Chapter 145: Taboos of the First Month
Mu Lantu pulled down his mask and blew out a breath. The black mist stirred faintly before returning to stillness.
Xu Huazhang let him play for a moment, then took his hand and led him into the elevator.
Seconds later, they reached the first floor. A dense black fog smothered everything; all they could see was each other and the clusters of crimson eyes lurking overhead. It was still early, so some households should have had lights on, but the fog blocked everything—no ray of light could pierce through.
Mu Lantu clutched tightly at Xu Huazhang’s sleeve.
“Scared?” Huazhang pulled him into his arms.
Mu Lantu nodded. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrifying was hiding inside the mist.
The unknown was the most frightening.
Steeling himself, Mu Lantu raised his phone and turned on the camera.
“I can see them!”
Through the lens, the black mist appeared gray. Within it darted clusters of black orbs, grape-sized, like crystallized essence of the fog itself. They zipped about at high speed, flattening thin as paper when they slipped through window cracks, then puffing back into round beads as they continued on their way.
“The things attacking the dead must be those,” Huazhang said.
Mu Lantu’s face grew solemn. In just this short time, they had already spotted at least eight households being targeted.
What had those families done?
Clatter—
The sound of dishes shattering came from above.
“Yao Yanran, do you f***ing want to die? If you don’t want to live here, get out!”
“The one who should die is you! Who the hell were you on the phone with?”
Clatter—
Mu Lantu’s heart leapt.
“Huazhang, look!”
Xu Huazhang shifted the phone’s angle. They both clearly saw two of the black beads abruptly change course—as if summoned—and dart straight toward the arguing couple’s apartment, squeezing inside!
“I get it now.” Mu Lantu lowered the phone, his handsome face lit with sudden realization. “Huazhang, I understand what’s happening!”
Xu Huazhang followed, “You mean… people can’t curse or speak ill-omened words?”
Mu Lantu nodded firmly. “We just need final confirmation!”
He dragged Huazhang upstairs and knocked on Uncle Yang’s door.
“Uncle Yang!”
From inside came the hesitant voice of Uncle Yang. “Xiao Hua… you two…”
Mu Lantu cut straight to the point. “Uncle Yang, could you give me your phone number? There’s something I need to ask.”
“My number? Sure, sure. It’s…”
Back home, Mu Lantu dialed the number—but the screen flashed: No signal!
Speechless, he flopped onto the sofa.
Huazhang brought two glasses of water. “We’ll go knock again in the morning.”
Mu Lantu summarized their findings.
“In this town, anyone who curses or speaks ill-omened words during the New Year will trigger the black mist. The mist seeps into the red lanterns, extinguishing them. Each lantern that goes out means someone spoke such words.
By day, the mist only stores power. At night, it condenses into black orbs—let’s call them evil sprites. Anyone who cursed or spoke unlucky words will be attacked by them.”
Huazhang nodded. “That explains why, when we asked around, people only vaguely said the victims were hot-tempered. No one mentioned their habit of swearing—out of respect for the dead.”
Mu Lantu smacked his forehead. “Remember that day we saw a little boy pestering his grandma for an Ultraman toy?”
Huazhang remembered.
“She told him: During New Year, you can’t say bad words. But we didn’t pay attention! And that shop lady who showered us with auspicious sayings while happily giving us red envelopes… the neighbors who gifted talisman-like red packets, the blessing clock… They were hinting all along.”
Huazhang said, “Now that we know, we’ll announce it tomorrow and it’ll be over.”
Mu Lantu clapped a hand over his mouth in alarm. “Baby, don’t jinx it!”
Huazhang blinked innocently, uncharacteristically pure.
Mu Lantu leaned close and pecked his eyelid.
“Bath, then bed!”
That night, they both slept soundly.
When they woke, it was still dark.
Outside, cries, shouts, and screams overlapped in a deafening cacophony.
Huazhang glanced at the time and shot upright.
“Baby, it’s already past ten. It’s not still night—the fog has swallowed the daytime too.”
“Past ten?” Mu Lantu blinked groggily. “No wonder I feel hungry…”
Huazhang laughed, pinching his nose. “Awake yet?”
“Yes, yes.” Mu Lantu swatted him away and turned to the window. “You just said the fog’s out in the daytime?”
