The initial spark that ignited the oiled paper umbrella industry in Qingping Town came from the ambitious dreams of its impoverished youth. These young men ventured out into the wider world, seeking skills and a means to earn a living. Upon achieving a measure of success, yet finding it difficult to truly take root in foreign soil, they chose to return to their humble hometown, eager to cultivate their careers there.

Little did anyone know that the young man who finally returned would not only find success in crafting oiled paper umbrellas but would also transform Qingping Town itself. His prosperity wasn’t a solitary bloom; it spurred the entire region’s growth, ushering in an unprecedented era of vibrancy and wealth.

The young man, now a respected figure, reaped a significant harvest of both wealth and prestige. However, as he entered middle age, neighboring towns began to take notice, with their own imitations of Qingping’s prized umbrellas starting to emerge.

The middle-aged man, now with the first hints of age around his eyes, initially dismissed these fledgling competitors. He held unwavering faith in his superior craftsmanship and the deeply ingrained prosperity of Qingping Town, convinced that a few mediocre upstarts couldn’t possibly replicate their success.

However, as the years turned, and the middle-aged man became an old man, the oiled paper umbrellas produced in the neighboring towns steadily improved, their quality inching closer to those crafted in Qingping Town.

A knot of anxiety tightened in the old man’s chest. The oiled paper umbrella wasn’t just a source of his considerable wealth but the foundation of his unshakeable prestige. He was a legend in Qingping Town, a name whispered with respect. Even the thought of this legacy fading after his death was unbearable.

Therefore, the weighty task of elevating the oiled paper umbrella craftsmanship once more fell squarely upon his son’s shoulders.

However, the tides of fortune are fickle, and decline, once it sets in, is a difficult current to reverse. The gradual fading of Qingping Town’s prominence stood in stark contrast to the burgeoning prosperity of its neighbors.

This growing disparity cast a heavy shadow over the hearts of every Qingping resident, especially the Li clan, who had spearheaded this entire endeavor. Heart-wrenching anxiety, however, proved a poor catalyst for change. The decline of Qingping Town seemed an inexorable certainty.

Until another generation’s Li clan chief returned from his studies abroad, bearing the knowledge to create an unprecedented, peerless oiled paper umbrella. Its ribs were warm to the touch, possessing the smooth, pale luminescence of fine white jade and an astonishing lightness. The umbrella’s surface was a riot of color, a dreamlike, illusory tapestry, with a single, vibrant red lotus as its most striking feature.

With this extraordinary oiled paper umbrella, Qingping Town was revitalized, its glory not only returning but surpassing its former heights. Numerous eager apprentices arrived in the town, hoping to uncover the secrets behind its creation, but they were all turned away without exception. The Li clan guarded their innovation fiercely.

Just when everyone believed this magnificent umbrella to be a singular masterpiece, the Li clan chief astounded them further by creating more oiled paper umbrellas of the same exquisite quality. Qingping Town’s renown soared to new heights, and the Li clan was once again hailed as legendary heroes.

The news report ended abruptly here.

The book offered no insight into the intricate process of crafting this unprecedented oiled paper umbrella, only lavishing praise upon its achievements and the resulting glory.

The only truly useful nugget of information gleaned from the dry text was the detailed description of that remarkable oiled-paper umbrella.

“See anything interesting?” Qin Yuan’s voice broke the silence.

Ding Yi, propping her chin on her hand, passed the book to Yan Ming, who still seemed eager to delve deeper into its contents. She then looked up at Qin Yuan. “The umbrella we’re after… white ribs, colorful surface, and a single red lotus.”

Qin Yuan offered a curt nod. “Bingo.”

Ding Yi was about to voice another thought when a sharp knock echoed from the door.

“Um…” Wang Dong’s face was plastered with an overly friendly smile. His small eyes lit up with greed as they scanned the room, finally settling on the book in Yan Ming’s hands. “Feeling peckish? Come on downstairs, there’s grub to be had.” His invitation held a subtle undercurrent of something else entirely.

When Ding Yi and the others descended to the common area, every Wisher present, with the notable exception of Jiang Xianqing and Feng Baiqiu, fixed them with gazes as sharp and hungry as wolves, though they maintained a precarious restraint.

Wang Dong had been nearby during the chaotic scene at the ancestral hall. He’d personally witnessed Ding Yi snatching something from the grasp of the faceless monster. Though the details were blurry, he knew, with a certainty that burned in his gut, that it must be something extraordinary that could tip the scales in their favor. But he was cautious about directly confronting Ding Yi. He did not have the confidence to simply demand that she share it. His strategy was more insidious: unite the others, apply collective pressure, and force her hand.

However, before anyone could utter a single word of their carefully orchestrated demand, Ding Yi spoke first, her tone deceptively casual. “Oh, right! I managed to snag something rather interesting from the ancestral hall just now.”

With a deliberate flourish, Ding Yi reached out, took the Qingping News from Yan Ming’s grasp, and gently placed the book on the long table, flattening it with her hand. She hadn’t missed the predatory gleam in Wang Dong’s eyes. “Look, let’s be real. Everyone here wants the same thing: to get out of this nightmare alive. The more people who have access to useful clues, the better our chances, right? That’s why I’m happy to share. It’s a bit wordy, so let’s just pass it around and read it… amicably.” Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Having delivered her pronouncement, Ding Yi withdrew her hand from the book, found an empty seat at the long table, and began serving herself rice, her gaze deliberately lowered.

