Chapter 127: Invisible Execution

Magistrate Pang’s first instinct was that a new ghostly case had emerged in Wan'an County.

The seal on the Ghost Tomb in the west of the city had loosened, and among the corpses buried within, a vengeful spirit had resurrected. The strange, premature darkness that had shrouded the days for the past two days was clearly connected to this case. It was unfortunate timing; Zhao Fusheng had left for Bao County and had not yet returned, and with the county under the influence of a ghost domain, the messengers he sent out to report the situation seemed to have been ensnared by a "ghost wall," unable to leave Wan'an County at all.

Magistrate Pang was as anxious as an ant on a hot pan. Just as his distress reached a breaking point, Zhao Fusheng and her party returned safely. Because they had left and returned so quickly, and seeing the two Fan brothers disembark first, Magistrate Pang initially assumed the case had not gone well. However, when she later told him the case had been resolved, he would have asked for the details had Wan'an County not been in such imminent peril.

As they spoke, the carriage sped through the silent, empty streets, drawing ever closer to the west side of the city. The further west they went, the darker the sky became, until it was nearly impossible to see one's own hand. The houses in the west were swallowed by darkness, resembling monsters lurking in the night. As the carriage rolled westward, the "clinking" sound of chiseling grew sharper and more frequent.

*Clang—clang—clang—*

The sound seemed to come from all directions, so maddeningly intrusive that it nearly drowned out the rhythmic clatter of the horse's hooves. The carriage was deathly silent. As they approached the west side, everyone instinctively clamped their mouths shut. Zhang Chuanshi could hear the thumping of his own heart, as well as those of Magistrate Pang and Fan Bisi. Before long, he felt his mouth go dry and his chest ache with a stifling pain. He sat stiffly for a long time until his thighs went numb. Wanting to shift his feet, he moved his leg, but the rustle of his clothing in the silence was enough to break everyone out in a cold sweat.

"What are you moving for?" Magistrate Pang snapped, his voice filled with irritation. "You scared the life out of me."

Zhao Fusheng glanced at Magistrate Pang with surprise. Since meeting the old magistrate, she had found him to be of good character; though he was sometimes overly cautious, he had always been tolerant of the Demon Suppression Bureau. Back at the bureau, when Zhang Chuanshi had repeatedly interrupted him and stolen the spotlight, the magistrate had remained magnanimous. Now, however, he seemed irritable, as if his temper had suddenly flared.

Zhang Chuanshi, usually one to never let himself suffer a loss, offered a sheepish smile at the rebuke. "My leg went numb."

Fan Bisi looked at Zhang Chuanshi with disdain but did not join the bickering. Instead, he turned to Zhao Fusheng. "My Lady, the carriage is slowing down."

Zhao Fusheng had noticed it too. For the past half-quarter hour, the carriage driver’s pace had been growing increasingly sluggish. There were copper lamps hanging on both sides of the Demon Suppression Bureau’s carriage, filled with oil. Before they set out, the light had been sufficient, but as they traveled west, the glow had faded. Now, the flames were no larger than beans, illuminating only a radius of about three feet in front of the carriage.

As Fan Bisi finished speaking, the driver remained silent for a long moment before finally stammering, "M-my Lady, I can't see the road clearly anymore." He seemed to be under the influence of the ghost domain, his speech slurred and incoherent.

Zhao Fusheng’s heart sank. "Where are we?" she asked.

Silence followed her question. Amidst the *clang-clang-clang* of the chiseling, there was only the sound of the horse dragging the heavy carriage—*clop, clop, clop*—and the grinding of the wheels. The breathing of the three people in the carriage grew ragged. Zhang Chuanshi clutched the Book of Souls to his chest and shouted, "Hey! The Lady is asking you a question!"

The fog thickened. In the darkness, a sinister chill permeated the air. The silence turned oppressive, amplifying their fear to the extreme. Before they had even reached the Ghost Tomb, Magistrate Pang felt his legs going weak. Amidst the cacophony of noises, a *gurgling* sound of flowing water suddenly emerged, as if a small spring had quietly begun to bubble up nearby. These bizarre sounds blended together, creating an eerie, absolute stillness. After Zhang Chuanshi’s shout, no one answered.

