Chapter 15: The Red Dancing Shoes

"Dong…"

Another sound, similar to a knock, echoed.

There was something in the next room!

Zhang Yuanqing quickly switched his rusty kitchen knife for a rusty short knife and replaced the wooden stick with a long spear.

Holding his weapon, he moved lightly and swiftly out of the room. The moonlight was like frost, and the surroundings were silent.

Bending down, he carefully approached the window.

The paper covering the window had long since rotted away. He crouched beneath the window and cautiously raised his head, peeking through a tear in the lattice window.

The moonlight, cold as frost, was compressed into beams by the holes in the roof, casting dim light into the narrow room.

Seeing the scene inside, Zhang Yuanqing's heart skipped a beat.

Inside the dark and silent room stood three old coffins, their black paint peeling, their lids covered in dust.

Beside the coffins lay two dried corpses, dressed in work uniforms. One of them had a bronze awl rolling near its hand.

That awl caught Zhang Yuanqing's attention—it was half an arm's length, made of yellow bronze, with inscriptions and carvings on its handle, finely crafted. The most crucial detail was that while all other weapons had rusted, this one remained golden, without a trace of corrosion.

An image surfaced in his mind: the hand of the Three-Mountain Goddess, fingers curled as if gripping something.

Yet, her palm was empty.

"Dong…"

Another muffled sound rang out, forcing Zhang Yuanqing to shift his gaze to the middle coffin.

A chilling creak followed—the coffin lid slowly slid open.

A blackish-green hand emerged, gripping the coffin's edge.

Then, a terrifying figure sat up from the coffin.

In the moonlight filtering through the roof, Zhang Yuanqing saw it clearly—dressed in tattered robes, its face was swollen and severely decayed, with dead, bulging eyes.

Its hair, like dried grass, stuck out in a messy tangle atop its head.

"Hoo… hoo…"

It lifted its head toward the moonlight above, exhaling a breath of foul, corpse-stinking air, revealing two ghastly fangs.

A zombie? A zombie!!

Zhang Yuanqing felt his PTSD from Hong Kong horror films kicking in.

So, it was a zombie—yes, it must be. Otherwise, what was the point of the talisman meant to subdue corpses? A sense of retreat grew in his heart. He had already gathered enough information.

It was time to return to the main hall.

But at that moment, his shoulder suddenly felt heavy. A familiar chill crept in, gnawing at his body, raising goosebumps all over his skin.

At this critical moment, the Shoulder-Riding Ghost had arrived.

Fifteen minutes were up... Zhang Yuanqing's heart sank.

In this perilous ancient temple, where his nerves were stretched taut, he had lost track of time. He could only estimate, and that estimation had clearly been off.

The appearance of the vengeful ghost on his shoulder was already a disaster. What happened next was even worse.

As if catching the scent of a living human, the zombie in the coffin lowered its raised head. Its bulging eyes shifted to the window, locking onto Zhang Yuanqing's peeking gaze.

…

In a spine-chilling moment, Zhang Yuanqing's body erupted in goosebumps. He sprang up and turned to run.

As soon as he turned, he heard a loud crash—the coffin lid slammed onto the floor.

He dared not look back, carrying the ghost on his shoulder, his steps heavy as he sprinted.

Another loud "Bang!" sounded—the door had been smashed open.

While running, he glanced back. The tattered, horrific figure had rushed out of the room, leaping forward like a ravenous beast.

This was a zombie? Where was the "stiff" part?!

His expression changed dramatically. With a twist of his foot, he pivoted, using momentum to turn and thrust his spear toward the zombie's chest.

Planting the spear's butt on the ground, he formed a makeshift barricade.

At the same time, he noticed a gaping hole in the zombie's chest—its heart seemed to have been gouged out.

Senior Brother? The zombie was the Senior Brother from the journal!

The next moment, the zombie charged forward, snapping the spear in half with a crisp crack.

No time to think, Zhang Yuanqing seized the opening created by the spear, rolling beneath the zombie's legs. The foul stench of decay filled his nose as a heavy blade slashed into the ground behind him.

Rolling to the zombie's rear, he sprang to his feet and swung his short knife.

Clang!

The knife struck the back of the zombie's head, but it was like hitting solid steel. Apart from cutting a few strands of brittle, straw-like hair, it inflicted no damage.

Instead, the force rebounded through the knife's handle, sending pain through Zhang Yuanqing's hands, nearly making him drop his weapon.

"Copper skin, iron bones?"

A chill ran through him. The zombie whirled around, its razor-sharp black nails reaching for his shoulders.

A sharp pain followed.

The zombie's claws had pierced his skin, and crimson blood oozed out, staining his jacket.

The scent of fresh blood seemed to excite the creature. A red glint flickered deep in its protruding eyes as it opened its mouth, revealing those ghastly fangs, and lunged for Zhang Yuanqing's throat.

Yet, the cleansing effect of the candlelight was still active, keeping his mind clear despite the terror. Without hesitation, he summoned his inventory, and in an instant, a talisman appeared in his hand.

Thud, thud, thud…

The once ferocious zombie suddenly retreated in fear, avoiding the talisman as if it were venomous.

It works. It fears the talisman. It has some level of intelligence…

Ignoring the pain in his wounded arms, Zhang Yuanqing tensed his muscles and locked eyes with the zombie, retreating step by step.

All the while, he prayed that the ghost in the well wouldn't emerge to complicate things.

During his slow retreat, the zombie growled lowly from its rotting throat, its blood-red eyes fixed on him.

Luckily, whether because of the zombie's presence or his cautious retreat, the well's ghost did not appear. Step by step, Zhang Yuanqing exited the east courtyard, re-entered the quadrangle, and stumbled toward the main hall.

As he neared the hall's overhanging eaves, a ghostly wail rang in his ears.

The weight on his shoulder suddenly vanished, and all negative effects disappeared.

…

"Gasp… gasp…"

Inside the main hall, Zhang Yuanqing slumped against the lattice door, panting heavily, his legs trembling involuntarily.

Half from fear, half from the aftermath of his adrenaline rush.

After several minutes, the adrenaline wore off, and pain from the wounds on his arms flared up. Grimacing, he removed his jacket and shirt, revealing his bloodied, mangled arms. The leaking blood was a dark red, almost black.

Clearly, the zombie's claws carried a potent toxin.

Things had taken a turn for the worse.

"There's no disinfectant here, no tetanus shots. How fast does corpse poison work? Am I going to die from this?"

A flood of thoughts raced through his mind, and to his surprise, he wasn't panicking. Then, he realized—it wasn't his own resilience.

It was the candle's influence.

Bathed in its glow, his emotions gradually settled.

"I'm already poisoned. I can't waste time. Time for the second plan."

Before entering the dungeon, Zhang Yuanqing had devised two plans: a cautious exploration approach or a high-risk gamble.

He chose the gamble—taming the Red Dancing Shoes.

After all, if a yellow talisman could be used, why not these shoes?