Chapter 116: The Bustling Graveyard

Chapter 116 The Lively Cemetery

What did he mean by "might also be going to see myself"...?

The air in the taxi grew thick.

The driver gripped the steering wheel stiffly, as if pins and needles were crawling down his spine, occasionally stealing glances at the rearview mirror.

Only by constantly confirming that the passenger in the back seat still looked human—no inexplicable bloodstains appearing on their body, their eyes not turning eerily all-black or all-white, and no sudden jump-scare—

Could the driver muster a shred of security, suppressing the chills running down his spine, silently increasing the speed.

He had heard from fellow drivers before that working late at night sometimes meant encountering "spirit passengers"—passengers who might be spirits temporarily returned from the afterlife. As long as they weren’t disturbed and their wishes were quickly fulfilled, these encounters usually wouldn’t lead to fatal consequences.

Of course, there were also night-shift drivers who had lost their lives because of them.

Among the deceased, some had suddenly swerved and crashed into speeding trucks, while others had vanished for days, only for their bodies and cars to be discovered thousands of miles away—in places their fuel tanks couldn't possibly have reached...

The driver had always dismissed such ghost stories, but today, he felt he ought to visit a temple tomorrow to pray properly, preferably to get a protective talisman or the like.

As terrifying tales swirled in his mind, the driver’s heart pounded violently, almost leaping into his throat, his face cycling between pallor and ashen hues.

Chu Fu, unaware of the driver’s vivid mental gymnastics, sat quietly in the back seat, his elbow resting against the window, his hand propping up half his face as he stared absently at the scenery outside.

The city’s shifting lights illuminated his face, also revealing many anomalies hidden in plain sight.

For instance, Chu Fu saw a bright red umbrella floating mid-air beneath a bus stop sign, as if held by an invisible person waiting for the bus;

The dilapidated bus slowly approaching flickered between an empty interior and one packed with shadowy figures, their ashen faces all turned forward as the bus carried them toward an unknown destination;

Then there was a residential building they passed, where a figure could faintly be seen leaping from the rooftop, only to vanish upon hitting the ground—then reappear at the top a second later, repeating the fatal plunge;

Beyond that, Chu Fu also spotted a butcher’s shop draped with dangling human shapes, a fork in the road absent from the map, driverless cars moving on their own, and a strange man wrapping his own intestines around his neck...

Supernatural sightings at every turn—what a lively scene.

Chu Fu felt that the city’s true character only revealed itself at night.

Thanks to the driver’s white-knuckled driving, the taxi soon arrived at the cemetery gates.

The moment Chu Fu stepped out, before he could even close the door, the driver slammed the accelerator, speeding off as if chased by ghosts, the yellow-painted door flapping wildly in the wind before vanishing down the road in seconds.

The gust from the departing car ruffled his hair, and Chu Fu faintly caught the driver’s wail—something about shouting into the phone:

"Brothers! Be extra careful driving at night lately! I just ran into a ghost—"

"The driver’s quite impatient," Chu Fu mused, watching the taxi leave, blithely ignoring the ghost comment. "He must be in a hurry to pick up another fare."

System: "...Congratulations, Player, for creating the urban legend 'The Young Male Ghost Hitching a Ride to the Cemetery.' Current spread: 371. Keep up the good work."

"Task progress: 1/7."

"So, generating a legend through my own actions counts toward the mission too?"

Chu Fu pondered. "Of course, the system wouldn’t let players cheat the system by making up random stories."

"Maybe the conditions are that the legend needs actual spread? Or that its core must contain a kernel of truth to be recognized?"

For example, this newly born taxi urban legend revolved around Chu Fu himself.

Unlike the driver’s assumption, Chu Fu wasn’t a ghost catching a ride from the underworld—but he had displayed enough odd behavior, and his story was gaining traction rapidly...

—Who said urban legends had to be about ghosts?

Strange events, people, phenomena, even objects could all qualify as "urban legends."

Chu Fu speculated, "In that case, the so-called urban legends in this instance might ultimately boil down to people's 'belief' and 'fear.'"

Next time they met, he’d have to thank the driver properly—reaching over 300 people so quickly meant the legend’s birth was largely his doing.

Chu Fu suspected the driver had just shared his "ghost encounter" in the city's cabbie network...

The audience, watching his silent contemplation, grew inexplicably tense. His lack of speech made it hard to guess his mood!

A few comments scrolled past:

"Anyone figure out what the streamer’s thinking right now?"

"Can't tell, but bet someone’s about to have bad (scary) luck."

"...Already lighting candles for the NPCs and other players in this instance. Good luck to them."

"Lol, other urban legend streams are about exploring them, but this one’s a real-time workshop on how to create them ()"

"Thanks for the hands-on tutorial, streamer. Taking mental notes."

