Lu Yao's request was refused by Mr. Zhang with silence and kowtowing.

The blood on the old man's forehead increased, staining the gravel ground in front of him, yet he uttered not a word.


The village chief arrived upon hearing the news, sighed as he helped Mr. Zhang up, and shook his head at Lu Yao.

"Mr. Lu, stop asking."

"This is a taboo in our village."


The villagers gathered around, and in their eyes as they looked at Lu Yao, there was a hint of fear that was not easy to detect.

That kind of look was like they were regarding an inauspicious person.


During the day, the convoy tried to descend the mountain again, with the same result.

That slope of bleached bones was like an inescapable origin point of coordinates; no matter which route they chose, they would ultimately return to this place.

A sense of despair spread throughout the team.

As night fell, thick fog once again enveloped the mountain village. The fog was heavier than the previous night, carrying a damp, earthy smell that penetrated one's nose and mouth.

Lu Yao stayed in his room at the temporary residence, feeling restless.

He couldn't forget Mr. Zhang's face of despair, nor could he ignore the evasive gazes of the villagers.

What exactly was that shadow in the photograph?

The mass grave, the direction pointed by the weapon, all the mysteries pointed to that place.

He had to go see it for himself.

Once this thought arose, it grew wildly like weeds. Lu Yao grabbed a coat and pushed open the door.

He didn't tell anyone.

The village was dead silent, with only the echo of his own footsteps in the alleyways.

The fog was too thick; the beam of his flashlight could only illuminate three or four meters ahead, while beyond that was a chaotic milky white.

The path to the back mountain was muddy and difficult to traverse.

He walked with uneven steps, his surroundings frighteningly quiet, not even a single insect chirp could be heard.

The earthy smell in the air grew increasingly heavy, mixed with a faint hint of decay.

After walking for about twenty minutes, Lu Yao stopped.

He heard a sound.

Not the sound of wind, nor the sound of water.

It was an extremely regular, dull noise.

"Thud."

"Thud."

"Thud."

It was as if someone was striking the damp ground with a heavy object. The sound came from deep within the thick fog ahead, uniform and measured, neither hurried nor slow.

Lu Yao's heart suddenly contracted.

He held his breath and listened carefully.

The sound was getting closer.

"Thud... thud... thud..."

It was footsteps.

Heavy and uniform, accompanied by the subtle noise of metal friction, as if a troop was marching through the fog.

He instinctively hid behind a large tree by the roadside, only half his head peering out.

The fog churned.

Several blurry shadows slowly emerged from the white mist.

One, two, more than a dozen...

They walked in neat formation, moving forward in silence.

As they got closer, Lu Yao finally saw clearly what they looked like.

They were a group of "people" wearing tattered armor.

Their armor was of an ancient style, rusty and covered with marks from swords and axes.

Many of their armors still had broken arrows stuck in them.

They all held spears, the tips giving off a cold, eerie glow in the mist.

They walked slowly, their movements somewhat stiff, but their steps were surprisingly uniform.

Lu Yao's gaze fell on one of the "people."

Half of that person's helmet was missing, revealing a shriveled face underneath, with a wound deep enough to expose bone extending from his forehead all the way to his jaw. There was no fresh flesh in the wound, only some dark, mud-like liquid that was dripping down drop by drop.

It dripped onto the ground, making a faint "plop" sound.

Black blood.

Lu Yao's pupils suddenly contracted, and a chill ran from the soles of his feet straight to the top of his head.

He wanted to raise his phone to capture this bizarre scene.

But the moment he took out his phone, the screen displayed two words.

[No Signal]

His fingers trembling, he opened the video function and pointed the camera at that eerie procession.

On the screen, however, there was only a mass of rolling fog, nothing else.

As if those armored soldiers marching in formation existed only in his eyes.

They passed by the large tree where Lu Yao was hiding, not one of them turning their head.

They looked straight ahead, as if executing an unalterable command, walking toward the direction of the mountain below.

