Chapter 129: Hand in Hand with a Ghost

Zhang Chuanshi’s sudden outburst startled everyone so violently that Magistrate Pang let go of his lantern, which plummeted to the ground. With a sharp crash, the bean-sized flame was snuffed out by the impact of the falling lamp. The already dim light was instantly extinguished by more than half. Fan Bisi’s composure shattered, and he nearly dropped his own lantern as well.

Magistrate Pang’s mind went blank; his instinct was to reach down and retrieve the light, but his legs were locked in terror, and he found himself unable to crouch. Just then, Zhao Fusheng reached out and pulled him forward. "No need to pick it up. We’ve reached the Ghost Mausoleum."

Her words brought a sense of extreme terror, yet within that bottomless fear, there was also a bizarre, faint sense of relief.

"..."

The feeling was complex, and Magistrate Pang, who prided himself on being well-read, could not find the words to describe it. "My Lady—" he stammered, truly terrified.

As they neared the Ghost Mausoleum, the sound of "clanging" grew louder. It was not just a single source; it seemed as if craftsmen were hammering away from every direction. The rhythmic chiseling converged, vibrating so intensely that it caused a dull ache in their chests.

It was not only the elderly Zhang Chuanshi and Magistrate Pang who felt this piercing pain in their hearts; even the robust young man, Fan Bisi, felt a suffocating pressure with every strike, as if an invisible ghost hand were inside his abdomen, clawing at his intestines and churning his internal organs.

*Clang, clang.*

*Thump, thump.*

That was the sound of their own hearts hammering against their ribcages. With each beat, a wave of numbness washed over their bodies, as if they were gradually losing control of their own limbs.

Zhang Chuanshi instinctively pressed the Soul-Binding Registry against his chest. The talismans on the ghost book crawled across his chest, the supernatural power of the ghost curse temporarily suppressing the influence of the malevolent entity and pulling him back from the brink of death.

Among them, Zhao Fusheng, who controlled a ghost, was faring the best. Yet even she found the chiseling uncomfortable. She glanced at the pallid Magistrate Pang and made a swift decision: "Let us enter the mausoleum and find the malevolent ghost."

Magistrate Pang was, after all, just an ordinary man. He had been lucky enough not to die silently at the hands of the ghost like the carriage driver, but the closer they got to the mausoleum, the worse his condition became. He was drenched in sweat, clutching his chest as he stumbled forward. Zhao Fusheng looked at Zhang Chuanshi, who immediately understood and stepped in to support the old magistrate.

In the darkness, the group stumbled forward. Before them stood a broken stone stele about half the height of a man. The jagged top edge looked like the fangs of a monster in the dark. The stele was pitch black, carved with two large, blood-red characters: *Mausoleum Garden!*

"Blood—it’s bleeding!" Zhang Chuanshi suddenly shouted in panic.

His shout made Zhao Fusheng’s heart tighten, and she instinctively looked toward him and the magistrate. Magistrate Pang was gasping for air, his lips white and his hair disheveled. He wore a vermilion robe, making it impossible to tell if it was stained with blood. However, his fingers, which clutched his chest, were deathly pale, and there was no blood visible between his knuckles.

As Zhao Fusheng hesitated, Zhang Chuanshi whispered, "The stone stele is bleeding."

The group looked toward the stele, even the breathless Magistrate Pang lifting his head. Zhao Fusheng signaled to Fan Bisi, who steadied himself and approached with his flickering lantern. They saw that the characters on the stele were carved inward and filled with red paint, which stood out sharply against the black stone. However, the Yin energy within the Ghost Domain was immense, and dew had accumulated on the surface. The droplets converged and flowed down the red paint, making it look as if the stone was weeping blood.

Fan Bisi gathered his courage and wiped the stele; his hand came away wet, and he shook his head. "It’s not blood. It’s just water droplets."

It was a false alarm. Zhang Chuanshi let out a silent sigh of relief. Afraid that Zhao Fusheng might scold him for making a fuss, he guiltily hoisted the near-lifeless Magistrate Pang onto his shoulders to make amends.

