Chapter Five: The Female Corpse Returns

To speak of it—that’s impossible, I still need to keep my head down and grow stronger. Fang Mu shifted the wooden box in his hands further behind him and said, “I don’t know anything. I’m just a coroner.”

The woman before him was highly suspicious, as was the entire organization known as the Celestial Observation Office. Fang Mu had no intention of getting further involved with them.

Qing Ruowu nodded, allowing Fang Mu to leave without hindrance.

After Fang Mu departed, Qing Ruowu approached the female corpse, reaching out to gently prod its head.

As her fingers stirred the head, the corpse’s eyelids suddenly fluttered violently. The corners of its mouth lifted in a faint, eerie smile, its lips splitting open to reveal a crimson maw.

It looked as though it were grinning.

Qing Ruowu said coolly, “Tonight, I will keep watch over you. I wish to see what you might do.”

It seemed the corpse heard her words, for its twitching eyelids snapped open. Where once had been whites, now only a blood-red glare remained.

“There is a path for the living among mortals. Stray from it, and you lose yourself. It seems you still do not understand.”

Qing Ruowu’s gaze turned icy, the tear-shaped mole at the corner of her eye growing more distinct.

The corpse’s eyes slowly closed again, and the smile faded from its lips.

...

After a long and arduous trek, Fang Mu finally returned home to his house in the wilderness village.

A thread of true energy burned within his body, keeping exhaustion at bay, as though the fatigue from a sleepless night had been completely swept away.

“So this is the power of this world?” Fang Mu stared at his hands, feeling as though he could now kill an ox with a single punch.

The thread of true energy lingered in his dantian, yet obeyed his will as if it were an extension of his arm, ready to move wherever he wished.

“Right, that letter.”

Fang Mu retrieved a letter from his storage, tearing open the envelope.

There were faint traces of blood on the envelope, and the paper inside was similarly stained, as if plum blossoms had fallen upon it. The writing was clear and legible.

“I’m so afraid. For the past few days, a shadow has been appearing in my dreams, drawing closer and closer to me, clutching four objects in its arms.”

“Every night I dream of him. The four things in his arms come ever nearer. I can hear them crying, hear their shouts—they’re calling my name. Until last night…”

“I didn’t dream, but I saw him, standing outside my window, still cradling those four things… He said…”

‘You belong to me…’

The letter ended there, a hasty scrawl at the bottom.

Four plump circles, arranged in a neat square. From this alone, it was impossible to tell what they represented, other than their square formation.

“What does this mean…” Fang Mu stroked his chin, the contents above shrouded in ambiguity.

A scorched scent suddenly filled the air. The letter was slowly turning to ash in his hands.

He let go; his palm was already empty.

“Who is that person, really?” The only thing certain was that the person who had watched the woman from outside her window—the likely murderer—was the one in question.

“Hm… huh?”

Suddenly, a chill swept over Fang Mu, as though some terrifying presence had fixed its gaze upon him.

The coldness was almost tangible, not some illusory sensation.

“So, it’s my turn now?” Fang Mu glanced around; all was silent, nothing seemed amiss.

Yet the bone-deep chill clung to him, relentless and impossible to shake.

From the moment the headless corpse had come for him, Fang Mu had expected this moment would arrive.

The icy sensation lasted only a short time before vanishing without a trace.

Fang Mu checked the ghostly dagger and bloodstained undergarment tucked in his coat, then set the wooden box back on the table.

Having stepped through this door and opened himself to this world, there was nothing left to fear.

All he needed was to adapt, just as he had when he first touched a corpse.

...

Night fell. In the little wooden hut, only the faint glow of the oil lamp flickered.

Fang Mu sat on a three-legged stool, adjusting the lamp’s wick with his fingers.

The flame brightened slightly, pushing back more of the surrounding darkness.

Outside, under the moonlight, the blurred forms of the forest seemed like monstrous hands, shadows dancing across the window paper.

The thread of true energy coursed through him, banishing all fatigue.

It was close to midnight, yet nothing unusual had happened.

Fang Mu rose and moved to the wooden bed, sitting down slowly with his back against the wall.

Suddenly—a change!

The lamp’s flame on the table wavered violently, its steady glow swaying side to side.

The surrounding darkness pressed in, like a beast circling prey, creeping hungrily toward the circle of light.

The warm glow of the flame was fading.

Fang Mu looked over—at some point, the flame had turned green.

He silently stood, drawing the ghostly dagger from his coat.

The bloodstained undergarment remained tucked away, reserved for a last resort—the five seconds of immobilization could make all the difference.

“You… belong to me… You belong… to me…”

At that moment, an eerie, broken voice sounded from outside the hut, chilling to the bone.

The words matched those in the letter—the same ones spoken by the figure who had watched the woman from outside her window, haunting her even in life.

At this thought, Fang Mu looked up, his brow twitching involuntarily.

A shadow stood outside the window, twisting and distorting in the green light.

“Belong to you? Then come and take me.”

Though the danger was real, a strange thrill crept into Fang Mu’s veins, excitement intermingled with fear.

Crack!

A sound like bones breaking rang out.

The shadow’s neck suddenly snapped, the head dropping into its hands.

Fang Mu licked his lips, gripped the ghostly dagger tighter, and slowly approached the window.

The closer he drew, the more rapidly the green lamp flickered.

The figure outside lifted its hands, reattaching its head with a series of grisly clicks.

A low moan echoed.

Fang Mu slashed out with the ghostly dagger, the blade wailing with the cries of the dead.

True energy surged within him; the dagger pulsed with a crimson light.

Rip!

The sound of paper tearing—the dagger pierced right through the window, stabbing into the figure beyond.

As true energy poured into the blade, red fire flared from it, reducing the window to ash.

A shriek rang out—the neatly dressed female corpse had been stabbed in the chest, howling in agony.

“Come on, then.”

Fang Mu pressed his attack, seizing the corpse’s head, yanking out the dagger and thrusting it up through her jaw, scorching her with burning true energy.

“You like scaring people, do you? How does it feel now?”

In the burst of firelight, Fang Mu’s eyes were more terrifying than any vengeful spirit.