Before the voice had even faded, a dull thud, neither too loud nor too soft, drowned out the rustling of the surrounding weeds. In the clearing, a pitch-black coffin burst forth from the earth. Looking closely, it was about two meters long and one meter wide, its surface covered with bumps the size of ping-pong balls. It was semi-transparent, glowing red and green in the sunlight, a dazzling, multicolored spectacle, vivid and striking, like water blisters on human skin. The coffin lid had already split halfway open, and the thick, thumb-sized coffin nails that once sealed it shut had all been pried up by some external force. They jingled faintly in the breeze, like a line of frail old men swaying in the wind, ready to topple at any moment.
Strange as it was, this corpse—the bá—was naturally the culprit behind the droughts and floods that had plagued Xiushui Village. For dozens of miles around, the land had cracked like turtle shells, and trees and plants had withered and died, all undoubtedly its doing. Yet the grave of the bá itself was bizarre beyond comprehension. Why? Because within the deep pit that had held the coffin, a small pool of water had formed. The coffin itself was soaked, dripping wet, as if it had just been pulled from the depths of a lake.
Liu Dashao and his companions were not like Zhang Enpu, who was a legitimate Taoist practitioner, and even the top dog among independent exorcists. They couldn’t sense the evil aura at all. Instead, they were simply overwhelmed by the stench of decay wafting from the coffin, their heads spinning slightly. After a while, Liu Dashao and Tian Guoqiang exchanged glances, covered their noses, and cautiously approached the coffin. What they saw made their faces turn pale with terror. Tian Guoqiang, in particular, was the most exaggerated of all. His already tiny eyes, no bigger than pinpricks, bulged wide open in shock, as if they might pop out of his skull. Who would have thought the kid’s eyesight was so sharp?
Zhang Enpu wasn’t faring much better. He stood frozen beside the coffin like someone struck with a stroke, at a complete loss.
Inside the coffin, it was as if someone had poured a murky, foul-smelling liquid into a giant fish tank. The stench came from this water. Strangely, Alang’s corpse was immersed in it, yet it hadn’t rotted—only slightly swollen. But wait, wasn’t Alang’s body burned to a crisp with several barrels of gasoline by the village chief? How could there still be flesh left? Shouldn’t she have turned to charcoal by now?
Liu Dashao’s heart sank. Zombie! Definitely a damn zombie! A real, genuine one! There she was, floating in the coffin. Though not decayed, her flesh was nothing like a normal corpse’s. It was pitch black. Liu Dashao once heard a scientist from the provincial capital bragging about a well-preserved corpse they had unearthed from an ancient tomb, lifelike and vivid. Liu Dashao hadn’t believed it until now. But today, he believed. This woman was a walking science exhibit—utterly terrifying.
The coffin was filled with murky, foul water, like the liquid in a scientist’s glass jar. And Alang, now transformed into a bá, resembled a specimen preserved in formaldehyde. To put it more vividly—and more disgustingly—imagine medicinal wine, the kind soaked with goji berries, ginseng, and snakes. That was exactly the kind of revolting feeling this scene evoked.
Liu Dashao gave a bitter smile, staring at the female zombie floating in the coffin. He felt like crying. All his life, he had only heard elders tell stories about zombies. He never imagined he’d actually end up face-to-face with one.
Thanks to buoyancy, the upper half of the bá’s body floated on the water’s surface. The coffin had just stopped rocking after bursting from the ground, so the water was only now settling. Half her head emerged, slowly bobbing up and down. Her hair had rotted away. Her face was unrecognizable—no distinction between nose and eyes, like a blank sheet of paper or a peeled boiled egg. Her eye sockets were pitch black—whether she had no eyes or only black pupils was unclear. Her pale, sharp fangs protruded from her lower lip. Her facial muscles looked as if they had been injected with hundreds of Botox shots in a single day—her expression was stiff and lifeless.
