At three o'clock in the afternoon, the copper bell of the Zhu family ancestral hall suddenly exploded.
Guo Xiuxuan flicked his fly whisk to extinguish the ever-glamorous lantern. He wiped the mahogany sword blade with his fingertips, and the bright red blood beads snaked down along the pattern of the Big Dipper. Three sticks of incense sticks on the altar table suddenly broke, and the ashes condensed into distorted human faces in the moonlight.
"Master!" The little Taoist boy broke open the carved wooden door, and the compass pointer he held in his arms was spinning wildly, "The tiger coffin... The nails in the tiger coffin are bleeding!"
The ancient locust trees in the backyard of the ancestral hall move freely without wind, and the roots of the knotted trees arch up the bluestone platform that is about ten feet high. The surface of the five-foot-long dark iron tiger coffin was covered with dark red incantations, and dark red liquid was oozing from nine wrist-thick corpse-killing nails. The blood drops dripped on the stone platform, making a rustling sound.
Guo Xiuxuan's pupils shrank suddenly. The corpse-suppressing nail made of centuries-old dark iron should have been as black as ink, but now it glowed with a strange blue-gray color under the moonlight. There are dark patterns flowing on the nail's body, and upon closer inspection, it turns out to be densely packed Sanskrit mantras - this is clearly
