Chapter 972 938 Mourning Day

Under the dim sky.

Beside the eerie ancient mansion, faint rustling sounds echoed. The group lit lanterns and began digging beneath a pitch-black, grotesque old tree in the soil below. Judging by appearances, they had been at it for some time.

A pit gradually appeared before their eyes.

The soil within the pit was also blackened, exuding an odor of decay, as if mixed with blood to form a rotting, corrupted substance.

This soil seemed somewhat familiar to Yang Jian—like the Grave Soil from Fushou Garden in Dahai City.

It was a mixture of mud and flesh, far from ordinary soil.

The earth was loose and disorderly; using the simplest tools, the group easily excavated it. Once they had dug roughly a meter deep, the outline of a twisted corpse emerged. The decomposing body reeked, tangled with tree roots, as if the tree had thrived on the corpse’s nutrients.

The corpse was eerie, and the tree grew exceptionally strange.

“A corpse in black clothing? No,” Zhou Deng remarked, shaking his head immediately after a glance.

“Fill the soil back in,” Yang Jian instructed.

The others, though disappointed, could only resume their labor, refilling the pit with the painstakingly dug soil.

This process could only be done manually.

Due to the supernatural power within this old forest, Yang Jian’s Ghost Domain couldn’t influence it. Otherwise, he could have directly used his ghostly eye for inspection or even relocated the corpse.

Unfortunately.

He couldn’t do it.

The others certainly lacked the capability, leaving them no option but to slowly dig under tree after tree in one of the simplest, least efficient ways possible.

No one knew what—or if—they might find. Everyone was filled with uncertainty.

Restricted by the range of the white lantern, the group couldn’t split up too far; they could barely ensure two trees were excavated simultaneously. Any farther could risk attacks from nearby malevolent ghosts.

Although it seemed safe for now, the group hadn’t forgotten—the vengeful spirits lingered close.

“Here, something’s here,” Li Yang suddenly called out.

They were digging beneath another tree.

A corner of white fabric emerged from beneath the soil, partly exposed. Though stained and filthy, it was still clearly discernible.

However, the garment was badly damaged, riddled with rot and holes—as though on the brink of disintegration, oxidation threatening to reduce it to scraps. How long this piece of clothing had been buried under the old tree, no one could tell.

“So Zhou Deng was right after all—there really is white clothing,” Fan Xing exclaimed with a hint of surprise.

Earlier, he hadn’t believed it, but now the evidence lay plainly before them. He had no choice but to accept the truth.

They continued removing the surrounding soil.

Only then did the group see clearly what lay beneath the dirt.

A rotten, blackened skeleton—devoid of flesh, with only its bones remaining. Its gender was unrecognizable. It wasn’t wearing white clothing but was wrapped in a piece of white cloth resembling a corpse wrapping cloth. However, the white cloth was significantly rotted, or perhaps it had undergone strange transformations after burial.

The corpse had astonishingly emerged from the wrapping cloth.

Yang Jian immediately extended his cracked long spear, using the Coffin Nail to lift the white wrapping cloth.

It went smoothly—with no anomalies or strange changes.

“Got it. Just a tattered white corpse wrapping cloth?” Zhou Deng examined the cloth with an experienced eye, recognizing it at once.

Yang Jian took it in hand and shook off the dirt, revealing the ragged white cloth.

“It looks more like a tablecloth than a corpse wrapping cloth,” Old Eagle observed, scrutinizing it. “See? This cloth is square-shaped—really resembles a table covering.”

“Is this thing even useful? Hard to believe,” Li Yang voiced his doubts.

Yang Jian said, “Who knows? Let’s keep searching. With our numbers, finding enough mourning outfits for everyone within the remaining time will still be a challenge.”

“Better safe than sorry—let’s keep looking,” Fan Xing agreed with a nod.

Once more, the group set to work, continuously digging near the ancient mansion’s old trees.

The chance of finding white mourning outfits was minuscule.

Almost negligible. During the excavations, the group found many strange corpses—some heavily decomposed, some reduced to bones, while others were disturbingly uncanny, as if fresh. The freshly peculiar ones had pale, bloodless skin that wasn’t stiffened yet.

Whenever they unearthed such corpses, they silently agreed to bury them back immediately, unwilling to risk further exploration.

The trees here undoubtedly grew for decades, yet after all these years, some bodies remained uncorrupted and even unnervingly intact. Such phenomena defied logic—those weren’t ordinary corpses but likely dormant malevolent spirits. Tampering might awaken them, unleashing unimaginable dangers.

