With a touch to the nose and pulse, Granny Fan immediately confirmed it: Zhao Di was truly gone, her breath ceased, her grip slack. Ma Sandao let out a wail, collapsing onto his wife’s body, weeping uncontrollably. In a single day, he had lost his son, and now his wife. Surely, the worst misfortune imaginable had befallen him. It wasn't just bad luck; it felt like a string of eight lifetimes of ruin. Liu Dashao managed to hold back Ma Xiaoyan, keeping things barely under control. But Ma Sandao was a grown man, and Granny Fan was no match for him. After crying for a long while, he began slamming his head against the wall, threatening to end his own life. Fortunately, his family was large and numerous. The commotion drew many relatives, and to stabilize the situation, Ma Sandao's uncle, Ma Tie, brought a heavy blow down on the back of his head, finally bringing silence.

After ensuring they were settled as best as possible, Liu Dashao offered Ma Xiaoyan a few comforting and solicitous words, promising to fetch medicine and concoct a remedy for Ma Sandao the next day. But Ma Xiaoyan wouldn't be consoled; she continued to cry, her emotions intensely volatile. Of course, this suited Liu Dashao perfectly. After some hesitation and a show of noble reluctance, he finally gritted his teeth and decided to see the good deed through to the end, reluctantly agreeing to stay the night at her place! If it had been anyone else but little Yan, he wouldn't have given it a second thought!

After a brief chat, seeing that Xiaoyan was profoundly tired, Liu Dashao smiled and watched her return to her room. He then extinguished the kerosene lamp and felt his way along the wall back to his own room.

Truth be told, as soon as darkness fell, a tremor of fear ran through Liu Dashao, and he bolted the door from the inside.

Ma Xiaoyan’s family lived relatively well, by village standards. They owned a full two rooms built of brick and tile, all earned by her father through relentless business dealings over the last decade. Since the house was relatively new, the whitewashed walls were still pristine. The furniture hadn't been replaced; it was the old set from their previous home, just freshly painted, and a faint odor of fresh paint still lingered. The kerosene lamp cast a glaring light, and a small pocket watch on the bedside table ticked rhythmically.

Liu Dashao felt stifled and decided to turn off the light and go to sleep.

Sigh! What in the world was happening in this village? Just a few days ago, everything seemed peaceful. Now, some bizarre event erupted every other day. It was infuriatingly vexing.

Once the light went out, the darkness was absolute, and the ticking of the watch became intensely noticeable—tick-tock, tick-tock, grating on his nerves. Liu Dashao reached toward the bedside table to find the watch, intending to stop it.

It should have been right there to his touch, but instead of the clock, his hand brushed against something fuzzy. Liu Dashao jolted violently—what was that?

He bravely extended his other hand and followed the object downwards. The texture felt like skin. A little further down, he felt two holes. He probed again, confirming the shape, and a wave of cold dread washed over his entire back.

It was a human nose!

A soft chuckle erupted near his hand. Liu Dashao held his breath and looked over, realizing a man's head was right there, its mouth stretched into a grin toward him. Liu Dashao had one hand gripping the hair and his other fingers lodged right inside the nostrils.

The man grinned wider and spoke to Liu Dashao: “Don’t be like that, I can’t breathe.”

Breathe, my foot! Liu Dashao reacted instinctively, yanking the head away and throwing it out. Just as the head was about to strike the wall, it vanished with a swoosh.

Silence returned to the room.

Liu Dashao sat up straight on the bed, gasping deeply. The smell of paint filled his nostrils, but beneath it, there was a faint, distinct odor of rust.

Rust?

Liu Dashao lowered his gaze. A large pool of dark liquid was seeping in under the crack of the door.

Liquids follow certain natural laws, just as if this were a shootout, the liquid on the ground would undoubtedly be gasoline. Armed with his considerable knowledge and considering the recent string of bad luck, he didn't need to guess; his intuition alone told him what it was.

Therefore, he scrambled to light the kerosene lamp. The wick flickered a few times but caught no flame.

Then, footsteps sounded from outside the door.

Tap… tap… tap…

As the sound continued, the dark fluid on the floor began to pool deeper.

Liu Dashao frantically tried striking matches, but he snapped several in a row without producing a single spark.

With a sharp snap, the pull-cord for the lamp broke in Liu Dashao’s hand.

Earlier, Yanzi had mentioned the lamp hadn't been used in ages and asked if they should replace the wick to prevent failure, but Liu Dashao, ever averse to trouble, had dismissed it. Now, clutching the half-shattered wick, he was filled with bitter regret.

The footsteps stopped right at the threshold, then ceased entirely. Only the dark fluid continued to flow in relentlessly.

Liu Dashao crouched low, finding the position that allowed him to roll under the bed the quickest, then lay flat on the floor, peering out through the door crack.

Liu Dashao saw a pair of female legs encased in red embroidered shoes.

They were exquisitely shapely calves, the skin gleaming with an almost translucent white, so bright they seemed capable of radiating light in the deep darkness.

Such complexion should have been captivatingly alluring. That is, if it weren't for the thin rivulets of blood flowing down them.

That blood trickled down to the floor and seeped in through the door gap.

Liu Dashao quietly retreated and scrambled back onto the bed.

The blood on the floor was still surging in an unending stream.

Old Baldy from the edge of the village always included a prologue of flowing blood whenever he recounted tales of ghosts arriving. Our very own Liu Dashao had always scoffed at this, retorting that the old coot loved stirring up trouble and was talking nonsense as if he’d witnessed it firsthand.