“Mm.” Huazhang checked his phone. “No signal.”
Mu Lantu sobered instantly. “We have to find a way to warn everyone not to curse anymore! If every lantern above us goes out, something even worse will happen.”
He wasn’t wrong.
Before Huazhang could answer, panicked shouts rose outside.
“Fire! Fire! Help! Ahhh—!”
Mu Lantu flicked the bedside lamp switch. No light.
“Power outage?”
“I’ll check.” Huazhang took a flashlight outside.
Soon, he returned. “It’s a blackout. The fire’s far from here—for now, we’re safe.”
Mu Lantu tossed him some clothes. “Get dressed before you catch cold.”
The uproar outside grew louder.
They quickly washed up, scarfed a simple breakfast, bundled themselves tightly, and went to knock on Uncle Yang’s door again.
Still, the Yang family didn’t dare open. Through the blurry door camera, Uncle Yang’s voice quivered: “Who’s there?”
“Uncle Yang, it’s me, Xiao Hua.” Mu Lantu explained everything in one breath. “We’ve deduced the black mist appears because someone cursed during New Year. Is there a way to spread this to the others?”
“Xiao Hua! Are you serious?” Uncle Yang asked, shaken.
Auntie Yang cut in, “That explains it! Zhao’s old granny, Old Wang, the Song boy, He family’s new bride—they all cursed constantly! Especially old Mrs. Zhao, never went a day without swearing. And that Song kid, spoiled rotten, foul mouth for his age. Aiya, they’ve doomed themselves!”
When they finished venting, Mu Lantu repeated his question.
Uncle Yang sighed. “There’s no way. Normally we’d spread word in the town chat group, but there’s no signal. Broadcasting from the school or mayor’s office would work, but it’s pitch dark—no one dares go out. Even if they did, you can’t see the road…”
“Wait, Xiao Hua, how dare you even come out?” Auntie Yang asked.
Mu Lantu explained, “As long as you haven’t cursed since midnight, the mist won’t attack. I kept myself wrapped up tightly—it’s fine.”
“I see.”
“Uncle, Auntie, I’ll go tell Uncle Chen and Uncle Zhang too.”
“Thank you, Xiao Hua.”
After warning the others, Mu Lantu and Huazhang descended the stairs.
The black fog swarmed with even more sprites now—countless, like locusts.
It was already too late to warn the townsfolk.
Even with protective red envelopes, the two felt suffocated by the mass of sprites swooping near. Fearing they’d slip into their eyes or ears, they retreated indoors.
The fifth day, the sixth, the seventh of the lunar new year…
The town never saw daylight again.
Thankfully, water and gas still worked.
The two stayed obediently at home, eating, watching TV, and indulging in intimate moments.
At midnight of the Lantern Festival, 00:00 sharp, a glowing panel sprang from their wristbands.
“Congratulations, players, for completing the mission. Reward: 1 credit, 800 coins. You will exit the instance in one minute.”
“Congratulations, players, for completing the mission. Reward: 1 credit, 800 coins. You will exit the instance in one minute.”
Mu Lantu grinned. “Huazhang, we each got 800 coins—probably the best score! We’re rich!”
Huazhang chuckled. “You unlocked the red envelope item, I discovered the phone’s use. Both probably gave high coin bonuses.”
A minute later, they were back in the classroom.
Mu Lantu’s gaze swept the room—seven students missing.
They hadn’t made it back.
Those who returned had their bodies restored by Infinite University, but the exhaustion etched on their faces could not be healed.
Song Bochao, Zhao Yuanzhou, Zhang Junyang—all looked drained.
Mu Lantu sighed. One dungeon per class—such intensity was beyond what most could endure.
The bell rang. No one moved, no one spoke.
Mu Lantu disliked the heavy silence.
“Baby, let’s go for a walk.”
The rest watched the two walk out side by side, envy thick in their eyes—not only for their resilience, but for the comfort of having each other.
Fan Wenyao turned back to Song Bochao and the others. “Were you in the same instance as Mu Lantu and Xu Huazhang?”
Song Bochao pushed up his glasses. “Why do you ask?”
Fan Wenyao’s gaze flickered. “If so, that would mean people seated close together might get assigned the same dungeon.”
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