Beyond corpses, they dug up other macabre remains.

For instance, a half-decayed Dead Man’s Head—its lifeless eyes wide open, grayish-white, dull. It showed no signs of decay.

In another pit, there were two interconnected corpses. Despite their decay, they were conjoined, resembling an infant—but their size was that of adults. One corpse bore a grotesque, torturous visage; the other remained curling in torment.

It was as if a malevolent spirit were invading a living human’s body.

At this sight, Yang Jian decisively buried the soil again without delving further.

As time trickled away, anxiety began taking root in the group. The mourning outfits in hand were far too few to sustain everyone—it wasn’t nearly enough.

Yang Jian, Li Yang, Da Qiang, Old Eagle, Yang Xiaohua, Fan Xing, Zhou Deng, and an unfamiliar ghost wielder made eight people altogether. They needed at least eight mourning outfits to survive the rituals of tomorrow.

If they failed to gather the outfits by midnight, someone would certainly face deadly consequences for lacking them.

“Only three found so far—there’s just one hour left. At this rate, we’re doomed,” Old Eagle frowned, glancing at Yang Jian.

This posed an imminent threat.

If handled poorly, conflict over supplies might ignite—whether physical confrontations or heavy disputes—division was inevitable.

Yang Jian remained silent, his ghostly eye swiveling uneasily. “Keep digging. Find as many as we can—what happens afterward will depend on the situation.”

The group said nothing, continuing their grim work.

At eleven-thirty, luck seemed to shine faintly—they unearthed another mourning outfit. However, it came wrapped around a dead infant. The fetus appeared unformed, still attached to its umbilical cord, as if freshly removed from a womb.

Terrifyingly, the eerie baby’s stomach moved faintly—rising and falling like breathing or slumber.

Yang Jian analyzed briefly before deciding to keep the outfit. There were now four mourning outfits in his possession—still insufficient. Despite the horrifying nature of the fetus, surpassing all other corpses in grotesqueness, survival in the looming rituals demanded prioritizing quantity over risks.

If tomorrow were lost… survival efforts would mean nothing.

The time reached eleven-fifty p.m.

At this point, the group ceased their work. The remaining time wouldn’t suffice to finish excavating another tree.

“That’s it then—we’ve found all we could. Nothing more can be done. This task is a nightmare. From our starting point, we’ve been digging relentlessly for six hours, alternating rest and shifts, constantly working,” Old Eagle gasped, visibly worn.

Even their tools were subpar, preventing greater efficiency.

Yang Jian hadn’t rested the entire time, utilizing his Ghost Shadow for quick digging. Yet, even with its speed, the white lantern’s limit hindered progress.

“It feels like everything’s calculated precisely. We had one lantern and found four mourning outfits; there are eight people here. If we had two lanterns, perhaps we’d manage to find all eight, meeting our needs perfectly.”

Zhou Deng mused aloud.

“Don’t blame me for losing one lantern—what’s the point of saying this now?” Fan Xing grumbled.

“So what now? We only have four outfits, meaning half the group goes without. Are we letting the rest die?”

At this remark, everyone’s expression shifted darkly.

Most uneasy was Yang Xiaohua—a mere ordinary person. If half were eliminated, her death seemed inevitable.

“I won’t need one. I have Yang Jian’s Eight-Tone Music Box in my mind—I might not be killed,” Old Eagle said. He voluntarily relinquished one spot.

Knowing the Music Box curse meant certain fatality within days, he refrained from pointless disputes, finding no worth in needless quarrels.

Facing inevitable death had, in some ways, granted him clarity.

His perseverance stemmed from the faint hope of leaving and seeing his child—living a normal life for a few days, bidding farewell to the world.

“Now isn’t the time for this discussion—the changes for Day Four have begun…” Yang Jian’s gaze shifted upward subtly.

“Wooo! Wooo!”

The night.

The wind rose.

Biting cold gusts swept through the old forest’s treetops, making the entire grove shudder, producing wailing sounds—like something sobbing from within the woods. The noise resembled the mournful cries of Day One but felt much sharper—vivid and realistic, losing its previous hint of ambiguity.

“Bang!”

In the next instant.

One bizarre old tree swayed in the wind before losing balance, crashing onto the ground.

“Hmm?”

The group’s gaze snapped toward it, shrinking instinctively.

“That tree was the first one we excavated…”

Before the words finished.

The second tree fell—another they had previously dug.

