"No need, I'd probably have to wait till dawn. You can go ahead and leave first."
Wen Yan waved his hand, bidding the driver goodbye, and headed toward the funeral home.
As soon as he entered the premises, Wen Yan felt the funeral home at night was utterly different from the day—an overwhelming silence pressed in on him, and a suffocating heaviness settled over his heart.
Looking around, the darkness from all directions felt like a massive curtain slowly closing in.
Vaguely, he seemed to see deep within the funeral home: the trees withered, buildings collapsed, fences rotted, and looming shapes rose and fell in the darkness, as if something was moving.
That creepy feeling of being watched by something crept up on him again.
But in the next instant, a new sensation arose.
Apart from his dreams, this was the first time he distinctly sensed the presence of the Soul Devouring Beast. It was still far away, but its gaze turned toward him.
The Soul Devouring Beast seemed to be chewing on something, slowly evolving.
Next moment, all the sensations vanished; the funeral home reverted to its usual state, only carrying a bit more oppression than during the day.
The guy at the gatehouse saw Wen Yan arriving and immediately opened the door, handing him a flashlight.
Turning on the flashlight to illuminate the path ahead, that sense of oppression diminished a bit, but Wen Yan still walked quietly. This was his first time coming to Virtue City Funeral House at night.
In the distance, the beam from a flashlight swept over—Director strode over, lowering his voice.
"Come with me."
"There's movement in the Old Ice Warehouse. Something must be stirring inside. The corpse sent in earlier shouldn't suddenly be able to move on its own now.
The only possibility is the client we brought in today. For some reason, he's still moving inside.
Let's just hope this is a freak incident.
If it's not, then..."
The director hesitated and didn't finish his sentence.
Wen Yan understood. If it wasn't a random occurrence, it meant someone knew all about the funeral home's rules, the protocols, and hidden things like the Ice Warehouse inside out.
Even the choices the director would make when something happened—they could precisely predict them.
"There are a lot of rules at night. Too many things you can't just do without thinking. Otherwise, more troublesome things could crop up.
So especially in the back courtyard, a lot of methods are off-limits at night.
Unless it's an absolute emergency, people from the Scorching Sun Department won't come here at night.
Besides, tonight there's been a major incident in Duanzhou—main forces from the two nearby provinces have all gone to help."
"Got it." Wen Yan nodded. The message was obvious enough—it probably wasn't a coincidence.
...
Inside the Old Ice Warehouse, a frail old man with a wooden mask in his hand slung his head over his shoulder, wobbling and climbing the stairs, step by step.
He crossed the line and still kept up this appearance, his eyes vacant—no sign of regained consciousness at all—but the wooden mask in his hand began to emit a strange aura.
Those powers slowly seeped into the old man's body. His stiff, sluggish, and battered frame began to recover, broken bones being pulled taut and back into place by regenerating muscles and skin.
He opened his mouth slightly, revealing a severed tongue. A wave of gray mist shot out, circled, and was sucked back in through his nose; his skin started to take on a gray tinge, and his chest began to slowly rise and fall again.
His eyes were still blank, but the airflow in his throat began to carry a faint tone.
"I...must...help...my...son..."
He skirted the mirror at the entry of the old office building, heading for the exit.
The old man opened the main door and walked outside. Waiting for him was Old Zhang—one hand gripping a crowbar, the other pinching a yellow talisman. Before he could get close, gray mist swirling from the old man's nose turned and rushed at him.
He inhaled a stench of rot so powerful it made his head spin and his vision blur.
He quickly slapped the yellow talisman onto his own forehead and collapsed, unconscious, to the ground.
The old man's eyes remained clouded and vacant. He paid no attention to Old Zhang passed out on the ground, simply walking step by step outside.
He hadn't gone far when Director and Wen Yan arrived.
The flashlight shone on the staggering old man ahead. Wen Yan caught sight of the wooden mask in his hand, the gray mist circulating between his mouth and nose, and how even his snapped neck was slowly returning to its proper angle. Director immediately grabbed Wen Yan.
"Back up."
Director pulled Wen Yan back again and again, whispering:
"He's got the Wooden Armor Mask from cabinet 51—it's laced with corpse poison. He's starting to evolve now.
If we touch him, chances are eighty percent we'll hit the ground.
Don't get fooled by me—I'm old, my legs are no good anymore.
And you... your Yang energy's weaker than mine. If you take a blast to the face, you're dead meat. Just wait and see."
Wen Yan glanced at the rope he was holding, then at the old man slowly straightening his crooked neck.
Info flooded his mind at the same time.
"Wooden Armor Walking Corpse (Big Executor Corpse).
No soul, no mind, no heart—only an iron, unyielding will drives its body, twisted by foreign contamination, riddled with corpse poison.
If your Yang energy's so low you see weird shit for just buying a pack of smokes, you'd better steer clear.
Temporary Ability: Scorching Sun."
Wen Yan gave a silent nod.
He thought—the boss was spot on.
"Director, can I call in outside help and get it reimbursed?"
"So long as they make it in time, hell, if you can get Celestial Master Zhang himself, we'll pay!"
That settled it—Wen Yan was relieved.
Judging from the director's tone, this wasn't all that serious. He'd also noticed—it was just the old man holding a mask, with nothing else awful following after. The director genuinely seemed more relaxed.
Wen Yan took out his phone and dialed Zhang Laoxi.
"Hey old man, are you free? Virtue City Funeral Home—one of our clients has gotten up for a midnight stroll. Tough customer, got corpse poison.
Just charge your usual rate—it's a hell of a late call and a long way out. Wouldn't want you working for free.
Yup, boss approved the expense, so hurry it up."
Seeing the old man's slow, shuffling steps, the director didn't bother with him anymore, just led Wen Yan out toward the back courtyard.
They reached the yard and found Old Zhang lying on the ground with a yellow talisman stuck to his forehead. The director sighed in relief.
"Good—this isn't too bad. Let's get him out of here, then check the basement."
Together they dragged the unconscious Old Zhang to the small office at the Cremation Department, then headed to the old office building. Inside, nothing looked out of the ordinary.
The director waited in the corridor. Wen Yan made his way down to the basement.
The first basement door lock had been forced open, still stained with blood. Inside, Wen Yan glanced around—the only noticeable damage was the freezer with the old man inside earlier; all the other units were untouched.
He proceeded to the second basement. That lock had been smashed too; inside, only cabinet 51 was open. The desiccated corpse within looked like its whole face had been brutally ripped off.
Apart from cabinet 51, all the others were untouched, no sign of anything odd.
Wen Yan checked everything over, then hurried upstairs to brief the director.
This time, the director finally let out a long sigh of relief.
"Good—only number 51. Everything else is fine and there's no trouble outside either."
"Director, are you sure you just want to let the old man walk out, not do anything?"
"At his pace, it'll take him ages to get out anyway. Let him go first, don't stir up extra trouble—this is the best outcome possible right now."
"Huh?"
"Did you know the funeral home has already been rebuilt twice?"
"No idea."
"I'll fill you in later. For now, here's the thing—I don't want extra trouble, or we'll end up rebuilding the funeral home a third time."
Wen Yan was left with a head full of question marks—this was not what he'd expected.
He'd thought that when he arrived, there'd be a brawl—he was even trying to figure out how to take down the Wooden Armor Walking Corpse. Who would've guessed the director would just let the client leave?
Did he call him out here in the middle of the night just to have him check the Ice Warehouse? No way, right?
On second thought, maybe that made sense. No matter what, the director couldn't possibly expect a rookie like him to go toe-to-toe with that thing.