The cemetery was expansive, enclosed by pitch-black wrought-iron fences resembling swords thrust into the night sky, exuding a solemn aura.

Chu Fu strolled in leisurely. Perhaps because sane individuals didn’t visit graves at night, the grounds had only a few and far-between lampposts, leaving most paths and tombs swallowed by darkness.

To the right of the entrance was a management booth, its warm light streaming from the glass window, standing out against the surrounding black.

Inside sat a middle-aged attendant on night duty. Chu Fu passed directly in front of her, yet she pretended not to see him, making no move to stop him.

Perplexed, Chu Fu examined the booth and spotted the posted regulations—

"Guidelines for Guiyin Cemetery Night Shift:

1. Outside patrol hours, please refrain from leaving the management booth. The cemetery accepts no liability for your safety otherwise.

2. Three patrols are required nightly: 18:00, 24:00, and 06:00. Each must conclude within 30 minutes, with immediate return to the booth.

3. During patrols, do not respond to calls of unknown origin. If your shoulder is tapped, do not turn around. Heard children’s laughter or crying? Ignore it. Someone brushes past you in the dark? Do not look. Pretend you neither see nor hear them, and end the patrol swiftly.

4. Stick to the main paths near the fences. If you feel a chill on your neck, weight on your back, footsteps tailing you, or find yourself veering onto side paths, immediately stand under a lamppost, close your eyes for one minute, then cut the patrol short.

5. Nighttime grave visits are not permitted. Any 'visitors' you see at night do not exist. They are hallucinations.

6. Should any 'visitor' dig up graves, steal offerings, or vandalize property, contact security immediately for professional disposal.

Lastly, we wish you a safe and uneventful shift."

Now Chu Fu understood why the attendant pretended not to see him.

She wasn’t blind—she was just strictly adhering to procedure, acting as though he weren’t there!

And she was skilled at the charade. Her gaze swept past him with such convincing nonchalance, so absorbed in her work, that even Chu Fu didn't immediately catch on she was putting on an act.

No wonder they’re people living in a city teeming with urban legends—so calm and collected.

Skipping past the caretaker's booth, Chu Fu strolled through the cemetery, paying special attention to the newest graves, looking to find where his original self was buried.

He hadn't gotten his hopes up, unsure whether his original self had even survived or not, and not everyone who passed away would be buried in a cemetery.

But clearly, luck was on Chu Fu’s side.

It didn’t take him long to find "Chu Fu’s" grave—because it stood out far too much. Among the well-maintained new graves, clearly visited often by friends and family, only "Chu Fu’s" sat bare. Patches of fuzzy weeds had even begun sprouting on either side, making it look downright neglected.

Squinting to read the inscription on the tombstone, Chu Fu muttered to himself, "Only dead for a little over half a month. You'd think someone would've come by now."

"Was my original self really that much of a loner, or… has everyone else forgotten his death?"

Considering he could still act under his original identity, Chu Fu figured it was probably the second option. But that raised a new question: "So who exactly am I now? Did ‘I’ kill the real original and take his place?"

After a moment’s thought, Chu Fu pressed his palms together in front of the grave and murmured, "No disrespect," before pulling out his phone to snap a photo of the tombstone as evidence.

Next, he leisurely wandered around the cemetery a while longer, seeing if he could stumble across any wild urban legends.

Like every other corner of this city, the cemetery at night was hopping.

The laughter of children playing mingled with mysterious footsteps, intermittent sobs, and the low coughs of an elderly person.

A bright red high-heeled shoe appeared out of nowhere in the darkness, blood endlessly seeping from its surface, soaking the ground and staining the surrounding soil a deep crimson.

"The more the merrier."

Chu Fu nodded approvingly. Yet, for some reason, whenever he tried to approach these "residents" to greet them, the eerie phenomena up and disappeared.

It seemed these urban legends still retained their instinct for self-preservation, and their aggression was low—if they were truly vicious, a mere management booth wouldn’t have been enough to protect the night-shift attendant.

Just as Chu Fu sighed regretfully and prepared to leave, an icy hand patted his shoulder, halting him in his tracks.

Turning, he saw a shriveled-up old man.

The man was ancient beyond belief, his face layered with deep wrinkles that shifted and writhed like the gnarled bark of an old tree when he grinned, appearing especially sinister in the dark.

His murky eyes fixed unblinkingly on Chu Fu as he rasped, "Ah, age has made my legs useless… Young man, could you lend me a hand?"

On the unseen digital screen, a flurry of mourning comments flashed as the audience started lighting digital candles for him.

Chu Fu gazed calmly down at the frail old man, then suddenly curled his lips into a smile. "Of course."

"Where would you like to go, old sir? I’ll take you there."