Her surprising gesture of apparent generosity derailed the strategies of those considering a more aggressive tactic. Discreet glances passed among them, leading to a quiet conversation that resulted in a meticulously arranged timeline: who would read it first, and for exactly how long.

That evening, after a perfunctory wash in the communal bathroom, Ding Yi retreated to the relative safety of her room, clad in the black short-sleeved shirt that mercifully concealed any lingering bloodstains.

Qin Yuan and Yan Ming were conspicuously absent. Having learned a harsh lesson the previous night, Ding Yi meticulously secured the windows before finally collapsing onto the bed. It wasn’t long before a strange, heavy drowsiness descended, pulling her down into the oblivion of a deep sleep.

Her dreams were once again filled with a cloying, thick fog. In her hazy subconscious, she caught the faint, unsettling scent of burning candles and paper money, but soon, a gust of unseen wind swept the odor away, replaced by an increasingly frantic voice that finally dragged her back from the suffocating depths.

“Sister! Sister Ding Yi!”

Ding Yi’s eyelids fluttered open to reveal Yan Ming’s anxious face hovering above her.

“Another one’s dead.” His voice was barely a whisper, tinged with a fresh wave of fear.

In the innermost room on the first floor, separated from Ding Yi’s by only a thin ceiling and floor, a scene of unimaginable horror had unfolded. The walls, ceiling, floor, tables, chairs, and even the door panels were splattered with thick, dark red blood.

The once pristine milky white bed was now a gruesome canvas of crimson. The walls were adorned with unidentifiable meat scraps, a sight that turned the stomach. And scattered in every corner of the room lay three skinned corpses, their bones and flesh seemingly… missing. The overwhelming stench of blood and the sheer brutality of the scene sent shivers down the spine, a visceral wave of nausea washing over anyone who dared to glance inside.

Following the taciturn guide back towards the looming silhouette of the ancestral hall, the Wishers moved with a newfound, albeit still hesitant, purpose. Knowing the likely appearance of their target – the white-ribbed, colorful oiled paper umbrella adorned with a red lotus – made the prospect of re-entering the cursed building slightly less repellent.

However, the vivid memories of yesterday’s terror still clung to them, making each step a leaden weight of apprehension. Even with the mental pep talks they’d given themselves along the way, a palpable fear still clung to them like a shroud.

Speaking of which, those two walking disasters shouldn’t have any more… creative operations planned for today, right? The thought offered a sliver of fragile hope.

While the artifact they procured yesterday was undeniably powerful, the sheer chaos and unsettling nature of its acquisition… left a lasting impression.

Lost in these uneasy thoughts, one of the Wishers raised their head, scanning the assembled group, but failed to spot Ding Yi and Qin Yuan.

Could those two fearless or perhaps just reckless souls have already ventured inside again?

Just as the question formed in their minds, they saw Yan Ming, always hovering near the enigmatic duo, and the two girls with their contrasting personalities, Feng Baiqiu and Jiang Xianqing, walking towards the ancestral hall together.

Had they really gone back in? Were they seeking more trouble?

However, several people distinctly remembered Ding Yi’s acquisition of a sturdy-looking iron shovel the previous night…

Could they be heading for the graveyard? The thought sparked a flicker of morbid curiosity. Should they follow? Perhaps those two could actually unearth something useful there. But what if their presence triggered another chaotic spectacle like yesterday? The risk felt immense.

Forget it. Absolutely forget it. This was an A-level instance. Simply surviving was a monumental achievement. Dreaming of actually clearing it was a fool’s errand.

Or… should they explore other parts of the town? Maybe some overlooked clue lay hidden in a seemingly innocuous shop or alleyway. The internal debate raged, a battle between self-preservation and the tantalizing lure of a potential breakthrough.

On a narrow path, barely wide enough for a single person to navigate, Ding Yi suddenly sneezed, the unexpected sound echoing in the oppressive stillness. Beside her, Qin Yuan strode through the ankle-high weeds as if they were manicured grass, utterly unfazed by the rough terrain.

Ding Yi glanced at Qin Yuan, who had once again eschewed the worn path, and extended her invitation for the sixth time. “Seriously, you could just walk over here. It’s much easier.”

Qin Yuan offered a curt, sidelong glance. “No need.”

Okay, suit yourself, Mr. Immune-to-Annoying-Vegetation.

The path stretched onward, long and winding, the already heavy fog thickening with each step they took. The sky above was a suffocating blanket of gloom, thick clouds piled upon each other, squeezing together to form a uniform gray shadow that seamlessly merged with the ever-spreading, ever-intensifying mist.

Soon, it became impossible to discern the horizon, the boundary between heaven and earth dissolving into a murky void. In the end, they could only make out the path within a scant five steps ahead.

Looking at the increasingly eerie atmosphere, a sense of unease prickled Ding Yi’s skin. Thinking about their destination – a graveyard shrouded in this oppressive fog – sent a strange tingling sensation crawling up her spine from her tailbone, culminating in a sudden outbreak of goosebumps. The physiological reaction seemed to loosen her tongue, prompting a stream of nervous chatter.

“So… all this fog, huh? Ha ha…” Her laughter sounded brittle even to her own ears.

“…Do you think the oiled paper umbrella we’re looking for will actually be in the town chief’s tomb?” The thought felt morbidly plausible.

“…Is it just me, or does it feel a little… colder? I really should have worn thicker pants. The wind keeps sneaking up my legs.”

“…” Qin Yuan remained stubbornly silent.

“Qin Yuan?”

“Qin Yuan!” Her voice rose slightly, a hint of genuine concern finally breaking through her nervous facade.