Chapter 10: "Burying the Dead in the Mountain Village"
Those were an old woman’s feet.
In some backward, superstitious places, foot-binding was still practiced. The bound feet were no longer than a handspan, swollen and squeezed into handmade cloth shoes. The black shoe straps dug into the puffy flesh of the feet, leaving marks like bloated lumps of dough.
The axe slipped from Zhu Zhibo’s grip. Without even a scream, he scrambled away in terror.
The others noticed his panic and hurriedly asked, “What’s wrong?!”
Zhu Zhibo’s throat tightened, his scalp prickling. For a moment, he couldn’t speak, his face deathly pale. But when he looked back at the spot, the old woman hanging from the tree was gone—only the swaying willow branches remained.
Yet this time, he was certain he hadn’t imagined it. He had even touched those feet!!!
Zhu Zhibo, a two-time award-winning actor, was on the verge of tears. “I saw it again! There was an old woman hanging from the tree!”
Li Zhi frowned and decisively ordered, “Cut it down quickly and let’s get out of here.”
Lian Qinglin immediately stepped forward, picked up the axe, and delivered the final blow to the already weakened branch. With a rustling sound, the branch fell to the ground. The group hastily dragged it away, none daring to look back.
Only when they reached the foot of the mountain did Zhu Zhibo glance back, heart still pounding. Amid the lush green peaks, the narrow path was shrouded in white mist, endless and eerie, as if leading straight to the underworld. He shuddered violently and hurried to catch up with the others.
When they returned to the courtyard with the willow branch, someone stood at the gate holding an umbrella in the drizzle.
Hearing their approach, the man lifted the edge of his oil-paper umbrella. The face beneath the umbrella gazed at them through the misty rain. Lian Qinglin clicked his tongue in envy from behind. “This guy always looks like he wandered onto the wrong movie set.”
Li Zhi studied the handsome, youthful face and nodded in agreement.
She walked over, smiling. “Mr. Li, we’ve brought back the willow branch. Now we’ll need your help in making the spirit banner and funeral rods.”
Li Jianxi’s eyes lingered on the raindrops clinging to her lashes, the light refracting in her sparkling gaze. He said nothing for a long moment before finally nodding. Turning, he walked back into the courtyard, still holding his umbrella.
Under his expert guidance, the spirit banner and funeral rods were quickly completed. The white cloth of the spirit banner bore the village head’s name, birthplace, and dates of birth and death. As Li Zhi watched Li Jianxi write the characters with a brush, she was surprised by how elegant his handwriting was.
Digging a grave was grueling work, especially in the rain, which turned the clay soil sticky and heavy. After a quick lunch, the group set out with their tools.
The grave’s location had been chosen by the feng shui master, so Li Jianxi accompanied them the entire way. Standing at the courtyard gate with his slightly tattered oil-paper umbrella, his eyes swept over Li Zhi as she approached carrying a shovel. Suddenly, he asked, “Do you need an umbrella?”
Li Zhi blinked in surprise, then smiled. “No need. I’m already soaked. Thanks.”
Li Jianxi silently lowered his gaze and turned to lead the way.
In clan-based villages like Guanping, the deceased were buried in ancestral graveyards—even the village head. The cemetery wasn’t far from the ancestral hall. Crossing a field, they arrived at a plot dotted with grave mounds.
The newer graves were up front, remnants of incense and paper money still visible. Further back, however, weeds ran rampant, swallowing the older tombs. With the village’s dwindling population, no one tended to the ancestral graves anymore, leaving the cemetery desolate and forlorn.
Li Jianxi led them to the chosen burial site. At the appointed hour, they first burned paper offerings. Then Gao Shijun, the oldest among the players, took on the role of the eldest son and dug the first shovel of earth.
A red sheet of paper lay on the ground to the northeast. With trembling hands, Gao Shijun poured the first shovelful of dirt onto it, officially beginning the grave-digging.
It was far from easy work. The group slogged through the mud, their shovels caked with heavy clay, each movement requiring immense effort. The grave had to be deep—at least 2.2 meters, as dictated by the feng shui master.
But compared to washing and dressing a corpse, this purely physical labor was far less psychologically taxing.
While the players dug, Li Jianxi stood silently under a cypress tree. At first, he held his umbrella, but when the rain stopped, he folded it and stepped forward to avoid the dripping branches.
At one point, Li Zhi turned and caught him looking at her. From a distance, she nodded and smiled.
Li Jianxi awkwardly averted his gaze.
Li Zhi raised an eyebrow, amused. This NPC was intriguing—clean, pure, and seemingly devoid of malice toward the players. She wondered what role he played in this dungeon.
