Chapter 38: The Funeral Home in the Morning Twilight

"Woo-woo-woo~"

The wind howled into the pitch-black, dense forest, emitting an eerie sound that sent a surge of adrenaline through anyone who heard it. Zhao Tianlin looked at the surrounding darkness and the tombstones looming not far away, swallowing hard.

Walking through the mountains in the middle of the night was truly terrifying. But his train had been delayed, and to save a bit on his remaining travel expenses while trying to get home earlier, he had been forced to take the shortcut through the mountains.

Seeing the small mounds of earth nearby, the various funeral wreaths, yellow spirit money, paper currency printed with the names of the Jade Emperor and the "Bank of Heaven and Earth," and the empty, filthy bowls and dishes left behind, a deep, primal fear began to well up from within him, uncontrollable.

However, reminding himself that those buried here were all people from Zhao Village—his own elders—he felt his fear subside just a little.

*Hoo...*

He needed to hurry through this graveyard. Once he reached the path ahead, it would lead straight down the mountain to Zhao Village. The longer he stayed here, the more his skin crawled.

Just then, a beam of light, appearing out of nowhere in the graveyard beside him, immediately caught his attention.

In an instant, his hair stood on end, his scalp prickled, and his entire body tensed up. Why would there be firelight in the mountains in the middle of the night?

Could it be... could it be that he had encountered some mountain spirit or wild monster? As a child, he had always heard the village elders say that there were unclean things on the mountain that emerged at night when the yin energy was heavy to harm people.

Could it be...

His thoughts spiraled, but his legs remained stubbornly rooted to the spot, feeling as if they had been filled with lead. He couldn't move an inch. His eyes were wide, fixed squarely on the flickering light.

By the glow, he saw a figure in front of a grave. The figure was facing away from him, pulling items from a basket and laying them out one by one before the pristine tombstone.

Are those... offerings? But what kind of sane person comes to make offerings in the middle of the night!

"...I have come up from below... only to... offend..."

He heard the figure muttering something. He couldn't make out the exact words, but in the quiet, dense forest, the voice sounded jarringly sharp and sinister.

Cold sweat drenched Zhao Tianlin's forehead, and his back was soaked through; he felt as if he had been plunged into a pool of water. He wanted to run, but his legs refused to obey, and he couldn't even control his trembling hands.

*What do I do... what do I do... I think I really have encountered one of those unclean things... Am I going to die on this mountain... I want to go home...*

Just then, he watched, frozen, as the figure with its back to him slowly stood up, holding a pickaxe.

*Clang!*

The pickaxe fell from the figure's hand onto the ground.

Zhao Tianlin couldn't help but gasp, "Ah..."

The moment he made a sound, he saw the figure turn its head and cast its gaze toward him.

***

The face was unnervingly strange in the light of the fire; the features seemed veiled in a layer of mist, yet they were remarkably clear.

"Ah!"

Zhao Tianlin’s legs suddenly regained sensation. With a shriek, he waved his arms, turned around, and bolted down the mountain, not daring to look back.

Meanwhile, Zhang Hao watched the screaming figure run off into the darkness, a look of utter confusion on his face. What was that about? Why did he scream and run away? He had only dropped his pickaxe and scared the guy off. To have such fragile nerves and still come up the mountain at night—honestly...

However, he didn't dwell on it. Getting the job done was the priority.

He picked up the fallen pickaxe, placed it aside, and knelt respectfully before the tomb of Old Master Zhao, bowing three times. The series of actions he had just performed, including placing the sacrificial fruits from the basket, were part of a simple ritual required to collect a burial shroud.

If the incense sticks planted before the grave remained lit and upright, if the offerings were undisturbed, and if there were no cold gusts of wind, it meant the occupant of the grave had consented to the removal of the shroud.

After a long while, the silent, dense forest remained still. Zhang Hao breathed a sigh of relief. He reached out toward the burial shroud on the grave, cut off a piece of the black fabric, and tucked it into his tattered basket.

