In the pitch-black passageway of the bomb shelter, Lin Wushui and Xie Dingxin walked one behind the other.
They had entered ahead of Zhang Xianyu and had already reached the depths of the shelter.
This part was different from the outer sections—iron-rust-red moss covered the tunnel walls.
These mosses probably started as wild growth, but after soaking in blood and corpses for so long in this corpse-breeding pit, they mutated into a bloody red hue.
Over time, the moss formed a symbiotic relationship with the breeding ground, absorbing nutrients from decomposing corpses and secreting a red sticky fluid that seeped into the earth, further nourishing the pit.
“These things are getting more and more disgusting,”
Xie Dingxin said, stepping on the soft ground.
The moss felt disturbingly like soft human fat, and red fluid oozed with every step.
Lin Wushui didn’t look any more comfortable, but these red mosses had been here for so long that they’d become part of the ecosystem.
They had once tried to clean them out, but the moss grew back quickly.
Eventually, they gave up trying.
The deeper they went, the thicker the moss grew, and the air became saturated with a foul, bloody stench.
Xie Dingxin pulled a gas mask from his backpack and put it on.
Unlike Lin Wushui, who was a special case, Xie was just a regular human with some spellcasting skills.
Prolonged exposure to the toxic air could cause irreversible damage to his organs.
Lin Wushui, however, had a different constitution.
He was supposed to die at the age of seven, but his family brought in a Taoist master who literally dragged his soul back from the underworld.
Since then, his body changed—he looked like a normal person, but he was practically half-dead.
When his soul left his body, he was as strong as a ghost king.
His physical form was a burden, though over the years, his body had been nourished by his soul and was now incredibly resilient—ordinary poisons and miasmas no longer harmed him.
Xie looked at him with envy—it was incredibly uncomfortable wearing that mask.
“We’re here.”
Lin Wushui stopped in front of a cave reeking of rot.
It used to be a spacious storeroom or bomb shelter.
But in 1938, after the Japanese army occupied Jiangcheng, they turned Jiangcheng University into a command center.
When they discovered this underground shelter, some officer obtained a method for raising corpses, attempting to create an invincible zombie army.
They built a corpse-breeding pit and dumped countless bodies into it over seven years.
But perhaps the method was wrong, because they never succeeded before Japan surrendered.
The area was then abandoned.
In 1950, during postwar reconstruction, the government rediscovered the shelter while promoting air defense projects across the city.
Jiangcheng University’s underground shelter was remembered again.
Underground tunnels were built everywhere, forming a network like the Great Wall.
That was when they found the abandoned breeding ground.
Due to the heavy yin energy underground and the resentment of countless corpses, the bodies hadn’t decayed for over two decades.
Some looked exactly as they did when alive, many with horribly twisted death poses.
When the government tried to retrieve and properly bury them, workers found the corpses were packed in dense layers.
Worse, at night, the bodies would “move.”
Corpses cleared out one day would disappear by the next morning, sometimes turning up elsewhere—or reduced to limbs only.
Workers began dying mysteriously, and the project was shut down.
Rumors of hauntings spread.
To calm the public, the entire tunnel was sealed off and a Taoist master was invited to perform a mass exorcism.
Whether it worked or the seal held, nothing happened again—until the 1980s.
Xie Dingxin’s master was invited to evaluate the feng shui of the university and discovered the tunnel was now a haven for ghosts.
He went down and found a supernatural nest.
Attempts were made to resolve the issue, but there were too many entities.
Letting even one loose could endanger lives.
Worse, in the center of the pit were a few extremely powerful entities.
His master barely escaped during a confrontation.
Ultimately, every local Taoist temple joined forces to set up a seal near the pit’s center.
It was meant to hold the threats until they could be eradicated later.
But that “later” never came.
His master passed away, and the sealing formation was passed down to Xie Dingxin, who had to reinforce it every five years.
Recently, however, things were getting worse.
It had only been three years since the last reinforcement, and the seal had already broken.
Worse, the creatures inside were now trying to escape.
