The tadpole-like symbols seemed to come alive, burrowing into Lu Yao's mind through his fingertips.

The dizziness lasted only for an instant.


When he opened his eyes again, the world was still the same dilapidated shrine, still surrounded by that deathly silent thick fog.

The Taoist priest's face was whiter than paper, his lips trembling as he pointed behind Lu Yao.

"They... they're still here..."


Lu Yao stiffly turned his head.

Those Ghost Soldiers crawling out from underground had densely surrounded the small mound, forming an impenetrable barrier.


There were no howls, nor attacks.

They just stood there, their hollow eye sockets collectively fixed on Lu Yao, or rather, fixed on the bronze bell in his hand.

The pressure, silent yet heavy, was almost enough to crush one's bones.

"It's useless... this bell is useless..." Lu Yao's teeth were chattering as he loosened his grip, wanting to throw away this bizarre object.

"Don't throw it!" The Taoist priest lunged forward, firmly grabbing his hand, his voice hoarse and urgent, "This is the only way to survive! In your mind... did something new appear?"

Lu Yao was stunned.

He closed his eyes, and indeed, those distorted symbols floated in his mind. They were no longer incomprehensible gibberish, but segments of obscure syllables, a scripture for guiding souls.

"Yes... a scripture."

A spark of light flashed in the Taoist priest's eyes, as if a drowning man had grabbed onto the last piece of driftwood.

"Quick! Do as I say! Three sacrificial animals, rootless water, a list of one hundred names!"

"Where are we supposed to find these things now?!"

Lu stared intently at the motionless Ghost Soldiers outside, his voice filled with despair.

The Taoist priest, however, remained unusually calm, reaching behind into his tattered cloth bag and pulling out three pieces of dried, hard cured meat wrapped in oiled paper.

"These are the three sacrificial animals."

He then pointed to the dewdrops condensed on the gnarled branches of the old locust tree: "That is the rootless water."

"As for the list of one hundred names..."

The Taoist's gaze fell upon the family genealogy book scattered on the floor of the ancestral hall.

"The Lu family, they are the witnesses. Use the names of all three generations from the Lu family genealogy around the Wanli period as the list!"

There was no time to hesitate.

The two frantically collected dew, placed the cured meat in front of the genealogy book, and then spread the heavy tome on an open space at the edge of the mass grave.

This was the place with the strongest yin energy in the entire village; every inch of soil beneath their feet was soaked with three hundred years of resentment.

The Taoist lit a yellow talisman, the flames illuminating his pale face: "Ring the bell, recite the scripture in your mind. Remember, your heart must be sincere, they... are listening."

Lu Yao took a deep breath, suppressing the fear in his heart.

He gripped the bronze bone bell once again.

This time, he didn't use brute force, but immersed his entire consciousness into it, gently shaking it according to the syllables that appeared in his mind.

"Ding-ling..."

The bell sound was no longer sharp and eerie as before, but instead carried an ancient and solemn rhythm.

He opened his mouth, and those tadpole-like characters formed into syllables, naturally flowing out from his throat.

It wasn't any language he knew. The sound was desolate and distant, as if coming from an ancient battlefield three hundred years ago, carrying the bleakness of weapons and war horses, as well as the sorrow of being buried in a foreign land.

As the chanting and bell sounds spread, the Ghost Soldiers in the encirclement underwent new changes.

"Crack... snap..."

A Ghost Soldier in the front row slowly raised his pallid hand and undid the strap of his helmet.

He removed that rust-covered helmet and gently placed it at his feet.

Then came the breastplate, the shoulder armor, the arm guards.

One piece after another.

"Clang... clatter..."

The sound of armor hitting the ground was no longer threatening, but rather a relief from unburdening.

One, two, ten, a hundred...

All of the Ghost Soldiers were silently removing their armor.

They shed everything they wore in battle, revealing the tattered civilian clothes underneath that had long since decayed. Then, facing the direction of Lu Yao, toward the drifting bell sounds and sutras, slowly and in perfect unison, they knelt down.

The scene was incredibly moving.

Three hundred years of resentment and bloodshed, in this moment, transformed into silent submission.

The Taoist priest's lips trembled, tears in his eyes: "Burn... burn the family genealogy, send them on their final journey."

Lu Yao threw the family genealogy in his hand into the small flame.

The fire "whooshed" as it flared up, devouring the yellowed pages.

Something strange happened.

The flame was no longer the usual orange-yellow color, but had transformed into an eerily silver-white.

Within the flames, silent scenes flashed one after another like a lantern show.

These were not scenes of Lu family ancestors colluding with bandits or embezzling.

In the scene, there were years of severe drought, cracked land, and villages filled with the starving dead.

