Chapter 961 927 The Woman Among Old Lin

The ancient mansion shrouded in darkness echoed with a piercing, mournful scream, chilling to the bone.

At that moment.

Yang Jian, positioned in the rear hall, wielded the Firewood Knife, instantly activating the medium to dismember an unknown terror. He acted decisively, without the slightest hesitation.

He believed that the quicker the vengeful ghost invaded, the more dangerous it would be. If he didn’t repel it now, once the ghost entered the rear hall and began its slaughter, it would be too late.

As the scream reverberated, an unexpected event unfolded.

The darkness that had invaded the rear hall began to recoil.

An obscured path emerged within the main hall, directly connecting to the courtyard, seemingly bisecting the darkness enveloping the entire mansion. Meanwhile, the split darkness started retreating into the corridors on either side.

“So that’s it. This darkness is the Ghost Domain of the vengeful ghost, but now that I’ve dismembered it with the Firewood Knife, the ghost’s power has drastically weakened—its Ghost Domain can no longer remain in its complete state,” Yang Jian remarked as he observed the scene, instantly understanding.

The strike had hit the source of the darkness.

That blow had been worth it.

The ancient mansion possessed the power to suppress supernatural phenomena, yet the vengeful ghost could still invade under these circumstances—proof of its sheer terror.

If Yang Jian hadn’t earlier used the Ghost Shadow to blanket the rear hall’s location, it was conceivable that the ghost might have infiltrated silently, unnoticed.

However, using the Firewood Knife came at a price—a corresponding curse had to be borne.

By dismembering the ghost, Yang Jian simultaneously dismembered himself; not only would his body sustain damage, but even the Ghost Shadow was affected. Yet, since the Ghost Shadow possessed the ability to reassemble, it could temporarily recover and withstand the curse unleashed by the Firewood Knife.

Additionally, Yang Jian could erase the curse in an instant through a restart, fully restoring his state in one fell swoop.

But now.

Yang Jian realized he hadn’t been afflicted with the Firewood Knife’s curse.

He remained unharmed, as though the curse no longer existed.

“Another vengeful ghost has been repelled, and it seems to have suffered some sort of grievous wound—even the darkness is retreating. What happened in that instant?” someone exclaimed, their eyes wide with disbelief.

“It was Yang Jian. He swung the knife into thin air, yet it seemed to sever the ghost, eliciting a terrifying scream. It was almost like he killed the ghost outright.”

“Ghosts cannot be killed. Despite the apparent impact, it must’ve only been a severe injury. But even achieving that is truly terrifying,” Fan Xing said, his face contorted in shock as he gazed at Yang Jian.

The other messengers shared expressions of utter astonishment.

Was this what made people fear Yang Jian?

When he truly acted, he could force a vengeful ghost to retreat instantly—so much so that it dared not approach the rear hall.

“The incense has grown a lot shorter…”

Ignoring the stunned faces around him, Yang Jian noticed that two remaining sticks of incense in front of the coffin had diminished again.

One stick was nearly burned out, leaving only a small stub.

Perhaps.

The missing segment was linked to the Firewood Knife’s curse.

Had it been neutralized?

Or was it transferred elsewhere?

“What happens when this incense burns out? Will we lose its protection, or will something unknown transpire?” Yang Jian murmured, slightly worried.

Three sticks of incense had originally been placed before the red coffin. Under normal circumstances, they were supposed to burn for seven days—until the completion of mourning rituals.

But with one stick already stolen and the curse of the Firewood Knife heavily depleting the remaining incense, it seemed highly possible that the incense would burn out by the third day.

As the darkness temporarily dissipated and receded, the supernatural phenomena in the main hall appeared to subside. At this moment, the hall was empty, devoid of any traces of prior disturbances. The ghosts that had wandered throughout seemed to have been forced back into the depths of the corridors.

Nevertheless, ominous signs remained on the ground.

The towering walls now bore black handprints, and the floor was scattered with damp stains, as though it had just rained.

“The ghosts seem to emerge with the enveloping darkness. Once the mansion is no longer dark, the ghosts cannot manifest,” Old Lin, following the clues carefully, concluded with certainty.

He scanned the ground.

Noticing a few sticky drops of inky black blood scattered across the hall.

Residue, perhaps from the repelled vengeful ghost.

“Darkness is but a phenomenon—a sign of supernatural invasion into the mansion. When darkness descends, it signals ghostly activity. Everything comes with forewarnings; nothing happens inexplicably,” Fan Xing mused aloud.

Yang Jian withdrew his gaze from the two sticks of incense—one longer, one shorter. He then commented, “The ghosts have only been temporarily repelled. Tonight is far from over. Danger could creep close at any moment; don’t celebrate prematurely. And Fan Xing…”

Suddenly.

