Yang Jian's operation proceeded smoothly.
Huang Ziya, running through the darkness with the ghost candle, had also reached her limit. Her legs gave out, and she stumbled onto the hard concrete road. The fall left her dizzy, nearly knocking her unconscious, while the ghost candle in her hand went out from the impact.
She wanted to find the ghost candle, but she had no idea where it had fallen. Terror and fear made her gasps and breathing grow increasingly ragged.
The surroundings remained eerily quiet, yet Huang Ziya could feel a chilly breeze stirring nearby. It made her hair stand on end. She did not dare continue searching for the ghost candle and instead considered how to save her own life.
After all, she had already stalled for this long. It should have been enough.
Just as she tried to get up, something seemed to droop down behind her. At the same time, she felt something brush against her arms and legs—rough yet gentle, like wild grass swaying in the wind against her body, seeming utterly harmless.
But that gentle prelude heralded the arrival of terror.
In an instant.
An old straw rope shot out of the darkness and locked around her neck, nearly snapping her bones as it hoisted her into the air.
The ghost rope's only flaw was that it did not move very fast. But no matter how slow it was, it had still caught up to Huang Ziya.
She had been attacked.
And this attack could not be resisted. Even if she used her own ghost's ability to withstand one attack from the ghost rope, she would not survive the countless attacks that followed. In the end, she would die from ghostly revival.
Huang Ziya had not intended to resist either. The instant she was hoisted