With a swift sidestep away from the freezer unit, Feng Tian was startled to see the black mist billowing out from the cabinet door possess an almost physical substance, surging upward to shove aside the thin white vapor clinging to the room.

In the blink of an eye, the black mist ceased its emergence. Anxious about Old Hou, Feng Tian leaned in to peer inside the freezer. A person was indeed lying there. As his eyes focused on the figure, his heart sank; the person prone inside was none other than Old Hou, though he appeared utterly lifeless, having been dead for quite some time.

While he couldn't pinpoint the exact moment of death, logically Old Hou couldn't have been dead long. If the sound he’d just heard originated from him, it had only been minutes ago. Yet, judging by the rigidity of the body, it seemed a longer duration had passed.

Feng Tian hesitated before reaching out to pull the metal slab from the cabinet. Old Hou lay flat on his back, his vacant eyes staring blankly, his expression contorted as if he had witnessed something terrifying at the moment of death. However, his stiff body was perfectly straight, lying supine, suggesting no struggle during his final moments.

More bizarrely, Old Hou's hands were placed over his chest, clutching a black skull, his own hands tinged blue from the cold. This greatly surprised Feng Tian. Even though the skull was entirely stripped of flesh, he could discern that its black color was not from paint, but from being scorched by a talismanic fire used in Daoist magic. This meant the skull likely belonged to Luo Jingjing; Old Hou had mentioned throwing the talisman he always kept close onto the face of Luo Jingjing after she had reanimated.

If the talisman had reduced Luo Jingjing’s corpse to a mere skeleton, why was the skull in Old Hou’s hands, and where were the rest of her bones?

As Feng Tian wrestled with these perplexing thoughts, a sudden chill wind swept past, disturbing the mist. The breeze grazed the skull in Old Hou's hands, and Feng Tian watched in horror as the black skull disintegrated, turning into a cloud of black dust that drifted up into the air.

This caused Feng Tian to recoil sharply, retreating far away from the freezer unit, unsure of any potential danger should the dust settle on him.

Simultaneously with the skull’s disappearance, blood began to seep from Old Hou’s contorted, rigid face, starting from his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. The bright crimson blood was stark and jarring against the pallor of the corpse. A choking stench of iron instantly permeated the air.

Feng Tian knew things had taken a bad turn, but before he could react, the blood flowed incessantly, forming rivulets that streamed down Old Hou’s head. His entire body began to shrivel at a rate visible to the naked eye, becoming like a dried husk stripped of moisture and elasticity. His wide-open eyes first bulged unnaturally, like a goldfish’s, and then seemed to swell continuously before suddenly—pop, pop—they burst open, spattering thick, black, foul-smelling fluid everywhere.

The spilled blood trickled down the slab beneath the corpse, flowing over the edge and streaming onto the floor, where it gathered into a small river on the smooth surface. As if possessed of life, this blood followed a serpentine path forward, winding and twisting like a moving serpent of gore, flowing directly toward the spot where Feng Tian was standing.

Feng Tian instinctively tried to back away, but at that moment, he felt something approaching him from behind. Alerted, he quickly turned his head. Indeed, not far from where he had intended to retreat, a dark human silhouette was floating in the air. This figure was coalesced from the black mist—or more accurately, a humanoid shape wrapped within the dense black smoke emanating from it. The sheer thickness of the fog obscured any features.

Yet, Feng Tian had a distinct feeling the silhouette was female. A thought flickered through his mind: could this be the lingering spirit of Luo Jingjing?

The idea was fleeting; this was no time for analysis. Feng Tian was certain the black smoke was dangerous; contact would likely spell instant doom.

With the river of blood in front and the shadowy figure behind, Feng Tian was grateful the morgue was reasonably spacious, offering room to maneuver and dodge based on speed.

But soon he realized the blood river possessed a disturbing intelligence. Much like when he used red string to cordon off areas while exorcising ghosts, the blood river was constantly changing direction, not so much to block him as to systematically encircle him.

Accompanying the writhing crimson current, the black-mist humanoid swooped towards him with clawing, grasping gestures, forcing Feng Tian to focus on evasion.

What frustrated Feng Tian further was that even deploying his 'Ghost-Repellent Spray' only managed a momentary stall. The droplets that hit the black mist vanished upon contact, its effect limited to slightly thinning the smoke, nowhere near enough to dissipate the humanoid shape.

Though reluctant to admit it, Feng Tian felt a genuine spike of nervousness. It wasn't a lack of composure in crises; rather, he was accustomed to controlling the environment first, setting up traps before engaging prey. Now, he was the one being herded toward the snare.

The situation ignited a surge of anger within Feng Tian. Gritting his teeth, he thrust his middle finger toward the black mist figure, then instinctively glanced behind him, searching for a viable retreat path.

Suddenly, his eyes caught sight of three incense sticks by the door, extinguished for some time now, and his eyes lit up. He spun around and lunged for the censer where the sticks were placed, crouching to lift the heavy vessel.