By dusk, the grave was finally dug. The players covered it with a tarp to prevent rainwater from pooling overnight.
Just when they thought the day’s tasks were over—with only the burial left for tomorrow—Li Jianxi spoke again: “The burial is tomorrow. Tonight, you must conduct the ‘night calling.’ Prepare for it.”
The term “night calling” sounded ominous.
The group tensed. Xu Shu quickly asked, “What do we need to prepare? How do we do it?”
Li Jianxi explained the tradition: after dark, they were to carry the village head’s spirit tablet through the village, burning paper money and calling his name at every crossroads until they reached the village’s earth god temple at the far end.
The players’ faces paled.
Even in the real world, this would be terrifying. In a ghost-infested dungeon? Unthinkable.
Calling the dead at night—who else might answer?
The mood was heavy as they returned to the courtyard. One ordeal after another, with no end in sight. The mental and physical strain left everyone exhausted. Dinner passed in complete silence.
As night fell, the overcast sky hid even a single star. The half-moon was smothered by thick clouds, leaving no trace of light.
Li Zhi stood. “Let’s go.”
Xu Shu added, “We’ve made it this far. If we follow the NPC’s instructions, we’ll be fine.”
They drew lots to determine the order. Xu Shu went first, carrying the offerings. Chi Yi was second, holding the spirit tablet. Li Zhi came third with the lantern, followed by Gao Shijun, Lian Qinglin, and Zhu Zhibo.
As the six filed out of the courtyard, Li Jianxi stood at the gate. His words were both a warning and a reminder: “Once you start, do not turn back. Do not look behind you.”
They shivered but nodded.
From the courtyard to the earth god temple, they burned paper money and wailed the village head’s name at every crossroads. If a household was nearby, they lit a guiding lantern at their door—both to lead the spirit and mark the path, ensuring the group didn’t retrace their steps on the return.
They quickened their pace, eager to finish. At the first crossroads, they crouched in a line and lit the paper money with matches.
Flames leaped up, ashes scattering like ghostly embers in the night. At first, there were only quiet sobs. Then someone suddenly let out a loud, terrified wail—a genuine outburst of fear. The others, caught up in the moment, joined in with exaggerated cries.
Amid the weeping, Li Zhi’s clear voice rang out: “Dad! Come home! Come back to us!”
Her tone was as firm as a pledge of allegiance.
The crying paused. Chi Yi, torn between fear and laughter, whispered, “What are you doing?”
Li Zhi replied, “We can’t just cry. You handle the tears; I’ll handle the calling. Keep going.”
The others: “…”
Her interruption killed the mood. The forced sobbing became half-hearted.
After burning the paper, they moved on. Nearby, a villager slowly lit a lantern under their eaves.
With Li Zhi loudly calling “Dad, come home” at every stop, the eerie ritual took on a darkly comedic tone. The players’ terrified wails turned into exaggerated, almost performative cries, lightening the atmosphere.
Gradually, more guiding lanterns flickered to life across the village, pushing back the darkness. Following these markers, the group finally neared the earth god temple.
The village’s edge was deserted. The lanterns faded behind them, plunging the surroundings back into darkness. The only light came from Li Zhi’s lantern, casting the group’s shadows onto the narrow path.
Zhu Zhibo grumbled quietly, “How much farther? I’m exhausted.”
Lian Qinglin teased, “Brother Zhu, your stamina’s lacking. Hit the gym with me when we get out.”
Chi Yi chimed in, “If we survive, I’m definitely exercising more! Imagine being too slow to run from danger.” The mention of the outside world lifted their spirits. “Zhi, let’s go to the gym together, okay?”
Li Zhi smiled. “Sure.”
Zhu Zhibo sighed self-deprecatingly, “Guess I’m getting old. My back aches after just this short walk. I’ll train hard once we’re out.”
Li Zhi was listening to Chi Yi’s chatter when Zhu Zhibo repeated, “My back aches.” Something felt off.
Zhu Zhibo was a fit man in his thirties who clearly worked out. This short walk shouldn’t have winded him. Even Chi Yi, the least athletic, was fine. Why was he complaining so much?
Suddenly, Li Zhi had the overwhelming urge to look back.
They hadn’t turned around once. No one knew if their six-person procession had… grown.
But Li Jianxi’s warning echoed in her ears. Instead, she subtly angled the lantern behind her.
The light cast six shadows onto the overgrown path.
One, two, three, four, five—the first five shadows swayed normally. But Zhu Zhibo’s shadow at the end was different: bloated and misshapen, as if something else clung to his back.
There—was someone riding on his shoulders.