Mysterious Revival

The group held white lanterns, standing within the clearing in the Old Lin.

In this clearing, there were five old tombs, one of which had collapsed. Its tombstone had toppled to the ground, but judging by the traces, this collapse appeared to have occurred recently.

Other than this.

In front of the tombstones of all five tombs, there was a blue-and-white porcelain bowl filled with white rice. The grains of rice were distinct, semi-cooked, neither rotting nor spoiled, and spotless without a speck of dust.

Clearly.

The white rice was an offering prepared for the dead.

Yet now, Yang Jian, Li Yang, Old Eagle, and the others faced the question of how many bowls of white rice they should take today.

Because according to earlier assumptions, the fifth day in the haunted mansion was likely to involve the Ghost Banquet. And the white rice required for the fifth day must be taken today; otherwise, there would be no chance to return here later.

Everyone agreed with this reasoning.

To wait until the fifth day at the Ghost Banquet to collect the white rice would likely mean no opportunity at all.

“We still have plenty of time; we can think this through carefully. There’s no need to rush,” Yang Xiaohua said, trying to reassure the group.

Old Eagle nodded slightly from the side. “There’s certainly enough time, but wasting time over this question isn’t particularly worthwhile. We’ll need to scout other locations later; we can’t stay here deliberating over the number of bowls.”

“Five tombs, five bowls of rice. Li Yang’s suggestion is sound—one bowl certainly won’t be enough. At the very least, taking two bowls seems necessary,” Fan Xing mused aloud.

Da Qiang interjected, “We dare not take less rice; we need more, not less. If we fall short, the fifth day might leave us defenseless against the ghosts in the haunted mansion, and we’ll face another attack. We mustn’t waver on this decision.”

“Let’s not forget, if these tombs lose control, our next visit here will be even more perilous. As for the haunted mansion’s seven days, I reckon the sixth or seventh day will inevitably involve a burial process—placing that coffin into this Old Lin and adding a sixth tomb,” Old Eagle reminded the group.

If the fifth day is the Ghost Banquet, then one of the sixth or seventh days is surely related to burials.

The burial place is here.

This clearing even has shovels prepared, clearly meant for digging graves.

Thus, the group would undoubtedly revisit this place.

However, taking the white rice now and disrupting the balance here would make the route for the burial process exceedingly dangerous next time.

“Then take three bowls of rice; that number seems more balanced,” Fan Xing suggested, looking at Yang Jian. “Yang Jian, what do you think of this proposal?”

The group turned to Yang Jian.

He was the sole decision-maker at this moment. No matter the suggestions posed, the final say lay with him.

Yang Jian pondered, recalling a previous happening.

It involved Zhou Deng, who had taken a stick of incense from the coffin earlier and said he left it here upon arriving at the back hall.

Now one of the old tombs had collapsed, and it seemed the high-heeled ghost had emerged from it.

So, could this clue link to exchanging incense for rice?

Incense was for ghosts, while rice was for the living.

“If one stick of incense equals one bowl of rice, does this mean we’d need to return to the haunted mansion to collect the remaining two sticks of incense?” Yang Jian muttered, his thoughts shifting.

Yet, to confirm this hypothesis, he began searching through the collapsed old tomb, ignoring the group’s inquiries.

“Captain, what are you looking for?” Li Yang asked.

“Found it.”

Yang Jian quickly unearthed a small wooden stick from the yellow soil. Though only a small portion remained, it was evident that this was a burnt-out incense stick.

“The incense Zhou Deng took from the haunted mansion is here?” The others’ expressions shifted upon seeing this.

“Ah, so that’s it. One stick of incense for one bowl of rice—the three sticks of incense at the coffin were prepared for this exact purpose.” Old Eagle had an awakening, speaking in surprise.

Yang Jian said, “It’s not certain yet, but at least we know that rice can safely be removed once the tomb collapses. However, earlier incense usage appears to have prematurely released a ghost. If the incense exchange theory is true, releasing two more ghosts?”

“Captain, didn’t you forget—the remaining two sticks of incense are extinguished, no longer burning. Zhou Deng took the incense from the second day,” Li Yang noted.

Yang Jian frowned slightly. “So, Zhou Deng’s timing was off? He shouldn’t have brought the incense here so early?”

“Zhou Deng handled the third day’s duties on the second day, causing imbalance in the haunted mansion—resulting in nighttime specters and grief processing converging. According to the proper sequence, we should’ve collected the incense on the third day and brought it here to exchange for three bowls of rice to prepare for the fifth day’s Ghost Banquet.”

The sequence broke and caused the imbalance, leaving the lingering incense prematurely to incite uncontrolled specters here.

“Makes sense.” Fan Xing, Old Eagle, Da Qiang nodded in unison.

Though varying in personality, they shared a mutual understanding of Li Yang’s observations.

“Accurately timing tasks is vital in preserving safety here. Disorder breeds danger. Survival in this haunted mansion hinges on abiding by rules,” Yang Jian contemplated aloud.

