Mysterious Revival

The first three days in the haunted mansion have already passed.

Now it’s the fourth day.

This day is named: The Day of Mourning.

As soon as midnight arrived, the mansion’s conditions took an immediate turn for the worse. A bone-chilling wind surged in from the courtyard, invading the main hall relentlessly. Even the white lantern in Yang Jian’s hands was extinguished by the gust.

But everyone had been watching the time, prepared for this.

Four mourning robes were distributed…

The sound of hurried footsteps came from the front courtyard of the mansion, dense and rapid, as though a mob of people rushed into the building at that exact moment.

Yet, in reality, not a single living person was outside.

Everyone stood in the main hall, their expressions instantly taut with tension.

“I disagree with the distribution arrangement for the mourning robes.” However, at this moment, the stranger who controlled ghosts suddenly snarled with twisted features.

“Yang Jian, I’ve cooperated with your actions all along, but at this moment, I refuse to be the one sacrificed.”

This stranger had only survived by chance. He didn’t know Yang Jian nor Fan Xing. They were mere acquaintances who happened to cross paths, making it all the more fitting for him to be abandoned. Nobody would speak up for him.

Because, whether it was Fan Xing or Zhou Deng, they were both representatives from Headquarters, technically speaking colleagues of Yang Jian.

At this moment.

Everyone glanced at him.

“Reality is brutal; there’s not enough to go around, and there’s nothing I can do about that,” Yang Jian said unemotionally. “But to say you’ve cooperated fully and supported my actions—well, that’s not entirely accurate. I remember you very vividly. You were very keen on urging me to abandon the Coffin Nail earlier.”

“And I happen to be a petty person.”

“So you’re planning to kill me now, is that it?” The stranger gritted his teeth, enraged.

At that moment, he wanted to make a move, fight tooth and nail for a mourning robe, but he didn’t dare.

Yang Jian was too fierce.

He was no match.

If he did make a move, he would undoubtedly be the one who ended up dead.

“I’m not trying to kill you. It’s just that the circumstances don’t allow you to survive, that’s all. If there were a fifth mourning robe, I’d gladly give you one. Besides, Zhou Deng voluntarily gave up his right to a robe. If you’ve got Zhou Deng’s guts to tough it out today, I’ll have no objections,” Yang Jian said calmly, his tone icy.

“Of course, you can also choose to fight for one. I won’t stop you. After all, everyone has the right to survive—as do you. But rights must be earned through ability. Otherwise, even if given the chance, you’d squander it,” Yang Jian added.

After saying this.

The stranger immediately shifted his gaze toward the others.

Li Yang, Fan Xing, and Da Qiang.

Yang Jian was out of the question. There was no way he would dare lay a finger on him. These three were his only option since they possessed the mourning robes.

“If you want to make a move, do it quickly. The supernatural has already begun invading the mansion; I don’t have the time to play with you,” Li Yang said calmly, staring at him.

The stranger’s eyes flickered for a moment before redirecting his focus toward Fan Xing.

Fan Xing chuckled, “Interesting. You think I’m the easiest to mess with, don’t you? That’s fine. Go ahead, I’m sure Captain Yang wouldn’t interfere since he’s already spoken. You can act without hesitation.”

The ghost-handler hesitated, eager, but ultimately stifled his impulses.

Fan Xing didn’t look like an easy target either.

This left only Da Qiang, the courier.

Da Qiang stood there draped in a ragged, filthy white cloth, his face fierce as he glared at the stranger, already prepared to fight.

To survive, there was no way he would retreat at this moment.

“This guy named Da Qiang took over Yang Jian’s position in the rear hall yesterday after he left, using the Ghost Domain to last ten seconds and prevent the ghost from invading the hall… This is a guy with the Ghost Domain. Once he makes a move, he could hide inside his Ghost Domain and refuse direct confrontation with me,” the stranger thought.

When it came down to it, the ghost-handler hesitated again.

Nobody was an easy target, and the one who seemed manageable had a Ghost Domain.

“Yang Jian assigned mourning robes selectively. He didn’t give me one because I’m the weakest here and of the least use in the upcoming events,” resentment and anger smoldered within the stranger.

He didn’t want to accept this bleak outcome. In his desperation, his gaze finally landed on Yang Xiaohua.

At this moment.

Zhou Deng began walking over from beside Yang Xiaohua, stroking his chin. “What are you looking at me for?”

