Chapter 192: Filial Piety

If not for the village chief leading the way, even if they had passed by this place, they likely wouldn’t have realized these were graves.

They didn’t even have tombstones.

Looking out over the clearing ahead, the sight of densely packed jar-shaped graves was horrifying.

"This is our village’s burial ground," the village chief said, his wrinkled eyelids drooping, obscuring his gaze. "In the past, every villager who reached the age of sixty was sent here."

They would dig the graves in advance, stacking bricks nearby. The sons would personally carry their parents inside, then bring one meal a day and add one brick each time, until the small opening was completely sealed shut.

Faced with these jar graves that had once buried countless people alive, everyone present felt chills run down their spines. The production assistant shivered and forced a laugh. "You’ve… abolished this custom by now, right?"

The village chief nodded. "It was abolished in my generation. But…" He paused, swallowing whatever he was about to say, and changed the subject. "Even though it’s daytime, this is still a burial ground. You should finish filming quickly and not linger too long."

The director hastily waved his hand, and the crew sprang into action—some making offerings, others setting up the scene. The actors were called under a makeshift canopy for a briefing.

Ning Xue had initially worried that with the producer personally overseeing things, Li Zhi’s role might overshadow hers. But upon reviewing the script, she realized everyone’s parts remained largely unchanged—Li Zhi was still a minor character with few lines.

Relieved yet puzzled, she thought to herself, What a fool, wasting such a perfect opportunity to demand more scenes.

Noticing Ning Xue’s gaze, Li Zhi looked up and smiled at her. Ning Xue flinched and turned away, only to hear Lu Caiwei whisper, "The chief said the burial custom was abolished in his generation. So his own parents must have been…"

Zhao Yangzhou sucked in a breath. "How is this custom any different from murder? Every elderly person in this village is a killer."

They had all once carried their aging parents into these graves to starve to death.

Now, the custom had been abolished, and the village had declined. The younger generation who left for work never returned, nor did they bring their elderly parents to live with them in the cities.

Though spared from live burial, these 留守老人 (left-behind elderly) could only await their lonely deaths in this remote village.

What a vicious cycle of retribution.

Those who had once killed their parents would never receive filial piety from their own children.

"I used to pity them," Lu Caiwei said, her expression conflicted. "Now, it just feels like karma."

During rehearsal, the crew member responsible for making incense offerings suddenly rushed over in a panic. "Director! The incense won’t stay lit!"

He held three sticks of incense, their tips briefly lit before extinguishing. "They go out as soon as I place them down. There’s no wind—I don’t understand…"

Burning incense before shooting horror films was tradition—a ritual observed regardless of personal beliefs. Most crews did it for peace of mind, but after last night’s incident with Ning Xue and now this, the already uneasy cast and crew grew even paler.

"Maybe the incense is just poor quality?" The director, skeptical, walked over and took the sticks, lighting them again.

Paper money had already been burned at the four cardinal directions, and offerings were laid out. The desolate graveyard now felt even more sinister.

Though the director didn’t believe in the supernatural, he followed every step of the ritual, bowing in each direction while murmuring, "Respected elders and villagers, we apologize for disturbing your resting place. These humble offerings are but a token of our respect. Please forgive us."

After the prayer, he turned and called, "Xue'er, Li Zhi, come here. All main cast members should pay respects."

Everyone stepped forward. Ning Xue, still shaken from last night, bowed with extra reverence. When they placed their incense sticks into the ground, all eyes fixed on the burning tips.

A minute later, the director smacked the crew member’s head. "What do you mean ‘won’t stay lit’? They’re burning just fine!"

Li Zhi watched the incense sticks. Wisps of white smoke curled upward, but three of them burned noticeably faster than the rest. In the last dungeon at Liu Village, she’d seen Liu Youcai—a drowned ghost—inhaling the smoke, causing the same rapid burning.

Were there ghosts crouching beside those three sticks now?

And why only those three?

Whose offerings were they?

Li Zhi scanned the area, her gaze finally settling on Ning Xue, who was reviewing her script.

What’s the female lead’s story?

Once the set was ready, the director called "Action!" and filming began.

The scene focused on the protagonist Xiao Xue, who, upon returning to her ancestral village with friends, was warmly welcomed. Her purpose was clear: relocate the graves. But upon reaching the burial site, she found the tombs unlike any she’d seen before.

When she questioned the villagers, all she got were evasive answers about customs. Grave relocation wasn’t as simple as digging up bones—it required a feng shui master to determine the proper time and location. After paying respects, Xiao Xue returned to the village, puzzled, to await this so-called master.

During Ning Xue’s shoot, Li Zhi skimmed the upcoming plot.

Staying in the old family home, Xiao Xue and her friends encountered a series of eerie events. The grave relocation faced constant, inexplicable obstacles, forcing them to prolong their stay.