“Let’s retrieve the incense.”

Choosing his course of action, Yang Jian reversed his path without hesitation.

The group quickly arrived at the haunted mansion’s back hall again.

The door to the back hall was already open.

A striking red coffin plate rested there conspicuously.

Near the coffin was an incense burner with two sticks of incense inside—one long and barely scorched, the other short and almost fully burnt.

Both sticks were extinguished, their fragrance long gone.

“You hold the lantern,” Yang Jian handed the white lantern to Li Yang before striding into the back hall.

The area was secure.

Being the third day, the ghosts that emerged on the second day during the night watch wouldn’t reappear. Remaining threats persisted outside the mansion.

However, as long as the white lantern was kept intact, the group would remain safe.

Yang Jian’s return journey posed no risk.

He retrieved the two remaining sticks of incense and led the group back to the clearing within the Old Lin.

Each of the two incense sticks was planted atop a tomb, and two bowls of white rice were taken from the fore of the tombstones.

Cautiously, the group monitored the scene for half an hour.

If anything irregular had occurred, they were prepared to return the items immediately.

“The logic holds. Three sticks of incense for three bowls of rice—this was a calculated exchange with the dead. The haunted mansion’s arrangements seem to bear deeper significance, far beyond a mere funeral ritual,” Yang Jian assessed aloud, surveying the tombstones. “Let’s go; we still need to explore other areas.”

The group nodded in agreement.

On the way, Da Qiang suddenly posed a question: “What happens if the incense burns out entirely during the second night’s vigil?”

“Then there’ll be no rice to trade. Burning a stick of incense means forfeiting one bowl of rice—incense protects us but at the cost of the fifth day’s safety,” Yang Jian responded.

Fan Xing remarked, “In a roundabout way, Zhou Deng actually helped us, didn’t he? If he hadn’t disrupted the setup by prematurely announcing grief and breaking the mansion’s equilibrium, causing the incense to extinguish, we wouldn’t have preserved the remaining two incense sticks.”

“But he caused trouble too—without me standing firm against the ghost in the main hall on the second day, all of you would’ve perished,” Yang Jian retorted coldly.

“Leaving Zhou Deng aside, the dangers we faced have indeed provided valuable intel and clues, sparing us blind ignorance like on the first day when no one even understood how they died,” Old Eagle commented. “Yet, on the second day, without Yang Jian, we all would’ve died in the back hall. Our subsequent actions must be calculated more meticulously.”

“Since we’ve collected three bowls of rice for the fifth day’s Ghost Banquet, what’s the plan for surviving tomorrow—the fourth day’s condolence rituals?” Da Qiang asked.

“That’ll require further discussion,” replied Old Eagle.

The group’s mood remained heavy.

As the seventh night drew closer, the dangers that awaited undoubtedly surpassed those faced earlier. Once the seventh night arrived, the harrowing task of delivering the death-message letter would begin.

Additionally, no one yet knew to whom the letter’s recipient was. The only certainty was that the intended receiver would appear in the haunted mansion.

At that moment, one person—or ghost—would emerge, marking the letter’s recipient.

“Time is still early. Let’s stop circling the mansion and venture into the front section of the Old Lin for a closer look,” Yang Jian suggested. “We should map out the terrain while time allows.”

The group agreed wholeheartedly.

They circled the haunted mansion’s front gates, following a small path leading deeper into the Old Lin’s modestly sized area.

The route mirrored their earlier passage, unaltered.

Yang Jian led the way, lantern in hand, carefully observing the Old Lin. An uneasy sense of ominousness settled within his heart.

The Old Lin seemed exceptionally hazardous.

Yet, scanning around, he couldn’t perceive any evident threat.

“Once past the mansion’s boundary, the restraining effect on my ghostly eyes dissipated,” Yang Jian remarked, activating his ghost eyes to survey the surroundings.

The dimness within the forest posed no obstacle to his vision.

Soon.

The group approached the forest’s edge.

A modern asphalt road stretched forth, incongruous against the mansion’s backdrop. Gazing both directions, the road vanished into the horizon, shrouded in mist and lending a feeling of confinement to the world itself.

“The bus is gone,” Fan Xing noted the spot where it parked previously.

The paranormal bus had long disappeared, leaving only patches of bloodstains and scattered personal items behind, evidence of a previous group that disembarked and met ruin.

“Even the bodies are missing,” Old Eagle murmured. “And…”

“And what?” Li Yang prompted.

Old Eagle replied, “It’s nothing—I feel as though a few trees along the roadside weren’t here earlier when we disembarked. It’s probably just my imagination, though—I’m overthinking it.”

“If there’s nothing worthwhile here, let’s head back,” Yang Jian decided. “Waiting around won’t summon the bus again.”

The group was about to agree.

Suddenly, Yang Xiaohua halted abruptly, her expression stiffening slightly. “Yang Jian, wait a moment. I—I think I stepped on something.”

“Hmm?” Yang Jian turned his gaze toward Yang Xiaohua’s feet.

