Chapter 65: Corpse Poison! (1)

As soon as she touched Zhang Zhaodi’s nose and checked her pulse, Old Lady Fan’s face fell—Zhaodi had indeed stopped breathing and passed away. With a loud cry, Ma Sandao collapsed onto his wife’s body, wailing uncontrollably. In one single day, he had lost both his son and his wife—what could be unluckier than that? It wasn’t just bad luck; it was as if he had suffered misfortune for eight lifetimes. Liu Dashao managed to hold Ma Xiaoyan back, but Ma Sandao was a grown man, and Old Lady Fan simply couldn’t handle him. After crying for a while, he started slamming his head against the wall, threatening to end his life. Luckily, his family was large and many relatives quickly gathered. In the ensuing chaos, someone even struck Ma Sandao at the back of his head with a stick—Ma Tie, Ma Sandao’s uncle—finally bringing peace to the scene.

After settling everyone down, Liu Dashao spoke a few comforting words to Ma Xiaoyan, promising to prepare medicine for Ma Sandao the next day. But Ma Xiaoyan stubbornly refused to calm down, sobbing uncontrollably and clearly emotionally unstable. Of course, this was exactly what Liu Dashao secretly wanted. After much hesitation and a show of noble reluctance, he finally gritted his teeth and decided—well, since she was so upset, he might as well stay the night to ensure she was alright. “Only because it’s you, Xiaoyan! If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t even bother!”

After chatting for a while, he noticed that Xiaoyan was clearly exhausted, so Liu Dashao smiled and watched her head to her room. Then, he turned off the kerosene lamp and quietly crept back to his own room along the wall.

Actually, as soon as it got dark, Liu Dashao felt a bit uneasy. He locked the door behind him.

Ma Xiaoyan’s family lived relatively well compared to others in the village. They had two entire brick-tiled rooms, built from her father’s hard work and business over the past decade. Since the house was newly built, the walls were still freshly whitewashed and bright. The furniture hadn’t been replaced—it was the same set from their old house, just repainted, and still carried a strong smell of paint. The kerosene lamp shone brightly, and a small pocket watch on the nightstand ticked away.

Feeling restless, Liu Dashao decided to turn off the lamp and go to sleep.

Sigh! He couldn’t figure out what was going on in the village. Just a few days ago, everything had been peaceful. Now, strange things kept happening every few days—it was really driving him nuts.

Once the lamp was off, the darkness became overwhelming, and the ticking of the watch grew louder and more irritating. Liu Dashao reached out to grab the watch from the nightstand, intending to stop it.

He should have been able to reach it immediately, but instead of the watch, his hand touched something furry. A chill ran through him—what was that?

Gathering his courage, he extended his other hand to feel the object. The texture felt like skin. Tracing downward, he felt two holes. He touched again, confirming the shape, and his entire back went cold.

It was a human nose!

Someone started giggling softly beside him. Liu Dashao held his breath and looked over. There, right in front of him, was a man’s head grinning at him. One of Liu’s hands gripped the man’s hair, while his fingers were stuck in the man’s nostrils.

The head grinned and said, “Hey, stop that—I can’t breathe!”

“Go to hell with your breathing!” Liu Dashao instinctively grabbed the head and threw it. Just before it hit the wall, it vanished with a swoosh.

The room fell silent again.

Liu Dashao sat on the bed, gasping for breath. The paint fumes filled his nose, but beneath them, there was a faint scent of rust.

Rust?

He looked down. A dark liquid was seeping in through the crack beneath the door.

Water follows natural laws—like in a gunfight scene, if there’s liquid on the floor, it’s probably gasoline. With his extensive knowledge and considering the recent streak of bad luck, he didn’t need to guess. He instinctively knew exactly what it was.

He quickly reached for the kerosene lamp, but the wick flickered a few times and wouldn’t light.

Outside, footsteps approached.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

With each sound, more dark liquid oozed in.

Liu Dashao frantically struck matches, but broke several in a row without igniting a flame.

With a loud snap, he pulled the lamp cord clean off.

Earlier, Xiaoyan had mentioned that the lamp hadn’t been used for a while and suggested replacing the wick, but Liu Dashao, always avoiding trouble, had dismissed the idea without a second thought. Now, holding the broken wick, he regretted it bitterly.

The footsteps stopped at the door, no longer moving, while the dark liquid continued flowing in.

Liu Dashao crouched down, finding the quickest spot to roll under the bed and hide. Then, he lay flat on the floor, peering through the crack under the door.

He saw a pair of female legs wearing red embroidered shoes.

They were beautiful, slender legs, with translucent white skin that seemed to glow in the darkness.

Such pale skin should have been alluring—if not for the thin streams of blood trickling down them.

The blood flowed onto the floor, seeping in through the door.

Liu Dashao silently crawled back and climbed onto the bed.

More blood kept flowing in from the floor.

Back in the village, whenever the bald man Baitou talked about ghosts, he always started with a scene of blood flowing. Liu Dashao had always mocked him, even arguing, “You bald old fool, always making things up. If you don’t know, don’t talk nonsense like you’ve seen it yourself!”

