Chapter 440: Chapter 378: Better to Hear the Wailing of Ghosts than the Laughter of Ghosts
"Drip.
"Drip.
A stream of warm, sticky liquid was dripping onto Wuma Haoming’s head, but he didn’t dare look up, sure that what was hanging above him was a hand, a hand clutching a piece of stone with a sharp edge.
Without a doubt, it was this stone that had smashed Hu Yanming’s head.
"It’s over..." Wuma Haoming’s heart sank into despair.
...
Yang Xiao remembered Mi Shu’s warning and retreated step by step, maintaining his rhythm, clearing his mind, restraining himself from random thoughts. Soon, the chilling cries faded, until they were completely inaudible.
Even so, Yang Xiao kept his eyes closed until he heard Mi Shu’s relieved voice, "We made it out!"
Indeed, upon opening his eyes, the scene had changed: the marked tree with the twisted neck was gone. Everyone crowded around, only to see Wuma Haoming sitting on the ground not far away, crawling backward little by little with hands and feet.
"What happened to him?" Yang Xiao asked in a low voice, noting Wuma Haoming’s bizarre posture as if he were possessed.
Even Mi Shu was bewildered. She did not recall encountering such a situation during past missions; those targeted by ghosts all had their heads smashed, and she had never seen anyone crawling backward like this.
No one dared to disturb Wuma Haoming until Mi Shu gathered the courage to walk over and observe. After a moment, she kicked him with the tip of her foot. Wuma Haoming immediately burst into tears. Although his eyes were shut tight, tears streamed down his face, and he bit his lips, looking pitiful.
"Wuma Haoming!"
Yang Xiao approached and called out to him. Having heard a different voice, the terrified Wuma Haoming finally dared to open his eyes. Although he was nearly scared to death when he touched the cold, bare foot, he didn’t dare to open his eyes or make any noise, changing his angle to avoid the female ghost before continuing to move his body backward, inch by inch.
Sui Chengguo sighed and couldn’t help but advise, "What you’re doing is too dangerous. Your actions are different from everyone else’s, you should get up as quickly as possible and keep moving backward."
At these words, Wuma Haoming nearly lost control, tears swirling in his eyes, "I want to, but... but my legs won’t cooperate. I was so weak at the knees, my calves were cramping... I could hardly even crawl, let alone stand up."
Regardless, they were out of danger for now. After briefly confirming their direction, Yang Xiao and the others continued toward the edge of the woods. Along the way, Yang Xiao suddenly felt something poking at his chest. Reaching in, he pulled out the cloth bag, but surprisingly, the stone inside had changed; it had grown silently from the size of a walnut to the size of a fist.
Yang Xiao opened the pouch and reached in, but it was just as before; he couldn’t feel anything, the bag was empty.
Although he didn’t know what it really was, this unknown sensation exerted immense pressure on Yang Xiao, urging him to hasten his pace.
Soon, everyone finally emerged from the woods, but the next second, the sight before them made them all pause in astonishment—a moonlit expanse revealed Chaos Burial Mound before them, with dozens, hundreds of graves haphazardly arranged, appearing particularly horrifying under the night sky.
"Let’s go back, let’s skirt around it," Yang Xiao decided. The cemetery looked too ominous; it was better to avoid it.
But the moment he turned around, the woods behind them had disappeared. Looking around, there was only the desolate and dilapidated Chaos Burial Mound.
A gust of night wind swept through, and from the Chaos Burial Mound came a "woo-woo" sound, as if someone was sobbing softly.
Wuma Haoming, still not entirely over his fear of the ghost, froze at the sight of these desolate graves. He rubbed his eyes vigorously before he allowed himself to believe it wasn’t an illusion, "I... I’ve been here before."
Similar to Mi Shu’s experience, this burial ground was also part of a past mission he had faced. With Mi Shu’s example, the exchange among everyone was much smoother. Wuma Haoming quickly recounted the path to safety from that mission.
In this burial ground lay a male ghost, who had died a rather aggrieved death. He was a merchant in town, dealing in tea leaves—though not exceedingly wealthy, he lived a comfortable life. However, his wife was having an affair with the steward behind his back. The two conspired to seize the merchant’s wealth and, deciding to go all the way, the merchant’s wife poisoned him, hastily arranging a funeral after his death.
But unbeknownst to anyone, the merchant wasn’t dead; he had simply passed out. He came to groggily as his coffin was being taken to the burial, and his wife who followed the procession, wailing, heard his cries for help from inside the coffin. Fearing exposure, she urged the few confidants present to hurry up, and so the ceremony went on as usual, and the merchant was buried alive.
Fearing that the merchant’s resentful spirit would not dissipate and become a Fierce Ghost seeking vengeance, his wife and the steward consulted and paid a hefty sum to a wandering Taoist. Under the cover of darkness, they had the merchant’s coffin unearthed from its original resting place and taken to chaos burial mound for a hasty burial. The Taoist then performed rituals nearby to not only suppress the merchant’s soul from ever crossing over but also to extract his life fortune and bless the businesses run by the merchant’s wife and the steward—a win-win indeed.
No sooner had the story ended than they all heard a ghastly laugh, unclear whether it was from a man or a woman. The sound was oppressively repressed, chilling to all who heard it.
