Chapter Thirty-Five: Blood at the Bottom of the Bowl

On the forehead of my old squad leader sat a black bowl—a protective charm for our vital organs in death, known as the “Heavenly Bowl Cover.” It was said to safeguard the departed from falling into the hungry ghost realm, sparing them the torment of the hungry ghost’s fire mouth punishment.

But now, at the bottom of that black bowl... blood was seeping through.

When I saw this ominous sign, my face twitched sharply from the shock. If it weren’t for Hongye by my side, I might have fled on the spot.

“What’s going on now?” I asked anxiously, bewildered.

Compared to me, Hongye’s face was even paler, her fear evident. Yet despite this, she stretched out her hand and pointed, saying, “It’s the bowl... it’s cracked!”

Following her finger and words, I suddenly noticed a deep crack running through the black bowl on the old squad leader’s forehead—from the bowl’s rim straight through to its bottom. The dark color had concealed it from my careless eyes until now.

But that wasn’t my main concern.

For alongside the crack, I spotted a few drops of fluid glistening faintly beneath the bowl’s base.

It was the black cat’s blood!

Instantly, I realized I had been too forceful earlier. After the cat was stabbed, its fresh blood had sprayed from its cavity, then, as if led by some ghostly force, had fallen into the bowl on the squad leader’s forehead.

The worst part... the bowl itself was cracked.

In that moment, I was at a loss for what to do.

In the stillness of the gentle breeze, as the sun slipped away, my old squad leader’s face gradually darkened. The blood beneath the bowl seeped out, increasing drop by drop, trickling down his forehead, inching closer to the corner of his eyes.

Though he did not move, a rising dread swelled within me.

At a funeral, the last thing one wants to see is “red.” And now, with dead cat’s blood smeared on the squad leader’s forehead, how could anyone stay calm?

Caught between inner terror and outward shock, sweat freshly beaded on my brow, only to be replaced by new cold perspiration. My body began trembling uncontrollably.

Not an exaggeration to say, I was teetering on the edge of collapse.

Silently, I prayed... “Squad leader, you must hold on. We’re all dead, but you can’t rise again to meddle in these superstitions.”

Just then, from behind me, Zhao Haikun unexpectedly called out softly, “Bu’er, don’t panic. What’s going on?”

His voice was low, clearly aware of the situation and cautious not to alarm me further.

I turned toward him slowly, my expression heavy as I told him and Sister Gui Yuxiu, “The squad leader’s forehead... there’s cat’s blood.”

Those words caused Sister Gui to slump down in shock, and Zhao Haikun trembled violently.

“What do we do?” Hongye breathed out, shivering in the cold.

I could only shake my head.

For a moment, complete, absolute silence fell over us all.

Yet, at that very moment, from inside the squad leader’s coffin came a faint “creak creak” sound.

Sparse and eerie, the noise crept into my ears like an invisible hand scratching my neck, making every hair on my body stand on end.

It sounded like a person grinding their teeth in their sleep.

I shuddered, turned my body, and stared blankly at the squad leader’s corpse.

His eyes... had opened.

A buzzing filled my mind.

Unlike the cloudy eyes that had opened when the master of rites sealed the coffin earlier, now the squad leader’s eyes gleamed with an unfathomable darkness and malice.

As the cat’s blood trickled further into his eyes, they widened, growing rounder and more menacing.

With the widening gaze came clearer, more distinct grinding sounds from his mouth.

“Creak creak, crack crack”—it hit me suddenly.

The squad leader... was rising from the dead!

At that moment, Zhao Haikun had struggled to push his wheelchair into the mourning hall. He caught sight of the squad leader’s terrifying expression and was equally shocked.

But then, he pointed toward a corner of the hall where a coffin lid stood propped up and said urgently, “Bu’er! Close the coffin! This coffin... it’s made with ink-splitter wood!”

His words sparked a flicker of clarity in me.

I had read in TV shows and gossip magazines that ancient methods to prevent the dead from rising often involved rooster’s blood or ink-splitter coffins. Though not all were true, they held some practical wisdom.

Moreover, the master of rites had prepared such an item before overseeing the squad leader’s funeral, though I didn’t know his purpose. Still, it was worth a try.

Following Zhao Haikun’s direction, I immediately spotted the ink-splitter coffin panel resting against one side of the hall.

I dashed forward and, summoning all my strength, lifted the heavy coffin lid—it surprisingly yielded to my effort.

I realized it was made of birch wood, known for its lightness. So, despite my dread, the coffin lid was not as heavy as I had imagined.

It seemed the Zhao family had rushed the funeral preparations after the squad leader’s sudden death. Even the coffin was of inferior wood, far from premium quality.

But at this critical moment, I had no time to dwell on such details. The lightness of the lid was a blessing, reducing resistance to my movement.

Steadying my grip on the panel, I braced myself and moved as swiftly as I could toward the squad leader’s coffin.

Amid the women’s screams and the intensifying teeth grinding, I knew time was life. I was the only hope in everyone’s hearts.

I couldn’t expect these women, who feared even mice, or my disabled Uncle Zhao to help.

Yet even so, moving the coffin lid alone was no easy task. I tried to speed up, but haste only made things worse.

At the worst moment, the squad leader’s grinding grew louder—and, most terrifyingly, his head began to twitch rhythmically.

In panic, I watched his corpse's unnatural movements accelerate, but the coffin lid stubbornly resisted being closed.

The desperate urgency inside me snowballed into hopeless despair.

Helpless, I shouted, “Who’ll give me a hand? Don’t just stand there!”

Honestly, I didn’t expect anyone to help...

But surprisingly, amid this strange and chaotic scene, Hongye truly stepped forward.

She was a heroine reborn.

Hongye ran over, grit shining in her eyes. Together, we grasped the heavy coffin lid, and I instantly felt the burden ease.

With her assistance, I finally managed to seal the coffin lid over the squad leader’s remains.

Then, we waited quietly, silently praying.

Strangely enough, the moment the lid closed, the grinding ceased abruptly.

Everything seemed to return to calm.

Still shaken, I caught my breath, then stood and gratefully patted Hongye’s shoulder.

“You truly are a heroine, Hongye! No wonder you’re fit to be a supervisor…”

But Hongye did not respond with ease.

Instead, she widened her eyes and looked up at me, her voice trembling softly, “Old Tian! What’s that on your body?”

At her words, everyone’s gaze turned toward me with a strange intensity.

Startled, I looked down at myself.

What... was on me?