If he doesn’t figure it out, his second half of life will never be peaceful.

Leading the way ahead, Fifteenth Wang turned his head for a glance and smiled.

"We are almost there. Few people come to this place now. Earth burial is prohibited, and fewer villagers are around. Even if someone holds an event, they won’t bury people this far anymore.

However, being this far has its advantages. You wouldn’t know, in earlier years, when fire cremation was forcibly promoted, burial was prohibited.

With road construction and tomb relocation, many tombs have disappeared, it’s such a sin.

The leader here, led by example and flattened their family’s tomb, this person is truly ruthless."

"This leader will surely be promoted," Wang Jianjun casually remarked.

In the past, he might have thought this was simply a firm push of policy. But recalling every streetlamp outside a fried goods shop had an Evil Ghost hanging from it, he knew this matter wasn’t that simple.

Moreover, thinking about the people from this village, for decades, no one has heard of any corpse reviving incidents.

Given Central Plains County’s population count, along with the deep-seated belief of peace in burial, if there hasn’t been any corpse reviving, it’s likely something happened, but was suppressed before it became widespread.

It certainly can’t be that nothing ever happened.

Fifteenth Wang swung the woodcutting knife, heard Wang Jianjun’s agreement, and immediately muttered some sarcastic remarks.

...

Wen Yan followed Old Master Wang out of the house, carrying his belongings, heading straight into the mountains.

Old Master Wang may appear old, but to Wen Yan, unless he suddenly sprinted, this was quite the pace.

They ventured into the mountains and walked for more than an hour, finding a huge fissure on the backside of Stone Mountain. The fissure narrowed at the top and widened at the bottom, with the lowest part being just under a meter wide, enough for a person to pass through.

Upon reaching this place, Old Master Wang stopped, took off his baggage, and donned the Feather Robe. Then he slashed his own arm, mixing blood with unknown pigment, using his fingers to outline unrecognizable marks on his face.

Old Master Wang glanced up at Wen Yan.

"Once I put on the mask, don’t speak to me."

"Understood."

"I’ll try to open a path for you to leave, and you’ll have to act accordingly."

"Old Uncle..."

"I’m already dead. The only death that might let me still see you here afterward is dying inside. You must escape out of here; once you’re out, please take Jianjun with you. I have nothing to thank you with, so I must shamelessly ask you."

"Old Uncle, please don’t say that."

"I beg you."

When Old Master Wang finished speaking, he solemnly lifted the mask, facing the Sun, mumbling words in an unknown language as he slowly wore the strange mask.

At that instant, Wen Yan’s arm erupted with goosebumps, hair standing on end.

A vast ancient aura swelled in, a fierce barbaric essence silently emerged.

Old Master Wang said nothing, chanting a bizarre tone in his mouth, picked up the blood-tinted staff.

His body slightly hunched, walking as if dancing, the movement resembling a shaman’s rhythmic dance.

Despite appearing slow, Wen Yan merely blinked, and Old Master Wang’s figure was several meters ahead, still maintaining that strange, rhythmic dance-like gait, yet progressing swiftly.

Without daring to stall, Wen Yan immediately chased after in a sprint.

As they plunged into the mountain’s fissure, beams of light, seemingly from nowhere, illuminated the dim interior, dazzling Wen Yan’s eyes, with Old Master Wang’s figure seemingly glitching in the blinks.

Appearing to move one step per second at most, the pace was fast enough for Wen Yan to barely keep up by madly sprinting.

They ran through the fissure for several minutes, with the path inside remaining straight and without an endpoint in sight.

This mountain is at most a hundred meters high; before, he crossed this mountain from the outside in mere minutes, logically the distance covered now should be enough to cross the entire mountain.

After more than ten minutes, the straight fissure finally inclined slightly, and the stone walls on both sides began showing something other than dangling light beams.

Fossilized skeletons were stacked together, skeletal claws stretched from the stone walls attempting to grip him.

But once Wen Yan stayed closer to Old Master Wang, those skeletal claws seemed to fear something, merely waving overhead, not daring to touch.

Old Master Wang grasped the staff with one hand, the bizarre tone in his mouth growing more intense, blood began seeping from the Feather Robe, accompanied by a grotesque, fierce aura emerging along with the smell of blood.

In an instant, the claw-like skeletons vanished, retracting into the stone walls.

The stone walls on both sides began retreating, the narrow fissure gradually widening.

Wen Yan glanced back, confirming it wasn’t his imagination – the stone walls were indeed moving, and the fissure behind widened.

As the path widened, this seemingly endless small fissure path began to transform.

Symbols started appearing on the stone walls, evident totems followed, and then a few simple murals.

The symbols Wen Yan couldn’t decipher, but the murals told somewhat of a story.

Those murals seemed to depict a sacrificial ritual, numerous people and animals had been beheaded, their necks spraying blood and becoming the force of a bloody sacrifice.