After leaving the wild graveyard, the man didn't say a word, simply leading the way ahead. I trailed silently, my mind brimming with questions I couldn't bring myself to ask. Finally, I resorted to pulling Zhang Xinya aside, hoping to glean clues from her.
After all, she was my only acquaintance here—and though I now saw her in a new, unsettling light, she was still the only familiar face.
Between the two of us, pieces began to fall into place.
It turned out her presence here was a total accident.
The man was Zhang Xinya's uncle, Zhang Daoxuan, a genuine Taoist priest. By extension, Zhang Xinya came from a lineage steeped in esoteric arts; she'd picked up a few "tricks of the trade" from her uncle. Last night, she'd used one of these "little techniques" to torment me, but despite her family's background, she was as clueless about the supernatural as I was. Last night had been her first real brush with the otherworldly, and she'd fled in panic, immediately contacting her uncle.
Coincidentally, Zhang Daoxuan had been handling business in Taiyuan and quickly tracked her down. When he examined her, his expression turned grave. Without explanation, he'd grabbed her and headed to my shop—but by then, I'd already been chased off by the yin officers.
Zhang Daoxuan, however, was no ordinary Taoist. With a flick of his wrist, he'd fashioned a paper crane from yellow talisman paper, and the creature had led them on a wild chase across the city… until it led them straight to this wild graveyard.
"Who'd have thought you were the little ghost they were after?" Zhang Xinya huffed, still fuming. She shot me a glare, her face flushing pink as she recalled her own "bold" behavior last night. "Nearly scared me to death!"
She paused, as if embarrassed by her own overreaction, then added, "I still don't know why I could see you. Asked my uncle—he clammed up."
As we spoke, we reached the foot of the mountain.
Below, a red SUV waited—Zhang Xinya's car.
Once inside, Zhang Daoxuan leaned back in his seat, resting for a moment before turning to me. "You must have some guesses about why you turned out like this. Speak plainly—leave nothing out."
I nodded, organizing my thoughts. I recounted everything: Xing Wei's grandfather's strange occurrences, the Seven-Compartment Tomb, the thing that had clung to me… leaving no detail unmentioned.
Zhang Daoxuan listened in silence, asking no questions. When I finished, he closed his eyes, breathing evenly—as if asleep.
"Senior?" I prompted, tentative.
His eyelids flickered. I pressed, "What's happening to me?"
"Ghost makeup," he said, eyes still closed. "Also called ghost painting. Painted on a ghost, it lets them wear human skin, unafraid of sunlight, harming the living by day. But painted on a living person…"
He curled his lips slightly, almost a smile.
My heart raced. "What happens then?"
"That's a living dead," he said, opening his eyes to meet mine. "Half dead, half alive. Alive by day, dead by night. If you don't scrub it off in forty-nine days, you stay dead forever."
I shuddered. This was beyond anything I'd heard. To me, Zhang Daoxuan's face now glowed with a holy light—he seemed a savior, a beacon of hope. "So… if I scrub it off in forty-nine days, I can live?"
"Obey, and you'll live," he said simply. He pointed ahead. "Lead the way. We're going back to that tomb."
I wanted to ask more, but he clammed up. Still, his promise of "living" was a lifeline, easing the tension in my chest.
By the time we returned to the Seven-Compartment Tomb, dusk had fallen.
The setting sun cast the mound in a bloody hue. The once-sturdy earthen cover was now loose and rust-red—disturbed.
"Someone's been here!" I exclaimed, circling the tomb. I looked to Zhang Daoxuan. "When I came earlier, it wasn't like this. The soil was turned!"
Zhang Daoxuan brushed past me, striding to the mound. He pinched a handful of dirt, sniffed it, then withdrew three small yellow flags from his sleeve. He planted them at the tomb's peak, then sat cross-legged, murmuring incantations I couldn't decipher.
Snap!
Without warning, the three flags snapped in half.
Zhang Daoxuan's expression turned grave. His eyes sharpened, scanning the tomb as if reevaluating it anew. After a long moment, he spoke: "Summon the ancestral tool."
At this, Zhang Xinya hurried to the SUV's trunk, retrieving a wooden box. She carried it with reverence, as if it held something sacred, and placed it before Zhang Daoxuan.
Curious, I craned my neck. Zhang Daoxuan bowed deeply to the box three times before opening it. Inside, wrapped in yellow cloth, lay an ancient sword—its blade corroded with age, but traces of intricate carvings remained: birds, beasts, and scrolling patterns that seemed to form human figures—some sitting, some standing, all strange.
Zhang Daoxuan gripped the sword. His robes billowed, his hair whipping as if caught in a temporal storm—he looked less like a man of this era and more like a spirit from another time. He traced the blade with his finger; no cut marred his skin, but a vivid red line bloomed on the metal. The sword pulsed with a sickly crimson glow.
With a shout, he plunged the sword into the tomb's peak.
I held my breath. No sound came, but Zhang Daoxuan staggered back as if struck, the sword clattering to the ground. His face paled.
"Look!" Zhang Xinya gasped, pointing. Where the sword had pierced the mound, a gaping "wound" oozed thick, black-red blood. A fetid stench filled the air—rotten, metallic, like the reek of a blood sausage factory.
"Let's go," Zhang Daoxuan said, retrieving the sword and rewrapping it in cloth. He turned and left without a backward glance.
"Senior…" I chased after him, hesitating. "Is that it? The problem… solved?"
Their warnings had made it sound dire, but this seemed too easy. Yet the blood gushing from the tomb was very real—and Zhang Daoxuan's sword had felt like it struck something.
He shook his head. "You have no idea how dangerous this is. That was just a probe. We know more now… but we can't linger. Otherwise, we'll lose our lives. I need to prepare. As for you and Xinya… solving this will require entering the tomb."
He paused, his gaze sharpening. "This plays right into the hands of whoever's behind this. They sent that little ghost to harass you, but their real goal was to lure you back to the tomb. Why? Because you took something from it. Ghost makeup—only the one who painted it can remove it. There are countless methods, each with its own cure. Guess wrong, and you die instantly. From your symptoms… no one can tell which method was used."
This wasn't the first time I'd heard "took something," but I still couldn't fathom what it was. I'd only dug a single shovel into the tomb—dirt, maybe a shard of pottery. Surely the tomb's treasures weren't worth killing over?
I pressed, but Zhang Daoxuan clammed up, evasive as the Ferryman. Some truths, it seemed, were too dangerous to speak.
Reluctantly, I dropped the subject, turning to Zhang Xinya. How was she involved? She'd never set foot in this tomb—could spraying me with blood really tie her to it?
"It's not your fault…" Zhang Daoxuan sighed, glancing at her. "You're just a fuse. What's coming… must come. Blame the child's misfortune."
As we climbed into the car, he said, "Head back to Taiyuan first. Tomorrow, I'll need to visit your classmate's home. Some things need confirming."
"And tonight?" I asked, eyeing the sinking sun. Dusk was falling, and unease crept in. "What about tonight?"
"What do you think?" He smiled faintly. "Tonight, we have business to attend to. There's one last thing to resolve—and you're just the person for it. Consider it payment for saving you."
My stomach sank.
Great. Not only had I turned into a paper ghost, but now I was being dragged into more supernatural trouble. And Zhang Daoxuan? He thrived on this stuff.
I had no choice but to pray for a safe night…