Above, there's an enormous face, so large it eclipses everything overhead.

This face is ubiquitous in Fengdu, carved into statues, hung on altars, painted on cliffs.

When she was young, her grandfather would gently stroke Yin Meng's head while pointing at "it" and say:

"Meng Meng, remember, this is our ancestor."

After her father's disappearance, her mother's remarriage, and her grandfather's illness and burial, Yin Meng, all alone, would often stand behind the counter, supporting herself with her hands, watching the bustling streets during temple fairs.

Ancestors seem omnipresent here, yet they never appear in their descendants' lives, no matter how hard she struggles, taking up tools with tender hands at a young age to craft coffins, or staying aboard under the blazing sun to help retrieve swollen corpses for a meager fee.

That's why she's dark-skinned, why her skin is coarse, and when she followed Brother Xiao Yuan to Nantong, she couldn't resemble the fair Chuanyu girl at all.

At this moment, the ancestor suddenly appeared before her.

She felt no joy, no gratitude, only... a trembling fear deep within her soul.

The gigantic face began to change, losing its rigid lifelessness, gradually becoming vivid, as if filled with real flesh and blood.

On the periphery, coffins floated to the surface.

The further back in time, the more luxurious and grand the coffins, whereas recent ones were simpler and rougher—this reflects the decline of the Yin family over generations.

"Creak... creak..."

The sound came from below.

Yin Meng dared not look down now, but beneath her lay her grandfather's coffin, and the sound seemed like her long-deceased grandfather scratching the coffin with his nails.

Above, the ancestor's face, having become vivid, began to move.

Like a lake hanging upside down, its ripples undulated.

The next moment, it poured down like a waterfall, violently hitting Yin Meng.

"Ah!!!"

Scorching, corroding, piercing... a torrent of terrifying sensations engulfed her.

Yin Meng's flesh began to peel away, her bones began dissolving, the pain was akin to snow in the summer sun, burning and torturous.

In the real world, in the back of the truck, Yin Meng convulsed at the edge of the tailgate, blood incessantly seeping from her eyes, ears, mouth, nose, and skin pores, rapidly transforming her into a figure of blood.

In the upstairs room, Li Zhiyuan opened his eyes; he felt a faint anxiety, but his senses were still impaired since he hadn't fully recovered.

The young man sat up, looking out the window at the torrential rain; the truck stood quietly, nothing seemed amiss.

On the adjacent bed, Tan Wenbin was asleep after his meal; though only he woke up, the four spirit beasts continued to slumber.

Li Zhiyuan got out of bed, walked to the door; despite the weak sensation, he needed to go check.

As soon as he opened the door, a figure in a raincoat slid down from the roof—Zhao Yi.

He glanced at the back of the truck, then motioned urgently at Li Zhiyuan upstairs, something had happened.

Li Zhiyuan descended the stairs, picked up an umbrella from the doorway, and stepped out.

As he passed the police car, he deliberately revealed himself.

Inside the police car were two officers, one asleep, the other smoking; spotting Li Zhiyuan, he stirred—not suspicious, just wondering if the young man needed help late at night.

Li Zhiyuan ran quickly towards the truck.

The officer didn't disembark, just yawned and exhaled a puff of smoke out the window.

When Li Zhiyuan reached the back of the truck, Zhao Yi had already inserted silver needles into Yin Meng's acupoints, reducing her convulsions and slowing, though not stopping, the blood flow.

"Strange, I was on the roof all along and didn't notice anything coming in."

Zhao Yi didn't think his vigilance was foolproof, but even if something had slipped aboard under his watch, why target only Yin Meng, without attacking the others?

Moreover, in harming Yin Meng, was all this trouble really necessary, making such a scene?

Li Zhiyuan: "It might not be that someone snuck in, at least not in the traditional sense."

Zhao Yi flipped Yin Meng's eyelids, saying: "Li, can you suppress it? If she keeps bleeding like this, she'll die."

In Li Zhiyuan's right palm, a mist of blood gathered; he gently shook his hand, adjusting the blood mist.

Then the young man pressed his palm onto Yin Meng's sternum, the blood mist expanded, enveloping all of Yin Meng, creating a blood membrane from the young man's blood, forcibly halting Yin Meng's bleeding.

After covering her, the young man instinctively prepared to draw incantations to reinforce the suppression; however, with his blood all over her, using his blood to draw would be like writing on red paper with red ink—a bit inappropriate.

Ink couldn't be used either, as black dog blood would damage the membrane.

Li Zhiyuan looked at Zhao Yi: "Lend me some blood."

"Sure."

Saying this, Zhao Yi slapped his own chest, skillfully, like a farmer drawing water each morning.

"Ordinary blood is enough, no need for heart blood."

"I don't want to make another cut, it hurts."

His shirt opened, heart blood splattered out; Li Zhiyuan waved his hand to catch it, glancing at Zhao Yi's heart, noticing a tiny floral bud had reopened a ring.

All of this stemmed from the final blessing of the Tomb Master before being sealed.