"How about this: you two still go rest at my place, and if Uncle Ji shows up, I'll send him over to find you there?"

Qin Ping'er and I exchanged a look, then told Elder Chen, "Please, you keep resting at your place. Don't worry about us; we'll wait here a bit longer. If we can't hold out, going to your house won't be too late..."

"Very well. I really need a little nap. Tonight is full of events, and I fear I'll be muddled and cause trouble, which would be a great disservice to the Xiaojia family. If you get hungry, feel free to find something to eat in the kitchen; there's no need for ceremony on an occasion like this." After speaking, Elder Chen slowly closed his eyes and resumed his doze.

Qin Ping'er and I managed a wry smile, silently cursing heaven for its cruel sense of humor; just when hope seemed within reach, it plunged us back into a swamp of despair. Where on earth has that 'ill-fated' old man, Uncle Ji, gotten off to? I thought with vexation.

Once a spark of excitement ignites, the spirit naturally soars. Qin Ping'er and I had finally broken through that barrier, achieving a semi-substantial breakthrough. We no longer felt the oppressive gloom emanating from the mourning hall; even the sound of the Daoist Master's intermittent gongs, the faint, lingering Buddhist chants, and the mournful, wavering notes of the suona seemed warm and harmonious. Consequently, Qin Ping'er and I soon slumped onto our chairs and fell asleep.

After sleeping for an indeterminate time, I suddenly lifted my head. I saw that the several tables of Mahjong in the funeral tent were still clattering away with deafening noise; the mourners, relatives, and in-laws, gathered in small groups, were still chatting sporadically, punctuated by long, drawn-out yawns. Man Niao Niao, surrounded by several young and strong men, was slamming down playing cards as if they were stones, occasionally bursting into fits of laughter mixed with annoyed curses. The funeral tent and the mourning hall were brightly lit; those beating drums and gongs, burning incense and paper, kowtowing in ritual, and those running errands... everyone was busy with their assigned tasks. Qin Ping'er slept soundly, nestled in my arms, while Elder Chen was offering cigarettes and tea to several men who looked like they were preparing to dig a 'well,' giving them some final instructions. Everything appeared calm, natural, and orderly.

My gaze shifted to the tall, black lacquer coffin in the center of the main hall. In the swirling haze of incense smoke, the portrait of Old Man Xiang seemed to stare fixedly at me. The 'Earth-Overturning Lamp' beneath the coffin, which had been burning continuously for several dozen hours, still swayed unevenly, its wick small as a bean, casting a dim, yellowish glow that stretched the shadows of the busy people in the hall into wavering, ghost-like specters.

Just as I was about to avert my eyes from Old Man Xiang’s portrait, my heart suddenly lurched. I rubbed my eyes quickly, and in an instant, my heart hammered like thunder—I saw the heavy, broad lid of the black lacquer coffin slowly being pushed ajar by someone, the gap widening before my eyes. While I was still bewildered, I suddenly saw Old Man Xiang, his expression blank and his face pale, slowly sit up in the coffin. He mechanically turned his head to scan the busy crowd, braced his withered hands on the edge of the coffin, and stood straight up, half his calves hidden in the darkness within the coffin. He was still wearing that old suit of red and white clothing. Before I could cry out, Old Man Xiang jumped straight down to the floor...

A cold sweat broke out on my forehead—Old Man Xiang really wasn't dead! What were Elder Chen, Uncle Ji, and that group of Daoist Masters doing, failing to ascertain whether the man was dead or alive? This Old Man Xiang had incredible luck; sealed in a coffin for nearly two days and nights, he still hadn't suffocated.

I expected the people in the hall and tent to notice this shocking development immediately, but to my astonishment, they completely ignored the resurrected Old Man Xiang, paying him no heed whatsoever. They continued beating drums, striking gongs, burning incense, and lighting candles at their own pace; those who laughed were still laughing heartily, those gossiping were still whispering secrets, and those playing Mahjong or cards were still wildly gesturing with their hands... It seemed that apart from me, no one else noticed Old Man Xiang had climbed out of the coffin.

