Chapter 467

I never imagined that at such a critical moment, something so damned would happen.

I was hiding behind the tree when I saw the black figure clutching a knife and charging at Song Lin. Without a second thought, I snatched up my talisman and lunged forward—but the moment I lifted my foot, I lost my balance and fell flat on my face like a dog eating shit, my face smacking the earth in a fierce embrace as I gulped a big mouthful of mud.

I turned my head to see Pangzi's old man clutching my foot, and Pangzi himself had somehow shrunk into a dwarf, his lower half vanished.

"Hai Sheng, I fell into the pit!" Pangzi's eyes went wide, his face a picture of woe.

I: ＆%＆＆…………

"Sigh..." I rubbed my forehead, sighed, turned, and yanked Pangzi up. As they say, you fear no godlike opponent, only a piglike teammate—I finally got it.

"I didn't mean to—I was just nervous, didn't look where I was going and fell into the pit… then I reflexively grabbed you!" Pangzi gave an embarrassed grin, waving his hand as he explained.

I rubbed my throbbing temples and said, "Your timing for falling into that pit is really spot‑on."

"Actually, I didn't do well enough! Next time I'll definitely be more timely and more accurate!" Pangzi muttered, head bowed and cheeks burning.

Veins bulged on my forehead with rage; I couldn't help wanting to lash out and beat him senseless.

"Oh no, Brother Lin!" Pangzi gasped, snapping me out of my stupor. Without thinking, we grabbed our talismans and ran toward the bonfire.

"Wait, don't move!" I pushed aside the grass, grabbed Pangzi to stop him, and under his bewildered stare pointed to Song Lin ahead, saying, "Don't move—look!"

At the bright bonfire, Song Lin faced the swooping black shadow, his face deathly pale. It was too dark to see the shadow's details, but from its silhouette I could tell it was a tall, sturdy man in military uniform.

This military spirit must be Old Madman's father, Yuan Zheng, who became a deserter in the Huang'an Campaign. Even as a ghost he retained his military bearing, fiercely brave. In a single exchange he cut down all the ghosts playing Japanese soldiers with one stroke.

Yet what struck me as odd was that Yuan Zheng only attacked the ghosts playing Japanese soldiers; the other six, including Song Lin, who were playing the ** roles, were completely unharmed.

This naturally aroused my suspicion, and I promptly stopped Pangzi. At that moment a thought rose in my mind: perhaps Yuan Zheng had something he wanted to say to Song Lin.

"Come on, Brother Lin should be safe, right?" Pangzi urged anxiously.

"Wait a moment, trust me—Brother Lin won't be in danger!" Although I don't know what Yuan Zheng wants to say to Song Lin, I'm certain Song Lin isn't in danger. Yuan Zheng targets only the Japanese soldiers, harming none of the **—that's why I stopped Pangzi.

Yuan Zheng has appeared on the stage time and again to stir up trouble—but why? Is it because he has an unresolved obsession, or because the ghosts retain a hatred for the Japanese?

Hiding in the grass, Pangzi and I poked our heads out, staring intently at the bonfire sending sparks flying. The ghosts possessing the paper figures trembled at Yuan Zheng's aura. Even though Song Lin tried to stay composed, seeing Yuan Zheng's ghostly killing intent advance step by step, he couldn't help breaking into a sweat.

In the flickering firelight I saw Song Lin's legs trembling. Yet despite Yuan Zheng's suffocating aura, he gritted his teeth and held firm, refusing to show even a hint of fear.

Yuan Zheng wielded a blunt‑edged broken sword—a blade whose tip was dulled and snapped off halfway. He held that very broken sword and stepped toward Song Lin.

His steps were slow, yet he carried the calm composure of a soldier; his tall frame struck the ground with each step, a dull thud that created an oppressive, breath‑stealing pressure.

Yuan Zheng stepped before Song Lin; his blade flashed, and from our angle it looked as if he were slashing down at Song Lin. In an instant we were so startled our throats tightened. Almost reflexively, Pangzi and I lunged at Yuan Zheng.

