Chapter Seventeen: The Phantom Call

Wang Feiyang suddenly raised his head and looked at me seriously. "Have you thought it through?" he asked.

I nodded firmly. What’s the Nine Yin Fate, after all? Isn’t it just that I won’t live past a year? If I really owed Yang Li back then, I’ll pay her back in full now. I truly can’t stand living with my nerves stretched taut every moment anymore. If living is no better than dying, then death might be a relief. If Yang Li still isn’t satisfied, still wants to play with me, then if she pushes me to the edge, I’ll just drag her down with me—reduce her corpse to ashes!

Wang Feiyang and I walked out of the alley, not sparing a single glance toward Zuodao Yin’s house. Our first stop was my family’s coffin shop, where we found two shovels and a hoe.

I swung the shovel in my hand a couple of times, then asked Wang Feiyang if Luo Xiu had told him the exact spot where the coffin was buried.

Wang Feiyang replied that he had, but it had been twenty years. Luo Xiu only described the general location, so finding the precise spot now might take some time.

After discussing it, we decided not to set out immediately but to rest at home for the night and wait until daylight to dig up the coffin in the back mountain.

We chose to go during the day partly because we wouldn’t be as frightened, and partly because digging up a coffin isn’t easy work. Neither Wang Feiyang nor I had slept well for ages, so it was better to rest and recover our strength before taking action.

I checked the time. It was already past four in the morning. I wasn’t afraid of the female ghost appearing anymore; things had reached this point, and I was ready to risk everything.

Wang Feiyang and I slept in my room. As usual, I habitually plugged in my powered-off phone to charge. Strangely, I slept soundly—no sudden awakenings, no nightmares.

When I woke, it was already past noon. After getting up, Wang Feiyang and I didn’t eat out; instead, we called the restaurant next door to send over a few dishes.

During the meal, neither of us spoke, each lost in thought. Eventually, I asked Wang Feiyang if he wanted a drink. He didn’t say anything, just nodded.

Immediately, I fetched a bottle of good liquor that my grandfather had always been reluctant to open. We each poured a glass—just one, since we had serious business ahead. It was both to bolster our courage and as a farewell.

After eating and drinking, we grabbed the shovels and hoe we’d prepared the night before, first drove over Wang Feiyang’s family’s hearse truck, then headed straight for the back mountain.

Halfway there, my phone suddenly rang. I glanced at the screen—a strange number. I pressed accept.

"Wu Dao, don’t go to the back mountain and dig up that crimson coffin!"

The instant I heard those words, my mind exploded with a buzzing sound. I shuddered and instinctively tossed the phone aside.

Wang Feiyang shot me a suspicious look. "What’s wrong?" he asked.

Terrified, I pointed at the phone, my voice hollow. "It’s... it’s Zuodao Yin calling!"

Wang Feiyang slammed his foot on the brake, grabbed the phone. The call had already ended, but he immediately dialed back. The line couldn’t connect.

Wang Feiyang anxiously asked what the caller had said.

I replied that it was what Zuodao Yin had told us yesterday—a warning not to dig up the coffin.

"Are you sure it was Zuodao Yin?" Wang Feiyang asked. "We saw him die in the fire last night, burned to death."

"I’m not sure," I said. "I was so startled, I didn’t listen closely. But it felt like him. Besides, who else would call me now but Zuodao Yin?"

But Zuodao Yin was already dead. A chill ran down my spine. Was this the legendary ghost call, right in broad daylight?

Just then, the phone rang again. Wang Feiyang hurriedly pressed answer. As he held it to his ear, a piercing sound on the other end startled him so much he pulled the phone away.

Without hesitation, Wang Feiyang switched off my phone and tossed it back to me. He said nothing and stepped on the gas, driving the truck up into the mountain.

Since we’d decided to dig up the crimson coffin nailed with Yang Li’s corpse, it didn’t matter who called or what they said—we wouldn’t turn back because of a single warning.

Soon, we reached the back mountain. There was no road ahead, so Wang Feiyang and I parked by the roadside, shouldered our tools, and got out.

Staring at the dense forest and wild undergrowth, I asked Wang Feiyang where the coffin was buried.

Wang Feiyang fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a white paper crane, placing it in his palm. He recited a string of words I couldn’t understand, and then something miraculous happened.

The paper crane flapped its wings twice—and took flight.

I was startled. I’d never heard that Wang Feiyang had such an ability. A flying paper crane? It seemed almost unbelievable.

Wang Feiyang saw my confusion and explained that in ancient times, the Paper Craft branch held a place among the Eight Sects of the Yin Gate. Just as coffin makers could predict a person's death by the first shaving from the coffin wood, every trade had its hidden side.

The tradition Wang Feiyang mentioned—predicting longevity from the first wood shaving—was popular in our coffin-making line. When making a coffin for an elderly person, the craftsman would observe the first shaving: if it flew several meters, the person had years left; if it dropped at their feet, their time was short.

Wang Feiyang’s ability to make the paper crane fly was likely a special skill from his trade.

He said the method was called "Celestial Crane Guidance," which could help us locate the exact burial spot. He hadn’t known it before, but Luo Xiu had recorded it in the burial text she gave him. The method was purposely left by his grandfather, Wang Bilin, before he died, presumably so we could find the coffin today.

Thinking about this, I was even more certain we were doing the right thing. If Wang Feiyang’s grandfather had left such a technique, it meant they wanted us to dig up the coffin and break the Underworld Ban ritual of years past. This was the only way to lift the curse. The female ghost was Yang Li, the one with the Purple Star Fate, and the body nailed inside the coffin belonged to her.

Guided by the crane, Wang Feiyang and I wove through the woods until, around three in the afternoon, we found the exact spot where the coffin was buried.

The paper crane drifted down from the air, and as it touched the ground, white smoke rose from its body, then it was consumed by a sudden flame and reduced to ashes.

"This is it," Wang Feiyang said, pointing at the spot where the crane burned. He raised his hoe and struck the earth hard.

I took a deep breath, grabbed my shovel, and walked over to help.

Just as my shovel touched the ground, my phone—which had been off in my pocket—suddenly vibrated. I was startled. Wang Feiyang had clearly powered it down, so why was it vibrating now?

I hurriedly took it out, only to see the screen had somehow switched back on. It kept vibrating as a stream of messages arrived, each like a summons from the grave.

I opened them—all the same message, repeated endlessly as if copied and sent without limit.

"Wu Dao, you’ve been bewitched by that woman. Wake up. Don’t dig up that coffin!"