"Corpse? Three corpses?" What was Zhang Qing talking about? This was my grandfather and my parents—what did they have to do with corpses?

Zhang Qing must have sensed my growing confusion and immediately tried to explain. "The three corpses I found deep in the mountains, they look exactly like the people in this photo."

"That's nonsense! How could that be possible!" I pointed at the photo of my grandfather and shouted, "This is my grandfather! He left the house just yesterday. How can you say he's one of the corpses from the mountain?"

Zhang Qing stared at the photo with an intense look. "Is this... Tang Yun, your grandfather?"

At that moment, the wind outside began to howl louder, rattling the windows and doors. The black shadows I had been noticing earlier grew larger, pressing against the glass as though they were crawling on the walls. The eerie shadows looked more like unnatural figures—something that didn’t belong in this world. I could hear faint whispers, but they weren’t voices. They were low, guttural sounds—like ghosts laughing in the dark.

My back broke out in cold sweat. "Stop talking about this! Deal with these ‘dirty things’ first, then we can talk about the rest. I don’t care what happens, but I can’t die tonight."

Zhang Qing didn’t hesitate. He pulled a stack of yellow talismans from his bag and began sticking them to the doors and windows. As soon as he finished, the wind outside stopped blowing, and the eerie noises quieted. Yet, the shadows were still there—hovering outside, waiting.

"The Ghost Festival is when the gates of hell are wide open," Zhang Qing muttered. "Evil spirits have been starving for a whole year. They're not going anywhere. They’ll do anything to feed—on you."

I suggested, "Maybe I can burn some offerings to them. If they're satisfied, maybe they'll leave?"

Zhang Qing shook his head. "It won’t work. They’re nameless and formless. The offerings you burn will never reach them. Besides, there are too many of them—no matter how much you burn, it won’t be enough. The only solution is to stay inside and wait until dawn."

I looked at the clock—it was almost midnight. Outside, the shadows seemed to grow more numerous. The black figures outside the windows formed a wall. There were even shrill, piercing cries in the air—like the sound of a needle scraping against my eardrums. It was so intense that I felt an overwhelming urge to open the door and let whatever was out there in.

But Zhang Qing quickly noticed my strange behavior and forced open my mouth, shoving a copper coin into it.

It tasted foul—salty and rancid, with a coppery odor that made me want to gag. I nearly spit it out.

But the moment the copper coin was in my mouth, the cries outside stopped. I felt a strange calm wash over me. The sound of the wind faded, and the sharp, painful cries were gone.

Zhang Qing explained, "This is a specially consecrated copper coin. It stabilizes your mind and wards off evil spirits. They’re trying to confuse you, to make you open the door. But this coin will prevent you from being led into their trap."

If it weren’t for Zhang Qing, I would’ve already been dead by now. I could see that everything Grandpa had warned me about was coming true. Zhang Qing truly was a powerful figure, just as Grandpa had said.

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As the clock struck twelve, Zhang Qing’s face turned grim. His brow furrowed deeply as he muttered, "This is bad. I’ve never seen so many ghosts in my life."

Although we couldn’t see much through the windows, I could feel the atmosphere inside the shop growing colder—colder than any winter night, despite it being summer. The air was thick with a suffocating sense of dread. Outside, the black shadows had accumulated to such an extent that they were no longer just shadows—they looked like walls of darkness, pressing against the windows.

I could see faces—distorted, pale, and gnarled—pressed up against the glass. They looked like rotting flesh, contorted and pressed together. The wind outside began to howl again, the yellow talismans now starting to smolder and flicker as though they were no longer enough to keep the ghosts at bay.

"How many of them are out there?" I managed to croak, my throat dry with fear.

"At least a thousand," Zhang Qing replied, his voice full of anxiety.

A thousand? A thousand ghosts surrounding us?!

I was paralyzed, my mouth opening and closing but unable to form words. Sweat poured down my back and forehead, soaking through my clothes.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang, and the yellow talisman on the door exploded like a balloon, turning to ash in a flash. A powerful gust of cold wind rushed in, forcing the door open.

Outside, the space was swarming with countless black figures—like an army of dark silhouettes, their faces twisted into grotesque grins. They surrounded the shop, pressing up against the windows and door, their twisted mouths laughing in unison. It was a horrifying sight that sent a chill deep into my bones.

"Shit!" Zhang Qing cursed, his hands moving rapidly to form a series of gestures as he clutched a small bell in his left hand. He began chanting an incantation, his voice steady despite the overwhelming pressure. But even with all his efforts, I could see the fear in his eyes—he was facing an insurmountable number of ghosts.

I felt a cold knot form in my stomach. It seemed hopeless.

But then, something unexpected happened.

A familiar figure appeared in the midst of the chaos. It was Grandpa—he was back!

He didn’t come inside but stood outside, closing the door behind him. He turned to Zhang Qing and said, "Take care of my grandson tonight. Don’t let him step outside."

Zhang Qing froze. His face went pale as he stared at my grandfather. "It’s him… one of the three corpses… But why…?"

Zhang Qing’s voice trailed off as he tried to make sense of the impossible situation. His brow furrowed in confusion, but he couldn’t seem to piece it together.

I called out to Grandpa, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he raised his voice, booming, "The sins my grandson, Tang Hao, committed, I, Tang Yun, will bear them alone! If anyone dares lay a finger on him, even a hair, I swear—a thousand ghosts and spirits will be reduced to ashes!"

The moment Grandpa’s words echoed through the air, everything went eerily silent. The wind stopped. The pressure in the room lifted. It was as if all the ghosts outside had been frozen in place.

For over an hour, not a single sound could be heard. The atmosphere was eerily calm.

I cautiously opened the door a crack. Outside, the shadowy figures had vanished. Only one figure remained standing nearby.

It was a man—his body twisted and broken. He had no head, and the ground beneath him was soaked in blood. His clothes were shredded, exposing his back—a back covered in terrifying tattoos.

"Nine Dragons Pulling a Coffin!" Zhang Qing exclaimed, his eyes wide in disbelief. "And not just any dragons—these are five-clawed black dragons! This is forbidden… no one would dare."

"Nine Dragons Pulling a Coffin" was the ultimate taboo in tattooing. Just one dragon was enough to bring disaster to anyone who dared wear it, but nine dragons—five-clawed, no less—was beyond the limits of even the bravest. Only emperors had been allowed to wear such tattoos in the past, but even they had avoided the black dragons—evil dragons.

And this man—he had not just one, but nine five-clawed black dragons inked on his back.

Who was he? How could his fate be so strong that he could survive such a tattoo? Or was this an act of suicide?

I stared at the bloodied corpse outside, and a sharp, agonizing pain shot through my chest. Tears blurred my vision as I sank to my knees.

"Grandpa!" I cried out in despair, my voice breaking.

But as I knelt there, trembling, something extraordinary happened.

The headless body suddenly spoke.

"Don’t cry," the disembodied voice said. "I’m not dead, Hao’er…"