This damaged basket was used specifically for carrying burial shrouds and roots from trees growing on graves. According to the *Records of Mountain Travels*, such items held immense yin energy; they could not be placed in an ordinary, intact basket, nor in a spirit-binding basket. They had to be kept in this tattered one to keep the yin energy from dissipating.

With the shroud secured, Zhang Hao bowed three times to Old Master Zhao’s grave and stood up. He scanned his surroundings and finally set his sights on a small tree in front of the tomb.

Without hesitation, he stepped forward, drew a knife from his waist, found the "three-inch-six" mark on the small tree, and severed it. He then used the pickaxe to dig up the roots, placing them into the tattered basket as well.

The shroud and the grave tree were done. Next were the most difficult items: the tears of a mourning widow and the ashes of a woman from ten scattered households...

A soft sigh echoed through the eerie graveyard. Zhang Hao shook his head helplessly, picked up his basket, and turned to leave.

***

By the time he reached the foot of the mountain, the old men who had been cooling off in the evening air had already gone home to rest, and few houses in the village still had their lights on. Under the hazy moonlight, Zhang Hao walked home with the pickaxe in one hand and the tattered basket in the other.

As he crossed the threshold into his courtyard, he saw Li Siyue, dressed in Hanfu pajamas, sitting outside the main hall. Her gaze was fixed on the entrance, and Xiaobai was sleeping at her feet.

"Did you find the items?" Li Siyue asked, exhaling in relief.

Zhang Hao nodded. "I did. It's late; you should get to sleep. I'll tidy up a bit and be in shortly."

"Okay."

Li Siyue stood up, moved the chair into the main hall, brought Xiaobai inside, and closed the door.

Zhang Hao didn't think much of it. He carried the basket into the side room, set everything down, and collapsed onto the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling with furrowed brows.

*Ashes from ten scattered households... Tears of a mourning widow...*

Only these two things remained. Once he had them, he could attend the Fox Wedding and have a chance to obtain the treasure. But how... how was he supposed to get these two things?

The main issue was that the ashes of the ten scattered households had to be collected when the yin energy was weak and the yang energy was just beginning to stir—between 4:00 and 6:00 in the morning. The widow's mourning tears had to be collected before the yang energy peaked—before 8:00 in the morning.

Ashes, a widow's tears... where could he get those?

Suddenly, a thought occurred to him. Before he could even organize it, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

"Hello? Brother Zhao? I remember you’re heading to town to pick up supplies tomorrow morning, right?"

"Yeah, I'm leaving at 3:00 a.m."

"Brother Zhao, could you give me a lift? I happen to need to head into town, too."

***

3:00 a.m.

Two beams of light illuminated the dirt road ahead. A van traveled along the bumpy path. Zhang Hao, exhausted, sat in the passenger seat, closing his eyes to rest in silence.

Zhao Yuan, who was driving, glanced at him but said nothing. He was used to driving alone, and he simply treated Zhang Hao’s presence as if he weren't there at all. They drove on through the bumpy terrain for about an hour.

"Haozi, Haozi, wake up," Zhao Yuan nudged him.

Zhang Hao slowly opened his eyes, staring straight ahead. "What is it, Brother Zhao?"

"We're about to enter town. You still haven't told me where you're going," Zhao Yuan said.

Zhang Hao yawned, rubbed his eyes, and looked at the road ahead. It wasn't dawn yet; everything was pitch black, and he could only vaguely see the road through the low beams.

"Almost there. Just keep driving straight."

"Sure." Zhao Yuan muttered something under his breath, but didn't ask again, continuing to drive the van forward.

A short time later, Zhang Hao leaned forward to look. "Here, Brother Zhao, you can just drop me off here."

*Screech.*

Zhao Yuan pressed the brake, pulling the van to a smooth stop by the side of the road. Not far away, there appeared to be a hill with a complex of buildings on it.

"Thanks, Brother Zhao."

Zhang Hao opened the door, stepped out, and headed up the path nearby.

Zhao Yuan watched his back suspiciously as he disappeared into the misty morning light, muttering to himself, "Where is this place?"

He lowered his head and looked up through the passenger window. His pupils contracted, and his expression turned unnatural, for he saw a massive road sign that read:

[Yaqian Town Funeral Home]