Eventually, Xiao Xue and the male lead discovered that the village entrance was being bricked up, just like the jar graves. The longer they stayed, the more sealed the exit became.

The entire village had turned into a giant jar grave. The moment they entered, they’d already been buried alive.

The director’s script ended here, leaving the rest unknown. After reading it, Li Zhi couldn’t help but admire his dedication to realism and artistry. The horror story was genuinely well-crafted.

Lu Caiwei, however, looked grim. "I’m checking the village entrance for bricks as soon as we go back."

Li Zhi burst out laughing. While the two chatted, a sharp reprimand cut through the noise: "What’s wrong with you? If this camera gets damaged, can you even afford to replace it?!"

They turned to see the cinematographer berating Shi Ziliang from Tianwen, who worked as a camera assistant. Apparently, he’d nearly dropped the equipment, earning the crew’s ire.

Forced into submission, the usually ruthless Shi Ziliang took the scolding without protest.

Lu Caiwei frowned. "Something’s off about him."

Li Zhi didn’t know Shi Ziliang well. "How so?"

"He’s not the careless type. Why would he mishandle the camera?" She paused, brow furrowing. "Do you think he saw something through the lens?"

Li Zhi glanced around. They were on break—no filming was underway. The cinematographer had only been adjusting angles.

Had Shi Ziliang spotted something through the camera?

They studied him again, but he seemed normal, just nodding along to his superior’s lecture.

Filming at the graveyard continued until afternoon. With no NG takes, progress was smooth, pleasing the director. After packing up, they returned to the village. The old house set had already been prepared—several key scenes were scheduled there that night.

The day passed without incident, but by dinner, Li Zhi realized Zhao Yangzhou was missing.

With dozens of cast and crew members bustling about, no one knew when he’d vanished or where he’d last been seen.

Aside from Tianwen’s members, the other players gathered during the meal, their expressions grim.

"Did Zhao Yangzhou trigger some death condition?"

"He was here at lunch. Later, he went down with the production team to set up at the old house. I saw him go inside, but not come out."

Everyone recalled the elderly figure Ning Xue had seen in the house last night.

Xing Qingyue’s teeth chattered. "D-do you think the ghost in the house… ate him?"

Li Zhi remembered the hunched figure outside her window—the gaunt jaw clacking up and down, teeth gnashing emptily, as if starving.

Had Zhao Yangzhou really been eaten?

They couldn’t let the NPCs learn a player had disappeared. When the director called the cast together after dinner, Li Zhi and Lu Caiwei lied: "Zhao Yangzhou got an urgent call from home. He left in a hurry and quit."

The director nearly blew a fuse.

Lu Caiwei quickly added, "Must’ve been a family emergency. His role was minor anyway—just write him out as missing. No big deal!"

While the players scrambled to cover up the disappearance, Tianwen’s members quietly regrouped around Shi Ziliang.

Chen Jiaoyun whispered, "Are you sure Zhao Yangzhou’s disappearance is linked to what you filmed?"

"He was with everyone all day, didn’t do anything unusual. No way he triggered a death condition." Shi Ziliang suppressed a shudder, recalling what he’d seen. "Just bad luck—getting caught on camera with that ghost."

Xie Zhen cut in, "Killing through mirrors is too restrictive. This dungeon’s death conditions can’t be that simple. Being filmed alongside a ghost must be one of them."

Shi Ziliang smirked at Li Zhi, who was speaking with the director. "We discovered the death condition first. Let’s see if she can avoid it." He lowered his voice. "I’ll use the camera to locate the ghosts. You lure Li Zhi into position. If not her, target Peacock’s members. We’re taking at least one of them down."

After finalizing their plan, they dispersed. Shi Ziliang’s role gave him an advantage—those who never touched the camera would never suspect this rule.

Dinner ended as night fell. Tonight’s scenes would all take place in the old house. Still traumatized from last night, Ning Xue resisted entering.

The director tried calming her, though her fear ironically matched her character’s emotions in the script.

Before filming began, Tianwen’s members exchanged glances. Shi Ziliang received the signal and began sweeping the set through the camera lens, searching for the ghost.

The lens panned across rows of decaying wooden doors, over the cleared weeds in the courtyard, past the lightbulb attracting moths under the eaves. Shi Ziliang pressed close, scrutinizing every corner.

He searched meticulously, but after a long while, the lens captured nothing supernatural—just crew members coming and going.

Frowning, Shi Ziliang straightened to rub his sore back. Catching Chen Jiaoyun’s questioning look from afar, he shook his head and bent down again, eye pressed to the viewfinder.

A woman in a black dress suddenly appeared in the frame.

Her ankle was twisted, red high heels on her feet. Behind her hair, pupil-less eyes stared straight through the lens at Shi Ziliang as she grinned.

"Looking for me?"