He turned to look.

Fan Xing’s expression shifted. “Yang Jian, what are you trying to say?”

“The curse of that radio—isn’t it targeting you? Earlier, when the ghost roamed the main hall, it didn’t seem to sense anyone in the rear hall. The vicinity of this red coffin seems to obscure a ghost’s perception, ensuring our safety. However, since the radio appeared, the ghosts have repeatedly charged straight into the rear hall.”

“In other words, the ghosts have discovered our location. That’s what caused the failure of our night watches—the arrival of danger.”

Da Qiang heard this, and his temper flared instantly: “So that’s how it is! No wonder the ghosts are so aggressive on the second night. It’s because you’ve suffered curses and drawn them here!”

“The balance is broken, danger has come early. At this rate, we won’t survive until the seventh day,” Wang Feng stated coldly, glaring at Fan Xing.

“We could’ve peacefully passed the night guarding the coffin. Instead, we’re forced to clash with vengeful ghosts head-on. I found it odd earlier too—the messenger’s tasks are dangerous but shouldn’t push us to fight for our lives on the second night. Something doesn’t add up. So this is the problem,” Old Lin grumbled unhappily.

From the first night’s preparation to the second night’s vigil.

Yang Jian’s choices had been flawless. By making the right decisions, the night would’ve been uneventful, but the situation earlier clearly pointed toward total annihilation.

Fan Xing and several other ghost tamers nearby stirred uneasily.

They understood, but what could they do?

True, they had brought the ghosts upon themselves, but they also wanted to live. Considering whether they’d harm others was not their concern.

“In a place like this, nothing that happens would seem surprising. Yang Jian, what do you think?”

Fan Xing said, “Or are you trying to hint that if you eliminate us, you’d feel safer? But Yang Jian, you know as well as I do—if we die, this mansion will only become more perilous. The fate of that man killed last night, when his corpse was discarded outside the mansion, is the clearest example.”

“Right now, our priority should be working together to overcome what lies ahead. Internal strife would be incredibly foolish.”

Yang Jian’s face was impassive as he replied, “You’ve made a mistake—it’s fine. Everyone makes mistakes. But from now on, I want no signs of hesitation from any of you in critical moments. Otherwise, I’ll eliminate you on the spot.”

“Including me?” Fan Xing’s face hardened.

“Yes, including you,” Yang Jian said.

Fan Xing forced a smile. “Don’t worry, such a thing won’t happen. To survive, I dared to board the ghost bus. Naturally, I can confront vengeful ghosts.”

“Continue the vigil.”

Yang Jian spoke no further.

Meanwhile.

Outside the mansion.

A man was wandering around, carrying a white lantern with a bold black character “奠” inscribed on it. In his other hand, he held a stick of incense.

The incense burned, releasing an inexhaustible aroma.

The white lantern emanated a pale glow in the dim environment—a ghostly radiance that illuminated the path ahead.

“You think I won’t take it just because you forbade it? I’ll secretly snatch it anyway, and you’ll never know,” Zhou Deng thought to himself. “I’m already being considerate—I left some for you, didn’t I?”

He didn’t want to stay inside the mansion.

The mansion was rife with danger, and he couldn’t search for treasures there.

That’s why, on the second night, Zhou Deng had stealthily swiped one stick of incense and one lantern from the entrance.

Carrying the lantern, he made no attempt to leave the mansion entirely. Instead, he wandered around its perimeter.

“Without the ghost bus, there’s really no way to leave this place,” Zhou Deng muttered, following a winding path into the old forest.

This path led from the rear exit of the mansion, different from the main route.

“The mansion’s former owner built this path probably as an escape route. If I keep walking, I might find a way out—or perhaps uncover treasure hidden by the owner,” Zhou Deng mused, his calculating mind already at work.

Gradually.

He ventured deeper into the forest along this path.

The path itself was peculiar—it was paved with yellow earth, devoid of weeds, and the soil seemed freshly spread, as if constructed not long ago. Previously, there hadn’t been a path here.

“All the trees along the way have been chopped down.” Zhou Deng noticed tree stumps scattered along the route.

Clearly, significant effort had gone into carving out this yellow-earth path.

Carrying the white lantern, he ventured further, and the surroundings grew increasingly dark.

Soon.

The forest was completely engulfed in darkness, leaving only indistinct outlines. All that remained visible was the yellow-earth path stretching endlessly forward.

“A never-ending, eerie path? Should I turn back?” Zhou Deng frowned, pondering the question.

After some thought, he shook his head and discarded the idea.

He decided to press on. Returning to the mansion wouldn’t guarantee safety. This haunted place was shrouded in danger—it might even be better outside.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been walking—time slipped away unnoticed.

