“What’s wrong?” Qin Yuan’s sharp gaze pierced through the swirling tendrils of thick fog, landing squarely on Ding Yi.

She reached out again, her hand unerringly finding and grasping his soft, warm one. A relieved sigh escaped her lips.

“Nothing much. Just… this fog is playing tricks on my eyes. Thought I’d lost you for a second there.” A slight tremor ran through her grip.

Qin Yuan squeezed the hand that held his, a hint of playful amusement dancing in his eyes. “Scared, are we?”

“A little,” Ding Yi admitted, her honesty disarming.

Faced with her straightforwardness, Qin Yuan merely raised a questioning eyebrow. He didn’t press the issue with words but subtly shifted closer, so that with each swing of their arms, they would brush against each other, a silent reassurance in the oppressive mist.

The path seemed to stretch endlessly. Ding Yi felt like they’d been walking for the better part of twenty minutes before the oppressive fog finally began to thin, revealing a slightly more open area ahead.

A sudden gust of wind whipped through, causing Ding Yi to turn her head and squint instinctively against the unexpected force. When she opened her eyes again, the fog had momentarily dissipated, revealing a high, rounded mound no more than five steps away.

They had reached the graveyard, a place heavy with unspoken stories and the silent presence of the long departed.

Ding Yi glanced back at the narrow path swallowed by the swirling fog, confirming that the mound before them was indeed the first one the old man had described. With a renewed, if still slightly uneasy, resolve, she started off again, her boots sinking slightly into the damp earth.

The distance between each grave mound wasn’t vast, but the sheer number of them, coupled with the uneven terrain, meant that reaching the eighth mound still consumed a considerable amount of time.

“This has to be it, right?” Ding Yi’s voice was hushed, as if afraid of disturbing the slumbering residents below.

They both stopped before the designated mound, exchanged a brief, questioning glance, and then instinctively separated, circling the grassy rise, their eyes scanning for any unusual markings or clues. But the mound offered nothing unusual, just another anonymous swell in the silent field of the dead.

With a fluid, athletic stride, Qin Yuan grasped the thick weeds sprouting from the soil with both hands. Using them as leverage, he propelled himself upwards, reaching the top of the mound in two effortless steps. He stood there, a solitary figure against the pale sky, his gaze sweeping the surrounding area.

Ding Yi watched him silently, her expression thoughtful. She had no intention of stopping him. The brutal lesson the faceless woman had so vividly imparted yesterday had sunk in deep. This place operates by different rules from the outside world. Etiquette and morality had their place, but survival trumped them all.

Losing your life for the sake of politeness? That was the ultimate disrespect to oneself.

Besides, who knew when another eyeless monster might lunge from the swirling fog in this eerily silent and strangely oppressive place? The limited visibility and lack of decent cover made this graveyard a prime hunting ground for things that shouldn’t exist.

“Anything up there?” Ding Yi called out, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Nope. Nada.” Qin Yuan’s reply was equally subdued.

He stood for a moment longer, the wind ruffling his dark hair, then lowered his gaze, meeting Ding Yi’s upturned one. “Let’s do this.” His tone was decisive.

Ding Yi nodded, her resolve hardening. She quickly tied up her long hair with the blue hair tie Jiang Xianqing had given her, a small, practical gesture before the unpleasant task ahead.

Then, from the small of her back, she pulled out a folding iron shovel, its head a good circle larger than both her palms. Muttering a quiet, almost apologetic, “No offense to the deceased,” she began to dig. The soft earth yielded with surprising ease.

When she’d questioned the old man about the cemetery’s location the previous day, a grim premonition had already taken root. She’d anticipated this very step.

To ensure they had the necessary tools, she’d feigned indigestion after their meal, using it as an excuse to explore the inn’s hidden corners. Her small expedition had paid off. She’d discovered a back door that, surprisingly, wasn’t locked.

Beyond the back door lay a narrow alleyway. Opposite, nestled against a traditional blue-tiled and white-walled building, was another small door, standing slightly ajar, as if beckoning Ding Yi to peek inside.

Glancing at the still-dim but not yet fully dark sky, she hadn’t hesitated long. Seizing the opportunity, she’d slipped inside and found herself in a dusty warehouse. Under the weak light filtering through a grimy window, a tall, thuggish figure in a surprisingly well-maintained suit had been rummaging through some boxes.

The man had heard her entrance, turned his head, a sardonic quirk of his lips the only acknowledgment before he returned to his search. Ding Yi hadn’t lingered. She ventured further into the gloom and soon found a small folding iron shovel.

Not long after, Qin Yuan had emerged from another shadowy corner, hefting a slightly larger version of the same tool. Their impromptu scavenging had been surprisingly fruitful.

But even with the aid of these makeshift digging tools, the task of quickly unearthing whatever lay beneath the soil proved arduous.

Despite her regular exercise and decent level of fitness, Ding Yi soon found herself leaning on the shovel, her breath coming in ragged gasps, a sheen of sweat on her forehead.

