"What?!"

Astonishment and surprise had barely registered in Wanli Fengdao's mind before his body, acting on instinct, kicked his legs into motion and sprinted forward.

From the low-lying rice fields behind him came an inhuman, wailing cry, "WOO WOO WOO WAAH AAAH AAAH!" Accompanying it was the RUSTLE RUSTLE of something parting the rice seedlings, drawing closer.

It sounded as if some enormous creature was rapidly pursuing him.

Wanli Fengdao dared not look back; he ran with all his might. The sense of powerlessness in the face of supernatural existence and the constant fear of death, feelings that had receded like the tide when his transcendental abilities were active, now surged through him once again.

Run fast! Run fast!

The ghastly screams from behind drew closer. Wanli Fengdao sprinted headlong, never daring to glance back, terrified of triggering some "instant death if seen" mechanism.

His breathing grew ragged. The upper half of his body, clad only in a shirt, was lashed by the cold wind, a bone-chilling sensation.

The small mountain village seemed to have just had rain, and the fields were quite muddy. With every step, it felt as if his shoes were being firmly sucked down by the mud. I can't keep running through the fields; it's too taxing on my strength, he thought.

Wanli Fengdao's expression tightened. His feet found purchase on the field ridges and the concrete mounds along the edges of the ditches. With an agile leap, he jumped onto the road.

This concrete road was rather narrow, wide enough for only two cars to pass side by side, and lacked protective barriers. On the left, dim streetlights stood at regular intervals, attracting swarms of insects.

It was a typical narrow village road, but at least running on it took far less effort than the muddy fields.

THWACK!

Behind him on the road, a sound like a wet mop smacking the ground echoed—whatever it was, it had caught up again.

If the situation weren't so dire, I'd turn around and curse, "Damn it! Are you crazy? Why are you chasing me?" Wanli Fengdao fumed internally.

Of course, that was just a thought.

He sprinted onward. The road beneath his feet was circular, forking at a small bridge up ahead. The left path led to the village, while the right path hugged the mountains, winding like a serpent before disappearing into the night.

The left path, heading towards the village, was obscured by a long row of trees. Through their shadows, he could vaguely see a glow of light.

Although he couldn't see what the thing chasing him looked like, Wanli Fengdao knew a key survival tip for abnormal events: always run towards where there are more people.

HUFF, HUFF.

In Fushen Pingyuan's body, which was merely that of a child, the endurance drain from running wildly through the deserted night was immense. Thankfully, Wanli Fengdao knew some breathing techniques, which allowed him to reach the bridge just before his strength completely failed.

The streetlights on the bridge seemed to be broken; its center was pitch black, so dark he couldn't see his own hand in front of his face.

Standing in the darkness, Wanli Fengdao heard a hubbub of voices from the road to the left of the bridge, mixed with the hoarse and eerie sound of drums and other music.

Then, he saw the source of the drumming and music.

It was a large procession. At its forefront were four men in white Shinto Priest uniforms, wearing Masks, and holding Gohei.

The four Shinto Priests walked abreast, chanting prayers. Their white uniforms billowed and writhed, sprouting tentacles that slithered along the ground, resembling demons.

Behind them was a choir. The choir members were dressed in kimonos and held Sōngmù huǒjù, singing a strange, ancient, and unintelligible song. Their faces were not human but rather stiff and immobile, like the Masks used by actors in Noh (traditional Japan Islands theater): golden-pupiled clay eyes, the gaping maw of a serpent, a twisted and horned Prajna Mask, the youthful face of a Dōji, the gaunt and resentful features of Shunkan, and the crimson, leering grin of a Shōjō.

Each member's body, much like their Noh Masks, was undergoing a transformation. Some grew shorter, while others became taller, their bodies sprouting hair, taking on an almost demonic appearance.

The choir moved slowly. In their midst, surrounded and protected by the members, was a square wooden altar.

Copper bells, daggers, swords, and other ornaments hung from the four corners of the altar, tinkling and clanging as the wind brushed past them.

