A few minutes later, the five of them emerged from the small grove. Ahead lay the flank of Li Mountain, like a sleeping giant under a heavy, oppressive gray-blue sky. Night was about to swallow the quiet valley.
Before them was a dried-up pond. To its left stretched a vegetable patch fenced with bamboo, long abandoned and choked with weeds.
Behind the pond and garden lay a small village: a dozen or so houses stepped down the hillside in tiers, all dilapidated earthen structures built from yellow mud bricks.
A narrow stone path threaded through the front yards of the homes, winding up the slope to a black-brick, white-tiled building at the top—faintly recognizable as an old ancestral hall.
The group followed the dirt trail beside the pond, crossed the overgrown garden, and reached the village entrance.
Night had fully fallen. The village was empty of people. Only the cold wind, faint insect chirps, and various unplaceable eerie sounds filled the silence.
Officer Huang switched on his flashlight and shone it down at a cracked stone tablet. The character "Gu" split right down the middle—grotesquely symmetrical.
"W-Wait…" Pang Jun's face drained of color, throat tight. "I… I suddenly feel unwell. I might be about to relapse. Maybe I should go back to the villa basement, tie myself up, and stay put."
To be honest, Gao Yang found the place unnerving too. After all, this was an abandoned village that had seen a massacre and an entire population vanish. But they'd come this far—sunk-cost fallacy or not, he had to push on.
Wang Zikai strolled ahead, one hand in his pocket, the other swinging a flashlight, stepping like he owned the place. He kicked over a bamboo basket blocking the path without a hint of fear.
Qing Ling's expression remained neutral, but her posture and movements radiated vigilance.
"Are you really that scared?" Huang asked Pang Jun.
"Officer Huang, this place is seriously off," Pang Jun said, eyes darting like a startled bird. "I once went to a fortune teller. He said my constitution attracts unclean things and told me to avoid yin-heavy places. This spot feels ice-cold and wrong…"
"I'm an atheist. If you're scared, go back alone." Huang didn't force him.
Pang Jun glanced back at the dark path they'd come from. Night had swallowed everything; danger seemed to lurk in every shadow. While he hesitated, the other four started walking. Left behind, Pang Jun felt the air grow even colder. He shivered and hurried after them. "Hey—wait for me!"
Soon they climbed the small rise and reached the ancestral hall at the village's farthest end.
The hall was built against a cliff face. Two snarling stone lions guarded the entrance. The cyan-brick walls were thick with damp moss. The black-lacquered doors had peeled, and above them hung a dust-covered, cobwebbed plaque. Faintly visible from right to left were the traditional characters: "Gu Clan Ancestral Hall."
Huang stepped up to the black doors, grasped the lion-head knocker, and rapped three times.
Bang—bang—bang. The knocks echoed deep and ancient into the darkness.
"Door's been knocked. Can we go in now?" Huang turned to Pang Jun.
Pang Jun's bulky frame huddled behind Gao Yang, only his round head peeking out. "D-Don't ask me… How would I know?"
Huang inserted the brass key into the lock. "Yep. Matches perfectly."
He took a deep breath and turned the key. A crisp click.
Gao Yang's stomach sank.
Sure enough, Huang gave a wry smile. "The key broke."
"Move! You guys are too slow!" Wang Zikai had been itching for action. He charged forward and kicked the doors.
Boom! With excessive force, half the door tore free and crashed inward, kicking up a cloud of dust.
"Brats! Your grandpa's here!" Wang Zikai charged inside first.
The others exchanged looks and hurried after him.
Inside was a square courtyard. Two-story buildings lined three sides in traditional style. Overhead, an open skywell let in a thin shaft of dim moonlight that fell directly onto a dry well in the center.
Straight ahead, through the wide-open doors, lay the main ancestral chamber.
"That's it? Where are the enemies? Where's the lizard monster!" Wang Zikai stood beneath the skywell, one foot on the well's stone rim, looking thoroughly disappointed.
Huang glanced at Gao Yang. "Can you shoot?"
Gao Yang shook his head, then reconsidered. "I have Copy."
"Good." Huang drew a pistol and handed it over.
Gao Yang took it—and made sure to grip Huang's hand for a full second.
He successfully copied Huang's Level 3 Gun God talent. Instantly, a flood of firearm knowledge, shooting experience, and muscle memory surged into his mind.
Gao Yang held the gun muzzle-down, released the magazine, checked the rounds, reloaded—smooth and practiced.
"Type 92. Fifteen rounds. Effective range fifty meters. Use it sparingly," Huang said.
"Actually… my Copy only lasts three seconds," Gao Yang said with a wry smile.
"That's… way too short," Huang said, stunned.
"Exactly! How can a man be a quick-draw artist!" Wang Zikai roared with laughter from the side.
Gao Yang rolled his eyes: This idiot—I never should have saved him!
"Let's hope we don't run into anything too nasty." Huang added, glancing at Pang Jun. "Or any ghosts and goblins."
Gao Yang and Qing Ling, weapons ready, covered Huang as he entered the ancestral chamber.
The interior was ordinary: a wall-mounted cabinet behind a thin white gauze curtain held rows of spirit tablets. Above them hung a plaque in four large characters: "Ancestral Virtue Endures."
Before the tablets stood an altar with half-burned candles, incense ash, and several empty offering dishes.
"Gu Huawei… Gu Huawu… Gu Rongjie… Gu Changxue…" Wang Zikai swept his flashlight over the tablets, reading aloud from bottom to top.
"Stop! Stop reading them!" Pang Jun bolted out of the hall.
"Look at you—coward!" Wang Zikai scoffed.
"Brother Kai! This place had a massacre!" Pang Jun was both terrified and excited. "Then the whole village vanished! Who knows what happened! Those are all vengeful spirits! Calling their names—you trying to summon them?!"
"Now that you mention it, it reminds me of a movie I saw." Wang Zikai stroked his chin. "Something like Village Old Corpse or Mountain Village Teaching Corpse—about a fierce ghost that slaughtered the whole village…"
"Enough." Gao Yang cut him off. Any more and even he would get chills—never mind Pang Jun.
From the moment they entered the hall, Gao Yang had felt something was wrong—as though something lurked in the darkness, watching. Yet when he checked the system, Luck Points showed no multiplier. That meant no immediate danger—yet.
Gao Yang looked at Huang. "What now?"
"What did White Rabbit say? The test content."
"Find the door this key opens. Go inside and take a look around." Qing Ling repeated the exact words.
"Then we've looked. What are we waiting for—let's get out…" Pang Jun's voice trailed off; his face turned deathly pale. "What's that sound!"
Rustle—rustle—rustle—
In an instant, everyone heard it: a strange, eerie sound, as though countless thin snakes were slithering at high speed through the darkness of the hall.
"Mommy! Ghosts—" Pang Jun clutched his head and ran out of the chamber.
"Stop!" Gao Yang shouted, but it was too late.
Rustle-rustle-rustle—
Countless black strands erupted from the dry well in the courtyard center. In the pale moonlight they spread like luxuriant underwater kelp, filling the entire yard in seconds. Then they surged toward Pang Jun, wrapping him into a tight black "human dumpling" in the blink of an eye.
"Help…" Pang Jun's pupils dilated in terror as he reached desperately toward Gao Yang.
Too late.