The shadow of death loomed over them. The horse pulling the carriage took two slow steps forward, then, as if it had lost the guidance of its driver, came to a halt.

Zhao Fusheng made a swift decision. "We get off here. You, turn the carriage around immediately and head back to the Demon Suppression Bureau—"

She moved to rise, but Zhang Chuanshi reached out and pulled her back. "My Lady, think twice. This place is not right."

"Stop talking nonsense!" Zhao Fusheng turned and reprimanded him. "We came here to handle a ghost case. If everything here were 'right,' I wouldn't have come!" When it came to ghost cases, she was not as easygoing as usual.

Zhang Chuanshi froze and instinctively let go. The others remained motionless. Zhao Fusheng stepped out of the carriage, but the driver remained slumped over the front, unmoving.

"Get down," she commanded. Fan Bisi and the others let out a breath and followed her out one by one. Magistrate Pang was the last to emerge. He was elderly and not particularly brave; if he weren't so worried about his wife, who had been marked by the vengeful spirit, he likely would have collapsed in the carriage long ago.

As the four of them stepped onto the ground, they looked out into a vast, boundless darkness. It was as if black were the purest color in the world, tainting everything in its path. As their eyes adjusted to the dark, they could see tiny motes of dust floating in the black fog. In the distance, houses were reduced to deeper, darker silhouettes, crouching like beasts. The entire city of Wan'an seemed like a ghost town; there were no birds or insects, and no sign of any living thing.

"Gah—" Zhang Chuanshi tried to call out "My Lady," but fear turned his voice into a mechanical screech. Fortunately, no one mocked him. Fan Bisi and Magistrate Pang were both terrified. The magistrate leaned against the carriage, clutching the corner of Fan Bisi's robe tightly.

Zhao Fusheng’s gaze fell on the driver. In the dim light, they could see him sitting there, his hands still holding the reins, his head hanging down. The carriage had stopped long ago. He looked as if he were asleep.

"Something is wrong." Zhao Fusheng shook her head and glanced at Fan Bisi. His naturally dark complexion had turned deathly pale. Receiving her look, he swallowed hard, steeled his nerves, and walked toward the driver. "Hey—"

Fan Bisi gave the driver a push, and the man’s body slumped over limply. He hit the ground with a thud, and the seat he had occupied was already stained red.

"Blood! Blood!" Zhang Chuanshi’s pupils dilated in terror at the sight. The thick, metallic scent of blood spread, casting a shadow of death over them all.

"He's dead?" Zhao Fusheng’s heart tightened. She hadn't expected this; there had been no warning. She hadn't even seen the vengeful spirit yet, and someone from the Demon Suppression Bureau had already been killed right in front of her.

Fan Bisi didn't speak; he frantically wiped his hands on his clothes. Touching the body of someone killed by a vengeful spirit was a strange experience. Normally, a freshly dead body should be soft, but this driver's corpse was cold, chillingly so, and unnaturally stiff. Given the surrounding environment, the only reason Fan Bisi hadn't fled was because of his loyalty to Zhao Fusheng. As for Zhang Chuanshi, seeing the driver fall at a mere nudge made him look even more cowardly than Magistrate Pang. His legs were shaking so violently that his trousers rippled rhythmically, and he could barely stand against the side of the carriage.

*What a useless waste,* Zhao Fusheng thought, though she merely ordered Magistrate Pang, "Magistrate, bring down one of the lamps."

Magistrate Pang was terrified, but the desire to save his wife provided a spark of incomparable courage. Hearing the order, he stammered, "Yes." He walked tremblingly toward the front of the carriage to unhook the copper lamp.

*Clang—*
*Clang—*

The sound of chiseling was incessant. His back felt exposed, and the cold sweat had already soaked through his clothes. As the night wind blew, the damp fabric clung to his skin, making him feel as if a ghost were standing right behind him, blowing cold air onto his neck. If it hadn't been so undignified, he would have screamed. In his panic, his movements became clumsy, and he couldn't get the lamp off.

