With a creak, I widened my eyes. The darkness I'd just unleashed instantly morphed into iron-like tendrils, wrapping around the Undertaker as he charged from the Blessed Ground. The howling Undertaker was pinned to the white floor, while the Artisan raised her hammer and brought it down hard on his head. His eyes widened and he whimpered, then suddenly grew even more frenzied.
With a bang, the Artisan's hammer shattered. Wisps of black energy, almost tangible, drove themselves into the Undertaker's body. She turned her head, panting.
"Hurry up, Ethan Zhang, get into his dream and find a way to wake him."
I rushed over, standing before the Undertaker, reaching out my hand. Threads of ghostly web instantly pierced into his body. The gray human figure on my back moved with my will and appeared. My consciousness quickly faded.
The moment I opened my eyes, cold sweat broke out all over me. I was on a bustling street at night. I checked myself—everything felt fine, my power was not restricted.
This time, things were even more complicated than with the Artisan. I had arrived in a fairly large city.
I sat quietly on the roof of a five-story building, watching the people below. I couldn't tell who the Undertaker was.
Even as the people on the street began to disperse, I still saw no one connected to the Undertaker. I started to grow anxious—I couldn't stay here long. I worried that if the Sleeper arrived while the Artisan was helping me restrain the Undertaker, things would go badly.
"Master Wan's funeral procession is coming, outsiders keep away..."
Just then, as the crowd on the street had mostly dispersed, a high-pitched cry rang out, accompanied by a fierce wind. In the distance, I saw a funeral procession. A nighttime funeral made the rest of the locals scatter immediately.
A wave of sobs echoed. At the front of the funeral procession, I saw a young boy clutching a spirit tablet, draped in hemp cloth and wearing mourning attire, his cries thin and frail yet deeply moving. He looked about ten years old. The few people still lingering on the street quickly darted away.
"Elder Quinn, sending off the dead so late at night—are you out of your mind?"
A street vendor, packing up his stall, couldn't help but grumble. In the funeral procession, a forty-something Taoist in yellow robes laughed, holding a yellow calendar.
"No choice. The Wan family is a major household, and Elder Wan's passing clashes with the fate of his kin. This hour, the 'Zi' time, is a lucky slot in the Yellow Calendar. If we miss it, the funeral timing will be off for days, and his family can't attend. That would ruin the Wan family's feng shui. Sorry for disturbing everyone—please bear with it. It's a matter of character."
There were over ten people in the funeral procession. The four carrying the coffin were sturdy young men, while most of the others held ritual tools. Only the boy at the front was crying.
I couldn't help but feel confused. The Taoist said Elder Wan's kin couldn't attend the funeral due to fate, but this timing only benefits Elder Wan.
I quickly followed the funeral procession. Soon, we passed through the city's main street, arriving at the gate where the waiting guards respectfully opened the city doors.
"Elder Quinn, give me a talisman. How do you explain this kind of thing? The dusk makes me uneasy, and I still have to go home later."
"Look at you, still an official. What’s there to be scared of? You carry the air of authority."
The Taoist called Elder Quinn scoffed and pulled out a yellow talisman. I glanced at it—it differed from the ones I'd seen at the Daoist gate. The writing was neat, but I'd seen this kind many times before. It was likely a Soul-Calming Talisman, like the ones Miles Mao used to draw.