Volume Two: Secret Burial in the Cliff Valley — Chapter 118: The Corpse Walks the Corpse Path

The night wind blew, sweeping across the figure of the banner-bearer.

I had always been under the impression that the banner-bearer was wearing white robes. It was only then that I realized they were not robes at all, but a thick coat of white hair. As the wind gusted against him, the fur rippled and undulated.

What struck me even more was his peculiar physique; his torso was stunted while his legs were disproportionately long, creating an awkward, unsettling silhouette. The banner-bearer’s face was turned directly toward me, and his deep, hollow eyes were fixed intensely upon me.

Meeting that gaze made me involuntarily tense up, as if those eyes could see right through me. My conscience pricked; after all, I was no true bone-picker, yet here I was, masquerading in the gear of one.

I was now fairly certain that this banner-bearer was what Old Tantou had called a "Mountain Ghost." The only difference was that this one was much taller, standing at least six feet, whereas the one I had drawn out with my flashlight earlier had been barely five feet tall. But that was to be expected—just as there are different ranks among men, so too must there be among Mountain Ghosts.

I couldn't help but wonder why a Mountain Ghost would be acting as a banner-bearer. Was it a creature that had gained sentience, or was it being controlled by someone? A cascade of questions flooded my mind.

Noticing the sharpness of his gaze and fearing he might see through my ruse, I dared not meet his eyes and instead shifted my focus to the procession of corpses.

The banner-bearer removed the bronze bell from his banner and held it in his hand, keeping it silent. The procession of corpses ceased their advance and stood in orderly fashion along the small path.

And so, I stood there, flanked by two "Netherworld Guide" flags, a bone-seeking lamp at my feet, and sticks of incense clutched in my hand. One of the sticks was already lit, sending a wisp of smoke curling directly toward my nose. Opposite me stood the strange banner-bearer, and behind him, the eerie line of corpses destined for cliff burial.

This standoff lasted for a full ten minutes. Yet, those ten minutes felt longer than ten hours. Sweat poured down my forehead, streaming across my face, but I dared not wipe it away.

Hadn't Old Tantou said that these entities would pass by me, that the living would walk the living path and the dead the path of the dead? Why were they standing still? Could they tell I was a fraud?

As my mind raced with wild thoughts, I suddenly realized a critical error. In my nervousness, I had forgotten a vital step. Old Tantou had instructed me to recite a specific incantation at this moment.

Perhaps the banner-bearer had grown impatient; a glint of light flickered in his eyes under the moonlight, and he shifted his body, appearing ready to strike.

In my panic, I couldn't remember how the incantation began. A cold sweat broke out over me, and as the night wind bit into my skin, I shivered uncontrollably.

The banner-bearer raised the bronze bell in his hand again. With a sharp *clatter*, he rang it, the crisp sound piercing the silence of the mountaintop.

"Moun... Mountain, stone, water, earth..."

Spurred by the fright, the first line of the incantation finally tumbled from my lips. The banner-bearer, bell still raised, halted his movement upon hearing it.

"Mountain, stone, water, earth; seek the corpse, pick the bone. Dust to dust, earth to earth. The dead enter the tomb, the living seek their ancestors..." Suppressing my inner turmoil, I finally recited the full sequence. I repeated it a second time, then a third...

The banner-bearer stepped aside to the edge of the path, and his bell rang out once more.

With him out of the way, the procession of corpses was revealed. Dressed in burial shrouds, they shuffled forward, moving straight toward me along the path.

I had seen walking corpses before—in the underground parking garage at Tianyou Plaza, where two of them had attacked Liang Yue and me. So, the sight of them moving didn't come as a total shock. But today was different. Most of these bodies had been intended for cliff burial, meaning they had once been smashed to pieces. Because of their lingering resentment and restless souls, even the mountain dogs wouldn't touch them. That was why Old Tantou, the bone-picker, had collected them, and the corpse-stitchers had sewn them back together. These details seemed mundane when spoken aloud, but upon reflection, every step of the process was the stuff of a horror film.

The banner-bearer must have given the command to advance, as the procession drew closer.

These stitched-together remains must have been in this state for a long time; according to Old Tantou, they were kept in that mountain pool after being sewn to prevent decay. As they drew near, a pungent, strange odor hit me—not exactly rotting, nor quite acidic, but deeply nauseating.

Fortunately, they were all wrapped in large, baggy burial shrouds that covered most of their bodies, leaving only their faces and necks exposed. This lessened the visual impact for me.

The first to approach was a man, soaking wet. His face was unrecognizable, one eye missing, leaving only a hollow socket. The exposed skin on his face and neck was a bruised, grayish-blue, and from this distance, I could even see the jagged marks of the stitches.

I dared not stop my chanting, repeating the incantation over and over as the incense in my hand burned halfway down.

The man stopped when he reached me. I shuddered as I met his single, remaining eye. It had likely lost the ability to close, staring round and unblinking.

I could feel my voice trembling as I chanted; I had no idea what he would do to me next. Time was short, and Old Tantou hadn't had the time to explain the fine details.

I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to stay calm. I knew that if I did anything inconsistent with the role of a bone-picker, the consequences would be unimaginable. As Old Tantou had said, not only would I be finished, but he would be implicated as well. Having been through so much, I trusted his words implicitly.

The man lingered in front of me for ten seconds before suddenly opening his mouth.

When he did, the foul odor intensified, nearly making me vomit. Then, the smoke rising from the incense in my hand was drawn directly into his mouth.

I understood now. These corpses were dead; they no longer breathed, and certainly could not breathe through their noses. If they were to inhale the essence of this incense, they could only do so through their mouths.

After taking a deep breath of the smoke, he closed his mouth, hesitated for a moment, and then walked toward my right side.

I remembered that the flag on the right signified the path of the netherworld—the path for the dead.

And so, he passed me, circled around the flag, and continued down the path behind me.

Next came the second one—an elderly man whose features the corpse-stitcher had done a fine job of restoring, even recreating his beard.