Yang Xiaohua was wearing running shoes, but the ground where she stepped appeared slightly elevated, as if there was something beneath.

Stepping gingerly aside, she discovered she had trodden on a pale hand.

“A dead hand?” Old Eagle’s instincts instantly sharpened.

Passing the lantern to Li Yang, Yang Jian moved toward the spot, gesturing for Yang Xiaohua to step further away.

Yang Xiaohua promptly hopped aside and kept her distance.

Yang Jian used his splintered ghost spear to poke at the hand.

Nothing happened; the hand remained motionless, with no signs of corpse spots or decay. Though unnaturally pale, it appeared fairly fresh.

If it belonged to a corpse, it had likely been dead shortly.

Following the direction of the arm, he spotted the hand reaching out from the edge of the Old Lin.

“It’s probably one of those ghost tamers who died here earlier,” Yang Jian speculated before crouching down, extending his black Ghost Hand to grasp the cold arm.

A quick tug.

A deathly body emerged from the soil beneath.

The corpse looked vaguely familiar.

Yet something eerie struck—a large piece of yellow paper was plastered across its face.

The paper covered nearly the entire visage but was torn in parts, leaving fragments of the facial features exposed.

“It’s Zhou Deng!” Fan Xing exclaimed in shock.

Fan Xing recognized Zhou Deng—the two had interacted on the paranormal bus earlier, given their shared status as ghost tamers under the same headquarters. Even with yellow paper obscuring Zhou Deng’s face, Fan Xing could identify him immediately.

“His outfit and physique match Zhou Deng. He’s dead,” Yang Jian confirmed, inspecting the body. Zhou Deng’s skin was cold—not yet stiffened but utterly devoid of life.

“Wandering recklessly—serves him right. Such a nuisance even in death,” Da Qiang spat. “We ought to dump his body far away to rid ourselves of bad luck.”

Old Eagle argued, “Give him some slack—he was just trying to survive without knowing what the haunted mansion had in store. He didn’t intend harm; he simply died from misguided actions.”

Old Eagle bore no grudge toward Zhou Deng, believing the man didn’t act maliciously but was merely an overly curious seeker.

In fact, Zhou Deng had drawn away a ghost by holding a lantern last he disappeared—not exactly causing deliberate chaos for others.

“He’s dead already, so it matters little now.”

Yang Jian remarked, “But why did he end up like this? Last I saw, he was still holding a lantern in his hand—and according to what we know, keeping the lantern guarantees safety from ghost attacks.”

“Who can say in this place—anything’s possible here,” Li Yang shook his head.

Yang Jian fell silent, gazing at the yellow paper stuck to Zhou Deng’s face. After considering for a moment, he grabbed the paper with his Ghost Hand and tore it off.

The yellow paper, though firmly attached, wasn’t tightly stuck, peeling away with ease.

The moment the paper was removed.

A strange face was revealed—completely unlike Zhou Deng’s.

And an instant later, Zhou Deng’s eyes flew open. Gasping for air like someone suffocating, he breathed heavily.

The group recoiled, startled, reflexively retreating several steps.

Yang Jian, however, steadied his ghost spear—the splintered Coffin Nail poised above Zhou Deng’s brow, ready to strike.

“W-wait!” Zhou Deng raised a hand urgently.

Yang Jian froze the Coffin Nail mere inches from Zhou Deng’s skull.

A fraction blind, Zhou Deng would have been pinned to the ground without reprieve.

“You’re alive?” Yang Jian’s expression shifted slightly, surprised.

“I wasn’t dead—I swear, if you’d let fly, I’d have been done for real,” Zhou Deng breathlessly scrambled to sit up, clawing the human skin mask off his face to reveal his original appearance.

“Not dead? No problem—I’m more than happy to make it happen,” Yang Jian replied coldly.

“C’mon Yang Jian, we’re colleagues—no need to be so heartless, yeah? I’ve done nothing to incur your wrath—have I?” Zhou Deng pleaded.

Fan Xing growled, “Nothing to incur wrath, you say? You nearly got all of us killed, you bastard! Who told you to haul that white lantern everywhere, disturbing the haunted mansion’s equilibrium? Yesterday, death loomed over us all—we’re lucky anyone’s even alive now!”

Zhou Deng surveyed the group.

The count was dismal compared to the survivors from Day One—the party had been reduced by nearly sixty percent.

“See? Even I barely escaped death—how could I harbor intent to harm you lot? If anything, I wasn’t scheming against anyone; it was pure misfortune,” Zhou Deng explained, brushing dirt off his body.

Yang Jian regarded Zhou Deng coldly.

The man did indeed seem unintentional in his chaos, evidenced by his burial in the forest—an unexpected turn of events mid-way through.

“Care to elaborate? What happened here exactly?” Yang Jian asked.

“This isn’t the place for lengthy discussions—let’s leave this forest first,” Zhou Deng proposed.

“Where’s your lantern?” Old Eagle inquired.

“It got taken,” Zhou Deng replied, visibly shaken by the memory.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by novlove.com