The Invincible Female Ghost Is A Bit Of A Hopeless Romantic Chapter 242: Someone Who Refuses to Acknowledge You at the B

That hand shoved out from the coffin, and the entire shrunken coffin seed to co alive.

The edge of the coffin lid emitted a series of fine, brittle "crack" noises, like old tree roots writhing underground, or like joints in frozen soil, long immobile, finally resetting.

The mont the lid was pushed open, what ca out first was neither a person nor a breath, but a sll — old incense ash mixed with damp wood and the iron tang of decay.

The sll stabbed into the nose, and Zhou Heng imdiately felt his chest tighten, as if soone had stuffed a wet cotton wad into his throat.

Wang Cheng'an and Xu Erxiao retreated two steps in alarm, almost trampling the salt lines at their feet.

Lu Yuan, however, stood perfectly steady. The tip of his blade still angled at the paper-masked figure, his eyes never leaving the coffin seam for an instant.

He knew: this was the true master finally showing himself.

From the seam where the coffin lid opened, a hand probed out first.

The hand was extrely thin, the knuckles so prominent they seed ready to burst through the skin, yet the skin was not dried out; instead it had a cold sheen as if smoked by oil and soot.

There were no fingernails; in their place were concentric, fine black lines, as if sewn on with ink threads.

When that hand rested on the coffin rim, the green-white light along the stone path all shrank back in unison, as if it had been forced down by the touch.

Then the second hand reached out.

This second hand was different: its palm bore a faint red stamp, like the seal left by old incense on a porcelain pot.

When that palm print touched the coffin rim, a very low, heavy cough ca from inside the coffin, like soone underground swallowing a century of cold phlegm.

"The master body... is about to leave the coffin."

Song Qinghe's voice trembled, and she could barely hold the Tai Chi Seal to Suppress Evil Plate steady.

Lu Yuan did not answer her, he only murmured:

"Not the master body, but the seat master."

"If it leaves the coffin, it will not seek people first, it will seek the seat heart."

"Rember, no one makes eye contact with it."

Before his words had finished, the person in the coffin slowly sat up.

It was not an ordinary corpse, nor was it a living person; it looked like an old urn repeatedly wrapped in layers of paper ash, cinnabar, incense offerings, and earth.

He wore a black satin long gown that had long since lost its original color, the collar neat as if he had prized appearances in life; a few faded copper buttons still clung to the lapel.

A thin paper skin covered his face. The paper was not fully pasted down, but hung half peeled, half adhered, revealing the gray-white, almost porcelain-like skin beneath.

The most horrifying thing was his eyes — the eye sockets contained layer upon layer of emptiness.

It was as if there were no eyeballs inside, only two extrely deep, narrow black pits, within which water-like ripples slowly turned.

When he sat up, he tilted his head as if listening to whether the number of people at the seat was complete.

Then he spoke.

His voice was soft but unmistakably clear, like the timbre of an old male lead from an opera troupe; every syllable dragged with a wind that slled of a ruined temple beyond the Great Wall:

"The seating... is still missing one."

At his words, the paper-masked figure's body suddenly slackened, as if it had heard a long-missed ritual.

Clutching the split register, it bowed its head and stepped back to the coffin's side, giving a single very faint reply:

"Seat master... please na."

Lu Yuan's gaze turned icy; he understood everything.

This paper-masked person was not the mastermind, rely a runner handling the seating. The true controller of the formation was the seat master in the coffin, that being fed and grown by incense and evil offerings.

This thing did not just borrow life; it could borrow nas, borrow seats, borrow thods. Once it settled, the whole stone path, the entire Wildman Ditch, would be turned into a living seat.

"I see now."

Lu Yuan said coldly:

"You are not supplenting the seat, you are opening the altar."

The seat master raised one hand and lightly tapped the coffin rim.

"Open the altar, then invite guests."

"Invite guests, then there are seats."

"Seats, must be able to hold."

It spoke very slowly, each word as if dug out from mud.

Hearing that, Lu Yuan suddenly understood why it wanted to borrow the light, borrow the register, borrow the shadow, borrow thunder.

It was not simply to kill people; it wanted to gradually draw the living breath from the living toward itself.

