Chapter 31: The Return of the Charcoal Head

There were still five days left until the next round of the game, but unexpectedly, Tantou was suddenly summoned away. Something had happened at home, urgently calling him back. Clearly, he had come prepared for this possibility. Unlike me, who had been cast aside by my family—since being thrown into this school by my parents, I’d had no path of return.

I was not like Lin Wan and the others, who had entered D University with a clear goal, seeking something they desired. Nor was I like Tantou, who had a home to return to. I was alone—a forgotten, abandoned soul.

“Zijian.” Chen Hao’s voice interrupted my spiral of self-pity. I looked at his sunny, smiling face and felt my burdens soften. Life always moves forward; one cannot live in the shadows of the past. Besides, I was no longer truly alone. Tantou would be away for a few days, but I still had friends—Chen Hao, Wu Mingran, Han Xue, Sun Cheng, Li Yuan, and Wen Lingyu.

Having chosen to fight side by side with my companions, I could not afford to give in to despair. So I made my way to the basement floor of the library to continue my research, wondering if there might be some record of these strange playing cards.

I picked up a dust-laden book. Before I could brush off the grime, the book opened by itself.

“What’s going on?” I felt a sudden dizziness as the words on the page surged into my mind, flooding my consciousness.

“Ghosts, spirits of the wicked—when a person dies, their soul is meant to dissipate within seven days, scattered and gone. The seventh day marks the departure of the ghost from this world, returning to the origin of memory, also known as the Night of Return. But if a ghost is filled with malice and insists on lingering in the human world, it loses the chance to reincarnate, doomed to roam as a wandering, vengeful spirit.

“Such spirits cannot endure long in the living world; they survive on the yin energy of humans, often appearing in graveyards, morgues, and other places heavy with shadow. They fear the sun’s yang energy.

“Yet, because their yin is so intense, they are repelled by the sun’s magnetic field and must periodically gather yang energy to balance their own.

“At such times, the vengeful spirit will absorb the yang energy of the living to restore the wholeness of its own soul.

“Those whose yang energy is absorbed lose years from their life, or die outright.

“Now, by decree of the Supreme Divine General, thirteen Ghost Cards have been sealed and suppressed here. One is named...”

My mind was being filled with endless knowledge in the library, while elsewhere, Tantou finally returned to his ancestral home—Phoenix Ancient Town in Western Hunan.

Phoenix Ancient Town lies in the southwestern part of Western Hunan Tujia and Miao Autonomous Prefecture, named because the mountains behind it resemble a phoenix poised to take flight. It is a gathering place for the Miao and Tujia peoples, among other minorities.

Tantou’s family belonged to the Tujia, and not the assimilated kind, but those steeped in legend—mysterious as the wild Miao, untouched by Han culture.

The wild Miao were famed for their mastery of poisons and secret cures, both healers and silent killers.

The Tujia, on the other hand, were renowned for their corpse-driving arts and control over the dead.

Yet this time, Tantou had returned of his own accord.

Though he called it home, Tantou’s parents had never returned themselves. Only on the day of his coming-of-age ceremony had they brought him back for a mysterious ritual whose purpose he still did not understand.

He remembered clearly the look on his parents’ faces then—uncomfortable, perhaps even fearful, eager to leave with each passing second.

The North Gate Ancient Tower, built in the Ming dynasty, stands at the northern edge of Phoenix, locally known as North Gate Tower. Tantou stepped into the ancient tower.

Dilapidated and decaying—these were the first impressions anyone would have.

Yet, as if guided by some unseen hand, Tantou felt compelled to climb to the second floor. It was the same as below—rooms of piled stone, indistinguishable from one another.

His parents had always refused to speak of the Tujia heritage. All he knew was that his grandmother was a true Tujia, a shaman of the tribe. In their language, such a person was called a “Tima”—a priestess who drove out spirits and presided over ceremonies. In the era of the Tusi chieftains, the Tima wielded great authority, overseeing sacrifices, exorcisms, vows, marriages, prayers for children, rainmaking, settling disputes, healing, divination, and funerals. Their ritual tools included priestly knives, sacred blades, bronze bells, ox horns, and multicolored ceremonial staves. Their attire was a phoenix crown, a floral tunic, and an eight-panel skirt.

Yet Tantou could remember nothing of his grandmother. As his father had put it, “Your grandma was a superstitious woman, a shaman. I tried to bring her out of the ancestral house, but she severed all ties with me.”

Now, Tantou felt more deeply than ever that his grandmother might hold the answers to his strange fate.

The Tujia coming-of-age ceremony—perhaps this was the key, the pivot that could resolve everything.

“Grandma, where are you?” Tantou whispered to himself.

“Zhenyu!” The call seemed to echo across millennia.

A hoarse voice made Tantou’s heart tremble—a primal stirring of blood ties.

Drawn by the pull of his lineage, he descended step by step.

On the first floor of the North Gate Tower, beneath the stone-piled walls, a crack began to appear. As the gap widened, a chill wind burst forth, wild and unrestrained. The darkness beyond was like the mouth of hell itself, revealed from behind the wall.

“Go.”

The playing cards at his side shot out instantly, a blue-violet glow enveloping him. The wind from the cave, as if summoned, swirled around him.

He felt no cold; on the contrary, his body grew warm.

“Zhenyu!”

The call came again. Tantou steeled his resolve, gritted his teeth, and dashed forward.

The moment he crossed the threshold, the crack in the rock sealed shut.

Tantou fell straight into darkness.

All around was pitch black, the wind howling. Though not cold, the utter silence chilled him to the bone—a cold born of terror, a fear of darkness, a fear of the unknown.

A deafening roar echoed from all sides.

Thud! Thud! Heavy blows shook the ground.

Something massive was approaching.

A foul stench filled the air.

The stink of rotting flesh—corpse rot.

A black shadow brushed past Tantou’s body.

A line of black blood trickled down his arm.

“It hurts...” Tantou gasped, clutching the wound. But as his hand touched the cut, the black blood began to burn his skin away.

Gritting his teeth against the searing pain, Tantou hurled the Ace of Diamonds.

The playing card spun around him, as if forming a protective shield.

The black blood was instantly repelled.

What on earth was this thing? Tantou watched his surroundings warily.

Short, moving on all fours, not quite human in shape, yet reeking of zombie rot—what was it?

He stared intently into the gloom.

Ancient texts spoke of a beast, horse-like in form, one or two zhang in length, covered in scales, wreathed in fire; winged, feeding on dragon brains, fierce beyond compare. The ultimate ascendant of the zombie lineage.

The black shadow moved with ease, perfectly at home in the darkness. Another attack—Tantou dodged aside, the air suddenly burning with heat as he threw the Ace of Diamonds again to block.

“Black Flame!”

Tantou murmured. Could this be the legendary Corpse God of the zombie line?

The Roaring God that shakes the heavens!

A deity from myth!

A contemptuous roar echoed from the beast in the dark as it lunged at Tantou once more.