His ancestor, the man praised as "wise and brave" in the family genealogy, was kneeling before a squad of soldiers in bright armor, kowtowing with tears streaming down his face.

The leader of the soldiers, with a resolute expression, looked at the dying villagers throughout the village, and finally let out a long sigh.

He opened the transport chest. Inside were not shiny silver military funds, but bags of life-saving grain.

The so-called "disaster relief silver" had been military rations from the very beginning.

The grain was distributed to every hungry villager. The disaster victims held the grain, kneeling on the ground, bowing toward the direction of the army.

The scene changed to mountain bandits attacking. The army, in order to protect the now-empty granary and the villagers behind them, fought a bloody battle against enemies several times their number.

In the end, the entire army was annihilated.

Lu Yao's ancestor, in order to save the lives of the entire village, and to cover up the "crime" of the army's unauthorized use of military rations, could only falsely claim that the military funds had been robbed.

He erected cenotaphs for these unnamed heroes, but dared not put up tombstones.

He could only leave a single clue in the family genealogy: "When the bell rings, souls return."

As it turned out, there was never any embezzlement. Nor was there ever any betrayal.

There was only a sacrifice... that had been concealed for three hundred years.

The flames died out, and the family genealogy turned to ashes.

But those kneeling Ghost Soldiers still had not dispersed.

They remained kneeling there, their hollow eye sockets still "watching" Lu Yao.

Their obsession had not faded.

Lu Yao's heart sank.

The truth had been revealed, so what were they still waiting for?

The Taoist priest clutched his chest and began coughing violently, a trace of fresh blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.

"No... no... their obsession isn't about revenge..."

His gaze swept over the armor and weapons that the Ghost Soldiers had removed and arranged neatly.

"Military pay... they were soldiers who failed to complete their mission of escorting military funds, and died with regrets! What they want to recover is the military pay that was divided up!"

But the military pay had long been converted into food and consumed by famine victims three hundred years ago.

Where could they find it now?

Lu Yao's mind went blank, and he instinctively reached into his pocket.

His fingertips touched a hard object.

It was the land deed passed down from his ancestors, which his mother had stuffed into his pocket when he left home.

It was a hundred acres of good land granted by the imperial court for "meritorious service in protecting the village."

This piece of land was exchanged for those three hundred lives and their innocence.

Lu Yao's body suddenly trembled.

He understood now.

He looked at those heroic souls kneeling on the ground, at the determination in their hollow eye sockets.

Without the slightest hesitation, he resolutely threw the land deed representing hundreds of years of the Lu family's foundation into the still-warm ashes.

The land deed was made of high-quality mulberry bark paper, which ignited immediately upon contact with fire.

However, the burnt ashes did not scatter with the wind.

Those black ashes swirled and condensed in the air, emitting a faint silver glow.

Gradually, they coalesced in midair, forming the shapes of ancient silver ingots.

Illusory, yet unmistakably real.

That was their military pay.

It was their glory.

It was their final resting place, three hundred years overdue.

The moment they saw the "silver," all the kneeling Ghost Soldiers began to turn transparent.

A gust of wind blew past.

They disappeared as if they had never been there, along with their discarded armor, all dissolving into the night.

The suffocating cold that had pressed down on everyone also vanished like smoke.

"Poof——"

The Taoist priest violently spat out a mouthful of fresh blood and collapsed limply.

The ritual just now had depleted all of his vital energy.

Lu Yao rushed over to support him, only to find that his body was frighteningly cold, his life force rapidly fading away.

The Daoist priest's eyes had become somewhat unfocused. Staring in the direction where the Ghost Soldiers had disappeared, he used his last bit of strength to murmur: "So... what they were waiting for... was vindication..."

After saying this, his head drooped to one side, and he fell completely silent.

Three days later, a sudden flash flood swept through the entire valley.

When the waters receded, the mass grave that had buried countless grievances was washed into a brand new tomb.

There were no scattered bones, no raging resentment.

Only three hundred complete skeletons, maintaining a kneeling position, tightly gripping weapons that had long since decayed, peacefully resting beneath the soil.

They held weapons, yet were now at peace.

Lu Yao left the village.

He sold his ancestral home and donated all the money to the Daoist temple where the priest had resided.

He went to many places, but could never again integrate into normal life.

Whenever there was a rainy night with thunder and lightning, he would hear the clanking sound of armor colliding outside his window, along with faint military commands.

……

Years later, at the Provincial Museum.

In a brand-new display case, a freshly excavated bronze bell lay quietly on red velvet.

The label read: Late Ming Dynasty military signaling device, unearthed from XX Village site.

Tourists came and went around it, camera flashes occasionally lighting up.

In a corner that no one noticed.

That bronze bell, inside the sealed display case, by itself... gently turned a little.