To make the entire yin seat co alive, until "guests" and "host" could not be told apart.

This was the cruellest "borrow-seat thod" from the old yin formations beyond the Great Wall.

"We can't let it finish the fourth sentence."

Lu Yuan suddenly shouted.

Zhou Heng imdiately understood, crossing his body with his sword, his foot planting on the broken base of a banner staff, and replied in a deep voice:

"Understood!"

Lin Zhaoxuan had already lifted the Thunderclap Token, sweat beading at his temples, green-white thunder veins flowing rapidly on its back. He asked in a low voice:

"Brother Lu, strike directly?"

Lu Yuan answered quickly:

"No direct strike."

"It just woke; it still wears three layers of old offering patterns."

"If you nail it with a thunderstrike, you'll be peeling off its skin instead."

As he spoke, he slowly inverted his short saber, its spine pressed to his palm, the tip pointing upward. He stood like a thin pin.

"I will request the returning altar wind."

"You hold three points: the coffin mouth, the register root, the wick."

Song Qinghe gritted her teeth and nodded, lifting the sealing plate high. The Yin-Yang Fish on the plate spun rapidly; cold light flowed like water, inching toward the coffin mouth.

Lu Yuan glanced at the seat master, suddenly pressing his fingers together and lightly tapping the knife spine. His mouth did not intone a killing curse, but an ancient "return-alter-requesting-wind" chant:

"The altar has altar-wind, the wind returns to the altar mouth."

"The seat has seat-eye, the eye returns to the seat head."

"The master has master-na, the na does not leave the seat."

"The guest has guest-breath, the breath does not cross the ditch."

"Those above the altar ask the ancestors first, those entering the seat ask the lamp first."

"Pass the lamp in no more than three steps, pass the path without a half-voice."

"Now I borrow wind to return the old altar, borrow the old altar, seal the old gate."

"Wind returns one turn, malice turns back, the living do not sit the ghost seat, the ghost does not recognize the living soul."

"Urgently, urgently, as by the law's command!"

When this incantation was spoken, wind arose around them.

Not mountain wind, not forest wind, but cold drafts drawn out from the earth, from stone seams, from the coffin planks and the backs of paper banners.

When the wind brushed past, the paper banners shivered. The human-skin paper faces attached to the backs sagged as if wrung dry.

The seat master's head slowly lifted; his hollow gaze fixed on Lu Yuan.

He seed to see sothing ridiculous and raised the corner of his mouth in a faint, papery smile:

"Your returning altar wind is only half a brazier of fire."

"It can suppress the seat edge, but not the seat heart."

Having said that, he suddenly lifted a hand.

Thin black lines spewed from his sleeve like spider silk, instantly coiling toward the salt-line beneath Zhou Heng's feet.

Zhou Heng's sword flashed and slashed, cutting, but the black threads were not severed; they coiled around the sword blade like living snakes.

"Don't touch them!"

Lu Yuan shouted fiercely:

"They are soul-binding lines!"

Zhou Heng's heart jolted. He hastily let go; the sword flipped in midair and landed back in his left hand, narrowly avoiding having his wrist entangled.

But those few strands of black line did not relent. Instead, they slid along the ground toward the feet of Wang Cheng'an and Xu Erxiao.

"Back up, step the figure-eight fall!"

Lu Yuan ordered.

The two juniors retreated in terror, keeping their heels apart as Lu Yuan had previously instructed, inching backward.

But the black threads moved at terrifying speed and were about to creep onto the salt formation.

Song Qinghe urgently pressed the sealing plate downward. The Yin-Yang Fish on the plate suddenly hesitated; the cold light fell on the tips of the black lines and barely suppressed them by half an inch.

"Lu Daofriend, I can't hold long!"

A fine sweat stood at her temple.

Lu Yuan's pupils tightened; he knew that if this dragged on, the whole salt array would be breached.

He suddenly turned, holding the short saber horizontally across his chest. With his left hand he pressed his fingers together, slowly drawing them along the knife's spine, murmuring:

"Knife as guide, blood as gate."

"If the gate isn't right, the path won't exist."

"I borrow fingertip blood as a gate nail, nail that soul-binding root!"

"Quick!"