But now, he finally understood.

Slowly moving toward the window, Liu Dashao was about to open it and escape when suddenly, loud knocking came from the door. He froze, his hand pausing on the window.

“Gou Shao!” Ma Xiaoyan was knocking violently at the door, her voice trembling. “Gou Shao, open the door! Hurry up!”

“What’s going on at this hour?” Liu Dashao responded toward the door, though he made no move to open it. After all, the room was too eerie. He couldn’t be sure it was really Ma Xiaoyan outside—it might be some ghost imitating her voice to trick him.

“I said open the door! Did you hear me?” The woman outside shouted anxiously, but her voice suddenly caught halfway. Then came a chaotic noise, the pounding on the door grew more intense, accompanied by cries of “Help!” and “Help!”

Seeing the situation, even the most hesitant and indecisive Liu Dashao had to take action. As a real man, how could he run away and abandon a woman? So what the hell—he’d bet his hundred-plus pounds of flesh on this! Even if it was a ghost at the door, he’d accept it!

Gritting his teeth, Liu Dashao jumped off the bed, closed his eyes, and opened the door.

With a scream, something warm and soft threw itself into his arms.

Liu Dashao’s mind went blank. Then, Ma Xiaoyan’s panicked face came into focus.

“Gou Shao, there’s a ghost outside!” Xiaoyan trembled, whispering against Liu Dashao’s chest.

But Liu Dashao was trembling even harder. Honestly speaking, this was the first time he had ever seen a beautiful woman standing in front of him wearing only a thin top. Any man would tremble—unless, of course, his manhood was completely gone, which was extremely unlikely. In conclusion, you would definitely tremble—or rather, your blood would boil. Yes, “boiling blood” might be a more accurate description.

Although he had imagined this countless times before, it had only ever been while reading novels borrowed from Tian Guoqiang, or maybe hiding under the windows of young couples at night, listening to their activities. But now, it was all happening right in front of him!

At this moment, Liu Dashao felt tears welling up—he thought, even if he died now, he would have no regrets. His courage multiplied tenfold, his eyes gleaming with newfound determination. Not just ghosts—hell, even if it was King Yama himself, Liu Dashao would charge forward without hesitation. If he died, she would remember him forever. If he survived, they would surely be together. That’s how it worked in the movies—this was the perfect scenario for the birth of pure love.

So, Liu Dashao bravely stepped forward, shielding Ma Xiaoyan behind him, and peeked outside the door.

The woman in the red embroidered shoes was gone. The living room was eerily silent.

Xiaoyan whispered into Liu Dashao’s ear, her breath sending shivers through him. “Is it still there?”

“No,” he replied.

“Is it gone from my room too?”

“Yes… gone.” Liu Dashao answered, glancing upward. A hideous little ghost was slowly floating out of Xiaoyan’s room, sticking its tongue out, its wide eyes staring blankly as if searching for something.

Seeing this, Liu Dashao quickly pulled his head back and shut the door tightly.

Xiaoyan clung tightly to Liu Dashao, trembling. “I’m so scared. What should I do?”

Liu Dashao pressed himself against the door, signaling her to stay quiet with a wave of his hand.

She obeyed, silently gazing up at him. Moments later, her body, trembling from fear, began to warm up. Seeking relief from the heat, she took off her outer blouse.

Liu Dashao hadn’t expected her to make such a bold and creative move in such a tense situation—this was turning their innocent love story into something rated beyond a B-grade movie. He was deeply impressed by this pure little girl. Though he hadn’t mentally prepared for this, he was too stunned to move, so he simply closed his eyes, ready to sacrifice himself for her, to give in and let her do as she pleased.

But to his disappointment, nothing happened. He looked down and found that the girl had actually fallen asleep.

Sighing softly, Liu Dashao gently laid Ma Xiaoyan on the bed. He took out a cigarette, leaned against the foot of the bed, and stared blankly into the dark. The cigarette remained unlit in his mouth.

The last traces of evening glow over the western hills had vanished completely, replaced by thick, dark clouds spreading across the sky, casting a heavy, oppressive night over the entire village.

The dark clouds stretched from the western hills across the entire sky, creating an overwhelming sense of dread.

Zhang Zhaodi’s body had been placed in a coffin, as was the local custom in the northeast, where it would remain for two or three days.

Under the cover of night, the corpse appeared eerily mysterious, its presence chilling like a winter wind cutting through the bones.

Not a soul walked the streets.

The village dogs would suddenly bark loudly, then fall silent, only to cry out again in strange, unsettling ways before falling quiet once more.

At the Ma family home, white mourning paper fluttered in the wind around the spirit tent. The bonfire in the courtyard flickered weakly, as if someone were blowing on it.

No one noticed that the river downstream from the dam had begun to turn black, growing darker and darker. A boundless, sinister energy swirled like tiny whirlpools, like a gateway to hell itself.