"Don't dally. Move inside," Zhao Fusheng commanded. She did not waste time, turning to Fan Bisi. "What is the layout of the Ghost Mausoleum?"

Fan Bisi shook his wet hands. "The entrance is simple. Another ten yards or so, and we will reach the gate of the mausoleum."

Zhao Fusheng nodded. "Let's go."

The path was paved with blue stone, but the ground underneath was uneven. Some stones wobbled underfoot, as if resting on tangled roots that snapped with a crunching sound. Combined with the incessant rhythmic hammering, the atmosphere was profoundly eerie.

Zhao Fusheng took the lead, followed by Zhang Chuanshi supporting the frail Magistrate Pang, with Fan Bisi bringing up the rear, glancing around warily. The four of them had only one lantern left, and its flame was growing smaller. Despite Fan Bisi’s desperate efforts to shield it, the light shrank until it could barely illuminate the lantern itself.

"My Lady—"

As he watched the wick burn down to the final spark, the flame died with a faint hiss.

The remaining red glow flickered twice, and then they were plunged into total darkness.

*Thump, thump, thump.*

Their hearts began to pound wildly against their chests. The sudden arrival of darkness actually jolted the near-fainting Magistrate Pang into a state of sharp alertness. He straightened his back, no longer needing Zhang Chuanshi to carry him. "Did I... did I lose my sight?"

Zhang Chuanshi snapped, "You wretch, you dared to trick me into carrying you—"

"I didn't—"

"Enough! Stop arguing!" Zhao Fusheng barked.

*Ding, ding, ding—*

*Clang, clang, clang—*

The chaotic sound of chiseling poured in from all sides, forming a wave of noise that assaulted their eardrums. Without the light to guide them, the group felt a momentary, disorienting trance, as if they had suddenly lost all sense of direction. They no longer knew where they had come from or where the entrance to the mausoleum lay.

After a long moment, Zhao Fusheng forced herself to remain calm and moved her toes. Her cloth shoes were already soaked through from the heavy Yin energy of the Ghost Domain. Her feet were numb and aching from the cold, and every movement sent a sharp sting through her.

Though she could not see, she used the orientation of her feet as a guide. "Fan said that after the stele, it is ten yards to the entrance," her voice rang out in the dark. Unlike the quick, strained breathing of the others, her voice was calm, almost cold. This coldness, however, steadied the group, anchoring their panic.

"I have been counting. We have walked about twenty or thirty steps. With my stride, that is roughly halfway there."

Seeing her remain so composed, the others felt as though they had found their backbone and nodded.

"We will continue forward. Since it is dark and we have no light, hold onto each other to prevent getting lost," Zhao Fusheng ordered.

"Understood," Zhang Chuanshi replied first. He tucked the Soul-Binding Registry into his robes and reached out a hand. "Magistrate Pang, take my hand." He then reached out his other hand. "Fan, grab onto me."

The three grasped each other, but it felt wrong. Fan Bisi and the Magistrate instinctively let go, both reaching for Zhao Fusheng instead.

"Don't grab my hands, grab my clothes," Zhao Fusheng instructed. "My hands need to hold something." She had to keep one hand free for her ghost arm and the other ready to produce the life-buying money from the underworld.

Fan Bisi and the Magistrate took hold of her hem.

They moved slowly. Even though they were halfway there, the darkness was so absolute that the short distance felt like an eternity.

*Tap, tap, tap—*

At some point, the sound of footsteps around them grew heavier and more frequent, as if other "travelers" were walking alongside them in the darkness.

Zhang Chuanshi grew increasingly restless, the silence pressing down on him like a mountain. "Magistrate Pang?" he tentatively called out.

"I—I'm here," came the quick reply. Zhang Chuanshi breathed a sigh of relief. Before he could ask again, Fan Bisi added, "I'm here too."

Still afraid, Zhang Chuanshi asked, "My Lady?" As he spoke, he let go of Fan Bisi’s hand to reach for Zhao Fusheng’s hem.

Fan Bisi immediately snapped, "Old Zhang, are you losing your mind?"