But what happened next sent us tumbling head over heels.

Yuan Zheng actually dropped to one knee before Song Lin; the broken sword wasn't meant to slash him but to trace an arc and plant itself in the ground—only because of a later problem did it mislead Pangzi and me.

Seeing Yuan Zheng kneel, Pangzi and I forced ourselves to stop, scrambled up after our fall, and stared at the two figures at the bonfire's center without blinking. I wondered what ghostly trick Yuan Zheng's spirit was playing.

The bonfire scene presented this eerie spectacle.

Song Lin stood rigid, afraid to breathe loudly; his heaving chest showed his tension. Meanwhile Yuan Zheng knelt on one knee in a proposal pose, leading the uninformed to think he was proposing to Song Lin.

A "shasha" sound rose, like something brushing the sand or a child scratching characters into the dirt with a twig. Pangzi and I were puzzled, our thoughts sluggish for a while.

Has Yuan Zheng haunted Hujia Village for decades just to write? Could it be that in life he was a calligraphy master, and his death left him regretting never showing his skill? As a person he never fulfilled his dream; now as a ghost he simply has to be flamboyant.

As soon as that thought entered my mind I dismissed it. It's nonsense, utter nonsense—after all these years I've never seen a ghost so salty it's egg‑painful.

Perhaps Yuan Zheng had something he wanted to say in life but never got the chance; his ghost has lingered around Hujia Village for over a century just to utter those unsaid words.

Right, Song Lin is currently playing the regiment commander from the Huang'an Campaign—Yuan Zheng's former superior. Rumor has it that after sending off those deserters, the commander soon died in battle. And according to the aunt's earlier account, Yuan Zheng and those deserters had long vanished; even after the commander's death, Yuan Zheng never got to meet him.

Thinking of that, I calmed myself and fixed my gaze on the kneeling Yuan Zheng scratching characters into the ground with his broken sword. But we were some distance from the bonfire—we couldn't make out the letters, let alone Yuan Zheng's appearance.

Yuan Zheng remained on one knee, left hand gripping the sword as he wrote on the ground; this eerie atmosphere lasted about ten minutes. Then he slowly rose, bowed his fist to the standing Song Lin, turned, and walked into the valley, fading slowly into the wind—his back as straight and steadfast as a pine or ancient tree.

At the moment he vanished, Pangzi and I immediately sprinted toward the bonfire.

After using the command flag to disperse the terrified wandering souls, Pangzi and I helped Song Lin sit on a large stone. Just then I suddenly sensed a special atmosphere in the air.

The atmosphere was mournful, bringing tears to the eyes. Unlike last time, the lingering scent in the air conveyed, besides oppression and sorrow, four words: "no regrets."

That meant… Yuan Zheng's wish was fulfilled, his resentment dispersed, and he would no longer haunt the Yangjian.

I walked over slowly, crouched to look at the spot where Yuan Zheng had knelt, and saw the ground scrawled with six names in a crooked mess—Zhang Liushi, Long Three, You Xiaosheng… but Yuan Zheng's own name was missing.

Then, suddenly, a gust of wind swept through the air, blowing sand everywhere, and from the direction where Yuan Zheng had faded came a wailing, eerie howl—like a demon's wail or a grieving person's sob.

At the moment the wind's mournful howl rose, a sorrowful, penetrating voice echoed in the valley—just five words, yet each syllable pierced the ears and settled in the heart.

"Regiment commander, we are not deserters."

This voice was Yuan Zheng vomiting his heart's blood, tears streaming as it burst forth from his chest.

When the roar erupted, I staggered, blown to the ground by the icy gale, and without thinking my hands landed on the characters Yuan Zheng had written. Then a wave of weakness washed over me; a flash of light blinded my eyes, and I slipped into unconsciousness once more.

"Damn it, why is this fate acting up again?" That was the only thought in my mind before I passed out.

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