Chapter Eighteen: The Eight Ghosts’ Wealth-Gathering Formation (Second Update)

"Hey! So, what do you need from us?" Song Nianqiang asked as he picked his teeth with a toothpick, still burping from the meal. "Nothing much, really," the middle-aged man replied with a genial smile. "It's just that my old family house hasn't been very peaceful lately. I was hoping you two could go and see what's going on."

"No problem. Thirty thousand, not a coin less!" Song Nianqiang demanded without hesitation. For him, thirty thousand was no small sum—his mother usually gave him just three hundred at a time. Even he was surprised at his own audacity.

The middle-aged man burst out laughing. "Deal! But if you take my money, you’d better fix my problem. I don’t pay for nothing!" His tone suddenly turned cold.

Song Nianqiang snorted, mimicking the man’s sternness. "That kind of thing will never happen with me!"

"I like your confidence!" The man clapped Song Nianqiang on the shoulder. "Since you’ve eaten your fill, come with me." Without waiting for a reply, he strode off, glancing back at them.

They followed the man in his Mercedes, arriving at a cemetery. Deep within the grounds stood a large mansion, surrounded by ancient trees whose branches blotted out the sky. Although Song Nianqiang had lived in this county for more than a decade, he had never heard of such a place.

Barbed wire covered the courtyard walls, and the gate required a code. Song Nianqiang sensed at once that this was no ordinary situation. The man punched in a few numbers, and the gate swung open with a heavy thud. Even before they stepped inside, Song Nianqiang and his companion felt a chill wind brush past their faces.

"Be prepared. What happens next may be beyond your expectations," the man warned, glancing back before pushing the gate wide and entering.

Though they were surrounded by several companions, Song Nianqiang couldn't shake the oppressive, eerie feeling. Towering trees grew thickly in the yard, letting in no sunlight even at midday. The atmosphere grew stranger as they followed the man into a room.

"The Gathering of Eight Spirits for Wealth!" Song Nianqiang exclaimed in shock when he saw the scene inside. The middle-aged man nodded, clearly pleased with his reaction. "That’s right. This is why my business has flourished. But lately, the formation has become unstable, and it’s seriously affecting my business. Can you see what’s wrong?"

Song Nianqiang didn’t answer immediately. The Gathering of Eight Spirits for Wealth was a formation that could be as auspicious or as inauspicious as one claimed; its nature was always debated. But this one appeared peaceful enough at first glance. Though it was formed by spirits, it was indeed a rare and powerful formation.

This array harmed no one, sought only wealth, and took no lives. But now, it was incomplete—the main spirit had vanished, turning the formation into something dangerous. Though the danger was not yet apparent, it was only a matter of time.

"It seems whoever designed this array was a kind-hearted person," Song Nianqiang observed after a long silence. "Otherwise, he wouldn’t have used just one main spirit. The more main spirits, the more wealth gathered, but too many bring a murderous aura and turn the formation deadly."

"Exactly. My grandfather designed it. To create this formation, he became its main spirit himself. But now my grandfather’s soul is missing," the man said, his face etched with grief as he gazed at the array.

"I’ll help you recover the main spirit," Song Nianqiang replied at last after standing silently for ten minutes. "But I need one thing."

"Name it, and I’ll get it for you!" The man was clearly resolved. For the sake of his business, no trouble was too great.

"Your grandfather’s skull," Song Nianqiang stated, shocking everyone. He knew that in such prominent families, the deceased were never cremated; their remains were always buried in auspicious places.

The man stared at him, clearly doubting his words. To retrieve the skull, he would have to dig up his grandfather’s grave—a grave offense, one that required careful thought.

At that moment, a phone rang. The man answered, and though Song Nianqiang couldn’t hear the conversation, the man’s expression grew darker and grimmer. By the end of the call, he nearly crushed his phone in rage.

It took him three full minutes to compose himself. "Fine! I’ll take you!"

They set off immediately. Though they left around noon, it was nearly dusk by the time they reached the grave. After a hasty meal, the party began the trek up the mountain. The man had brought several workers, all armed with shovels and pickaxes, clearly intending to work through the night.

His grandfather’s tomb sat atop the mountain. Song Nianqiang knew nothing of geomancy, but the setting was picturesque, with clear waters and lush hills. Once the spotlights were set up, the laborers began their work.

The digging did not go smoothly. They encountered rocks at every turn, and halfway through, they struck a massive stone slab that could not be moved by human strength. The man looked stunned; his grandfather had died before he was born, and he knew little of the burial details.

"Just make sure my grandfather is out of that grave before dawn, by whatever means necessary!" With that, he turned and left. Song Nianqiang and his companion had come mainly to observe, so they followed him back down the mountain. A good night's sleep would serve them well for tomorrow.

At the foot of the mountain stood a small hotel, left open for the rare off-season tourists. Though scarcely occupied, the occasional couple would spend the night there after hiking. The man booked separate rooms for Song Nianqiang and his companion, not daring to slight them—they were, after all, his only hope for restoring the formation.

A little after four in the morning, Song Nianqiang’s door was rapped upon. Rubbing his tired eyes, he opened it to find his burly friend. "Did they dig it up?" he asked, yawning.

"Yes! Come see for yourself—it’s unbelievable!" the big man replied, wide awake with excitement.

After another half-hour climb, they stood before the grave. The first thing Song Nianqiang saw was a pair of glowing green eyes. Closer inspection revealed his grandfather’s corpse, perfectly preserved, unchanged since burial.

"I need your grandfather’s head," Song Nianqiang said quietly to the man. To be honest, even the man was shaken by the sight—an uncorrupted corpse was the precursor to a corpse transformation, though sixty years was not quite enough for that to occur.

Gritting his teeth, the man called for a chainsaw. After bowing three times before the tomb, he jumped into the chamber and sawed off his grandfather’s head with surprising ease. The corpse’s glowing green eyes were deeply unsettling.

The big man approached and handed him a talisman. "Paste this on your grandfather’s chest," he instructed. The man did so without hesitation. At once, thick white smoke rose from the body, and a powerful stench spread across the area.

The man climbed out of the tomb, gagging but unable to vomit; he hadn’t eaten since the previous evening. There was nothing left to bring up.

"Fatty, the head is yours," Song Nianqiang said, looking at the severed head on the ground.