Behind Zhou Deng.

Yang Xiaohua’s body, cold as a corpse, started to float slowly off the ground. Her face was obscured by a torn yellow paper mask, the incomplete paper covering her features tightly, clinging to her skin like human leather, outlining the contours of a face.

But the red balloon tied to her arm unleashed its supernatural power.

The red balloon carried Yang Xiaohua’s sleeping body upward.

However, the mansion’s roof was sealed, so her body ceased its ascent once it reached a certain height.

The balloon was blocked by the roof, unable to escape further.

“He’s not looking at you; he’s looking at Yang Xiaohua,” Yang Jian explained.

“Oh, that’s the case? Never mind then, carry on,” Zhou Deng replied indifferently, hurriedly stepping away.

“If you’re planning anything against Yang Xiaohua, here’s a suggestion: give up. She’s still useful to me. At the moment, she’s the only one here who counts as an ordinary person,” Yang Jian asserted.

The red balloon only reacts to ordinary people. When someone harbors supernatural power within their body, it results in situations similar to this.

Lifting the body into the air, even the ghost within is restrained and rendered inactive.

Yang Jian orchestrated Zhou Deng to cover Yang Xiaohua’s face with a yellow paper mask to induce a false death-like state. The red balloon indeed responded as expected, carrying Yang Xiaohua upward.

However.

No one could say for sure whether Yang Xiaohua would survive if, come morning, the yellow paper mask was removed.

There was every chance she might never wake up again, her life ending here.

Or perhaps she could rise again.

Yang Jian was well aware of this possibility, so he could only test his luck.

“If you can’t get a mourning robe, even a piece of yellow paper would work,” the stranger spoke up.

“Why should I give it to you?”

Yang Jian sneered, “I didn’t invite you to this mansion. Over the last few days, I’ve put in the most effort among everyone. You aren’t qualified to make demands of me. I’ve already given you a choice. Fight one of the four of us for a mourning robe, anyone you want. Once you win, it’s yours. You’re too scared of death to act—who’s to blame?”

“Wait—don’t move.”

Suddenly.

The previously silent Hawk’s expression shifted sharply, his voice cutting through the tension.

The stranger’s eyes widened abruptly, hair standing on end, as he became horrified—and aware.

Something was crawling against his neck.

Small, barely-formed hands.

Caked with dirt, grotesquely stretched.

Then.

A malformed baby’s head, eyeless and incomplete, emerged from the stranger’s back, twisting its neck as it probed its surroundings.

“It’s that baby buried beneath the tree,” the crowd froze, their faces blanching.

No one had expected that the first entity to invade the mansion would be this tiny creature.

The ghost-handler’s entire body tightened, fear gripping him. He desperately wanted to unleash his supernatural power to counter the ghost but couldn’t summon the courage. Today was the fourth day—The Day of Mourning.

More ghosts than he could possibly handle were bound to show up tonight.

Fighting back now was stupidity—a fatal mistake.

So for now.

Since he hadn’t been killed yet, it meant the ghost was only present on him, not actively attacking.

After all, no one understood this particular ghost’s killing pattern.

Even though it appeared in the form of an incomplete infant, every ghost-handler knew its appearance had no bearing on its terror.

This stranger sweated profusely, his panicked eyes falling on Yang Jian in a desperate plea.

Yang Jian, dressed in dirty, tattered mourning robes, gripped a splintered spear, one of his ghostly eyes open and fixed firmly on the half-formed infant.

Unnoticed.

The vision of the ghost eye returned.

The suppression unique to the mansion was lifted, allowing Yang Jian even to use his Ghost Domain.

“Keeping that thing around is asking for disaster. If it grows up into something like the Ghost Infant, the consequences would be unthinkable. Eliminating it now might nip a terrible supernatural event in the bud,” Yang Jian murmured, his grip on the spear tightening slightly.

Suddenly.

His Ghost Domain expanded without warning.

He showed no restraint—deploying six layers at once.

The lion hunts the rabbit with all its strength.

The Ghost Domain instantly engulfed the stranger, freezing everything around him in a moment’s pause.

Three seconds.

Three seconds later.

The Ghost Domain vanished as abruptly as it appeared.

Yang Jian’s spear left his hands.

On the wall behind them.

The splintered spear had penetrated the malformed infant’s head, pinning it firmly against the wall.

The Coffin Nail’s suppression was absolute.

