Is it a ghost?

I followed her example, dipped my finger in the tea, and wrote three characters on the table.

Who is the ghost?

Grandma Zeng dipped her finger in the tea and wrote a dot on the table.

Before I could see it clearly, I heard a crisp "snap".

The sound was like a dry branch being snapped in two.

Her finger suddenly broke off without any warning!

Crimson blood gushed from the severed finger, splashing onto the table and mixing with the tea to create an eerie dark red color.

What's going on?!

Grandma Zeng remained expressionless, as if she had known all along that this calamity would come.

She slowly raised her head to look at me, a hint of helplessness in her eyes.

He dipped his severed finger in blood and wrote on the table: "Neither speak nor write; if you violate this rule, disaster will surely follow."

Can't it be spoken of, and can't it be written down?

Suddenly, a Taoist technique that my grandfather had once mentioned flashed through my mind.

It is said that once someone casts this spell on you, you will suffer a backlash if you speak or write anything that is forbidden.

In mild cases, it can result in limb loss; in severe cases, it can be fatal.

Why would the other party use such vicious methods to block information?

The air inside seemed to freeze, and the musty, rotten smell grew stronger, mixed with the stench of blood, making one want to vomit.

This time, I didn't ask who the ghost was. Instead, I wrote: Why did you kill Bai Su!

Grandma Zeng gave me a deep look and wrote down the words: "It was destined."

That's utter bullshit about destiny.

Is it destined that he will kill his own niece with his own hands?

Seeing my indignation, Grandma Zeng wrote a few more words: "At least it will lessen her suffering."

Upon seeing those words, I shuddered violently.

Now I understand.

Grandma Zeng meant that if she didn't kill Bai Su, someone else would kill her, and that person would torture Bai Su.

"Is it that feng shui master?" I asked.

This time, Grandma Zeng didn't write anything, but simply nodded.

"Is it... Chen Bazhong?" I hesitated for a moment, then couldn't help but ask.

I'm feeling conflicted right now; I want to know, but I'm also afraid to know.

Grandma Zeng wrote "yes" on the table.

Is he really my grandfather?

Before I could ask any more questions, Grandma Zeng's expression suddenly turned strange.

Her eyes were wide open, her gaze blank yet filled with madness, as if she were being controlled by an invisible, evil force.

He then grabbed the teacup and splashed the tea onto the table, before dipping his finger in the blood and writing rapidly.

The movements were so fast they were dazzling.

Even her head was shaking uncontrollably from side to side, and her body was trembling violently, making a "clucking" sound.

It felt like every joint in my body was rubbing against each other.

"Zeng Yonghua isn't my brother, he's Wu Zhiguo. Sanjiapo, hurry to Sanjiapo, it's too late, they're going to..."

Suddenly, a chilling cracking sound rang out again.

Grandma Zeng lost another finger without warning.

Fresh blood splattered onto the table, mixing with the previous blood to form a shocking pool of blood.

But she seemed oblivious to the pain, continuing to write frantically with her remaining fingers: "Turn these people into ghouls..."

"What is a ghoul?" I asked.

However, Grandma Zeng ignored my question.

Her fingers kept breaking off.

With each broken stroke, she would twitch, but the act of writing never stopped.

At this moment, she only had three fingers left, but she still tried her best to smear blood on the table with those blood-soaked, mutilated fingers.

"There is no resurrection, it's all fake. They want to change the entire Xuanmen sect, to destroy it..."

Before she could finish writing, all of her remaining fingers were severed.

The severed finger rolled on the table, splattering blood everywhere.

But this terrifying scene was not over yet.

The fingers on her other hand also began to break off one by one.

First her little finger, then her ring finger. With each finger that broke, her body shuddered violently, and the pain on her face became increasingly obvious.

Even with all her fingers severed, she did not give up, smearing her bloodied and mangled hands haphazardly on the table.

The hand, devoid of fingers and smeared with blood, produced crooked and messy handwriting.

I struggled to decipher what she had written.

"Don't believe him, he's lying to you, he's always been lying to you..."

As she wrote, Grandma Zeng coughed up blood, thick blood continuously gushing from the corners of her mouth.

"Who? Who's lying to me?"

I shouted anxiously and reached out to grab her shoulder to make her stop.

But she seemed to be caught up in some kind of obsessive madness, ignoring my calls.

Continue to frantically smear the ink on the table with your palm.

"Stop writing."

I was really scared when I saw her like that, and I reached out to pull her up.

But as soon as his hand touched her shoulder, her body twisted violently.

Her bones began to crack and pop, as if a powerful force was twisting her body apart.

With her last bit of strength, Grandma Zeng struggled and wrote the character "氵" on the table.

Then, he suddenly lunged forward and landed heavily on the table, remaining motionless.

"Sister Zeng?"

I tentatively called out.

Seeing that she didn't react, I reached out and nudged her shoulder.

But her body was as stiff as a stone, completely motionless.

A sense of foreboding washed over me, and I grabbed her shoulders tightly, turning her over.

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