Chapter 3: Burial Night

The burial was set for one month later—on a “Closed Day”, when yin energy was at its peak.

That night, the sky was ink-dark. No stars. No moon. A curtain of black seemed to drape the mountains. Atop Panlong Ridge, the winds screamed like lost spirits. Only a few pale ghost lanterns swayed in the night, casting eerie shadows that danced like phantoms.

The hired musicians stood in shivering rows, blowing out shrill, dissonant mourning tunes. The suona’s high-pitched wail echoed across the hills like a banshee's cry.
Even the pallbearers looked uneasy, shoulders hunched under the weight of the massive golden nanmu coffin. Their faces were pale, steps sluggish, as if they were carrying not a man—but a gate to the underworld.

Chen Songnian stood near the newly dug grave, wrapped in a plain hemp robe, still as a statue. His jade compass was cold in his hands, yet its needle had ceased spinning.
It now pointed—still and unwavering—directly at the open tomb.
The needle glowed faintly… with a sickly green light.

The wind grew harsher. It carried a stench—of decay, of damp soil, of something else, something… wrong.

Then came the sound.
At first it was faint: a dragging, scratching noise, like nails against wood.
But as the coffin was lowered into the earth, the sound grew louder.

Sccrrrraatch… sccccreech… sccrrraaaatch…

Pallbearers froze.

One of them screamed, dropped his end of the coffin, and scrambled out of the pit. Another collapsed, eyes wide, pointing with a shaking hand at the heavy coffin.

“It’s… coming from inside!”

The crowd gasped. A wave of terror rippled through the gathered Li clan members.

Li Wancai’s face drained of color. “What nonsense is this?” he barked.
“It’s just the wood… expanding in the cold!”

But even he couldn’t hide the tremor in his voice.

Sccrrreeeeeech… SCRAAATCH!

The sound intensified—something inside the coffin was clawing, violently, frantically.

Panic erupted.

The musicians dropped their instruments. The servants shrieked. Members of the Li family stumbled backward, knocking over lanterns. Flames flickered wildly. Wind howled. Shadows twisted.

Only Chen Songnian remained still.

The jade compass in his hands began to burn.

No, not hot—cold. So cold it scorched.

Then… silence.

The scratching stopped.

For a moment, the world held its breath.

Chen’s heart beat so loud he thought it would crack his ribs. He leaned closer, driven by some terrible instinct, and peered down at the thin gap between coffin and lid.

A chill snaked up his spine.

Inside the gap, deep in the darkness—
something looked back.

A single eye.

Cold. Inhuman. Vertical.

The pupil was razor-thin, like a slit of silver in molten gold. Around it shimmered a metallic sheen, like scales. That eye… was alive.

And it was staring directly at Chen Songnian.

His scream tore through the mountains.

He stumbled backward. The compass flew from his hand.

CRACK!!

A deafening sound split the air—like a crystal shattering under divine force.

The jade compass—his family’s heirloom, passed down for generations—exploded in mid-air, scattering shards of glowing green across the grave like falling stars.

Many fell into the open coffin pit.

Chen hit the ground, eyes wide, limbs spasming. His breath came in short, ragged gasps.
He began to mutter—over and over, between trembling lips:

“Blessed ground for the blessed… cursed ground for the damned… Blessed ground for the blessed…”

The words, like a mantra, echoed in the wind.

Behind him, chaos reigned. The remaining pallbearers fled. The musicians had vanished. Even the bravest among the Li family scrambled down the ridge, screaming.

Li Wancai was dragged away by his guards, his face ashen, eyes darting wildly, muttering:

“No… it’s impossible… it was supposed to bring wealth…”

The coffin was left half-buried. The grave unfinished.

The shards of the jade compass continued to glow faintly… like cold fire beneath the soil.

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To be continued in Chapter 4: The Curse Unleashed