When Yang Jian walked away for a short while, the bizarre happenings seed to be known only to him.
Even being this close, Li Yang, Zhou Deng, Fan Xing, and Da Qiang were completely unaware, as if kept in the dark, not even hearing a single sound.
However, the events in that room did not disturb the mansion's supernatural balance.
Now, with the room gone and all the hidden threats neutralized, this was good news for everyone.
But that was all it amounted to.
No new dangers were added, but neither was it of much help. The peril of the mansion's head-seven ritual still awaited those remaining.
But now.
There weren't many survivors left.
"Don't dwell on what happened just now. The dangers of the Day of Mourning persist, and this balance certainly won't last forever. So, the priority is to focus on yourself, not on insignificant things," Yang Jian said, looking at Zhou Deng.
This guy—ever since finding the Human Skin Mask—had beco addicted, incessantly seeking out paranormal artifacts everywhere.
Zhou Deng didn't respond. He simply stood there, his eyes constantly shifting.
His gaze left Yang Jian and darted among the eerie figures frozen in the hall.
These were not humans—every single one was a vengeful ghost. They might not be complete entities, but they undoubtedly possessed supernatural properties, unlike the Ghost Slaves encountered before.
Indeed, the "people" here—any of them taken outdoors—would each beco a chilling paranormal incident.
At this mont.
All the ghosts had congregated in the hall, remaining calm only due to the elder resting in the red coffin.
"There's still a long night ahead. Surviving peacefully until morning is practically impossible, so no matter what danger arises next, we must face it head-on. If we can hold through, only then will we see the light of day. Fail, and there's no need for to elaborate," Yang Jian said bluntly.
He was dressed in a filthy mourning robe, which could isolate the ghosts' senses.
The others looked at him and nodded with deep agreent.
In the corner, the Eagle played with the Ghost Dice before him and said, "The fourth day is the Day of Mourning, the fifth day the Ghost Banquet. Those three bowls of rice will be key, perhaps on the fifth day we can use them to send away the ghosts flooding the hall. So not only must we survive, but we need to keep those three bowls intact—don't use them prematurely, nor lose them."
He spoke openly.
Cursed by the Eight-Tone Music Box and Ard with the Ghost Dice, he could handle most vengeful spirits in paranormal incidents. Although not necessarily capable of resolving them completely, it was enough to survive.
Though not for long.
"Your point is valid," Yang Jian conceded, agreeing sowhat.
Perhaps the three bowls of rice on the fifth day were crucial for sending away these vengeful spirits. Otherwise, the ghosts lingering in the mansion would eventually obliterate everyone—none would live to see the seventh day.
"Stay calm for now. Let's slowly wait it out. As long as there's no anomaly and the ghosts don't attack us, we can ignore whatever happens elsewhere. Just guard the red coffin," Yang Jian said as he withdrew.
He rested beside the coffin along with the others, biding ti in silence.
Ti passed bit by bit.
Everyone remained silent.
Though wearing funeral robes, their hearts were far from calm. In front of them were nothing but vengeful spirits, each adding imnse psychological tension. Any slip-ups, and they could be devoured by the ghosts.
anwhile, Yang Jian was lost in thought over the previous incidents.
Specifically, about the Ghost Post Office's sixth floor.
"If this task concludes successfully, everyone who survives will advance to the fifth floor. That woman from the Republic of China Period ntioned that the Ghost Post Office has a sixth floor. The sixth floor only allows one person entry, and whoever enters never cos out—it becos the Post Office's wielder."
"I definitely don't want to dominate such a Post Office. I don't want to be confined to one place forever."
"So I must arrange a successor before this matter concludes."
Yang Jian scanned the room, glancing briefly at the others.
The Eagle was imdiately ruled out—cursed by the Eight-Tone Music Box, he wouldn't survive after the delivery task. The remaining options were Li Yang, Da Qiang, and the missing Yang Xiaohua.
To be honest, the most suitable choice was Li Yang.
But he didn't want to trap Li Yang in such a place forever.
"We'll see when the ti cos. Maybe an acceptable candidate will erge from the fifth floor's couriers," Yang Jian mused.
Truthfully, he did desire control of the Post Office, as it was undeniably significant. Despite placing a premium on freedom, mastery over such an unimaginable paranormal domain ensured survival in a world drowning in supernatural resurgence.
The position was important.
He couldn't assign it recklessly—choosing wrong could create a massive threat down the line. He had to promote soone trustworthy to the sixth floor.
Just as these thoughts developed.
An anomaly erged within the mansion again.
"Rustle... rustle..."
The familiar sound of the eerie radio suddenly began. At first, it was faint, but soon it grew louder, growing increasingly clear, its sound uneven and shifting through the hall. Pinpointing its exact location was montarily impossible, as though it moved constantly.
"The ghostly radio again?"
The others recognized it, showing no shock but rather a darkened expression.
The mysterious radio seed capable of drawing other vengeful spirits.
During the second day of the vigil, it led ghosts to discover the back hall, nearly killing everyone there.
Even after one radio was destroyed, another appeared.
No matter how thoroughly it's damaged, new ones erged—Yang Jian's Coffin Nail and Firewood Knife proved futile.
As the radio was rely a dium, not the actual ghost.
Monts later.
The radio's noise finally reached a stationary point, remaining fixed at one spot.
Suddenly.
