Chapter 112: Initiating the Investiture of the Gods

The pressure on everyone surged in an instant.

Though Fan Bisheng had shown great courage earlier, he was still young. Facing a malevolent ghost head-on, the terror in his heart was beyond words. His hands began to spasm from gripping the door panels for so long, and just as he was about to collapse, Zhao Fusheng stepped forward to his side, reached out, and grabbed his arm.

As a ghost-controller, Zhao Fusheng’s body temperature was naturally much lower than an average person’s due to the influence of her own ghost. Yet, at this moment, Fan Bisheng was so terrified that cold sweat poured off him in rivers, draining away his own body heat. The moment they touched, he actually felt significantly colder than Zhao Fusheng.

Sensing the warmth, Fan Bisheng turned his head, his reaction lagging:
"Fusheng—" he called out subconsciously.
"Yes," Zhao Fusheng replied. She didn't look at him, her eyes locked firmly on the distant gate. Her profile was sharp, her nose bridge prominent, and her lips were pressed so tightly together that it was clear her own anxiety was likely no less than his.

"Keep the door panel steady," she commanded.

For some reason, she offered no comfort, yet this simple instruction and her composed demeanor instantly dispelled thirty percent of the fear in Fan Bisheng’s heart. Although the ghost had not yet appeared, its baleful aura had already enveloped Ding'an Mansion, striking the deepest fear into everyone’s hearts. Zhao Fusheng’s strength and composure acted like a shot of adrenaline for the Fan brothers.

"Right," he replied, clumsily adjusting his posture to hold the pair of door panels firmly in his arms.

*Thump-thump! Thump-thump!*
*Thump-thump! Thump-thump!*

The footsteps, which had seemed distant just moments ago, suddenly felt as if they were drawing closer with every passing second. An invisible pressure, like a massive mountain, suddenly crushed down upon everyone’s heads.

Zheng He, who had seemed calm until now, was the first to snap. He suddenly turned around and thrust his chest out: "Come on! I’ll fight them to the death!"
"Stop acting crazy," Zhao Fusheng scolded without turning her head.

The moment they spoke, the footsteps of the malevolent ghost outside seemed to vanish. With the *thump-thump* sound gone, Zheng He, who had just been posturing to fight, shivered and regained his senses. Fear reclaimed the upper hand; he silently pulled his clothes back into place and retreated into the crowd. "I’ll stand guard in the back for you, my lord!" he said.

Zhao Fusheng had no time for him. Her gaze remained fixed on the double doors at the entrance of the Ding'an Mansion garden. Although the footsteps had vanished, the ghosts had not left. The surrounding ghostly fog grew thicker, and the torches held by the bailiffs, pressed by the ghost domain, dimmed until the light shrank to almost nothing, plunging the area into darkness.

A moment later, a *creak—creak—* echoed. The entrance gate suddenly shook violently for no apparent reason. The sound was bizarre and chilling in the silent garden, causing everyone to shudder in unison. Then, the shaking stopped. Seeing everything return to silence, the terrified crowd let out a collective sigh of relief. Even Fan Wujiu let out a long breath.

Just as Fan Bisheng was feeling a sense of relief, he caught a glimpse of Zhao Fusheng’s stern expression out of the corner of his eye. He choked back his breath, seemingly understanding something, and his gaze snapped toward the gate—

*Creak!* Two crisp snaps rang out. The hinges of the gate seemed to have been torn apart by two monstrous, invisible forces. The door panels were freed from the frame, but strangely, they did not crash to the ground. Instead, they hung at an odd, slanted angle, suspended in mid-air.

"..." Fan Bisheng swallowed hard. Fan Wujiu began to cry out of sheer terror: "Brother, I'm scared—"
"Don't be afraid," Fan Bisheng replied, though he didn't know how he managed to speak; his response was almost mechanical.

Immediately after, everyone saw the two door panels begin to rotate stiffly, as if someone were carrying them on their backs, turning in a circle on the spot. Because of this movement, the bolt on the inner side of the door snapped, and the panels swung from inward to outward. Through the gap, there was only the pitch-black, impenetrable ghostly fog.

Standing there at the gate were a man and a woman dressed in cyan burial shrouds. The two ghosts were thin and gaunt, their faces tinged with a sickly green, their features obscured. Through the grey-black fog, one could see they were wearing oversized burial clothes, their hands eerily tucked into their sleeves and pressed against their lower abdomens. Behind them, the two vermillion door panels were strapped to their backs.