On the last word, his fingertip scraped the knife edge, drawing a hair-thin line of blood.

The instant the blood appeared, his body seed ignited. A faint red-white fla of intent rose.

Lu Yuan did not hesitate; he slashed the blade obliquely toward the ground.

"Snap!"

Blade intent and blood intent struck the ground, cutting precisely where the black thread had first crawled.

The black thread, when struck, emitted a very light, sharp "ai" sound, like dried sinew snapping.

"Cut!"

Wang Cheng'an cried out.

Lu Yuan's face grew even grimr:

"It only severed one segnt."

Sure enough, although the black line was cut, the other end shot out from the seat master's sleeve again, as if endless.

The seat master gave a low laugh:

"You can cut one, how many can you cut?"

He lifted a hand and, as if pulled by strings, the paper-masked figure floated over, bringing the split register to its chest.

The seat master pointed at the pages, slowly flipping out an old sheet.

The page's edges were yellowed; the surface was densely filled with tiny characters — an old guest roster.

But the characters were not complete. Many had been blacked out; so were impressed over with cinnabar leaving dark red thumbprints.

"See?"

The seat master said softly:

"All who co here to attend the seat have nas and titles."

"Since you've entered this formation, you should know the rules."

Lu Yuan felt a sudden jolt through his chest.

He recognized it — this was not an ordinary register, but the most taboo "guest ledger" of the old yin altar.

Once the ledger is opened, the whole seating begins to call souls by na.

If anyone on the seat replies even a half-phrase, or if their shadow sinks, they will be quietly recorded in the ledger as "present."

"It's flipping through the old ledger."

Song Qinghe's voice was rough:

"Is this ledger... filled with the dead?"

Lu Yuan's eyes flashed like blades:

"Not only the dead."

"But those whose nas were once borrowed."

He looked down at the dark shadow on the ground, disordered by incense ash, and suddenly understood.

"So the mirror-seat isn't the endga. It's for it to write nas into the ledger."

"If the shadow is steady, the na is steady; if the na is steady, the soul is steady."

"It's trying to press our shadows into its ledger."

Lin Zhaoxuan's spine chilled, and he couldn't help asking:

"What do we do now?"

Lu Yuan paused for a mont, then lifted his head and looked resolute toward the shrunken coffin.

"There's only one way."

"I'll snatch that page of its guest ledger."

"You three keep it pressed for three breaths."

Zhou Heng blurted:

"You'll go alone?"

Lu Yuan's tone was flat: "If it dares open the ledger, I dare borrow its na and counterpoint."

He flipped his short saber, tip down, spine outward, left hand forming a seal, right hand holding the blade.

He adopted a rare "borrow-na reverse-point" thod.

"There are heaven nas and earth titles."

"I borrow you a page, give you a mark in return."

"When the ledger opens, it first calls the master na."

"If the master na isn't present, it calls your branch na."

"I today will not be your guest, only the nail on your ledger."

"Na not pressed by na, character not pressed by character, I press a patch of ash on your ledger."

"Urgently, urgently, as by the law's command!"

His chant was strange, sounding like a folk counter-ritual to an altar's naming but carrying genuine Daoist counterpoint intent.

After he finished, Lu Yuan's body lightened as if freed. He took a step and borrowed the step-talisman to dart straight to the coffin front.

The seat master saw him lunge and the black pits in its eyes suddenly constricted; the soul-binding threads surged from its sleeve like countless black snakes lifting their heads.

Lu Yuan did not dodge. The short saber reversed, and he slashed three tis in succession.

The first cut severed the foremost thread, the second pushed back two side shadows, the third slashed up to nick the coffin rim.

Sparks stread along the knife's edge across the coffin board.

"Zhou Heng!"

Lu Yuan shouted.

Zhou Heng had already anticipated and twisted his body, the long sword slicing at the banner root and forcing the right-side draft to falter.

"Lin Zhaoxuan, Falling-Thunder Nails!"

"Order!"

The Thunderclap Token responded with a heavy thrum; a thin bolt of thunder nailed the seat master's left shoulder.

"Song Qinghe, reverse the plate face, light its sleeve!"

