I was so caught up in conversation that I let my guard down. By the time I reacted, the Burnt Ghost was already right in front of us.
It stood over ten meters tall, its body riddled with cracks glowing red beneath—like molten lava flowing through its skin. Its hollow eyes loomed high above as it looked down upon me and Huang Jiu.
Despite all we'd been through, even we were stunned in place with fear.
But the Burnt Ghost didn't attack. Instead, it conjured a swirl of thick smoke, trapping the two of us inside.
Seeing that it had no intent to harm, I spoke up, "We're just passing through—please let us by."
The ghost struggled to speak. It slowly opened its mouth, but all we could see was a pitch-black void—its tongue had been cut out, leaving it unable to make a sound.
My heart sank.
After death, spirits typically take on one of two forms: those who pass peacefully return to their most beautiful, youthful appearance. That's why people often dream of deceased loved ones as they looked in their prime.
But those who die violently remain in the form they held at the moment of death.
This Burnt Ghost clearly died in agony, and its tongue was already missing before death.
Being born without a tongue is rare—perhaps I've just never heard of it. But more likely, someone cut it out before killing him, preventing him from speaking.
The Burnt Ghost grew agitated as it struggled in vain to speak. In a sudden frenzy, its charred hands reached out toward Huang Jiu and me.
My hand instinctively moved to the peach wood sword Tang Quan had given me. But before I could draw it, a sharp scream echoed from upstairs. The Burnt Ghost recoiled, panicked, and vanished into the ceiling as a streak of black smoke.
Huang Jiu looked uneasy. "I've got a bad feeling about this place…"
"We're already in the water," I said calmly. "No choice now but to keep swimming."
I drew my blood spike, infused it with Dao energy, and gave it a sharp flick. A shadow flew from it and materialized into a short man.
He may have been small, but his eyes radiated unshakable resolve and killing intent.
I felt a twinge of disappointment. Just like Huang Jiu said, the current level of my Dao energy could only summon one divine general—and a low-ranking one at that.
There were three glowing characters on his forehead: Di Gou Xing — the Earth Dog Star, last among the 72 Earthly Fiends and 36 Heavenly Spirits.
It was likely Song the Cripple had assigned this rank. Knowing his background as a veteran, I quickly bowed in respect.
But Di Gou Xing gave no response.
"He's too low on blood energy," said Huang Jiu. "Can't stay conscious outside the spike. Try using your mind to control him."
I gave it a shot—thinking left, he moved left. I repeated it a few times and confirmed I could direct his movements with thought alone.
Still, it was far from ideal. I had hoped he'd help us storm the upper floors. But in this state, he'd be more of a burden during a fight—I couldn't afford to split my focus controlling him.
His movements were, frankly, stiff and clumsy.
Even if disappointed, I wouldn't be disrespectful to an ancestor. I prepared to withdraw him back into the blood spike. But just then, I caught several distinct scents in the air—one incredibly strong one coming from above the 20th floor, and four others from the 16th.
Huh?
I was surprised. Normally, even if I caught a scent, I wouldn't be able to pinpoint its distance so clearly. But now, that information was just… there—appearing in my mind without effort.
A few seconds of surprise passed before I realized it—this must be the Earth Dog Star's enhanced sensory ability, temporarily bestowed on me.
I carefully distinguished each scent. Hundreds were scattered throughout the building, but the four on the 16th floor were unique—unlike any others.
Something unusual was definitely going on there. If there's a patch of green in a sea of flowers, there must be a reason for it.
After locking in the locations, I retracted Di Gou Xing, clenched the Buddha bone relic in my palm, and began climbing the stairs at speed.
The higher we went, the more wandering spirits we encountered. But the sacred aura of the Buddha relic kept them at bay. I didn't waste time—just passed by them swiftly.
When we reached the 15th floor, I summoned Di Gou Xing again and inhaled sharply. Those four strange scents were even clearer now, situated in the four corners of the central area above.
Watching me sniff repeatedly, Huang Jiu joked, "Li-ge… you haven't been possessed by a spirit dog, have you?"
I ignored him. "Stay alert—there's something upstairs."
We thought we were quick—but Tang Quan had already caught up to us. He was holding a palm-sized compass and looked around with urgency.
Before I could ask why he was here, he said, "I detected four abnormal energies in this area—figured it was dangerous and came to find you."
He held out the compass. Unlike any I'd seen, it was small, densely carved with symbols too tiny to read. Its needle spun wildly, pausing briefly at four specific points.
Before I could ask what it meant, Tang Quan explained, "This is a Five Elements Compass. It's picked up four powerful corpse energies upstairs—likely four Old Jiangshi."
Jiangshi? In the ghost building?
My first thought: someone's using the building to raise corpses. There's enough yin energy here—but the building isn't grounded.
You need both heavy yin energy and contact with the earth to raise a proper corpse.
Besides—if those four are being raised… then what's that strong presence above the 20th floor?
Then, Tang Quan and I said in unison:
"Four Evils Suppressing the Yin!"
And our expressions changed instantly.
Yin and sha (evil) energies sound similar, but strong sha can suppress even the most dangerous yin spirits. That's why butchers and similar professions can naturally repel malicious ghosts.
For an Old Jiangshi to generate that kind of suppressive sha, there's only one way: by drinking the blood of the living.
And not just one victim, either.
Against such terrifying corpses, neither Tang Quan nor I were confident we could escape unscathed.
We exchanged glances—and reached the same decision.
Of the thirty-six strategies, retreat is the best one.
This building, saturated with yin energy and impervious to sunlight, was a paradise for corpses.
But when we retreated to the stairwell, we found the fire doors had been pulled down.
I tried lifting one—it was locked from the outside.
Just as I was doing this, four loud bangs erupted from the 16th floor.
Then—dead silence.
Tang Quan's expression changed. "They're out of their coffins! We need to go—try the other side!"
But the far end was the same—another fire door, locked from the outside.
I took a deep breath. "We've been set up—we're the bait."