But now, he understood.

Liu Dashao slowly moved from the bed to the window, intending to open it and jump out to escape, when suddenly a fierce knocking erupted at the door. His body stiffened, and his movement to pull the window latch paused.

“Gou Shao!” Ma Xiaoyan was banging violently on the door, her voice trembling, “Gou Shao, open the door! Hurry, open it!”

“What is it? Disturbing me this deep in the night,” Liu Dashao called out to the door, though his posture suggested he had no immediate intention of opening it. This room felt too bizarre; Liu Dashao couldn't be certain the person outside was actually Ma Xiaoyan—it could easily be some ghoul mimicking her voice to deceive him.

“I told you to open the door, did you hear me?” the woman outside yelled urgently, but her shout caught in her throat halfway through. A sudden clamor followed outside, the rhythm of the pounding grew more frantic, punctuated by cries of, “Help me!” “Help me!”

Faced with this scene, even the most sentimental or hesitant man would be compelled to take action. As a leading man, if he abandoned a woman to save himself, he might as well stop being a man entirely. So, damn it, he would bet his meager hundred-odd pounds on this one chance! Even if it was a ghost outside, he’d accept his fate!

Liu Dashao gritted his teeth, jumped off the bed, and opened the door with his eyes shut tight.

A shriek followed, and suddenly he was holding a warm, soft embrace.

Liu Dashao’s mind immediately short-circuited, followed by Ma Xiaoyan’s panicked face filling his vision.

“Gou Shao, there’s a ghost outside!” Ma Xiaoyan whispered, trembling, pressed tightly against him.

But Liu Dashao was shaking harder than she was. To be frank, seeing such a vividly present beauty in flimsy attire standing before him for the first time would make any man tremble, unless his nether regions were amputated—though that possibility was slim indeed. In summation, you would definitely tremble, or your blood would boil with excitement—though perhaps beast’s blood boiling would be a more fitting description.

Though he had imagined such a moment countless times, it had only ever been through the borrowed novels from Tian Guoqiang, merely feasting his eyes. At most, he had hidden under the windows of young couples in the dark just to listen to their activities. But everything happening now was real, right before his eyes!

Thinking of this, Liu Dashao felt tears welling up; he felt he could die without regret. At this moment, Liu Dashao’s courage quotient multiplied several times over. Never mind ghosts; even if the King of Hell himself appeared, Liu Dashao would rush forward without a second thought to fight him. If he were unfortunate enough to perish, she would surely remember him for life; if he survived, they would surely end up together. That’s how the movies played it out—this was the perfect scenario for pure love to blossom.

Thus, Liu Dashao extended his strong shoulders, shielding Ma Xiaoyan behind him, and cautiously peered outside the door.

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

Ma Xiaoyan, clinging to Liu Dashao’s back, whispered, “Is it still there?”

Her voice, spoken close to his ear, sent a ripple of excitement through Liu Dashao’s core. “It’s gone.”

“The one in my room is gone too?”

“No more…” Liu Dashao said while looking up, and saw a small ghost, whose appearance was frankly atrocious, slowly drifting out of Ma Xiaoyan’s former room, its tongue lolling out, its eyes wide and vacant, as if searching for something.

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

Ma Xiaoyan clung to him, her voice soft and (delicately plaintive): “I’m so scared, what should we do?”

Liu Dashao pressed tightly against the door, waving his hand to signal her to be quiet.

Ma Xiaoyan instantly fell silent, looking up at Liu Dashao in quiet apprehension. Moments later, her body, pressed against his, began to heat up from extreme fear. To cool down slightly, she slipped off her outer shirt.

Liu Dashao was astonished that she could make such an open-minded and creative move in such a perilous situation, elevating what began as a pure romance film towards something fit for a Restricted B-rated, harmonious feature. He was overcome with admiration for the pure young girl. Although he wasn't mentally prepared, Liu Dashao was paralyzed by the shock, so he simply closed his eyes, ready to sacrifice his individual self to complete her greater needs—to give his life for righteousness—allowing her free rein.

To his disappointment, however, nothing further happened. He peeked downward and realized the girl had fallen asleep.

“Sigh!” Liu Dashao gently laid Ma Xiaoyan down on the bed, retrieved a cigarette, and leaned against the foot of the bed in a daze, the unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.

The sunset colors on the western peaks had completely vanished, leaving only massive, dark clouds drifting overhead. A thick, oppressive night had settled over the entire village.

Those dark clouds were spreading from the west, consuming the entire sky, creating an overwhelmingly heavy sensation.

Zhang Zhao Di’s body had been placed in the coffin. Due to local custom in the Northeast, it would likely remain there for two or three days.

The corpse, shrouded in night, looked profoundly eerie. Looking in from the outside, a chill as deep as winter wind penetrated the bone.

There were no pedestrians on the street.

The village dogs would suddenly bark loudly, then their sounds would grow fainter, only to erupt in a few strange yelps before falling silent again.

At Ma Sandao’s house, the white paper decorations on the mourning tent fluttered lightly in the wind, rising and falling. The fire in the courtyard flickered, seemingly blown by an unseen hand. No one noticed that the river water below the dam had begun to slowly turn black, darkening steadily. An infinite surge of malevolent energy circled like tiny whirlpools, resembling the very vortex of Avici Hell.