These doors were heavy and massive, yet the ghosts, burdened by them, paused for a moment before taking a step forward.

Memories of the Kongyun Temple, the Sun Estate, and every other haunting over the past half-month surfaced in the minds of the officials and bailiffs who had worked those cases. These people were the first to have their mental defenses crumble. But amidst the fear, Zhao Fusheng’s previous warning echoed in their minds: *No screaming, no crying, no moving!*

Everyone present had been marked by the malevolent ghosts; once the ghosts appeared, everyone would die in Ding'an Mansion. The scenes of the past few days flashed through their minds, and fear spread silently through the garden.

*Tramp, tramp.*
The two ghosts began to walk forward slowly, carrying the doors. Everyone here had been marked by their killing intent, but the ghosts were not in a hurry to slaughter—the two ominous door panels, which had appeared alongside them, were now within reach. Having retrieved the objects of great ill-omen and making themselves whole again, the ghosts took stiff, heavy steps toward the Fan brothers.

Fan Wujiu, being the more timid of the two, instinctively wanted to retreat the moment he saw them approaching. Zhao Fusheng, having anticipated this, reached out and pressed her hands against the backs of the two brothers.

"Don't move."

She thought she was calm, but in reality, she was extremely tense. Her voice was thin, almost drowned out by the sound of her own heartbeat, as if her throat were constricted by an invisible sense of dread. The brothers stood frozen.

At that moment, the ghosts moved slowly forward. Their strides were small and their pace was not fast, yet the psychological pressure they exerted was immense. Every person present had only one thought: *Run!* But fear acted like an arrow, pinning everyone who dared to flee to the spot.

*Tramp! Tramp!*
The footsteps drew closer. Zhao Fusheng and the two Fans could almost see the faces of the ghosts. In this state of extreme tension, Zhao Fusheng’s mind wandered for a split second. The memories of the original host flashed through her mind, and the faces of the Zhao couple appeared.

But the Zhao couple before her now had sunken, withered faces. Having been buried in the ground for half a month, they looked like terrifying mummies. Their skin seemed covered in a pale, translucent film, beneath which blue veins crisscrossed like a grid. Large patches of lividity appeared on their faces and necks, giving them a grim, spectral appearance. They were no longer the parents from her memories; they were cold, stiff, and numb.

"..." A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaped her. But in that brief lapse of emotion, the ghosts had reached them.

A foul stench of damp earth mixed with the chill of the dead and the heavy scent of blood washed over them. The reflection in Zhao Fusheng’s eyes vanished, her gaze turning sharp. The Fan brothers were paralyzed by terror, unable to react. The crowd behind them looked on in despair, and Zheng He’s face turned ashen. In the upper levels of the Ding'an Mansion, no one dared to watch.

...

As the ghosts drew closer, the Investiture of the Gods in Zhao Fusheng’s mind issued a warning: *A Disaster-level malevolent ghost is approaching; it is about to retrieve the ghost door panels. Note: Once the ghost retrieves the panels, it will be complete and will immediately evolve.*

Zhao Fusheng’s mind was stretched to the breaking point. She focused all her attention on the ghosts, using immense willpower to stop herself from retreating. Fortunately, this was not her first time facing a ghost at close range. Although the identities of these two ghosts were special and had a certain impact on her, she remained standing where she was.

The ghosts arrived. The door panels that had been firmly stuck to their backs *clattered* to the ground. The heavy sound echoed throughout the surroundings. The two ghosts stood woodenly, their grey, vacant eyes not looking at the three people standing just inches away. After abandoning the original mansion gates, they did not immediately begin the slaughter; instead, they turned around.

The two ghosts turned their heads simultaneously, their backs arching. The ghost door panels held in the arms of the Fan brothers sensed the ghosts’ movements and began to vibrate violently. It was as if they were magnets naturally drawn to each other. The moment Fan Bisheng felt the pull, he let go.

One door panel flew from his hands and stuck to the back of the ghost that had once been Father Zhao with a *bang*. As the panel and the ghost merged, a ghostly wind rose from the ground. The baleful aura of the ghost transformed from Father Zhao surged instantly. The Investiture of the Gods in Zhao Fusheng’s mind alerted her: *The malevolent ghost has obtained the ghost door panel and is now complete.*

On the other side, Fan Wujiu, perhaps frozen in terror, clung to the other door panel, refusing to let go. The powerful suction between the ghost and the panel pulled him forward. This scene terrified Fan Bisheng, who had not yet recovered his composure.

