In folk taboos, cats are believed to be spiritual creatures. Not only can they connect the realms of the living and the dead, but they are also rumored to have nine lives. When a cat approaches a corpse, the deceased may borrow one of the cat’s lives and come back to life.
The black cat has always been a symbol of bad luck in folklore, and after recalling the cat’s cry from last night, Li Zhi concluded that it was one of the conditions for the village chief to resurrect as a vengeful corpse and kill.
In this situation, the cat definitely couldn’t be let go—who knew if it would return again?
Li Zhi thought for a moment. “Let’s keep it in my room for now.”
She took the black cat back to her room and saw Chi Yi, with her large, bright eyes, sitting up from the bed. “Why aren’t you asleep yet?” Li Zhi asked.
Chi Yi, slightly embarrassed, replied, “I can’t sleep alone.” She nervously added, “I heard you and Xu Shu shouting earlier. What happened?”
“Nothing much,” Li Zhi said, pulling out the black cat she was holding. “Do you like cats?”
Chi Yi’s face lit up with joy. “I love them! Where did this kitten come from?”
Seeing her fondness for the cat, Li Zhi felt relieved. She placed the black cat on the bed. “I found it outside. Let it keep you company while you sleep, but don’t let it outside. A black cat can’t get near a corpse.”
Chi Yi shuddered and immediately hugged the black cat tightly. “Got it!”
Li Zhi closed the door and returned to the mourning hall. Xu Shu, after witnessing the earlier resurrection attempt, was now even more alert, not letting any sound in the courtyard escape his notice. As Li Zhi passed by the coffin, she glanced inside. The village chief lay inside with his hands folded, resting his head on a red-crowned rooster pillow.
It seemed that because his attempt to kill was thwarted tonight, his expression was sour and displeased.
No different from that pathetic wax monster in the ancestral hall, Li Zhi thought.
It appeared that even the ghosts and monsters in this game couldn’t kill at will; they had to follow certain rules. Xu Shu, seeing her sit down, couldn’t hold back any longer. “Did you discover anything in the ancestral hall?” he asked eagerly.
Leaning on her elbow, Li Zhi tapped the armrest of the chair absentmindedly. “I need to organize my thoughts. Let’s discuss it tomorrow morning when everyone’s awake.”
Xu Shu stared at her for a moment before seriously saying, “You’re definitely going to become famous from this show.”
Li Zhi raised her eyebrows and turned to look at him, her eyes reflecting the flicker of the candlelight on the altar, giving her an almost captivating glow. “What’s your world like now?”
Xu Shu hadn’t expected her to ask about that and was momentarily stunned. “I can’t reveal too much, but the [Ghost] system is going to bring humans into a whole new world. The more popular you are, the more you benefit. You’re sure to be in the top ranks of players.”
A flicker of fervor crossed his eyes as he added in a low voice, “In my world, high-popularity players are compared to gods.”
Li Zhi mulled this over. Since he didn’t seem willing to say more, she didn’t press him further. They kept watch until midnight without incident, and then it was Lian Qinglin and Chi Yi’s turn. Li Zhi gave them some instructions before heading back to her room to rest.
The black cat was well taken care of by Chi Yi, lounging comfortably at the edge of the bed and purring softly. Li Zhi scratched its chin, then turned off the lights and went to sleep.
Not long after lying down, the sound of raindrops hitting the tarp outside could be heard. Li Zhi turned over, listening to the cat’s gentle purring and the soft rain, and soon fell into a deep sleep.
The next morning, it was still raining. The fine, dense drizzle covered everything in a hazy mist. In the south, this kind of rain was called “drizzle.” Outside, the world was shrouded in a gray veil, and the air felt even colder and damper.
The previous night had passed without incident—no one was hurt. Seeing the six of them gathered around, eating breakfast, everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
Xu Shu glanced at Li Zhi several times, watching her calmly eat a steamed bun, seemingly unbothered. He couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Now that everyone’s here, can you tell us what you discovered in the ancestral hall last night?”
Chi Yi almost spit out her food. “You went to the ancestral hall again last night?!”
The others looked at Li Zhi with expressions of disbelief and admiration. Chi Yi, realizing what had happened, said, “No wonder you didn’t partner with me for the night watch. You didn’t want to leave me alone to get scared, did you!” She looked at Li Zhi with teary eyes. “Zhi Zhi, you’re so kind!”
Li Zhi let her nuzzle against her arm twice before swallowing her bun and saying, “The village chief only had one son who died young. We were indeed adopted by him.”
Although they had already heard her theory the previous day, now that it was confirmed, it was still difficult for everyone to accept.
Gao Shijun lost his appetite at breakfast. “So do we still have to bury the village chief? He’s not even our real family!”