“They’re trying to break the seal,”
Lin Wushui said, staring at the formation core, which was now mostly covered in red moss, leaving only a tiny area exposed.
The formation used to be so powerful that no ghost dared come near.
But now, even the walls of the cave were covered in moss—less densely than outside, but still alarming.
The things inside were trying to get out.
Xie stepped around him, inspecting the core.
Small flags placed in a five-element formation were rusted and drooping, soaked by the moss’s fluid—the formation had mostly failed.
“Looks like you made the right call,”
Xie said with a bitter smile.
Even if Lin Wushui hadn’t suggested purging the place, they had no choice now.
It was do-or-die.
“Tell the people outside to prepare,”
Lin said calmly.
Xie exhaled heavily and dropped his backpack.
From a side pocket, he pulled out a red talisman—the last pair of communication charms they had.
There was no signal inside the shelter; this was the only way to send a message.
He instructed the outside team to set up formations to prevent escapees, then burned the talisman.
After that, he replaced the flags at the formation’s core and stuffed the last of his talismans into his clothes.
He picked up his copper coin sword and, with grim determination, said,
“Let’s go. Screw it. Worst case, we die.”
Lin shot him a look.
“You’re swearing again.”
Xie: “…”
Is now really the time to argue about that?
Their banter eased the tension slightly.
Xie slung the sword over his shoulder, loaded up his other tools, and followed Lin deeper inside.
In the darkness, countless entities were watching.
Xie could even hear them crawling through the moss with a faint “sasa” sound
Above them, green-glowing eyes flashed and vanished.
Wailing echoed through the tunnels, and twisted shadows flickered around them.
Zhang Xianyu had not had a peaceful time in the shelter either.
It was a ghostly playground.
In the pitch-black halls, all manner of strange monsters appeared in unpredictable ways.
He ducked under the gaping mouth of a lanky ghost and spun, slapping a Five Thunder Talisman onto it.
Before it exploded, he twisted its long neck to ensnare two others, binding all three to the explosive talisman.
Then he dashed forward, and behind him, the talisman detonated—turning four ghosts into ash.
The blast shook the corridor slightly.
Zhang Xianyu dusted himself off and kept moving forward.
The deeper he went, the more monsters he encountered.
Zhang Xianyu sighed and patted the talismans in his pocket.
There were more ghosts here than he had expected.
He had only managed to draw a handful of talismans in a rush earlier today, and now he was worried they wouldn’t be enough.
He would have to conserve them as much as possible.
Turning a corner, Zhang Xianyu paused slightly, frowning at the strong stench of blood in the air.
The tunnel was overrun with red moss, some of it dripping a crimson fluid that, at a glance, looked just like blood.
He took out a Breath-Sealing Talisman, burned it, and swallowed the ashes.
The red moss looked suspiciously sinister, and he didn’t know if the stench was poisonous—better to play it safe.
The sensation of stepping onto the moss made his skin crawl.
It was soft and squishy, and he got goosebumps all over.
Fighting off the nausea, he continued forward.
Suddenly, a faint cry for help echoed from a side passage to the left.
It was a girl’s voice—weak and full of despair, her cries mingled with sobbing.
Zhang Xianyu stopped to listen for a moment, then remembered what Zheng Pang had said last night—that someone from the school had gone missing.
He changed direction and headed toward the source of the voice.
The moss in the left passage was even thicker, covering the ground so completely that it began to swallow his shoes.
In just a few steps, the tops of his sneakers were soaked in the moss’s sticky red fluid.
Zhang Xianyu winced—he’d just bought those shoes.
He quickened his pace toward the cries.
He noticed footprints in the moss, as though someone had fled through here in panic.
Stuffing his hand in his pocket, he followed the increasingly loud sobbing and turned another corner—only to come upon a cave.
The trail of footprints ended there.
The cave was covered with thick moss.
Zhang Xianyu bent down and peered inside.
In the farthest corner, he could just make out a small, thin girl curled up with her head buried in her arms.
It looked like she had cried herself hoarse—now she could only let out broken, weak sobs.
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