We quickly looked back and saw a vividly colored snake, about as thick as a cartwheel, resting atop the bamboo grove.

The snake was entirely black, dotted with small yellow spots, and looked quite horrifying.

We didn't see its head, only a section of its body peeking in and out between the dense bamboo leaves, winding its way back. It seemed it had failed to catch us and was preparing to slip back into the thicket.

A snake that thick was enough to give me goosebumps, and just then, the creature let out a screech akin to a night cat, making the hair on my head stand on end.

The three of us stood frozen, watching the snake slowly recede, speechless for a long moment.

After a while, Da Xiong swallowed hard and said, "Good thing we ran fast, or we wouldn't have even been a decent mouthful for that thing."

Nie Chuan nodded and remarked, "Indeed. I suspect those scattered white bones are mostly thanks to this snake."

I glanced at the other two and said, "Let's not go back through the bamboo grove later. Who knows how many more Yao Gui are lurking in there."

Da Xiong nodded vehemently, "I wouldn't step foot in there again if you paid me."

As he spoke, he grimaced, clutching the wound on his arm.

I told him to move his hand, and I saw the wound had darkened further, with many red blotches appearing around the black patch—it looked very serious.

I frowned and said, "No, we need to find some glutinous rice to draw the poison out of Da Xiong, otherwise..."

Before I could finish, Da Xiong said with a pained face, "I really don't want to turn into a Zongzi."

I shook my head. "Corpse poison won't turn you into a dried mummy, but it will make you rot into a puddle of filth and die."

Hearing this, Da Xiong's face went pale. "But where are we supposed to find glutinous rice now?"

I didn't actually know where to find raw glutinous rice, but I knew that people in the Japanese Edo period loved drinking sake, which was made from glutinous rice.

Glutinous rice has a very long shelf life; ordinary grains can last three or four years in an airtight space, and Lao Zao (fermented glutinous rice) can last a century. If we could find a jar of it, perhaps we could use it.

After hearing my idea, they both agreed it was plausible, as the backyard area, besides being used for growing flowers and plants, usually housed the kitchen as well.

If we could find the food storage area, the chance of finding rice wine was high.

With this thought, we quickened our pace forward.

The winding path we took twisted and turned deep into the overgrown grasses.

Lush, dark green weeds and moss grew between the flagstones. Thankfully, the weather was clear; otherwise, it would have been dangerously slick.

We followed this flagstone path deeper in, occasionally observing the roadside vegetation, only to find useless weeds, or at best, common wild medicinal herbs.

I gathered some mugwort, crushed it into a paste, and applied it to Da Xiong's hand, hoping to temporarily alleviate the effects of the corpse poison.

Mugwort is a relatively effective traditional Chinese disinfectant; boiling it with eggs or using it for bathing is often recommended for cancer prevention.

After applying the mugwort, Da Xiong's expression clearly relaxed, and he stopped crying out in pain, but I knew this was temporary. To completely draw out the corpse poison, glutinous rice was essential.

As we walked, we suddenly spotted what looked like a thatched hut ahead in the tall grass.

While this hut seemed incredibly primitive and rough compared to the palaces, it didn't look like a kitchen either.

However, we couldn't afford to miss any opportunity for investigation now. If this grass hut was used for food storage, we might find the wine there.

So, the three of us decided to check inside the hut.

The path leading to the hut was already blocked by weeds, so we had to use the military knives we carried to hack them away.

As we slowly approached the hut, we noticed things like stone mills and threshing implements near the entrance, though they were all covered in dust and overgrown with weeds.

A wave of excitement washed over us, as this was clearly a place previously used for processing ingredients—perhaps even a storeroom.

Although the hut door was closed, it was already rotten. Da Xiong, with his signature powerful kick, burst the door open and charged inside first.

As soon as Da Xiong entered, he let out an "Eh?" sound.

It seemed he had noticed something strange, but he didn't appear overly concerned, waving his hand forward as if brushing something aside.

Seeing that he paid it no mind, I followed him in, but as I stepped past the spot where he had waved, the object he moved swung back into my path.

Thinking it was something inconsequential, I casually caught it with my hand.

But when I looked at what I was holding, I flinched back in pure terror.

What I held was a skeleton hanging upside down.

One of its legs was suspended from a roof beam by a rope, and a long katana was thrust through its ribcage. It looked like it had been murdered and then hung up.

The skull's mouth was wide open, and two of my fingers were somehow lodged in its empty eye sockets.

Seeing as it appeared I had stabbed it to death, I quickly pulled my hand back, silently mouthing, "I'm sorry..."

Da Xiong turned back to look at me, chuckling slyly. "Well? Surprised enough?"

I cursed him. "Your nerves are getting thicker; how could you just carelessly swipe away something like that?"

Da Xiong shrugged. "I'm not afraid of anything except ghosts."

With that, he turned and walked deeper into the inner room, finding a cabinet and starting to rummage through it frantically.

I observed my surroundings and noticed that, contrary to our initial assumptions, this wasn't a food storage warehouse but looked more like living quarters for servants.

This was because I saw a bed and various daily necessities.

But why would a servant be killed in their own home? This baffled me.

At that moment, Nie Chuan called out from behind me, "*! Look, the knife used to kill him looks a bit odd."

I quickly turned to see Nie Chuan examining the blade stuck in the skeletal frame.

I instantly understood what was strange about the sword: it looked completely free of dust, as if brand new.

If this person died here three hundred years ago, that blade should be rusted by now; ancient blades weren't made of stainless steel.

Unless it was stored sealed within a scabbard, even the finest steel would corrode.

I noted the overall black appearance of the sword, resembling a standard Japanese katana, yet it possessed a faint, dark sheen that made it seem far from ordinary.

Nie Chuan started to reach out to pull the knife from the skeleton's frame, but I grabbed his arm. "Don't touch anything carelessly."

Nie Chuan looked at me with confusion. "What's wrong?"

I pointed around the room. "Look, this room has no windows."

Nie Chuan was confused why I was bringing up the warehouse again and looked at me even more perplexedly.

I smiled faintly. "When Da Xiong kicked the door in earlier, did you notice how the door was secured?"

Nie Chuan recalled for a moment. "It probably wasn't locked from the outside."

I nodded and pointed toward the doorway. "I noticed earlier; the door was bolted from the inside. The bolt was broken by Da Xiong's kick, leaving a fresh mark on the door frame."

Nie Chuan seemed to grasp something. "You mean, this person bolted the door themselves."

I nodded. "Unless we find other skeletons in this room, this person committed suicide."

Hearing this, Nie Chuan looked back at the skeleton and said, "It's so strange. If it was suicide, why hang himself? Does it have some special meaning?"

I pointed at the sword and asked, "Have you ever heard of Muramasa?"

Nie Chuan nodded. "Muramasa refers to famous Japanese swords—not just one blade, but a group named after the smith. However, I heard that while these swords are incredibly sharp, their forging technique is so peculiar that the wielder is easily cursed by malevolent spirits."

I added in confirmation, "Then you must have also heard that some Muramasa blades develop their own sentience. The more people they kill, the more malevolent energy they accumulate, and because they've slain so many, they can absorb the vital essence from the blood, thus preventing rust."

Nie Chuan asked, "Are you suggesting this sword killed this man?"

I nodded. "So, if you don't want to end up like him, it’s best not to touch the blade."