Then the third and fourth trees, followed by the fifth… one by one, the trees collapsed, every single one they had excavated earlier. No matter whether they disturbed the bodies beneath or left them untouched.

“We specifically avoided touching the roots when digging—we were extremely cautious,” Yang Xiaohua quivered noticeably.

Yang Jian’s gaze hardened. “Supernatural imbalance—it’s completely irrational. Even digging around the soil without touching the corpse could’ve disrupted some equilibrium. This Fourth Day of mourning was bound to be deadly. Judging by earlier events, the ancient mansion grows increasingly perilous every passing day, culminating in the final rites of the seventh day.”

“Five minutes until midnight,” Old Eagle checked his watch quickly.

The trees continued to fall—none left standing.

The six hollowed-out pits seemed like signals for imminent doom, releasing danger, bringing forth a reckoning they themselves had initiated.

“Don’t pin this on me—everyone participated, every single one of you. Anyway, tomorrow I won’t need a mourning outfit—consider it compensation for you all. That should be fair enough, right?” Zhou Deng hurriedly distanced himself from blame.

He also relinquished his claim to a mourning outfit.

With both Zhou Deng and Old Eagle stepping aside, the atmosphere lightened somewhat.

The odds of survival for the others improved slightly.

“Waaaah…”

A fresh surge of trees collapsed while eerie infant cries permeated the forest.

The cries immediately brought to mind the grotesque infant unearthed earlier. The creature had been dormant—but now it had awakened…

“That infant is awake. Yang Jian, you’re experienced—you’ve dealt with the Ghost Infant before. We’ll depend on you,” Zhou Deng quickly called out.

Yang Jian’s expression darkened. “Don’t waste time—retreat to the mansion. Staying outside is no longer an option. The mourning rites for Day Three are over.”

“Move!” The group didn’t hesitate, turning swiftly back toward the ancient mansion.

The chilling wind continued its assault.

The pale light from Yang Jian’s lantern flickered nervously—seemingly affected, creating the illusion it might extinguish at any moment.

Fortunately, they hadn’t wandered far from the mansion, and the path back was already planned.

Soon.

The group entered the mansion again, heading directly for the hall. Having learned from their experience, they made sure to shut the doors securely.

“Time,” Yang Jian asked.

“It’s eleven fifty-nine,” Old Eagle replied.

Yang Jian’s expression shifted slightly as he began distributing the mourning outfits. He threw one to Li Yang, then another to Da Qiang, followed by one to Fan Xing.

Though disappointed in Fan Xing’s behavior, now wasn’t the time for pettiness—he remained useful.

“What about me?” Yang Xiaohua asked breathlessly, glancing at Yang Jian.

Yang Jian still had one outfit, seemingly reserved for himself. No one dared dispute that.

Yang Jian didn’t reply—he merely glanced at Zhou Deng. “As compensation, give her a piece of yellow paper. Consider previous conflicts settled.”

Zhou Deng’s eyes flickered. He understood Yang Jian also had a piece of yellow paper but didn’t question why he refrained from using it himself. “Alright, but I won’t take responsibility if anything goes wrong.”

“No need for you to,” Yang Jian replied.

“Fine.”

Zhou Deng produced a yellow paper talisman and handed it to Yang Xiaohua.

Those allocated mourning outfits immediately donned them.

The clock struck midnight.

A sudden, icy wind blew through the mansion’s hall, surging in from the distant courtyard, penetrating every corner of the ancient house. The chilling gust left everyone trembling, infiltrating their very bones. Even Yang Jian’s lantern abruptly went out, extinguished by the wind.

The lantern’s light was gone—its pale glow extinguished.

“As expected, the lantern loses its protective power by the Fourth Day—similar to the incense earlier. These tools are useful for survival during the early days but lose their efficacy in the later stages.” Yang Jian thought to himself.

Unperturbed, he discarded the lantern casually to the side.

Yang Jian quickly draped the mourning outfit over his shoulders.

“Bang! Bang!”

Suddenly.

Two deafening crashes echoed—the mansion doors were forcefully flung open, as though by some formidable force.

Immediately after, hurried footsteps invaded the mansion from outside.

“The ghosts are here,” someone muttered in terror.

Everyone’s faces turned pale.

Despite anticipating the Fourth Day’s peril, no one had imagined it escalating so drastically.

The Ghost Forest was out of control, and malevolent spirits had directly breached the mansion.

The doors couldn’t hold them back.

On the first day, at least the spirits only knocked—even with open doors, they didn’t dare enter the property.

By Day Four, their aggression had reached unprecedented heights.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by novlove.com

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