Chapter Twelve: The Moonlit Corpse

“No, you must never let the female corpse be exposed to moonlight. If she turns into a Moonlight Corpse, the two of us will be completely outmatched!”

My heart pounded with dread. Moonlight?

But hadn’t she already been illuminated by the moon at the very beginning?

“Grandpa Zhao, but the corpse was already bathed in moonlight when we started!”

“What?”

As soon as I uttered those words, I felt an icy chill spreading along my thigh. The paper spirit clung tightly to my waist, trembling ceaselessly—it was clearly terrified.

“Damn it, why didn’t you say so sooner!”

Grandpa Zhao’s expression grew grave. He bit his middle finger, pressed it to my forehead, and in an instant, flipped upside-down above the reservoir. His legs gripped my head, and with a powerful motion, he sent me flying away. As I soared through the air, I saw him draw three yellow talismans. With a flick of his wrist, they burst into flames.

Hiss! Hiss! Hiss! Hiss!

A woman’s agonized shriek echoed through the night.

I had barely landed on my feet when Grandpa Zhao appeared by my side.

“This is bad—it’s changing. Something major must have happened over at Chu Yi’s place!”

I hurriedly pulled out my phone to call, but the line was dead—the phone was switched off!

I snatched the paper spirit from my waist, gripping it tightly. Just then, with a buzzing noise, a woman shot out of the hole I had crawled from earlier.

Bathed in moonlight, her form grew all the more striking. Her already exquisite face was now illuminated to breathtaking brilliance. Her long, jet-black hair cascaded like a waterfall, gleaming enchantingly under the moon. She wore an ancient white robe, pure and elegant, straight from another era.

She hovered above the Lingquan Reservoir, her face blank with confusion as she gazed around—at us.

“Grandpa Zhao, what do we do now?”

I edged closer to him, whispering my question.

He shook his head, grip tightening on his peachwood sword.

“Who are you?”

The woman suddenly spoke, her eyes fixed on me.

I was taken aback. Was she asking because I had ventured down to see her, or because I’d used the peachwood token against her? Was I now entangled with her?

I hesitated, unable to answer. Her gaze shifted from lost to sharp and piercing, so much so that I nearly collapsed in fright. Anyone else might think this was the beginning of some romantic moonlit encounter, but I knew better—this woman was a corpse, uncorrupted after decades in the water.

Imagine: after all these years, her skin unblemished, and now she speaks.

Truth be told, I was so terrified I could barely utter a word.

In that moment, the woman’s figure flickered—she drifted toward me, not walking, but gliding, as if plucked from a film.

She was solid, a tangible corpse, yet she floated with ease.

Just as she was about to reach me, Grandpa Zhao stepped forward, peachwood sword flashing in a graceful arc.

Bang!

But the woman, dressed in ancient white, merely flicked her hand, sending Grandpa Zhao flying.

She advanced toward me, step by step. My whole body trembled with genuine fear.

“Who are you?”

She repeated her question, now barely a meter away. I could almost smell her—not the stench of decay, but a faint, alluring fragrance, almost hypnotic. I bit my tongue to keep from swooning, aware that female ghosts often had the power to bewitch.

“I… my name is… Yang Dong!” I stammered, barely managing to say my name.

Suddenly, I felt a coldness on my neck and then a sensation as if I were weightless, soaring upward.

Before I could react, the woman in white had seized me and darted toward the village entrance. There was an urgency in her expression, as if something demanded her immediate attention.

I struggled under her grasp, gasping for breath. The suffocating grip was worse than death itself.

“In the name of silver, soldiers of the underworld, possess me!”

Just as I was about to faint from lack of air, Grandpa Zhao appeared behind me, his entire body glowing with a faint light. In his hand, the peachwood sword gleamed blood-red.

Without the slightest hesitation, Grandpa Zhao plunged the sword toward the woman’s back.

In a flash, she released me, spun around, and caught the sword in her hand.

A sizzling sound filled the air. In the moonlight, I saw the sword gradually blacken, while her hand shriveled and rotted before my eyes.

Yet she seemed unfazed. Releasing the sword, she opened her palm.

Moonlight bathed her hand, and as if by magic, her flesh slowly regenerated, returning to its flawless, jade-like state—exactly as it had been before, as if nothing had happened.

At that moment, Grandpa Zhao tossed aside the sword and pulled me to safety.

The woman was about to approach, but a piercing scream echoed from not far away. She paused, frowning, then turned without another glance at us and drifted swiftly toward the source of the scream…