Happy Little Farmer
Chapter 768

Chapter 768: Chapter 768

Looking at the enthusiastic smile on Yang Fan’s face, Mr. Fan’s expression instantly grew a bit peculiar.

"Kid, what kind of reaction is this supposed to be? You can still laugh?" he asked, surprised.

Yang Fan laughed and replied, "Why wouldn’t I be able to laugh?"

"This isn’t the reaction a normal person should have. Whether it’s the Faceless Man or Chu Jiu, if you handle it poorly, you’ll end up dead. How are you still able to laugh?" Mr. Fan looked at Yang Fan suspiciously.

He suddenly started to doubt Yang Fan.

Sometimes, people who returned from that path seemed perfectly normal, but who knows—they might have already become something else.

"Sir, I’m just very curious," Yang Fan said. "Even though that path is dangerous and anything could happen, it’s like playing a game dungeon—a fascinating dungeon always stirs up some interest in people."

Yang Fan wasn’t arrogant enough to treat the entities on that path as nonexistent. He still exercised caution and vigilance where necessary.

But that didn’t stop him from developing a strong fascination with that place.

These were two separate matters.

If one had to link them together somehow, it could only be said that this curiosity somewhat diminished Yang Fan’s fear of the path.

Mr. Fan looked at Yang Fan seriously, suddenly taking out a mirror covered with numerous runes drawn in red ink from his pocket. He held the mirror up to Yang Fan’s face, then looked into it from the side.

All Yang Fan saw was his own rather rugged face.

Only then did Mr. Fan feel reassured. "Don’t get too cocky, kid. That path has all sorts of strange and bizarre things. One careless step and you’ll lose yourself there forever, or worse, get consumed by something else."

"Take this mirror with you—if you sense anything unusual happening to yourself, use it to check," he added.

Yang Fan took the mirror and said, "Sir, I’m just curious, but I’m not reckless. I’m still cautious."

After all, life only happens once, and Yang Fan wouldn’t mess around lightly.

"Your first time went relatively smoothly. Don’t rush—take things slow," Mr. Fan reminded him again, still uneasy. "I need to deal with other people now. Keep an eye on the candle; if anything changes, stop immediately."

"...Alright."

Though Mr. Fan was usually critical of him, maintaining a constant air of dissatisfaction, nearly glaring at him all the time,

Yang Fan felt a poignant warmth from his master at this moment.

Mr. Fan left.

Not far from Yang Fan, a group of people were gathering, setting up some kind of ritual.

Mr. Fan seemed to be an integral part of their proceedings.

Yang Fan glanced over briefly before looking away, first inspecting the white candle in his left hand.

He still had no idea what material the candle was made of—it seemed remarkably slow-burning.

Yang Fan had already returned after fetching one person and chatted with Mr. Fan for quite some time, yet the candle’s very thin tip hadn’t even burned down.

"Let’s continue."

Yang Fan glanced at the name of the second person on the list, silently memorized it, and entered into visualization mode.

Darkness descended, and the candlelight gradually magnified before Yang Fan’s eyes.

When he opened his eyes again, he found himself once more on that hardened yellow dirt road.

The moon continued to hover far above the thick mist, hazy and indistinct, as if submerged in water.

Yang Fan raised the Blood Palm Print Lantern high and loudly called out, "Chen Wen... Chen Wen..."

The long, echoing chant reverberated along the silent dirt road.

The mist rolled placidly, reminiscent of the calm surface of a windless sea, shifting lightly with each movement.

"Chen Wen... Chen Wen..."

After walking some distance, Yang Fan saw a figure hunched at the roadside with its back to him, trembling violently.

"Chen Wen?"

Yang Fan called out cautiously.

The shadow did not respond.

Its shoulders trembled faintly; it looked like it was crying.

"Is that you, Chen Wen? Say something, regardless of whether it’s you!" Yang Fan shouted.

Still no response.

The figure’s back, if not for its subtle trembling, appeared entirely lifeless, like a corpse.

Yang Fan’s vigilance heightened instantly.

This guy seemed a little off.

He gripped the wooden mace tightly in his right hand and began edging toward the shadow bit by bit.

Just as Yang Fan almost reached the figure’s back, it suddenly spun with alarming speed and lunged at him.

Its back had clearly resembled a man, but its face was void of humanity—it was a fox’s face.

And not an ordinary fox—it was savage and grotesque, a face that looked like it had rotted after death.

As it pounced swiftly, Yang Fan clearly saw the pale bones protruding from its face, writhing maggots weaving in and out. Its black pupils were clusters of insect heads, closely packed together.

"What the hell is this!"

Yang Fan was startled and repulsed.

He swung himself fiercely to the side, and his wooden mace crackled with electricity as he struck down sharply.

The creature’s speed was extraordinary. Missing its target, it twisted agilely and darted into the nearby mist.

Yang Fan immediately bolted after it.

The mist parted as he moved, and what appeared before him was no longer the low houses from before but towering tombs.

The bases of the tombs were encased in green bricks, and two low brick walls extended from the front.

Strangely, these tombs had doorways.

They were graves, yet they resembled cave dwellings in some respects.

Within the courtyards enclosed by low brick walls were stone tables and chairs, and in the corners were brooms and other tools.

At this moment, the three tombs in front of Yang Fan appeared to be bustling.

Each of the tombs had crowds gathered outside.

Their figures seemed much smaller than average people, only roughly one-fifth or sixth of normal size.

The three tomb owners appeared to be celebrating something joyous, hosting guests.

Yang Fan’s abrupt intrusion caused everyone in the tomb courtyards to simultaneously lift their heads to stare at him.

The sight made Yang Fan’s scalp tingle instantly.

What... in the world...?

"A distinguished guest from afar, since you’re here, why not come in for a drink to celebrate?" One of the tomb courtyard residents, a woman who seemed regal and grand, smiled and beckoned to Yang Fan.

Aside from being significantly smaller than normal people, these individuals appeared otherwise indistinguishable from humans.

"Today, my great-grandson is getting married. We’ve prepared a grand banquet and even invited us ancestors to join the festivities. Since you’re an honored guest from far away, tonight you’re especially esteemed. Why not set aside your urgent matters for now, come and enjoy a cup of celebratory wine, and rest a bit?" the woman called out with a smile.

Yang Fan’s nerves were taut. He eyed these people warily and shook his head. "Congratulations, but I’ll have to skip the wine. I’m dealing with something extremely important and absolutely cannot afford to delay, so I won’t intrude."

"If our visitor from afar isn’t willing to sit down for a drink, then how about taking some gifts home instead?" the woman said regretfully. "It’s our custom here—you can’t refuse."