All Zhou Deng knew was that the trees gradually thinned out until he emerged into an open space.

The clearing, shaped like a circle, was paved with yellow earth surrounded by dense old forests. There were no other trails visible.

He had reached the end.

In this clearing, Zhou Deng saw several graves.

They varied in age—some looked ancient, others from recent years, and a few newly buried. Each grave had a tombstone, inscribed with a name, a photo, and some offerings placed in front—a blue and white porcelain bowl filled with white rice.

The rice was hard, as though uncooked.

Zhou Deng, holding the lantern, approached one grave. He held the lantern up to illuminate it.

The lantern’s ghostly white glow dispelled the gloom, exposing the photo on the tombstone.

The image was of an unfamiliar young man—clearly not from modern times. His attire looked quaint, suggesting he’d died long ago, but his appearance remained youthful and strikingly handsome.

“Such a handsome man, dead and buried here. What a pity,” Zhou Deng remarked, glancing down at the porcelain bowl of white rice before the tombstone.

He placed the lantern aside, reached out with one hand, and reached for the bowl.

But just as Zhou Deng bent over, the eyes of the man in the photograph moved eerily, following his hand downward.

“Smack!”

Zhou Deng suddenly pulled his hand back and slapped himself.

“Zhou Deng, Zhou Deng, you know this place is dangerous, yet you still reach out to grab things recklessly. What if you trigger a curse and catch the attention of a vengeful ghost? What would you do then?”

He abandoned the thought altogether, picked up his lantern, and chose not to touch the bowl of rice before the grave.

At that moment.

The man’s photo quietly reverted—his gaze shifting back to its original position, as if nothing had occurred.

Zhou Deng continued to meander and stopped before a second grave.

On the second grave’s tombstone was a photograph of an incredibly beautiful woman, with waist-length hair, a gentle smile, and a fitted cheongsam. The black-and-white picture made it impossible to discern the color of her gown.

Before her grave also sat a bowl of rice.

This bowl, however, seemed slightly emptier than the previous one, as though someone had taken a bite.

“Such a gorgeous woman, dead and gone. What a shame. That cheongsam seems exquisite—I wonder if it was buried along with her,” Zhou Deng mused.

Then, he slapped himself again: “Zhou Deng, Zhou Deng, you can’t do this. Digging up someone’s grave to grab their clothing—especially a stunning lady’s—is that even appropriate?”

Reluctantly, Zhou Deng left the grave behind.

He wandered past the other graves nearby.

But he found nothing particularly noteworthy—only an abandoned, rusted shovel standing upright in an empty corner.

Zhou Deng picked it up and tested it, only to discover it wasn’t a supernatural artifact—just a plain, ordinary tool. Disappointed, he put it back.

“Back to square one. Searching here was such a waste of time,” Zhou Deng grumbled, but before leaving, he unexpectedly found himself back at the grave of the beautiful woman.

There, he inserted his stick of incense into her grave.

“You’re the most pleasing to my eyes. Here’s an incense offering from me, Zhou Deng, before I leave. It’s not a wasted trip after all,” he muttered.

Judging by appearances, the incense didn’t seem particularly unusual. It would burn out soon anyway, and since it wasn’t of much use, he decided to abandon it. Consumable items like these held little value—perhaps the lantern in his hand was more practical.

Carrying the white lantern, Zhou Deng retraced his steps down the path.

However, shortly after he left the area.

The incense he had placed atop the grave began burning away rapidly, shedding ashes segment by segment. Strangely, the rising smoke didn’t drift upward but sank, seeping into the grave below.

Gradually, the photograph of the woman on the tombstone underwent subtle changes—her gentle smile stretched wider.

Soon, the photo started fading, its colors growing fainter, until finally, the image disappeared altogether, leaving only a blank stone.

Moments later.

The grave collapsed inward.

A white-skinned hand, painted with vivid red nails, emerged suddenly, gripping the side of the tombstone. With a casual push, it toppled the stone, burying it within the sunken grave.

Then, she rose.

From the pit emerged an eerie woman with waist-length hair, wearing a scarlet cheongsam, her figure lithe and graceful.

The woman exuded a mysterious fragrance—a blend of the incense’s aroma and an indefinable other scent.

Notably, she lacked the rotting and lifeless aura typical of the dead.

“Whoosh…”

The surrounding forest stirred as gusts of wind swept through, causing the branches to sway and rustle noisily.

“Heh, heh heh.” The woman chuckled softly.

Her laughter echoed, heavy with reverberation.

The swaying forest suddenly fell silent once more.

Then, she began walking. Following the yellow-earth path, she headed toward the mansion.

From beneath the hem of her cheongsam peeked a pair of blood-red high heels. At her waist hung a rusty scarf… elegant yet sinister.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by novlove.com

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