Not long ago, the one chanting the Buddha’s na was the Ghost Monk. Lu Youcheng wrote furiously; he needed to write more quickly, creating a distance between him and the Ghost Village Chief, and giving himself a distraction to pinpoint the Ghost Monk and gain so ti.
At the sa ti, he felt an occasional, faint sensation that soone among the villagers below was surreptitiously watching him, although he couldn’t be sure, as the feeling kept coming and going.
After having finished writing 5 scriptures continuously, Lu Youcheng finally had ti again to search for traces of the Ghost Monk. At this mont, the Ghost Village Chief, who had just completed the third scripture, turned his head to look at the villagers, and Lu Youcheng’s heart involuntarily shuddered.
Changed—the positions of the villagers had altered. The previously disorderly crowd had arranged themselves into so semblance of order. Sohow they had ford lines, and although it wasn’t very clear, upon closer inspection, one could discern a formation of approximately 30 columns by almost 20 rows in the grand hall of the ancestral hall.
The sight of several hundred people huddled together was quite shocking, but simultaneously, Lu Youcheng realized a horrifying truth. From his observations of the exterior of the ancestral hall before his arrival, given such an arrangent and the spacing between people, it was absolutely impossible to fit so many individuals inside.
The ancestral hall he was in was a twisted, eerie space—large on the inside and small on the outside; he beca increasingly convinced that the Ghost Monk was hidden within it.
He closed his eyes, recalling the direction from which the Buddha’s chant had drifted. It should be from the far northeast corner. Then, he focused his observation over there. Since it was quite dark and distant, the villagers, heads bowed, constantly swaying while chanting, appeared rely as indistinct black silhouettes from his position. But the next second, Lu Youcheng suddenly arched an eyebrow; among the many shadows, he spotted an anomaly.
This person wasn’t particularly tall and wasn’t outstanding among the group of people, yet strangely, he just bowed his head, virtually motionless.
Lu Youcheng could almost be certain that this person was the Ghost Monk he was searching for. He ntally noted the individual’s position—third column from the left, seventh row from the back, quite a distance from him.
By the mont the Ghost Village Chief had finished the fourth scripture, Lu Youcheng also diverted his gaze and began to copy texts more rapidly. This ti, he planned to write a bit more, aiming to finish the tenth scripture as quickly as possible. He needed to seize a substantial amount of ti to think about the Ghost Monk’s intentions and next moves. Based on the feedback from Quan Doufeng, it was clear that this Ghost Monk was not going to quietly sit till the end—it was the most deadly aspect.
As Lu Youcheng’s pen flew across the paper, after having copied the eighth scripture, he hesitated for a mont, worried that the Ghost Monk might pull so tricks. So, he tilted his head and quickly located the third column in the seventh row. But imdiately after, Lu Youcheng’s expression changed drastically. He saw that the figure sitting in the third column and seventh row was now shaking its head and chanting scriptures.
The Ghost Monk was also chanting scriptures now. That was Lu Youcheng’s initial thought, but he soon realized that sothing was amiss. The person in that position wasn’t the original Ghost Monk. There was a noticeable difference in their stature, obvious upon closer inspection.
The Ghost Monk had disappeared!
The situation Lu Youcheng feared the most had still occurred. What was more terrifying than seeing a ghost? It was when the seen ghost suddenly vanished.
A chill quickly ran up Lu Youcheng’s feet, swiftly spreading to the crown of his head. He dared not turn around, fearing to face directly into the Ghost Monk’s face.
Forcing himself to calm down, he centered his gaze on the intersection of the third row and the seventh column and looked around. To Lu Youcheng’s surprise, he soon spotted that familiar silhouette. The figure was as before, almost motionless. It was now at the fourth row, ninth column from the back.
It was a bit closer to him.
Before he could think deeply, a sound of flipping paper suddenly ca from behind. This imdiately caught Lu Youcheng’s attention, not because of anything else, but because the Ghost Village Chief seed to have quickened his pace. He clearly rembered that the Ghost Village Chief had just turned a page not long ago.
When he regained his senses, Lu Youcheng looked again for the Ghost Monk, but the figure had disappeared once more, this ti appearing in the fifth row, eleventh column from the end.
Realizing sothing, Lu Youcheng quickly looked away, daring not to look any longer. His heart was beating violently. Sothing wasn’t right with this ghostly entity; it was getting closer to him, and each glance moved it a little closer toward him. According to this trend, after a maximum of five more looks, it would be right in front of him!
And once the Ghost Monk got close, the outco was self-evident.
Lu Youcheng even started to admire Quan Doufeng a bit now. That guy didn’t seem to have good intentions or be smart, but he had managed to get out safely, albeit a bit shabbily, but still alive.
But there was one thing Lu Youcheng couldn’t quite understand. How did Quan Doufeng do it? Moreover, the desk’s inkstone and paper were very clean, showing no signs of having been used. There were no old scriptures copied nearby. Where had Quan Doufeng sat to copy the scriptures, and where were the scriptures he had copied?
But now was not the ti to think about these things. Lu Youcheng clearly realized that the Ghost Village Chief was copying much faster. Although not as fast as him, it was at least twice as fast as before, and this was not a good sign, as misfortune never cos singly. Soon, Lu Youcheng stopped his pen; he had encountered the most terrifying trouble.
There was no more ink in the inkstone.
More precisely, there was no water to grind the ink. The ink stick and inkstone were there, but without water, they were useless. Lu Youcheng searched everywhere on and under the desk, but there was not a single drop of water.
At that mont, Lu Youcheng looked at the small dagger; he finally understood the use of the dagger: the ink in the inkstone was insufficient, and to grind more, he would have to use his own blood.
Would copying the scriptures with blood break any religious laws? Lu Youcheng was sure it would not because the last character on the first page had a red mark. Now it seed that it was not red ink but blood; this was the hint, and everything was traceable.
In a rush, Lu Youcheng grabbed the dagger and sliced his fingertip with the sharp blade. He couldn’t care about anything else and dipped the brush directly into his blood to write. He heard the Ghost Village Chief flipping a page behind him; his speed was getting faster. Even more terrifying, as he cut his finger, Lu Youcheng faintly heard a friction sound coming from among the villagers below, as though soone was moving.
But Lu Youcheng didn’t dare to, nor could he, pay attention to that. He squeezed his finger hard, trying to get as much blood to flow as possible until half of his finger turned pale.
That wasn’t enough; not by a long shot. This ti, Lu Youcheng decisively made a cut on his left forearm, and blood imdiately flowed out. Then he heard clearly that the sound of bodies moving intensified right as he sliced his arm, getting closer to him.
He couldn’t pay attention to it; he had already entered a state of madness. He could only continue dipping blood and keep writing. Behind him, the Ghost Village Chief’s speed was advancing faster than he had imagined; it was almost catching up with him. Fortunately, he had a good stockpile of written pages and could still cope, but if it went on too long, he would eventually be caught up by the Ghost Village Chief. After all, he was human, and humans get tired, whereas the Ghost Village Chief does not.
The wound on his forearm also gradually turned white. No matter how hard Lu Youcheng squeezed, no more blood ca out. He hadn’t expected that copying the scriptures would require so much blood, perhaps a restriction imposed by the ancestral hall. Lu Youcheng had no choice but to find a new spot. This ti he sliced his left upper arm deeply, and a flood of fresh blood gushed out.
"Good, more, more!!" Lu Youcheng’s eyes were bloodshot, like a desperate gambler, and the fresh blood before him was his chip for survival.
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