead underground, only to be captured, forged in a furnace for forty-nine days, then forced back into labor.
Another had been a brick kiln slave, mauled by dogs while escaping, then subjected to the same hellish rebirth.
The others shared similar fates—all trapped, tormented, unable to move on.
Their time was nearly up.
Finishing the liturgy, I sang softly, **”Go in peace.”**
A bottomless boat emerged from the mist. A masked ferryman called, **”Board. To the River of Souls, to the Wheel of Rebirth.”**
I removed their talismans. One by one, they stepped onto the boat.
The ferryman poled away, vanishing into the river’s haze—the boundary between life and death.
The water had its ferrymen, the land its reapers, the mountains its wandering spirits.
With ten demon kings and countless enforcers, the underworld claimed its due. Yet so many souls lingered, lost or unwilling, haunting the living world.
The ghosts were gone. The corpses, spent.
The dancing wraiths on the coffin had vanished too, leaving three roses behind. I picked them up—fragrant, even atop death.
I radioed Shen Yihu. **”Done. Come collect the bodies.”**
As his team bagged the corpses, Shen Yihu eyed the coffin warily. **”Not again. Xiao, blindfold me this time, or I might lose it and kill you.”** Spotting the roses, he frowned. **”Where’d those come from?”**
**”The coffin.”**
The lid bore signs of prior opening. Shen Yihu’s fear was contagious—what if some ancient zombie lunged out and bit me?
I checked with my compass and jade ruler. No reactions. If something were inside, it’d have been taken already.
Tonight didn’t feel cursed.
I drove the jade ruler into the coffin’s seam. Blue light spiderwebbed across the stone.
In the cold wind, the glow was hauntingly beautiful—brighter than ever, bathing me in clarity, as if the world beyond ceased to exist.
*Why?*
Shen Yihu squinted. **”Why’s the jade so bright? It only glows around monsters. Is there a zombie king in there?”**
He didn’t flee, meaning he sensed no threat either.
I scoffed. **”Zombie king? You’re traumatized by Huang’s case. If I die tonight, tell my parents I died a hero.”**
Shen Yihu suddenly pointed upward. **”Since when was there a moon?”**
I looked. A full moon hung in the sky.
*Impossible.*
Earlier, the night had been overcast, winds howling.
The coffin lid shifted.
We leapt back—Shen Yihu two meters, me three.
From the coffin rose a figure, radiant under the moonlight.
I offered the roses.
**”I’ve waited long for you.”**
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