"Be careful. This village is steeped in resentment. I fear the deaths of those thirteen people were anything but natural," Xu Nuo warned me in a low voice, her eyes fixed on mine.
Truth be told, though it was broad daylight, I was still gripped by fear. I looked at Xu Nuo with apprehension and asked cautiously, "Senior Sister… it's daytime. Can ghosts still harm people?"
Xu Nuo nodded. "For three days after death, a person's yin energy is at its peak. During this time, the soul lingers in the mortal world, unaffected by day or night. While most spirits can't harm the living, there are exceptions. Vengeful ones—evil spirits steeped in grievance—can wreak havoc even under the sun."
As she spoke, Xu Nuo pulled a small pouch of herbs from the satchel on my back. She took a pinch and handed it to me. "Take this…"
The moment I laid eyes on the green herbs, my stomach churned in revulsion. The taste from yesterday still lingered in my memory—I had nearly vomited from the bitterness.
"Junior Brother, this village is far from peaceful. Keep this Cold-Breath Herb with you," she said with unmistakable concern.
I took the herb and tucked it into my pocket. Together, we entered the village. As before, every door was shut tight, but this time, yellow talismans were pasted above each entrance, and gleaming scissors were hung on the doors.
From the time we stepped into the village until we neared the ancestral hall of the Zhang family, not a single soul appeared. I began to suspect that behind those sealed doors, not one house held a living occupant.
In front of the ancestral hall, the thirteen bright red coffins were still lined up neatly. But now, not a single person remained. The coffins alone sat in solemn silence atop long wooden benches, facing the village as if keeping vigil.
"Keep the herb in your mouth. Follow me," Xu Nuo commanded, stepping toward the coffins without hesitation—oddly, I didn't see her take the herb herself.
I retrieved the Cold-Breath Herb from my pocket. The moment its bitter scent reached me, nausea surged once more. Yet I dared not disobey Xu Nuo's command. I didn't know why, but I was beginning to fear this Miao Senior Sister. I forced the herb into my mouth, suppressing the bitterness, and followed her.
Xu Nuo gave me a quick once-over, then grabbed my right hand. She pulled a small wooden knife from her mouth and, without warning, sliced across my middle finger.
"Ah—mmph!" I tried to cry out, but with the herb between my teeth, I couldn't open my mouth. I glared at Xu Nuo, wanting to speak, but could only manage muffled groans.
"Stop complaining. If I didn't care about you, I wouldn't even be here," she said curtly. Then she took my bleeding finger and let the blood drip onto each of the thirteen red coffins, missing none. When she reached Zhang Kun's coffin, however, the blood refused to fall.
"What's going on?" Xu Nuo frowned, clearly encountering this anomaly for the first time. She examined Zhang Kun's coffin carefully. I too leaned in. His coffin was flanked on either side by six others—he was at the exact center of the thirteen.
"Hmph. Petty tricks!" Suddenly, Xu Nuo seemed to realize something. She reached into my pack and pulled out a small, bark-like herb. It was no longer than a finger, but its deep crimson hue looked as if it had been soaked in blood.
I'd never seen anything like it. Curiosity piqued, I watched as Xu Nuo lit the crimson bark. An eerie fragrance immediately filled the hall, stirring something within my soul.
"Ah!" Just as I was falling under its spell, Xu Nuo seized my hand and once more slashed my finger. Blood splashed onto Zhang Kun's coffin at last.
"Keep it down!" she hissed, glaring at me. "If the villagers catch us disrespecting their dead like this, we'll be lucky to escape with our lives."
I was speechless. Easy for her to say—she wasn't the one getting cut. She didn't apologize either—didn't even look like she planned to. After releasing my hand, she walked toward the ancestral hall. I sucked at my bleeding finger and trailed behind.
Pasted to the wall inside was a death notice. It listed the names, birth dates, and times of death for the thirteen deceased. At the bottom, in bold characters, was a list of people required to avoid the funerals.
The complex astrological signs and birth charts were beyond me. I turned to Xu Nuo for help. Under her neat short hair, I noticed her face had gone pale, beads of sweat glistening on her brow.
"What is it? What's wrong?" I mumbled, struggling to speak with the herb still in my mouth.
"Their birth charts and elemental signs… all are of the purest yin. And their zodiac signs clash in dangerous ways. Look at this list—everyone must avoid the ritual. Which means… no one is safe," Xu Nuo murmured.
"That's… quite the coincidence," I said, shifting the herb beneath my tongue for clearer speech.
"It's no coincidence," Xu Nuo replied coldly. "Someone who knows these things has manipulated the charts. These thirteen… were likely murdered."
As we spoke, the wail of horns and suona suddenly burst from within the ancestral hall, jolting me. A funeral procession in white robes emerged, blowing horns and beating drums.
Fifty-two pallbearers, four for each coffin, gathered in front of them. Then a Daoist priest in yellow robes stepped out, holding a bell and chanting incantations as he danced.
"Charlatan," Xu Nuo muttered with disdain, her voice full of contempt.
Considering how she'd just used my blood in a ritual, her words struck me as oddly ironic.
"What? You think your Senior Sister is a charlatan too?" she asked, eyes sharp with menace.
Of course not, I thought to myself, though I'd never dare say it aloud.
"Noon has arrived! Raise the coffins!" the priest cried.
The fifty-two pallbearers shouted in unison, bent down, and tried to lift the coffins. But the thirteen caskets remained still, as if filled with lead.
"Master, they're too heavy—we can't lift them!" one man called out, looking toward the priest.
"Impossible!" the Daoist snapped. "This is the hour of purest yang, when yin energy is weakest. If you can't move them now, you'll never bury them. Try harder—lift them!"
"Yes, sir! Brothers, use every ounce of strength—we will lift these coffins!" the lead pallbearer shouted.
"One, two—heave! One, two—lift!" Encouraged, they strained with all their might, muscles taut, faces red—but the coffins didn't budge.
"They're rising—look, it's moving!" the lead pallbearer cried. His team had been assigned to Zhang Kun's coffin, and under their combined effort, it began to lift.
Crack!
Just as triumph lit their faces, a loud crack rang out. The thick wooden pole used to lift the coffin snapped in half.
Breaking a coffin stand during a funeral is a dire omen. The pallbearer's face turned pale in an instant.