Only after the last figure disappeared into the mist, and the uniform footsteps gradually faded away, did Lu Yao dare to breathe deeply.

He leaned against the cold tree trunk, his body involuntarily sliding to the ground, completely drenched in cold sweat.

Fear, like an invisible hand, gripped his heart tightly.

He didn't know how long he sat there, until his legs regained some feeling, then he scrambled up using both hands and feet, and fled back to the village, tumbling as he went.

He rushed into his room, locked the door, leaned against it, and breathed heavily.

His mind was completely blank.

Just then, someone knocked on the door.

"Knock, knock-knock."

Lu Yao jumped with a start: "Who is it?"

His voice was hoarse and dry.

There was no response from outside.

The knocking sounded again, more urgent this time.

"Knock-knock-knock!"

Lu Yao stared intensely at the thin wooden door, his heart about to leap out of his throat.

"If you don't open the door, the young man inside won't live much longer."

A slightly raspy, lazy voice came from outside the door.

Lu Yao hesitated for a moment, but still mustered his courage and slowly unlocked the door.

A young Taoist priest wearing a faded white robe stood at the doorway.

The priest was about twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old, with messy hair tied in a bun and secured with a wooden hairpin.

He carried a shabby cloth bag on his back and held a horsetail whisk in his hand, examining Lu Yao with an amused expression.

"Who are you looking for?" Lu Yao asked vigilantly.

The Taoist didn't answer, but instead barged straight in and sniffed the air.

"Tsk, such heavy yin energy."

He walked around Lu Yao in a circle, finally stopping in front of him, extending his finger, and suddenly pointing at the center of Lu Yao's brow.

"Young man, congratulations."

"Your yin-yang eyes have opened."

Lu Yao's entire body stiffened.

The Taoist grinned, revealing a set of white teeth.

He pulled out an old thread-bound book from his shabby cloth bag. The pages were yellowed, with curled corners.

On the cover were three crooked characters written in brush—"Exorcism Chronicles."

The Taoist flipped to a certain page and pointed it out to Lu Yao.

"Look, it's written clearly in the book."

"Ghost Soldiers passing through need blood offerings to guide their way."

"Those things haven't had a proper meal for hundreds of years. They're very hungry."

Lu Yao's gaze was fixed on those few lines of text, his face growing increasingly pale.

The Taoist priest put away the book and spoke again lazily.

"You have been marked by them."

He paused, leaned in closer, and lowered his voice.

"Because you look very similar to the general who ordered their massacre years ago."

The next day, Lu Yao was awakened by a series of piercing howls.

Not just one, but many, rising and falling, echoing throughout the entire village.

It was dogs barking.

He pushed open the door to find that everyone in the village had rushed outside, each face filled with terror.

At the village entrance, the old locust tree said to be over a hundred years old had, overnight, shed all its leaves which had turned yellow and fallen.

The thick trunk had split open with dark cracks.

Some dark red, viscous liquid was slowly seeping out from the cracks, emitting an iron-like rusty odor.

And all the dogs in the village, regardless of size, were facing in one direction.

The mass burial ground.

They crouched on the ground, facing that direction, letting out desperate and prolonged howls.

Some dogs had blood-tinged foam seeping from the corners of their mouths, their voices hoarse, yet they still refused to stop.

As if in their eyes, there was something extremely terrifying in that direction.

This eerie scene rendered all villagers silent as cicadas in winter.

Lu Yao's heart sank to the bottom.

The Taoist's words, Ghost Soldiers passing through, blood offerings leading the way...

He staggered back to his room, feeling dizzy and disoriented.

He needed to calm down.

He walked to the washbasin stand, scooped up a handful of cold water and splashed it on his face.

The icy sensation made him slightly more clearheaded.

He raised his head and looked at the small mirror hanging on the wall.

In the mirror, his face was as pale as paper.

And right there on his neck was a distinct, blue-black handprint.

The shape of five fingers was clearly visible, as if his throat had been violently gripped by an ice-cold hand.

That handprint was emitting threads of cold, chilling energy.