The censer held less than half its capacity in ash, resting above a layer of fine sand. He remembered this censer, and the sand beneath was supposedly mixed with 'Guanyin Water,' giving it a mid-to-high level of exorcism power.

Feng Tian let out a few harsh, rare chuckles. Holding the censer aloft, he advanced toward the black mist figure. When the distance was right, he gave a sharp flick of his wrist, scattering the incense ash mingled with sand directly onto the figure.

As expected, amidst a cloud of dust, the figure was thoroughly showered, head to toe. It reacted as if doused in acid; the grit entirely engulfed the black mist. A vague human form was momentarily discernible, but as the dust settled on it, plumes of blue-green vapor erupted, accompanied by a sizzling, corrosive sound. The figure’s form remained obscured, but that was secondary. The shrouded entity writhed in evident agony, its hands frantically clawing at its face and body.

Feng Tian imagined he could hear a shrill, suffering cry, but he paid it no mind, instead feeling a wave of cold relief and a cruel smile touch his lips.

The ash that landed on the ground effectively halted the blood river’s advance. However, Feng Tian’s expression quickly darkened. The ash only slowed the flow; it didn't eradicate it. On the other front, the figure hadn't been subdued; though seemingly in torment, the black smoke was already beginning to seep out from its form again.

Faced with this development, Feng Tian felt momentarily helpless. These entities were clearly different from the ghosts he usually encountered, likely products of the Nine-Cycle Soul Suppressing Formation.

Feng Tian pondered, his mind racing, until he resolved to end everything definitively. But doing so meant the odds of alerting anyone outside were nearly zero.

Biting down, Feng Tian took a deep breath and reached into an inner pocket of his coat, pulling out five short, finger-thick cylindrical objects. These were his self-made *—he dared to keep them there because, despite being homemade, they were stable and wouldn't activate accidentally.

Naturally, being custom-made, their power differed from standard *—and so did the consequences of their use, which carried a high degree of risk.

Or rather, what he held were only * in name.

Feng Tian took out one, tucked the rest under his arm, grasped the ends of the object, and gently bent it, creating a fracture. He tossed it a short distance onto the floor, where thick, oily fluid began to seep from the break.

He repeated the process with a second object, opening a crack and setting it down. Seizing the moment while the black mist figure and the blood river held their distance, he dashed quickly to the morgue door. He drew a blood talisman on his palm and slapped it onto the door, breaking the seal that had been placed upon it.

Feng Tian braced the door open with his body while tearing the paper wrapping from the remaining three * held under his arm. These ‘*’ were not ignited by flame but required pure Yang blood, also known as virgin blood.

Naturally, the blood from a child’s fingertip was the purest. Feng Tian had to bite his tongue again, squeezing out a drop of blood and spitting it onto the objects.

Though the method differed, the effect was the same: the blood-smeared * immediately began to emit blue-green smoke with a hissing burn. However, Feng Tian’s calculations ensured they wouldn't detonate instantly upon ignition.

Once all three * were lit, he began timing. When the moment was right, he flicked his wrists and hurled them high into the air. They tumbled and spun, tracing arcs as they flew. Feng Tian didn't spare a moment to admire his handiwork; he slipped out through the gap in the door, having barely held the door open with every ounce of strength to prevent it from crushing him.

Back in the hallway, without taking a single breath, he sprinted for the stairwell door, yanked it open, rushed in, and slammed the door shut behind him, locking it from his side. He took the stairs two at a time toward the courtyard outside the academic building.

Inside the morgue at that exact moment, the three airborne * exploded before they even hit the ground. Unlike conventional explosives, these burst into countless tiny, swirling fireballs that scattered everywhere. Even upon striking the freezers or the floor, the flames did not extinguish; instead, they spread outward.

In moments, the entire morgue was engulfed in a sea of fire. The fierce flames mercilessly consumed the black mist humanoid and the river of blood on the floor, along with Old Hou’s corpse.

The fire would not be easily quelled. The fire alarm had shrieked as soon as the flames ignited, and the automatic sprinkler system on the floor engaged. Regrettably, it had little effect on the fire within the morgue; only once the volatile agents within the * were completely consumed would the blaze die down.

Feng Tian hurried up the stairs and shoved open the exit door. A cool breeze washed over him, and he finally let out a long sigh of relief. The tightness in his chest finally eased.

Stepping out onto the courtyard ground, Feng Tian turned back to close the stairwell door, pushing a nearby trash can against it to serve as a makeshift barricade. Delaying was the best he could do—this was precisely why he had initially hesitated to use the *; such a devastating weapon was unsuitable for this locale.

Shadows were already approaching from nearby. Feng Tian hoped they were just curious onlookers. He had no intention of lingering; the ash from the earlier deployment had left him covered in grime, and if anyone saw him now, they were more likely to call the police.

Feng Tian darted toward a secluded spot alongside the building. Just as he was about to call Kuang Feifan, he sensed something amiss behind him. Before he could turn, an ice-cold hand, like that of a corpse, clamped onto his shoulder.