Yang Jian quickly identified the radio's source of sound, focusing on its location. Everyone's faces changed drastically.
It was behind the black Taishi Chair, next to the coffin.
The old radio had silently appeared on the chair—no one had detected its arrival, as if it had walked itself there, or perhaps been placed by an invisible ghost.
In any case.
The paranormal dium had revealed itself.
"The balance is crumbling? Or are the mansion's internal supernatural phenona surfacing?" Yang Jian thought. "Or maybe the elder in the coffin can only suppress threats outside the mansion, unable to contain the vengeful spirits within."
At this mont, the static from the old radio suddenly ceased.
Receiving what seed like a signal, a bizarre voice erged: "Hello, hello? Is anyone still alive? Where are you? I can't find you. Hello... hello…"
"Damn it, pulling this stunt again," Fan Xing cursed through clenched teeth.
The thing was indeed deceptive.
It had tricked them before, uncovering their location and swiftly pursuing them into the back hall.
Now, having learned their lesson.
No one dared respond anymore.
"Heh, heh-heh... I know you're here. Stop hiding. Co out quickly..." The voice from the radio continued, as if trying to engage in friendly conversation.
Yang Jian remained silent and approached the radio.
He reached out his blackened Ghost Hand, grabbing the radio, and dumped it into the red coffin.
The old radio landed directly on the elder's corpse.
"Ah~!"
A sharp, shrill scream echoed from the radio, followed by another cut-off signal. Then static resud briefly before finally disappearing altogether, leaving complete silence in its wake.
It seed.
The radio had triggered sothing far more dangerous, sustaining enough damage to be suppressed.
"This noisy damn thing. Should've done this sooner—let it serve as a burial offering and join the elder in the afterlife after the seventh day," Yang Jian said coldly.
"Aren't you worried about unexpected consequences?" Zhou Deng asked.
Yang Jian replied, "Unexpected consequences are endless. At this point, I don't care. I just want these irkso ghosts gone."
"That's the right attitude," Zhou Deng said approvingly, stroking his chin.
"Let's rest up."
After temporarily dealing with the eerie radio, Yang Jian resud quietly waiting.
But he couldn't shake a foreboding feeling.
The radio's appearance—did it signal that the other spirits from the second day were about to reerge?
For example, the origin of that dark Ghost Domain?
Or perhaps the dismbered, unclothed corpse?
Or even the terrifying ghost Li Yang encountered?
But only monts later.
A cry disrupted the silence within the mansion.
"Waah... waah…" The sound of an infant crying pierced the air, echoing loudly.
"Is it that baby? The one I lost before? I pinned it down, but during the fight with Leuk Qingqing, it slipped away," Yang Jian thought.
Yet before long.
The crying abruptly stopped.
The infant seed to have encountered sothing, its final wail mixed with a chilling scream.
The sounds faded entirely.
The anomaly seed to dissipate alongside it, yet a chilling tension gripped everyone's hearts.
Sothing more malicious had entered the mansion.
For now, the entity that had overpowered the terrifying infant had yet to make itself known, still wandering within the mansion's walls.
As ti ticked on toward 6:00 AM.
In the dense crowd of figures, an oddity erged.
The crowd began splitting apart, accompanied by the eerie sound of sothing being dragged across the floor.
Soon.
A black Taishi Chair appeared amidst the uncanny gathering, forcing the other figures away and moving to the forefront.
Behind the chair lood a patch of darkness—it seed a Ghost Domain, or perhaps a winding, shrouded path stretching endlessly into shadow.
A pair of withered, blackened hands with unnervingly long nails were pushing the black Taishi Chair forward.
"The black Taishi Chair is still here? Wasn't it previously damaged?" Yang Jian frowned.
He rembered hearing the sound of a chair breaking during a blackout in the hall, but later saw no broken fragnts nor the ghost.
"Ghosts inside the mansion remain unaffected by the elder in the coffin. The real danger cos from within, not outside," said the Eagle, who remained indifferent. He had no ability to intervene and simply watched the unfolding scene.
Atop the black chair, the eerie hands began retracting slowly.
Little by little, disappearing back into the darkness.
But the next instant.
Sothing horrifying unfolded.
Da Qiang, clothed in mourning attire and believing himself safe from the senses of ghosts, felt a pair of withered hands grasp his shoulders.
"It's targeting ?" Da Qiang felt a bone-chilling terror wash over him, his face turning pale with dread.
Those gnarled hands exerted an otherworldly, overwhelming force, pressing down on his shoulders and forcing his body into a seated position.
"Yang Jian!"
Da Qiang scread with all his strength.
In that crucial mont.
Yang Jian sprang into action.
Using his Ghost Eyes to perceive everything, he spotted the skeletal hands behind Da Qiang.
The sixth-layer ghost domain burst forth.
Everything froze.
The ghostly hands ceased movent.
Imdiately, Yang Jian swung the Firewood Knife, and though unable to fully exploit diating objects, it still sliced through the ghost's fingers with ease.
At the sa ti.
The skeletal hands recoiled swiftly—a movent slowed but not halted by the ghost domain's influence, allowing Yang Jian ample ti to react.
The knife landed.
Three withered, elongated fingers were severed, and the hands vanished.
Disappearing from Da Qiang's shoulders.
But Da Qiang's face had already gone ashen—lifeless.
He was dead.
Reviews
All reviews (0)