Zhu Zhibo replied, “But a foster father is still considered family, right? We don’t know who our biological parents are or where they are. And maybe the task isn’t that complicated. These clues could just be distractions planted by the system to throw us off.”
Both arguments had merit, and the group fell into an awkward silence.
Li Zhi reached for a boiled egg, tapped it on the table, and began peeling it.
Everyone stared at her. Gao Shijun, anxious, asked, “How can you still be peeling an egg right now?”
Li Zhi looked at him, surprised. “Because I’m still hungry.”
Gao Shijun: “…”
Lian Qinglin turned to Li Zhi. “You make the call. Should we continue burying the village chief or look for clues about our biological parents? We’ll follow your lead.”
Everyone looked expectantly at their anchor, and Li Zhi sighed, gesturing outside with her eyes. “Right now, we don’t have a choice. We have to stick to the main task.”
Outside the courtyard gate, Uncle Jiu paced back and forth with his rusty axe, occasionally casting threatening glances at the players. His intentions were clear.
Sure enough, before Li Zhi could finish her boiled egg, Uncle Jiu entered, urging them, “The village chief is to be buried tomorrow. Today, you need to go up the mountain to cut some willow branches for soul banners and burial rods. The feng shui master has already selected the grave site. After cutting the trees, you’ll dig the grave. Here’s the axe—hurry up and don’t dawdle!”
Lian Qinglin gritted his teeth and, after Uncle Jiu left, angrily gave the door the middle finger. “When we finish this game, I’m definitely going to beat him up!”
Li Zhi popped the last bite of egg white into her mouth, wiped her hands, and said, “Let’s go chop the trees first.”
It was still drizzling, but there were no raincoats in the courtyard. The group had no choice but to head out with the axe in the rain. The mountain forest was shrouded in white mist, and finding a willow tree amidst the sea of cypress trees wasn’t easy. Since there weren’t any in the village, the six of them decided to climb higher up the mountain to look.
As they ascended, Li Zhi shared her theory. “Since the founding of the country, the population of Guanping Village has been dwindling. With fewer people, the village declined. Young people didn’t want to stay in such a poor, remote area. As village chief, Guan Maode likely tried to change this. I suspect his reason for adopting us is related to that.”
Lian Qinglin thought for a moment. “So, he adopted eight children, hoping we’d grow up and return to revitalize the village?”
Chi Yi suddenly understood. “But we didn’t return. Instead, we chose to stay in the big city, which is why the villagers harbor so much resentment toward us!”
The theory made sense, but Li Zhi had a nagging feeling that things weren’t that simple.
The rain had turned the village roads muddy, and the path up the mountain was treacherous. They trudged on, their wet clothes clinging to them, making them cold and uncomfortable.
After what felt like an eternity, Zhu Zhibo suddenly screamed. “There’s someone hanging from that tree!”
Startled and panicked, he slipped and fell to his knees in the mud. The others helped him up and looked in the direction he had pointed, but saw nothing. Zhu Zhibo blinked hard, but all he could see were the tree branches swaying in the wind and rain.
Lian Qinglin asked, “Did you see wrong? How could there be a ghost in broad daylight?”
Zhu Zhibo began to doubt himself, thinking maybe his nerves had gotten the best of him.
The group fell silent. Already cold, they were now shivering even more. Li Zhi thought for a moment and took a step forward. “Let’s go check it out and see.”
The rain and mist made everything blurry, but as they got closer to the tree Zhu Zhibo had pointed out, they realized it was the willow tree they had been searching for. Its crown wasn’t very tall, but its branches were dense, drooping low and swaying in the rain, resembling the silhouette of someone hanging.
Zhu Zhibo breathed a sigh of relief and even smiled. “Thankfully, I was wrong. We found the tree without much effort after all!”
They didn’t need the entire tree for the soul banners and burial rods—just a few thick, straight branches would suffice. To keep things fair, everyone took turns swinging the axe.
The rusty axe was heavy and dull, and chopping upwards at the branches was especially tiring.
Lian Qinglin, after a few swings, grumbled, “He carries this axe around all the time, and he doesn’t even bother to sharpen it!”
Fortunately, the branches weren’t too thick. They were just a few swings away from being cut through. Zhu Zhibo took the axe and swung it at the notch in the tree. The branches shook, sending rainwater splattering to the ground. After two chops, Zhu Zhibo felt something swinging above his head, brushing against his scalp from time to time.
He thought it was a drooping branch and reached up to brush it away.
But what his hand touched didn’t feel like a branch. It was soft, wet, and had a cold, slightly abrasive texture—like… a shoe someone was wearing.
Zhu Zhibo froze, his axe still in mid-swing. Slowly, stiffly, he tilted his head up to look.
Right above him, a pair of feet hung in the air, swollen and pale, wearing a pair of black cloth shoes. The toes pointed downward, swinging back and forth, grazing his scalp with each pass.