Under the red canopy above the altar, a small girl rested calmly... sitting upright in seiza style.

The little girl was dressed in a traditional garment known as a Bai Wugou. Her outer robe, under robe, sash, cloth socks, ceremonial dagger, trimmings, and cotton hood were all pure white. She held a folding fan in her right hand, resting it gently on her open left hand.

Her posture was dignified and graceful, serenely sacred. The only jarring detail was that beneath her cotton hood... there was no head.

Wanli Fengdao stood rooted to the spot. The choir, holding their Sōngmù huǒjù, seemed completely oblivious to him as they continued their procession down the road. They radiated an air of solemn sanctity, yet it was simultaneously eerie and malevolent.

And behind him, the crying and wailing that had been incessant suddenly stopped.

Wanli Fengdao instinctively turned around. He saw that the source of the cries was a soft, elongated humanoid figure, seemingly made of mochi or rice cake. It had black lines on its vertical face where its eyes and mouth should have been.

The creature didn't continue to chase Wanli Fengdao. Instead, it stood in place, sobbing quietly, its entire body twisting and trembling.

Then, it slowly bent its head backward, twisting it to an angle its soft neck could no longer bear.

CRACK.

The mochi creature's head snapped off.

What the hell...?

Wanli Fengdao sucked in a sharp breath. In front of him was the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons, the choir offering the headless girl. Behind him was the mysterious mochi creature that had just snapped off its own head. He was completely bewildered...

Luckily, he didn't need to understand any of it.

"Fushen! Fushen! Damn it, he passed out! Increase the dose, hurry!"

An unfamiliar male voice, speaking Japanese, sounded beside his ear. That sensation of being dragged from his soul returned.

Wanli Fengdao watched helplessly as he was pulled from Fushen Pingyuan's body. The next second, he found himself back in the dark space, sitting on the wooden chair.

Wanli Fengdao looked down at his own hands, then gazed at the dumbfounded Xing Hechou and the composed Li Ang. Confused, he asked, "I... I'm back again?"

"Yes," Li Ang nodded, his eyes fixed intently on the dark screen ahead. He called out, "Miss Liu, can you hear me?"

The screen slowly lit up, as if a pair of eyes were opening. Liu Wu Dai's faint voice echoed in the space, "Yes."

At that very moment, Liu Wu Dai was sitting cross-legged in a sealed room. A single candle stood upright on the floor in the center of the room, casting a dim light.

By its light, she could see three other figures—two women and one man—dressed in casual attire. They were also sitting cross-legged, apparently in conversation.

Looking closely, Liu Wu Dai noticed that their faces lacked eyes and noses; the area above their mouths was blurred and indistinct.

"...Alright then, I declare the test of courage officially open!" said the ponytailed girl sitting opposite Liu Wu Dai, her hands pressed together. "I hope all members of the Ghost Story Club will participate enthusiastically and share their most terrifying ghost stories. Let's make sure this summer has no regrets~!"

"You're the one who'll have regrets, President," the boy sitting to Liu Wu Dai's left retorted listlessly. "A real test of courage should involve exploring sinister Shrines, graveyards, and ruins."

"Imagine: a boy and a girl, flashlights in hand, exploring a dark, deserted hospital. The boy pretends to be brave, comforting the girl. Startled by the sound of dripping water, the girl grabs his arm, igniting the Sparks of young love! Now *that's* the essence of a summer festival! Hiding in a training camp room taking turns telling ghost stories is just too boring!"

"Enough rambling!"

The petite, ponytailed girl—the president—then scolded, her voice surprisingly loud for her size, "Don't you know how many mosquitoes and bugs are out in the grass during summer? You'll be covered in red, itchy rashes if you go out! Honestly. Alright, since you're all so reluctant, I'll go first."

The girl cleared her throat, straightened her posture, and said in a chilling tone, "The name of my ghost story is 'Tap, Tap.'"

Next chapter will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.