Qin Yuan, too, shed his suit jacket, draping it carelessly over a nearby grave marker. He stood momentarily, taking a deep breath, before resuming the monotonous work. After what felt like hours of continuous, back-breaking labor, the dark, reddish-brown wood of a coffin finally emerged from the earth.

Having cleared away the surrounding soil and finding no other buried artifacts, Ding Yi leaned heavily on her shovel, her chest heaving, her gaze finally fixed on the soil-encrusted coffin.

They had come this far. There was no turning back now. They had to open the coffin, or all this exhausting labor would have been for naught.

Ding Yi braced herself physically and mentally for whatever grim contents lay within.

Qin Yuan, who had been observing Ding Yi’s labored breathing and slightly dazed expression, mistook it for fatigue. Without a word, he strode to the edge of the excavated pit, jammed the tip of his iron shovel into a gap in the coffin lid, and stomped down hard.

The entire coffin lid splintered with a loud crack, breaking into two jagged sections. The force of his action even caused the coffin itself to shift slightly in the earth.

Ding Yi: …

Well then.

That was… efficient.

Perhaps… some people just had an innate belief in science and possess divine strength—or maybe…

What an utter bullshit.

Could a normal human being really possess that much raw strength? The thought lingered, unsettling.

The expected stench of decay didn’t materialize. Curiosity overriding her apprehension, Ding Yi cautiously peered into the broken coffin. It was empty—completely, chillingly empty. However, another book lay within its dark confines.

Ding Yi used her shovel to hook the book and pull it out carefully. After clearly seeing the words emblazoned on its cover, her brow furrowed in a deep frown.

Qingping News.

The cover was almost an exact replica of the one she’d acquired in the ancestral hall the previous day, with one crucial difference: the first book had been permeated with the cloying scent of incense smoke, while this one exuded the damp, earthy aroma of soil and a faint, musty undertone.

“Let’s head back for now.” Qin Yuan’s voice was suddenly sharp, his gaze fixed vigilantly on a point in the distance. He snatched his discarded jacket from the grave marker, took the lead in scrambling out of the pit, and then turned back to haul Ding Yi, still clutching the unsettlingly familiar Qingping News, out after him.

As soon as they were both out of the grave, a strong, musty odor assaulted Ding Yi’s nostrils. Almost instinctively, she followed Qin Yuan’s gaze in the same direction.

The smell was definitely coming from over there.

“Go.” Qin Yuan’s command was terse, and his tone was urgent.

As they moved, Ding Yi felt a prickling sensation on the back of her neck, the distinct feeling of being watched from the shadows. This malevolent gaze sent an unpleasant shiver down her spine.

However, this unsettling feeling was not the worst of it.

“Have… have we seen this exact same withered tree three times already?” Ding Yi pointed to the gnarled, fallen tree lying by the side of their path, her face grim.

Qin Yuan’s expression was equally troubled, though he managed a slightly less perturbed nod. “Indeed.”

“A ghost wall?” The chilling realization dawned on Ding Yi.

She clearly remembered that the graves had been arranged in a straight line, with no intersecting paths or obvious turns. She’d also been certain of the correct direction when they’d turned back. So how could they possibly be…

“Run!” The sharp, rapid da da da sound sliced through the still air, followed immediately by Qin Yuan’s urgent shout.

Almost the instant the sound registered, Qin Yuan sprinted past her, a blur of motion. Ding Yi reacted a fraction of a second later, her own legs pumping furiously as she joined his desperate flight.

The dense da da da sound behind them grew closer with terrifying speed. Just the sound alone painted a vivid picture of a multitude of… things… relentlessly pursuing them.

Ding Yi didn’t dare to look back, didn’t dare to falter, didn’t dare even to entertain a coherent thought. She was afraid that thinking would slow her down, so she could only fix her gaze on Qin Yuan, who was pulling further and further ahead, and desperately try to match his pace.

The wind whipped past her ears, a frantic rush caused by their desperate speed.

But the relentless da da da sound that was tightening a knot of pure terror in her chest continued to gain on them. With a choked cry, something–she couldn’t identify what–slammed into her shoulder and back, knocking her off her feet.

The searing pain that followed the impact jolted every nerve ending in Ding Yi’s body. She scrambled back up almost without a pause, instinctively swinging the iron shovel in her hand. The sharp edge connected with a sickening thwack, severing a “head” roughly the size of a clenched fist. Its arthropod-like body, though the size of a large dog, crashed to the ground, its limbs twitching violently.

Ding Yi didn’t linger to observe its death. After breaking free from the initial attack, she began running again, but this time, a terrifying clarity pierced through her panic.

Because she saw, with horrifying certainty, exactly what was chasing them from behind—a swarm of skinless creatures, identical in every other grotesque detail to the strange, skinned monsters that had swarmed the ancestral hall yesterday.