"Wujiu!" His love for his brother overcame his fear. Just as he was about to rush forward, Zhao Fusheng acted with lightning speed, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him back.

She stepped forward and, before the ghost door panel and the ghost could merge, quickly snatched Fan Wujiu away and shouted: "Let go!"

She had already established a degree of authority over the Fan brothers; at her command, Fan Wujiu obeyed. He released his grip, and the door panel slammed onto the ghost that had been Mother Zhao.

The Investiture of the Gods signaled: *Both Disaster-level malevolent ghosts are now complete. The ghosts have evolved into Calamity-level entities!*

Once the ghosts were complete, the slaughter was meant to begin. After death, these ghosts had lost all consciousness and memory, acting solely on instinct. Zhao Fusheng stood right in front of them, but they were now entirely different from when they were alive.

With their hands tucked into their sleeves and ghostly shadows flickering across the door panels, they lunged toward Zhao Fusheng first.

"It's over!" Zheng He, hidden in the crowd, whispered to himself as he saw this. Zhao Fusheng was doomed.

Once the malevolent ghosts were complete, their aura was vastly different from before. Even ordinary people could feel that their end was near, let alone a ghost-controller who could sense that sky-high, baleful energy. With Zhao Fusheng standing so close, even with her own ominous artifacts, she could not possibly contend with a Calamity-level ghost, let alone two of them.

"We're dead, we're dead!"
"Today is the end!"
Such thoughts flashed through everyone’s minds simultaneously.

Zhao Fusheng sensed the gusts of ghostly wind, and the shadows on the door panels were about to touch her body. Yet, the ghost she controlled remained suppressed, showing no reaction.

The two ghosts moved first. The ghost transformed from Mother Zhao reached out its hands and, in a motion like holding a baby, wrapped them around Zhao Fusheng’s waist.

"!!!"

Zheng He, witnessing this from the crowd, nearly let out a deafening scream. Although he was a ghost-controller, he was not brave. He wanted to scream, but when it came to the crunch, he found himself so paralyzed by fear that he couldn't even make a sound. Images of the corpses from the Sun Estate, crushed by the door panels, and scenes of the ghosts’ massacres flashed through his mind like a flickering lamp.

*Fight back! Fight back! Run! Run!*

These two conflicting thoughts circled in Zheng He’s mind. At that moment, he wished more than anyone that Zhao Fusheng had a trump card left to escape.

But the scene Zheng He envisioned did not happen.

The female ghost squeezed Zhao Fusheng’s waist, her strength so immense it seemed she wanted to tear her in two. Her dead mother was no longer the person she had known in life. Zhao Fusheng had dealt with ghosts before, but this was exceptionally gruesome. The familiar face from her memories was now a mass of grey and green, the skin sagged from dehydration, making the face look narrower and more sinister.

The ghost’s eyes were covered in a grey film, and large patches of lividity were visible on its face. Its embrace was freezing cold, reeking of earth and heavy blood. Having lost all emotion and memory, driven only by the instinct to kill, the ghost showed no mercy to its former daughter. It grabbed Zhao Fusheng and threw her against its back.

Ghost-controllers possessed immense vitality. From this pull and throw, many of Zhao Fusheng’s bones shattered, piercing her heart and lungs. Yet she was not dead.

Blood flowed from her wounds, soaking into the door panel, which was rapidly absorbed by it. The bloody shadows on the ghost door panel seemed to come alive as they drank her blood, wrapping tightly around her. The agony of her severe injuries kept Zhao Fusheng’s consciousness clear.

At this life-or-death moment, her consciousness sank into the Investiture of the Gods. Since activating it, she had used its merit points to open the gates of Hell, but she had never yet activated the divine thrones themselves. Zhao Fusheng’s consciousness settled on the first divine throne—

The prompt from the Investiture of the Gods sounded immediately: *Consume 100 merit points to activate the divine throne?*

Zhao Fusheng had originally intended to save this first chance at deification to banish the malevolent ghost that was currently reviving within her own body. But plans could not keep up with reality. Ever since she heard about the horrific cases caused by the revival of the two ghosts in Bao County, she had planned to use this opportunity to resolve this specific case.

The first divine throne was her secret, and the source of her confidence in handling this case. However, it was all just a plan; she had never actually operated it before. Success or failure rested on this single move.

The Investiture of the Gods prompted again: *Deify the great ghosts, send the hundred ghosts into reincarnation. Consume 100 merit points to activate the divine throne?*

Zhao Fusheng took a deep breath, feeling the ghostly shadows on the door panels tightening their grip on her.