Chapter Thirty-Three: The Wailing Spirits of the Forest

As countless thoughts flitted through Lin Ran's mind, the gloom in the forest thickened. He glanced at Guo Ting and Fan Beixiao. Guo Ting’s face was pale, her eyes clouded, and she looked as if she might collapse into sleep at any moment. Seeing this, Lin Ran hurried to support her—if things continued like this, she would be overcome by the chill and fall gravely ill. Fan Beixiao was faring better, thanks to the heat of his own vitality, but even he looked unwell.

"Let’s go! Into the factory!" Lin Ran gritted his teeth and spoke harshly to Fan Beixiao. The only solution now was to meet whatever came head-on, to improvise against the unknown.

Just as he steeled himself to enter the factory, a strange sound wafted through the air.

"Woo... woo..."

"Ran, listen! Is someone crying?" Fan Beixiao suddenly turned to him.

"Woo..."

As Lin Ran caught the faint weeping, his expression darkened. It was so late, and not a soul should be on this desolate mountain—who could possibly be crying here?

"You two wait here for me. I’ll go take a look," Lin Ran decided after a brief hesitation. His professional instincts urged him on; the sound didn’t seem far and must be nearby.

Fan Beixiao nodded, helping Guo Ting to sit at the factory entrance.

Lin Ran moved quickly toward the source of the sound, but no matter how far he walked, the crying seemed always just ahead—yet he couldn’t find the woman making it.

After only a few steps, Lin Ran realized this was no simple matter. It was likely some wandering spirit of the mountain, using tricks to lure the living away. Once he understood this, he quickly glanced back. Where before, through the mist, he could barely make out Guo Ting and Fan Beixiao, now their figures were obscured by dense fog.

Seeing this, Lin Ran’s face fell. An ominous feeling seized him, as if he’d walked right into a carefully laid trap.

"Who’s there? Stop pretending to be a ghost and come out!" He forced the words out, trying to muster courage. The terror of the unknown was always the worst.

Suddenly, a pale shadow drifted behind him. Lin Ran spun around, but saw nothing. His hand crept warily to the satchel at his waist as he scanned the surroundings.

Then, a short, piercing scream sounded not far off. The color drained from Lin Ran's face when he recognized it was Guo Ting.

"Damn!" he cursed, his voice grim. He could think of nothing else. Instantly, he plunged into the fog behind him, racing back the way he had come.

From the sound of it, Guo Ting and Fan Beixiao had fallen victim to something—he’d fallen for a classic diversion.

As Lin Ran dashed into the mist, a series of shrill, heartrending screams erupted, echoing again and again in his ears, so sharp it felt as if his eardrums would burst.

His eyes reddened, his expression twisted with rage and fear. Whatever was lurking had no intention of letting him leave. He began to lose his grip on reason, prowling like a cornered lion, torn between terror of the unknown and worry for his friends.

But the terrible wails barely slowed him. He only paused for a moment before pressing on. After just a few steps, something tripped him. He stumbled forward and crashed into something cold and soft—like a woman’s chest.

Perplexed, Lin Ran wondered what sort of woman could be taller than him. He stood a solid six feet, yet he’d run headlong into her chest? It was absurd.

He steadied himself and looked up. A ghastly, bluish-white woman’s face appeared above him, fresh blood dripping steadily from her eyes, her features slashed with deep, shocking cuts—a truly terrifying sight.

A ghost? The instant he saw her clearly, Lin Ran collapsed onto the ground, shaking. Though he’d encountered spirits before, this horrific visage left him shaken to his core.

His gaze dropped, and he realized in horror it wasn’t that the ghost was tall, but that she was standing atop a burial mound. Lin Ran twisted his neck—whether from fright or shock, he was almost rigid—and saw, through the gloom, many small, rounded graves.

A mass grave? He’d wandered into a mass graveyard. The realization nearly made his soul flee his body.

He spun around. The female ghost had vanished. On the surrounding mounds, will-o’-the-wisps floated, lingering for a long time before slowly sinking into the earth.

Lin Ran stared in stunned silence for a long while before finally regaining his senses. He guessed he must have stumbled into the graveyard by accident, disturbing the restless dead—hence the terrifying scene. Yet, for some reason, the spirits had receded; perhaps they’d chosen to spare him. He consoled himself with the thought.

With this in mind, he bowed respectfully in all directions, then hurried away as quietly as he could, afraid that any further disturbance might call the spirits forth again.