A chill shot up from the soles of Pang Xiaofeng's feet and straight to the top of his head.
He had been drawn over by a creaking sound. At first, he'd thought some piece of wood in the temple had rotted and come loose. But now, for all he knew, one of the corpses had gotten tired of lying there, crawled out, and insisted on saying hello.
If Pang Xiaofeng's imagination was right, the floating corpse ghost would probably kill him in one of three ways. First, it was crouched on the ceiling above him, hanging upside down. Some slime might drip down onto him, and while he was distracted and looking up, it would take him out in an instant.
Second, the floating corpse ghost was standing right behind him, soaked from head to toe and eagerly waiting for him to turn around so it could take him out.
Third, it was hiding behind the coffin, ready to jump out and take him out the moment he got close.
Though Pang Xiaofeng felt he was a lot more capable than before, he still wasn't capable enough to wrestle with a ghost. So as soon as it made a move, he could start preparing his own funeral.
Pang Xiaofeng carefully swallowed. To guard against all three ways of being killed, he lowered his head slightly and didn't turn around. Instead, he slowly backed away. Just then, a gust of wind lifted one corner of the white cloth. In the dim light, Pang Xiaofeng saw that the coffins behind the goddess statue weren't empty. Each held a corpse.
The nearest corpse was swollen all over and soaking wet. A piece of yellow paper covered its face, with a black wooden block weighing it down.
If Jiang Cheng had been standing there,