Chapter Seventy: Paper Carriage, Paper Figures, the Ghost Arrives!

At the forefront was a police car, its lights flashing red and blue in alternating bursts. Two officers descended from the vehicle, one tall and thin, the other short and stout, forming a strangely symmetrical pair. Both bore sidearms, and upon exiting, they gazed solemnly toward Zheng Guoqiang and Lin Yi.

The taller officer furrowed his brow. Behind them, a funeral van idled. The tall officer, gun in hand, addressed Lin Yi and the others brusquely. “What are you dawdling for? Hurry up and move along. These bodies must be taken away.”

The other officer echoed his words, then began directing the white funeral van with black lettering and wreaths displayed at its front. With a creak, the van started forward and soon four people stepped out. Besides the driver, three others emerged from the rear seats.

It was a typical van used for funerals. The four who alighted appeared efficient and capable, clad in matching black attire. Yet, for some reason, their clothing struck observers as odd. It wasn’t quite a suit, nor the traditional tunic of bygone times—most unsettling was the impression their garments gave, as if fashioned from paper.

Those standing nearby felt this most keenly, but exhaustion after a night of turmoil led many to attribute it to fatigue. Some rubbed their eyes and peered closely, realizing they’d merely mistaken the old-fashioned look for something unusual. After all, these clothes resembled those worn by porters in ancient dramas, nothing special.

Residents of the Talent Garden Villas were all affluent—at worst, newly minted tycoons. Someone mused inwardly that such outfits belonged to sedan bearers in historical films, so why were funeral workers wearing them now? Though puzzled, people shrugged it off, their eyes lingering on the workers’ heads.

Aside from their peculiar clothing, the four also wore hats—plain caps, but with the same fragile, paper-like quality as their outfits, seeming as if a mere tug would tear them apart.

Thump, thump, thump.

Together, the group hefted the coffins onto the funeral van. The vehicle was small, soon filled to capacity with just a few coffins. Yet over ten coffins needed to be transported—how could all fit? Eyes turned to Zheng Guoqiang in confusion.

“Mr. Zheng, is this some kind of joke? How can so many coffins fit into one funeral van? What were the authorities thinking?” someone asked an officer.

“Officer, what’s going on? Are you saying my wife’s body can’t be moved? What is your reasoning?”

Faced with the crowd’s questions, neither Zheng Guoqiang nor the mismatched pair of officers could muster an answer; their faces wore expressions of helplessness. Only the four funeral workers remained silent, steadily loading coffins into the van.

One coffin.

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Two coffins.

On and on, the black coffins were loaded, until all ten-plus were inside the funeral van.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh…

The crowd fell silent. Those who had been confused moments before were now mute. Some continued to sob as the coffins were taken away, mourning the loss of seeing their loved ones one last time. Yet, under the forceful directives from above, even the most influential residents could do nothing. In the face of such eerie events, they had no voice, forced to endure their grief in silence.

Some wept quietly, others cried without sound—the elegant widow, Yang Wanshun’s weathered mother, and many others. Now, however, all tears ceased. Silence reigned, broken only by the abrupt gusting of wind.

A chilling laughter erupted suddenly!

It was as if, in the boundless quiet, a rusted door had swung open, sending shivers down spines and tingling ears.

Rumble, rumble, rumble…

Accompanying the horrific laughter, the funeral van loaded with coffins emitted a powerful roar, its engine spinning wildly. The van shuddered as if moving on its own, producing rattling noises. Tires squealed against the ground, the friction intensifying, filling the air with the scent of burning rubber.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh…

Zheng Guoqiang moved faster than anyone, darting to the van’s door in the blink of an eye and yanking it open. Only then did everyone see—the van wasn’t real, but a fake! It was made of paper!

Truly—made of paper!

The air began to tremble.

Swish, swish, swish…

Like a stone dropped into a still well, ripples spread through the air. As the veil lifted, the crowd looked again and realized all the vehicles were fake! The police car, the unbelievable van packed with coffins—none were made of metal, but of paper.

The paper matched that sold in funeral supply shops, both in color and texture.

“Ah, ah, ah…”

“I—I… Run, run, run…”

The residents of Talent Garden Villas now understood the meaning of escaping the tiger’s den only to fall into the wolf’s lair. Not long after the harrowing passage of the spectral soldiers, their nerves had calmed thanks to Lin Yi, but now terror struck anew!

Some nearly collapsed, fainting on the spot—the elegant widow among them. Those with stronger nerves, like the three middle-aged men, fled desperately to the rear.

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This was an instinctive reaction, not a sign of cowardice.

Zheng Guoqiang was running too—right at the paper van’s door, running in place!

As he moved, a hissing sound emanated from his body; his clothes unchanged, but something within him seemed to fracture. Amid the panic, gazes shifted. Someone glanced around—one of the tough middle-aged men, upon seeing, let out a strangled cry and collapsed, eyes rolling back, utterly unconscious.

It was because the police officers who had spoken earlier were paper people!

Not only were the vehicles made of paper—the people were, too!

Fake cars! Fake people!

Their material was crude, obviously false to any observer, yet moments before everyone had believed the uniforms and officers were real.

They were paper figures! Their faces bore tiny traces of makeup—the rouge and powder reflected unnatural, chilling colors under the streetlights.

Beyond the two officers, the four funeral van workers were also crafted from paper! Their paper was of inferior quality, the color likewise. That explained why, moments ago, their clothes seemed like those worn by servants. In reality, they were merely paper garments.

Someone could bear no more, collapsing completely. Those still conscious fled farther in terror, including the security guards.

Zheng Guoqiang had already opened the paper van door, laughing maniacally. With each laugh, the hissing sound grew louder, an ominous energy rapidly expanding within him.

“Hahaha… Mine, all mine… Lin Yi, you killed my partner, you killed my wife. Let’s see who you can save now—do you want to prevent me from devouring these bodies, or save these people, or will you die yourself… Lin Yi, I want you dead, I want you dead…”

His laughter grew wild, his features distorted. The hissing was the sound of his skin splitting. Locks of hair and chunks of flesh began to fall away, dripping like melting wax, until his face was reduced to a bloody skull. The flesh on his arms vanished, leaving only bloody bone, jagged and monstrous—the malformed demon fox revealed!

Rampant, unrestrained!

The painted skin ghost had arrived!

It was Zheng Guoqiang!

He made his intentions clear—he had come for Lin Yi. The demon fox knew its mate was dead; this time, it was here for revenge on Lin Yi and everyone else.

Now in control, it made no attempt to hide, appearing openly before the crowd.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh…

Amid its wild laughter, the breeze—harmless to humans—sent shivers through the paper figures. The six paper people, the two officers and four funeral workers, trembled involuntarily, emitting laughter like the jingling of camel bells.

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