Song Qinghe clenched her teeth and flipped the sealing plate; the Yin-Yang Fish spun so fast it was nearly invisible. Cold light illuminated the seat master's sleeve where the fine black threads indeed revealed themselves.

"Cheng'an, Erxiao, scatter salt and seal their feet. Don't let it touch ground!"

The salt-lines were rapidly laid by the two juniors. When the salt grains t the black lines, they made a faint sound.

Lu Yuan seized the mont and advanced the short saber to the coffin front.

But at that instant, the seat master suddenly lifted its head and two tiny, thin green-white sparks ignited within the hollow eye pits.

"You really dare approach the seat?"

Lu Yuan's heart tightened and he prepared to change tactics, but those two sparks flashed.

The next mont, the stone path's ground erupted with ring after ring of fine white lines.

Those white lines had been hidden in the stone seams; at the sparks' lure, they spread like a web across the sky, interweaving.

"Altar pattern!"

Song Qinghe cried:

"It already paved the entire path into an altar!"

Lu Yuan's face finally changed completely.

He understood now.

The opponent had not improvised a formation; it had already converted this stretch of the Wildman Ditch stone path into a full yin altar.

The seats, lamps, registers, shadows ahead were all the altar's eye devices.

Now that the altar eyes had gathered, the real deadly formation was only beginning.

The seat master slowly stood from the coffin.

When it rose it was not tall or burly; its fra was even thinner than an ordinary man's.

Yet as it stood, its shadow suddenly tripled in size, as if another vast black net unfurled from beneath it, instantly enveloping both sides of the stone path.

"Now!"

It said softly:

"Is it you who enters the altar, or I who step out of it?"

The mont the words fell, all the white lines trembled simultaneously.

The entire stone path, as if an old yin altar ignited, began to close in.

Lu Yuan's expression hardened; he knew this was the most dangerous step.

The opponent wanted to close the altar!

If the altar closed, all the seat guests, paper shells, black shadows, and living people inside would be trapped and never leave.

He gritted his teeth and slapped his palm to his own chest, forcing out a faint blood-breath.

"No choice left."

He said quietly:

"We must use the oldest thod: open the altar to break the altar."

Zhou Heng asked urgently:

"How do we open it?"

Lu Yuan spoke each word with weight:

"With the human heart, borrow the ancestral fire."

"With ancestral fire, reverse-burn the altar eyes."

"I will strike the altar heart; you guard for three breaths."

At this mont, the wind in the stone path changed.

It was not simply yang or yin wind, but the sucking wind that cos when an altar's gate prepares to close and guest souls are about to be locked.

Wind drew from the far end of the stone path toward the coffin; all paper banners swept inward, even salt grains on the ground slowly rolled toward the center.

Lu Yuan no longer hesitated. He sheathed his knife, pressed his hands together before his chest, and slowly opened them.

Left palm up, right palm down, he ford an extrely ancient "invite the ancestors" seal.

He chanted softly:

"The ancestors do not leave the altar, the altar does not leave the ancestors."

"Where there is incense, it never goes out. Where there is fla, it never withers."

"Today I borrow your hundred-year lamp, borrow your old altar soil from beyond the Wall."

"If it is a righteous altar, opening the gate sees the sun; if an evil altar, reversed fire consus itself."

"Ancestor fire rises, altar gate divides."

"Urgently, urgently, as by the law's command!"

On the last syllable, he stamped his foot, and his body seed to be lifted a half-inch by an unseen force.

Though his short saber had not left its scabbard, a deep, low ringing sounded from within the sheath, as if ancestral fire had been lit inside.

Lin Zhaoxuan's face changed drastically, and he blurted out:

"He intends to bring out his own altar qi!"

Song Qinghe's heart thudded, and she hurriedly held the sealing plate across her chest, its Yin-Yang Fish spinning rapidly in response to that montum.

For the first ti the seat master truly eyed him; the black pits of its eyes showed a near-alertness.

"Who exactly are you?"

Lu Yuan only looked up and replied coldly:

"Soone who does not recognize your seat."

As soon as the words fell, he suddenly opened his hands and seed to release the suppressed fire in his chest entirely.

Deep within the stone path, that faint, but utterly proper thread of warm light finally kindled within the black altar's center.

And with that light, the true ga of life and death was only beginning.