Zhang Enpu steadied himself, suppressing his fear, and pointed his peachwood sword at the bá’s grave, shouting, “Demonic fiend! Surrender at once!” He slashed the sword sideways and took a martial step forward, striking a pose as if ready to attack. In truth, he was still unsure how to proceed.
At that moment, the bá’s eyes suddenly flew open. Instantly, a violent gale swept through the area, shaking the trees and making it nearly impossible for the group to keep their eyes open. Ma Xiaoyan buried her face into Liu Dashao’s chest in terror.
“Don’t be arrogant!” Zhang Enpu bent down, pulled out a talisman, lit it, and hurled it into the coffin. Immediately, the howling wind ceased. Before anyone could catch their breath, they heard a splashing sound. The bá, still lying in the coffin, suddenly sat up, glaring at them with malevolent eyes. Her face was deathly pale, her eyes hollow and lifeless. Her already pale skin had turned as white as snow.
“Aaaagh!” The bá screamed. From the coffin, a dark shadow lunged straight toward Liu Dashao and Ma Xiaoyan.
From the start, Liu Dashao and his companions had been too terrified to speak, their legs shaking as they stood rooted to the spot. Ma Xiaoyan had her face buried in Liu Dashao’s back, unaware of the danger approaching. Liu Dashao, seeing the shadow, pupils wide, had completely forgotten to dodge.
“Watch out!” Tian Guoqiang screamed in panic. From this close distance, he could clearly see it was a massive locust—bigger than a rat by a couple of sizes. Who knew if it was poisonous? If it bit them, it wouldn’t be good news.
At Tian Guoqiang’s warning, Liu Dashao snapped out of his trance—but it was too late. The locust was already a meter away. With Ma Xiaoyan clinging tightly to his back, there was no way to dodge.
At the last second, just as the locust was within half a meter of them, Zhang Enpu sprang into action. With an unbelievable burst of speed, he reached them and slashed the creature down with a swift sword flourish.
“Dashao, Xiaoyan, are you okay?” Seeing the locust defeated, Tian Guoqiang rushed over, asking anxiously.
Zhang Enpu frowned and said, “Don’t just stand there like an idiot. Stay alert. At the first opportunity, throw the black dog blood on it. Got it?”
“Got it.” The three nodded. Only after Zhang Enpu sheathed his sword did Ma Xiaoyan realize what had happened, her face turning pale with fear.
Missing its first strike, the bá grew even more enraged. It kept summoning locusts from the coffin, sending them flying toward Liu Dashao and the others. This time, the four were prepared. Either Zhang Enpu knocked them aside or they missed entirely. The only mishap was that Ma Xiaoyan tripped while dodging. Fortunately, Liu Dashao was nearby, so she was safe—though her clothes were ruined. At that moment, the bá herself leapt dripping wet from the coffin.
“Quick, throw the black dog blood!” With the locusts finally gone, Zhang Enpu brandished his peachwood sword in one hand and a talisman in the other, charging toward the bá.
At Zhang Enpu’s shout, the three fumbled to open the wooden buckets of black dog blood. Carrying the buckets, they cautiously approached the bá, step by step.
As Zhang Enpu reached the bá, he traced a symbol in the air, hurled a talisman, and thrust his sword forward. The peachwood sword glowed with a warm, red light as it slashed toward the bá’s upper body. Of course, Zhang Enpu didn’t intend to skewer the undead creature like a shish kebab. The bá’s body was covered in scales—ordinary weapons couldn’t harm it, let alone the cheap trinket he held in his hand, bought five for a yuan at a flea market. His goal was simple: distract the bá and create an opening for Liu Dashao.
The bá seemed to understand Zhang Enpu’s intent. It stood still, not dodging or evading, its eyes fixed on Liu Dashao and the others. Zhang Enpu grew anxious. Though his swordplay was dazzling, he dared not strike too hard, fearing that too much force would break his weapon without harming the bá—a humiliating disaster.
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