As soon as Zhang Chuanshi let go, he regretted it and reached back out, laughing nervously. "My mistake." He reached to grasp Fan Bisi’s hand again. "Don't be angry, Big Fan. I was just scared and wanted to touch the Lady's robes for courage." He paused, frowning. "Wait, Big Fan, why is your hand so cold?"

He shuddered. "Did I grab the wrong one?"

Fan Bisi, who had been groping blindly, had also grabbed a hand. He replied irritably, "No! I'm holding you." Then, he also felt uneasy. "And you say my hand is cold? Yours is even colder."

Both men’s palms were slick with cold sweat; when they had gripped each other earlier, it felt damp and oppressive, but now, the hands felt completely devoid of warmth and somewhat stiff.

"Stop talking," Zhao Fusheng said, coming to a halt. "We are likely near the entrance."

Her words sent a chill through them. Just then, Fan Bisi and Zhang Chuanshi both cried out in unison:

"Magistrate Pang, what are you doing?!"

"Old Zhang, what are you doing?!"

The Magistrate and Fan Bisi, holding Zhao Fusheng’s hem, had sensed her stop immediately. When she stopped, they stopped. Zhang Chuanshi, however, could not discern the situation through the noise and only realized Zhao Fusheng had stopped when he felt the others move.

"I—what did I do?" the Magistrate asked, sounding terrified and aggrieved.

"Why did you suddenly stop?" Zhang Chuanshi grumbled. "Do you know how terrifying it is to be trapped in this place?"

The surrounding clanging and tapping—sounds that should have been chaotic—had created a white-noise effect that only emphasized the eerie silence.

"The Lady stopped," the Magistrate said.

"The Lady stopped, so why were you walking forward, Old Zhang?" Fan Bisi asked indignantly.

He was holding a hand that was pulling him forward. As he spoke, he tried to hold back the person he thought was Zhang Chuanshi, but the figure possessed startling strength.

"I'm not walking! I'm being pulled by you..." Zhang Chuanshi cried out in terror.

As soon as he spoke, Fan Bisi fell silent. They both realized what had happened and simultaneously let go. As they did, footsteps echoed: *tap-tap, tap-tap.* It sounded as if two "people" were slowly walking past them in the dark.

Zhang Chuanshi and Fan Bisi frantically rubbed their palms against their clothes, wishing they could scrub away a layer of skin.

...

Zhao Fusheng ignored them. Their ability to bicker proved their spirits were still high. The closer they got to the mausoleum, the stronger the pressure from the malevolent ghost became. She took another cautious step forward. Fan Bisi and the Magistrate, still reeling from the previous encounter, shrieked in terror when they felt her move.

"Quiet," Zhao Fusheng said, her nerves pulled taut. Every time she handled a ghost case, even with the Investiture of the Gods in her possession, she was gambling with her life. She could not afford the slightest lapse. "I am moving forward."

As she explained, their breathing calmed slightly, and they took a step forward behind her. Fan Bisi and Zhang Chuanshi no longer dared to reach out and grab anyone, preferring to leave their hands free rather than touch an unknown ghost in the dark.

But Zhang Chuanshi was too afraid. Guided by the sound of Zhao Fusheng’s voice, he gathered his last bit of courage and reached out, tightly gripping the back of her robes, refusing to let go. The cloth held the warmth of a living body, a temperature that dispelled the gloom of the ghost hand he had touched earlier.

Zhao Fusheng did not reprimand him. She led them two more steps forward, and suddenly, their field of vision cleared.

One moment, they had been immersed in an endless abyss; the next, as they stepped into the bounds of the mausoleum, the power of the darkness seemed to be dampened by the residual seal of the ghost. The black mist that had obscured their sight faded significantly.

They could now see their surroundings. The three men stood in a disheveled heap, still clutching Zhao Fusheng’s clothes, at the entrance of the Ghost Mausoleum.

The entrance was bustling. Countless figures with vacant expressions stood before the gate, surrounding a stone pillar. Their faces were pallid, and black energy had diffused into their eyes, obscuring the whites. Each figure had a fist-sized hole in their chest, and the blood flowing from these wounds had soaked their clothes. The carriage driver who had died earlier was mixed in among them. Each figure held a tool, incessantly chiseling away at the stone pillar of the Ghost Mausoleum.