The peachwood sword pierced the uncanny man's chest.
Ye Shu's heart leapt with joy.
It worked!!
Yet before she could exult, the punctured chest knitted itself back together at an unnatural speed.
The smile froze on Ye Shu's lips. Her mind went utterly blank. Ice crept through her veins as her heart almost ceased to beat.
"Found you!"
The male ghost's deathly pale face lit up with demented glee. He kept chanting, "Found you! Found you…"
"Find your damn self! Just die already!"
Ye Shu's eyes reddened as she yanked the peachwood sword and drove it at the man's head.
She was quick—he was quicker.
With a savage snap, the uncanny man bit through Ye Shu's arm. The peachwood sword clattered to the ground. Ye Shu staggered, desperate to vault out of the car, but the entity gave her no chance. Its long tongue blasted through the girl's heart.
Ye Shu, dead again.
…………
Ye Shu woke once more.
She got out, slew the headless many-armed ghost, fueled up the car—her actions fluid, unhesitating, like a practiced dance.
Pang Pangzi cringed into a ball in the passenger seat, eyes darting in terror as his trembling hands clutched the steering wheel and he stammered what he'd said the last time.
"Heroine Ye, this road… we can't get out!"
"We take the winding path."
The malevolent thing was truly fixated on her.
If the main road was sealed, all that remained was the winding detour. Perhaps there was still a chance.
Her dark almond eyes held no ripple, a calm as still as death.
In her arms, Da Piaoliang eyed her with silent suspicion, unable to make sense of Ye Shu's sudden change of heart.
Or perhaps it was simply that the woman before him felt ever so slightly… altered.
Her pale, flawless cheeks, at a glance, now emitted a chilling aura.
Could one truly change so much within a few fleeting minutes? The Ye Shu now seated beside him felt like an utter stranger.
"Heroine Ye…"
Pang Tong caught that shadowy look in her gaze and felt his own heart chill. He swallowed all his doubts.
"Drive forward. Don't look back."
Ye Shu glanced at the portly man at her side, her gaze softening. When she was decapitated, Pang Tong hadn't abandoned her; he was, at least, trustworthy.
"Alright."
Pang Tong nodded without protest.
They drove the pickup down the narrow road for an indeterminate time, silent but for the sudden noise of drumming striking through the hush.
Through the dense mist, the vague, overlapping forms of pallid figures marched. The procession was immense, endless—there was no seeing the end.
"Heroine… this…"
Pang Pangzi stammered, unable to articulate, a sinking dread in his gut. The uncanny ones up ahead must be impossibly formidable.
"Don't look," Ye Shu ordered, her tone graver than ever.
Ye Shu knew all too well—the winding path offered a sliver of hope, but the main one was certain death.
The little pickup rumbled on, both of them barely daring to breathe.
White spirit money fluttered through the air like falling snow.
At the procession's head were musicians pounding funereal melodies, their faces set in grim determination. The thunderous dirges told of mortal sorrow, a sadness beyond words.
Just as Ye Shu began to steady her nerves, the images of the uncanny man killing her—again and again—replayed ceaselessly in her mind.
All she wanted was to end that beast.
But frustration swelled—her rage at powerlessness to take vengeange, so much so her whole body shook…
"Myaowu—"
A sharp cat's cry broke her tormented reverie.
Snapping back, Ye Shu was stung by a white-hot wave of pain. Glancing down, she saw a jagged wound ripped open on her snowy hand, seeping with blood.
"Da Piaoliang, did you save me?"
Ye Shu shot the black kitten at her ankle a grateful glance, deeply relieved.
Who could have imagined that even a ghost could lend a hand to the living?
For its part, the cat gazed at Ye Shu with conflicted eyes.
As a high-ranking uncanny creature, it had never meant to save this fierce woman; it merely stayed by Ye Shu's side, bewitched by the unique scent only she carried.
The peachwood sword had almost gained a will of its own and nearly cut it down instead.
Da Piaoliang licked the blood from its mouth, feline features sated.
Beside her, Pang Pangzi moved to open the door and bolt, but Ye Shu yanked him back in.
Seeing him dazed, Ye Shu let loose a flurry of hard slaps across Pang Pangzi's cheeks.
"Ow… that hurts…"
Pang Pangzi's face stung terribly. When he finally cracked open an eye, Ye Shu's clear gaze met his.
"Ye…"
"Shh—"
Ye Shu gestured with a warning look.
By now, the musicians at the head of the procession were some way off. The funerary music's hex had dulled considerably.
Yet Ye Shu didn't dare lower her guard.
A white-clad figure drifted into view. Pang Tong sucked in a cold breath—the figure wore mourning dress, clutching a portrait frame, black eyes devoid of focus yet brimming with greed and malice as he stared at them.
Behind trailed a massive black coffin, fettered with brass chains. Most disturbing of all, a weeping child perched atop the casket.
Da Piaoliang's fur stood on end, his tail bristling, his lurid green eyes brimming with terror.
Ye Shu frowned, idly stroking the black feline's coat to calm him.
If Da Piaoliang, a creature of no small power, was so unsettled by this, then surely there lay among the crowd an even greater evil.
The black coffin scraped past their car, the air suddenly dropping several degrees. Even the windows clouded over with condensation.
Ye Shu’s vision wavered. Darkness closed in.
She caught the gleam of red in the pickup’s mirror—a fleeting image in the surging mist.
A wedding procession!
The words flashed in Ye Shu’s mind: Red and white collide—legendary harbinger of ill fate, a folk horror passed down in countless stories. To encounter it here, in the realm of ghosts—
In moments, the wedding procession drew near. At this pace, they’d overtake them in less than three minutes…
"Damn, Pang Pangzi, hit the gas—go!"
Pang Pangzi stomped the accelerator, but the pickup didn’t budge.
"Heroine Ye, the car… the car won’t start! Should we just make a run for it?"
Pang Pangzi was nearly sobbing at his own uselessness.
Despite several tries, the pickup simply stalled, refusing to spark up.
The wedding procession edged ever closer, while, from the other side, the funeral procession watched them with hungry eyes.
"Don’t open the doors."
Ye Shu couldn’t be sure if this collision of red and white was a conjured illusion or a real threat. All they could do now was wait and see.
The wedding procession swept through the little pickup. The temperature inside plunged—mist rolled over the glass.
Ye Shu’s world darkened, vision flickering, and she slipped from consciousness.
When she woke, darkness pressed on all sides. She could only hear her own uneven breathing.
Fumbling over herself, she discovered her phone was missing—all she had was her vermillion prayer bead bracelet and the peachwood sword.
It took Ye Shu a long moment to grow accustomed to the darkness. All around her pressed in close—as if she were trapped in the confines of a wooden box. Suddenly, a grim realization struck.
She began desperately feeling, searching for a mechanism—no use. The thin air was nearly gone.
The mournful music outside fell silent. Then from the front of the procession, the leader of the unearthly things proclaimed: "The hour is upon us. Bury her… that she may rest."
"Bang, bang—"
They meant to bury her alive! Fury surged in Ye Shu, chasing away fear and despair. Ignoring all odds, she hammered fiercely at the wooden boards that confined her, each slam echoing deafeningly in the void.