While it could only immobilize one ghost at a time, no matter how terrifying the pinned entity was, it could never escape its restraints.

The unformed infant looked like a limp corpse, its arms and legs dangling, completely motionless.

“It’s done.”

The crowd was stunned.

In just a blink, that ghost was gone from the stranger and pinned to the wall.

“When Yang Jian takes action seriously, it’s executed with lethal precision—leaving no room for reaction. Captain-level people are absolute maniacs; it’s a miracle for ghost-handlers to make it to this stage,” Fan Xing muttered, his own shock undisguised.

Though he had seen Yang Jian act.

Witnessing this particular scene was even more unnerving.

Those in the know discern the truth.

Not only had Fan Xing failed to track Yang Jian’s movements but the event was already resolved before anyone could process it.

“All my effort was worth it. This ghost was a problem too big to ignore,” Yang Jian strode toward the wall, intending to retrieve his spear.

But just then.

“Wah, wah, wah…”

A series of eerie cries suddenly echoed in the mansion—infant cries.

Yang Jian paused, his expression darkening, as he stared intently at the infant pinned to the wall.

It didn’t move.

Yet the cries persisted.

And the source of the sound was undetectable. All he could confirm was that it originated within the mansion.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. The ghost’s pinned down, and there’s still supernatural activity? Does this mean that it’s not the source ghost?” Yang Jian murmured, retrieving his splintered spear, his eyes narrowing at the ghost immobilized by the Coffin Nail.

The unsettling cries grew louder, carrying an ominous malice.

It was as though the pinned ghost had been enraged.

Yang Jian refrained from removing the ghost’s remains pinned to the wall—for two reasons.

One was distrust.

The other—a more pressing issue—was something unrelated to this pinned ghost.

His gaze shifted to the courtyard’s direction.

Unnoticed, at some point, two paper effigies dressed in black had appeared on either side of the courtyard. Their faces were sickly pale, eyes open, pupils pitch black, occasionally swiveling left and right.

Additionally.

The corridors of the main hall showed scattered footprints.

On the walls appeared claw-like marks as if stained with dark mud.

The bone-chilling wind churned through the mansion, and the air grew ripe with the stench of decay—a lingering smell reminiscent of the trees they dug up earlier.

But the danger didn’t end there. Yang Jian’s ghostly eye surveyed the surroundings and spotted a terrifying number of figures standing clustered in the front courtyard.

Each figure wore black clothing, their sizes and heights varying.

They weren’t stationary either, gradually advancing toward the mansion.

“We can’t stay here any longer. Let’s head back to the red coffin in the rear hall,” Yang Jian declared, retreating.

This situation was already beyond their capacity to handle.

Even Yang Jian couldn’t repeat the feats of the previous day, where he used the Firewood Knife to dismember ghosts one-on-one.

The sheer numbers were overwhelming.

Even if he managed to dismember the ghosts, the resulting supernatural phenomena might easily kill everyone.

“This time, it’s probably impossible to survive the night. There’s just no way to handle a quantity like this. Even if Headquarters sent every captain here, they’d likely all be buried,” Zhou Deng shuddered.

He had thought the ghosts on the haunted bus were numerous enough.

But compared with this mansion, that was child’s play.

Zhou Deng didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the Human Skin Mask and donned it, shifting his identity to that of a ghost.

Once his identity changed, he could blend in with the ghosts and avoid being attacked.

Even if a ghost targeted him, he would still be safe.

While wearing the mask, his ghostly identity would bear the brunt of the assault—not his living self.

This identity shift granted him immunity in the most perilous of environments.

Once he wore the mask, Zhou Deng’s aura turned cold and sinister, his appearance entirely transformed. He stood still against the wall in the main hall, planning to endure this day unquestioningly.

Beside him.

Yang Xiaohua floated lifelessly, devoid of a presence.

The Hawk was even more decisive—finding a corner to sit in, tossing two dice onto the floor, his expression calm.

The Eight-Tone Music Box’s curse allowed him to dice away the day alongside the ghosts.

Winning or losing—it didn’t matter, as long as time passed.

Others dared not take such risks; they lacked similar, robust survival measures. Even the mourning robes couldn’t guarantee their safety completely.

Additional precautions had to be taken.

They returned to the vicinity of the coffin.

While the group acted, the stranger didn’t react.

He stood there, his breath icy, unmoving.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by novlove.com