I was consumed by urgency—this was a matter of life and death! How could these people be so utterly complacent? I tried to shake Qin Ping'er awake to report the situation to Elder Chen and the filial descendants, but the usually petite and delicate Qin Ping'er now felt like a mountain pressing down on me, impossible to move. She slept so sweetly, a charming smile playing on her lips. I grew even more frantic, shouting myself hoarse to get Elder Chen's attention, but he seemed unable to hear me at all. He was happily puffing on a straw cigarette, chatting intimately with a few elderly women of his generation, making their toothless, withered mouths struggle to close from laughter. I thought perhaps the noise of the gongs or suona was too loud, drowning out my calls, so I shouted again to Man Niao Niao, who was right beside me, but Man Niao Niao didn't even glance my way, staring intently at the cards in his hand. I could even clearly see he held a very good hand—four 2s, a pair of 'ghosts'...

Old Man Xiang, his long trousers trailing on the ground, ignored the surrounding crowd and weaved through them, exiting the mourning hall in just a few steps. Strangely, his body clearly made contact with people inside the hall—he even jostled a few men, causing them to sway slightly—yet those men acted as if they didn't see him, treating him as just another ordinary person attending the wake.

My throat went hoarse from shouting, yet no one noticed me, while the various sounds of the mourning hall poured clearly into my ears.

Old Man Xiang hopped and skipped into the funeral tent. Seeing his demeanor, a chill ran down my spine. Could Old Man Xiang be a walking corpse?

The thought made me desperately anxious; my mouth felt bitter, my heart burned like fire, and cold sweat streamed down my spine as if I'd taken a shower. I silently cursed that group of Daoist Masters for being so unprofessional, so negligent—not only failing to prevent Old Man Xiang from rising, but showing no awareness of the anomaly even now. Damn them, what a waste of the good food and drink the Xiaojia family had provided!

Old Man Xiang hopped among the seated and standing crowd and stopped behind Man Niao Niao. He tilted his head, silently watching the cards in Man Niao Niao's hands for a moment. Slowly, he pulled a strangely shaped knife from his robes, brought it to his lips, blew on it a few times, and tested the edge with his withered fingers. He then took a step back, raised the knife high above his head, and brought it down directly toward the unprepared head of Man Niao Niao, cleaving it instantly into two halves, the blade sinking straight to his neck, like splitting a section of Phoebe wood... Man Niao Niao noticed nothing. With a wave of his hand, he threw the pair of 'ghosts' he held onto the table with a loud crash—"BAM!"

Man Niao Niao's two halves of a head remained open, forming a 'V' shape. His left eye was nearly two feet from his right, yet both eyeballs were still rolling around. His fleshy lips were split into two pairs, still mumbling as they opened and closed. Blood gushed from Man Niao Niao's severed neck cavity like a fountain, exploding into a mist in the air, splattering the surrounding onlookers in an instant. Man Niao Niao remained completely oblivious, clutching his four '2s,' his movements hesitant, seemingly debating whether or not to add another 'BAM'...

I was so frantic I wanted to throw the leaning Qin Ping'er off me, leap forward to knock the malevolent Old Man Xiang to the ground, stomp on him a thousand times, and then try to force Man Niao Niao's two halves of a head back together to plug the pillar of blood shooting skyward. Whether it was my fear rendering me weak, or Qin Ping'er's weight being like a mountain, she held tightly to my arm, pinning me so I couldn't move an inch!

Just as I was on the verge of tears from anxiety, Old Man Xiang seemed to grasp my thoughts. He slowly turned his head, extended his deathly pale tongue to lick the blood dripping from the strange knife, then slowly lowered it behind him, dragging it on the ground. His two dead-fish eyes rolled up, and he stared straight at Qin Ping'er and me, slowly walking towards us.

My heart nearly leaped out of my chest in terror. Is Old Man Xiang coming to hack at Qin Ping'er and me after killing Man Niao Niao?

"Ping'er, run!" At this critical moment, I summoned all my strength and shoved Qin Ping'er hard, shouting anxiously. Qin Ping'er languidly shifted her delicate body and mumbled something, hugging my arm even tighter, her head still resting on my shoulder, utterly unaware of the approaching danger.

Old Man Xiang quickly jumped before me, the strange knife still dragging behind him. He nodded silently at me, then slowly opened his palm, extending it toward me. Forcing myself to look, despite the chilling horror, I saw a single character written in blood on his palm—"."