Translator: CinderTL
Dawn had broken outside. Jiang Cheng and the others were gathered in the living room, all of them with their heads bowed, their expressions indescribably strange.
Two corpses lay on the floor, their faces covered by clothing.
"How... how could this have happened?" Zhao Xingguo slumped to the ground, still reeling from shock. They had entered this world less than two days ago, and now he was the only survivor of his team.
The two corpses were Pan Du and Linghu Yong.
"I should be asking you that," Fu Fu sneered, her voice filled with disdain. "How could you lead a team into a dungeon and not even keep track of your own people?"
"It's bad enough that they're dead, but you couldn't even recognize the living? Are you blind?" Though young, Fu Fu showed no respect for Zhao Xingguo in her words.
"Enough," Luo He said calmly.
His tone was flat, and his gaze held no emotion. It wasn't pity he felt for Zhao Xingguo, but rather a contempt that made him unwilling to engage in conversation.
"Tell us about what happened to you," Jiang Cheng said, turning his gaze away from Luo He's calm face and finally settling on Huai Yi and the others.
As if receiving a silent command, Huai Yi began to recount their experience. They had discovered Linghu Yong's body in the final, largest room.
When they found him, the body was lying on the luxurious bed, hands folded neatly over his chest, a bizarre smile frozen on his face.
Just like the previous victims.
What chilled them to the bone even more was what they found after the decorative painting on the gate fell.
It was a yellowed photograph.
In the center stood a man with a grotesquely twisted body, his chicken-claw-like hands curled up, and his body covered in ragged wounds.
The wounds revealed no flesh or blood, only dry grass, as if a human skin had been draped over a scarecrow.
It was Linghu Yong.
With this discovery, they found photographs behind every decorative painting on the corridor gates.
The photos featured both men and women, all apparently members of the Feng family.
The moment they saw Linghu Yong's photo and corpse, they immediately realized that Jiang Cheng's team was in danger.
Just moments earlier, the two teams had split up.
To avoid alarming their target, they hadn't used any lighting. Instead, they had calculated the timing and agreed to meet at 2:00 AM sharp to begin their operation.
The poor lighting only allowed them to make out vague shapes. They remembered there being a total of ten people—five in each team.
"Could it be... Linghu Yong was already dead then? Was the Linghu Yong in our team a Ghost?!" Pi Ruan seemed to grasp the truth as well, his pupils trembling uncontrollably as he stared at the corpse on the ground.
"That's one way to put it," Lin Wan'er replied, glancing at the other body lying nearby. "It's Pan Du."
Like Luo He's team, Jiang Cheng's team hadn't encountered the eerie fog. They had reached their target area without any trouble.
According to Jiang Cheng's plan, Crippled Liu should be living nearby. After all, with his bad leg, his range of movement wouldn't be very extensive.
As they searched, they encountered a problem. The area seemed to be where servants lived, with numerous, densely packed rooms and winding, uneven alleyways.
Before long, they realized they were lost.
After walking for some distance, Jiang Cheng stopped. He realized this wasn't just a simple case of getting lost.
He had an excellent memory and had been following a fixed direction.
Based on the distance they'd covered, they should have already left Feng Manor.
The problem wasn't the path beneath their feet, but themselves.
A Ghost had infiltrated their group, lurking right beside them.
Just like in the gold mine tunnel.
Jiang Cheng subtly began observing the people around him. Including himself, there were five of them. Each face was familiar, showing no signs of deception.
He used the excuse of maintaining vigilance to fall back to the rear of the group, continuing his observation until a hand waved in front of his face.
Lin Wan'er pointed a finger at the ground, and after a moment, Jiang Cheng narrowed his eyes slightly, then nodded his chin as if nothing was amiss.
Just moments ago, their group had stepped through a puddle, leaving wet, muddy footprints behind them.
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Amidst the numerous footprints, several bare footprints appeared. They were small, seemingly those of a child.
These tiny, crooked footprints followed closely behind Linghu Yong, their spacing suggesting they were practically glued to his back.
"Everyone, be careful," Fatty's voice rumbled, kept low. His thick neck was buried in his collar, and his small eyes darted nervously, betraying his heightened vigilance. "Something's not right around here."
"Understood," Linghu Yong replied, hunching his shoulders as he stood beside him.
Just as Jiang Cheng noticed the strange footprints behind Linghu Yong, a peculiar sensation washed over him, momentarily clouding his senses.
The next second, as he opened his eyes, before he could even fully register the scene before him, Fatty let out a bloodcurdling scream. "What the hell is going on?!"
Before him stood a rigid, upright figure, still facing away from them in a walking posture, but the body's owner had changed.
It wasn't Linghu Yong, but Pan Du, who should have been lying peacefully dead in his room.
"So, the illusion vanished after the Ghost was exposed," Luo He analyzed. "Just like before."
In the tunnel, it was Luo He who had exposed the Ghost among them, though through a different method—by calling Na Ruhu's phone.
Pan Du didn't seem like a Ghost. The thing clinging to his back was the true threat. At best, Pan Du was merely a puppet.
"There are tiny footprints. This Ghost must be a child," Huai Yi mused, stroking his chin. "Or at least, it's manifesting as a child."
"Right, we were lured into that room by a song," Huai Yi continued. "It was... it was 'Cherry Blossom Fall.'"
The folk song known only in Yangzi's hometown, the straw effigy, the wish-making ritual, the capricious deity, and now the newly discovered child's footprints...
The clues seemed to be multiplying, yet they all pointed to a Shinto shrine far away in a foreign land. They certainly wouldn't have enough time left to travel to the Eastern Ocean.
"Could it be," Fatty whispered, "that there's something wrong with that shrine? That it's not a deity being worshipped there, but a Ghost?"
"That Ghost came here with the Eastern Ocean people, crossing the sea..."
Fatty trailed off, scratching his head. He seemed to realize his explanation was too vague, but couldn't figure out how to phrase it better.
(End of the Chapter)
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