The others had scattered a few steps away, leaving the magistrate feeling vulnerable. Fortunately, Fan Bisi had regained his composure. Unlike the useless Zhang Chuanshi, he knew Zhao Fusheng wanted the light to either inspect the corpse or to proceed on foot. He strode to the other side of the carriage and steeled himself to grab the lamp.

The hook for the copper lamp seemed rusted, as if it had been welded to the carriage. The Demon Suppression Bureau’s equipment was brand new; this rust was clearly unnatural and linked to the ghost domain. He pulled at it, causing the lamp to bang loudly, but it wouldn't budge.

"Big Fan, be gentle—" Zhang Chuanshi flinched at every strike of the hammer, clutching his chest.

Fan Bisi ignored him and continued to pull with brute force. He was young and strong, far more capable than a scholar like Magistrate Pang. Before long, he tore the lamp free. However, the force caused most of the oil to spill, and it wouldn't last long.

Seeing that he had secured the lamp, Zhao Fusheng knelt before the fallen driver. Her actions confirmed Fan Bisi’s suspicions. The driver’s posture was similar to that of Yu Weide back at the bureau: limbs curled, as if his hands and feet had been constrained by some force and drawn tightly toward his abdomen.

His eyes were wide open, staring in death. Ignoring the pale face, Zhao Fusheng forced his arms apart—the driver’s clothes were soaked through with blood, clinging firmly to his cold, rigid corpse. Carefully peeling back the blood-soaked layers, she revealed a hole the size of a teacup. It had been chiseled out from within by some unknown method, and broken bone was visible beneath the torn flesh. The blood was already congealing into an ominous, purplish-black color in the lamplight.

Just then, Magistrate Pang, still struggling to remove the other lamp, cried out in panic, "Master Zhang, come help me!"

"..." Zhang Chuanshi didn't want to move. But today felt cursed; Fan Bisi had called him twice, and now the Magistrate was demanding his help. If he remained standing there, Zhao Fusheng would surely scold him later. Cursing under his breath, he walked toward the Magistrate, complaining, "I don't know what's wrong with you, Magistrate. You’ve spent so much time reading and writing, surely your hands haven't become so useless that you can't even remove a lamp?"

The two of them worked together, pulling and yanking until the metal clattered loudly. Just then, amidst their bickering, Zhao Fusheng heard a particularly heavy *clang* sound. Her hand trembled, and the blood-soaked fabric she had been holding dropped back onto the corpse’s chest with a *slap*.

"I told you guys—" she snapped, but before she could finish, Fan Bisi let out a cry of alarm.

"F-Fu, Fusheng—" He sounded so terrified that he couldn't even speak clearly.

A chill ran down Zhao Fusheng’s spine. Realizing something was wrong, she didn't bother looking at Zhang Chuanshi and instinctively reached into her consciousness toward the Investiture of the Gods, nearly summoning the Door Gods. A terrifying sense of dread washed over her, but the thought of the price required for the Door Gods’ intervention forced her to stop.

She forced herself to remain calm. Zhao Fusheng did not like to guess or imagine things; even if a ghost were standing behind her, she would see it with her own eyes. With that thought, she whipped her head around.

Zhang Chuanshi and Magistrate Pang, spurred on by Fan Bisi’s panicked shouting, had finally managed to pull the lamp free. At the same moment, the eyes of all four fell upon the dead driver.

The driver had moved.

*...*
*...*
*...*

In the eerie silence of the four, the dead driver stiffly arched his neck and lifted his head. His gaunt face had lost all color, and his eyes shone with a strange, ghostly blue light. His pupils were dilated, no longer reflecting the four of them. It looked as if an invisible thread was pulling him upright. His stiff arms lost their tension and hung down like limp rags.

His head rose, followed by his neck and chest. The motion tore at his fatal wound, causing a fresh surge of congealed, dark red blood to spill out. Then, his bones began to snap and pop as his waist and legs moved, forcing him to stand in a rigid, terrifying posture.

Zhang Chuanshi decided that the fact he hadn't soiled his trousers was an act of extreme bravery.

*Gulp.*

Fan Bisi swallowed hard. Under their gaze, the dead man stood trembling, like a child learning to walk.