Chapter Seven: The Land of Buried Bones

Watching the zombie fungus crawl to the withered tree beneath, Xiang Jiuxi finally felt he could set out in peace.

The hill was less than a kilometer away. He tore off a scrap of fabric, wrapped the beef carefully, and tucked it into the pocket on his chest.

He stumbled along for over ten minutes before reaching the little river at the foot of the hill. Along the way, apart from deliberately avoiding a few pockets of poisonous insects, nothing else disturbed him.

The river was less than three meters wide, winding and twisting, encircling the entire hill. It seemed he would have to wade through it.

Fortunately, the water was not deep—just barely covering his ankles. Xiang Jiuxi braced himself and dashed across in one go.

“What is this? Why is it so sticky?”

After crossing, he felt an odd, viscous sensation underfoot. He reached down to touch his heel. It was no illusion; the water clinging to his feet was not only sticky but also slippery, and when he brought it to his nose, a foul stench assaulted him.

What was wrong with this water?

He retraced his steps to examine the river, and saw that what flowed in the channel was not clear water, but a semi-transparent gelatinous substance, resembling grease.

“A pity—I can’t replenish my drinking water.”

Shaking his head in regret, Xiang Jiuxi began to survey the terrain with practiced ease.

This wild land stretched for miles, home to the largest cemetery near the outskirts. Its origin traced back to a time long ago; the old governor once said that during the era when Earth’s survivors scrambled for supplies, countless corpses were buried here daily.

“Buried” was little more than a comforting phrase. In reality, bodies were dumped at a designated spot, covered with a thin layer of earth.

Over time, the cemetery became a mass grave, and the once-flat land rose into the hill now before him.

By rights, the soil here should have received a “rich” nourishment and ought to be fertile. Yet, surveying the hill, not even a single thorn or weed grew; the desolation was chilling.

Years without sunlight had made the air especially cold. Coupled with the presence of this “hill of corpses,” Xiang Jiuxi felt the chill to his bone, as if invisible eyes watched him from the darkness. He involuntarily shivered.

After examining the terrain, he frowned and fell into thought.

He hadn’t ventured here for the scenery, but to find his “escape route”—a cache of supplies hidden beneath the mass grave.

Years ago, Xiang Jiuxi had accidentally discovered a concealed cave here, its entrance about half a meter wide, slanting down underground.

After several explorations, he found the cave held unexpected wonders.

Aside from the first cramped tunnel that required crawling for a dozen meters, there were several spacious chambers below, interconnected by tunnels of uniform size, dug by some unknown creature.

Xiang Jiuxi saw potential in these caves and secretly worked to transform them, sealing off the chamber nearest the entrance and converting it into a square storage room about twenty square meters. It was stocked with food, water, warm bedding, medical supplies, and even a batch of finely crafted cold weapons.

He had prepared all this as a backup for emergencies, never expecting it to be useful today.

Regret washed over him: “If I’d known, I would've gone to any length to stash some large-caliber firearms in there!”

But times had changed, and the landscape of the mass grave had altered significantly. Setting aside the entrance’s location, even the sudden appearance of this river left him baffled.

The river had no tributaries; it simply circled the hill in a ring. There was no visible source, nor any outlet, yet it was clearly living water, constantly flowing.

“Could it be that both the source and outlet are hidden underground?”

Springs emerging from subterranean water weren’t unusual, but this viscous river was deeply unsettling.

Moreover, he estimated that the cave entrance was somewhere near the riverbed. Without identifying the river’s contents, progress would be difficult.

Xiang Jiuxi scanned the surroundings and began to follow the riverbank in search of traces left years ago. After several circuits, his strength half spent, he found nothing.

“It makes no sense—only a decade or so has passed, yet it feels like centuries.”

Eventually, he gave up searching and sprawled on the ground, gnawing on beef to restore his strength.

Looking up at the pitch-black sky, he saw neither sun nor moon. Only a few spots of light beneath the murk allowed him to judge that it was daytime.

Gazing at the light for a long time, Xiang Jiuxi sighed without reason. “No choice—I’ll have to start with this river.”

With that, he picked up a dried tree branch, struggled to his feet, and walked to the river’s edge.

He tossed the branch lightly into the river.

A dull splash sounded. The branch floated up and began drifting along the current. Xiang Jiuxi’s expression grew solemn as he followed closely behind.

Since it was living water, there must be a direction of flow. If he followed the branch, he should be able to discover where the river was heading.

There was no sign of sediment; by logic, the river had to flow into underground chambers, as only there could water accumulate.

Following this reasoning, as soon as he found the entrance where the river plunged underground, he could slip below and retrieve his supplies.

The river flowed slowly. Xiang Jiuxi trailed the branch with anticipation, taking his time as he walked a considerable distance.

Reaching a ruined wall, his brow furrowed sharply.

In his memory, this had once been a grand blue stone gatehouse—the main entrance to the cemetery. Weathered by time, it had collapsed, half buried in earth, leaving only a stone plaque with the words “Mercy and Filial Piety Mausoleum” engraved in archaic script.

What caught his attention was that all the broken stones nearby were covered in moss, except for the plaque, which bore a conspicuously smooth patch about the size of a palm.

Closer inspection revealed it to be a palm print.

Not only that, but on the opposite side of the plaque, in a symmetrical position, was another identical palm print.

After some thought, he placed his hands on the prints, squatted involuntarily into a posture as if lifting something, and with a bit of force, the stone plaque groaned and lifted.

Immediately, a foul stench surged up, forcing Xiang Jiuxi to drop the plaque with a bang and stagger backward.

“Cough, cough, cough...”

Suppressing a violent cough, he scrambled to the ground, staring at the stone plaque in terror, not daring to relax for an instant.

Time slipped by. He watched for what felt like ages, but apart from the muffled sound of water, nothing else stirred.

Only then did he regain his composure, rolling over to lie on the ground, calming his thumping heart.

“Was that... an illusion just now?”

When he lifted the plaque, he not only smelled the stench but glimpsed a hole beneath, within which a faint blue light glimmered.

Ghosts!

This land was the resting place of countless wronged souls. Even as a staunch “atheist,” Xiang Jiuxi found himself unable to withstand the pressure, his thoughts drifting toward the supernatural.

“Bah, what am I thinking? The task at hand is more important!”

His gaze vacant for a long while, he slapped himself hard several times, forcing his mind onto other matters.

Thinking it over, he remembered his original plan—to follow the branch to the river’s entry point.

Best not to disturb whatever lay beneath for now; retrieving the supplies was paramount. Resolute, he picked up another branch and walked to the riverbank. Just as he was about to toss it in, what he saw stunned him.

The branch he had thrown earlier had not drifted away with the current, but seemed anchored by something unseen, spinning before him—sometimes east, sometimes west—unable to break free.

Seeing this, Xiang Jiuxi’s heart sank, terror etched across his face as he turned to the stone plaque, muttering to himself, “It seems... there’s no escaping this.”