Chapter 11: The Water Corpse

No wonder this group is so determined to hunt down the undead; their discipline is quite strict, their coordination flawless. Even without words, they communicate through glances and gestures, working together seamlessly.

In just a few moments, their preparations were done, though there wasn’t much to prepare. They merely scattered a layer of white substances across the clearing—some coarse, some fine. The coarse grains seemed to be glutinous rice, and the finer ones… perhaps salt.

What truly astonished Qi Yan was the absence of legendary tools—no talisman papers, peachwood swords, or black donkey hooves. The most formidable implement for capturing the creature turned out to be a black fishing net!

“Are these people off their medication, or did they just forget to take it?” Qi Yan grumbled inwardly as he observed.

Fortunately, they untied Li Lan’s hands as well. Yet, as soon as the ropes were loosened, Mr. Zhao drew a black Ruger P-85 from his waist and pointed it at him.

Qi Yan felt a sharp, throbbing pain at his temple. They actually have a gun?

Mr. Zhao said nothing, but his actions spoke volumes. Though Li Lan was freed, with a gun aimed at him, he had no thought of resistance—at least, not right now. He understood perfectly: if not for the fact that the living had the greatest appeal to the corpse in the water, he would have been slaughtered already.

Li Lan glanced at Qi Yan, rubbed his wrists, and nervously edged toward the muddy shore. It was perilous, but refusing would mean certain death.

Not only him—apart from Mr. Zhao, who stood above on the slope, the other three men took their positions, retreating into the bushes and forming an irregular triangular formation.

Mr. Zhao, meanwhile, dragged Qi Yan back by his collar with one hand, gun raised unwaveringly in the other.

Now, Li Lan stood alone by the shore, frail and thin. Yet he seemed less anxious than the camouflaged men—not because he lacked fear, but because his mind was busily plotting a chance to escape, which helped dull his terror of the dark creature.

“Give… give me the knife,” he said.

Mr. Zhao frowned. “What are you planning?”

Li Lan didn’t elaborate, his tone resolute: “Do you want the thing in the water to come up or not?!”

After a moment’s consideration, Mr. Zhao finally pulled out a switchblade from his pocket and tossed it over. “No tricks—unless you think I’d miss at this range!”

Just then, a long, muffled thunder rumbled through the night sky. The brooding storm clouds were about to break.

Li Lan picked up the knife, studied his left hand for a while, then bit his lower lip and sliced a shallow cut into his palm. Blood welled up instantly.

Even the red-haired youth on the slope straightened up at the sight. He remained silent, but his spirit clearly sharpened.

Step by heavy step, Li Lan inched toward the lake. Everyone held their breath; even the insects in the grass had fallen silent. An eerie hush prevailed.

Drip, drip…

It was no exaggeration to say that even the tiny sound of blood dripping into the water from Li Lan’s clenched fist was audible, along with his rapid breathing.

Large drops of blood mingled with the lake, but he didn’t stop. For nearly a minute, he continued, finally withdrawing his hand, yet making no move to retreat. Instead, he crouched and plunged his hand directly into the water.

The chill of the pond eased the sting in his injured hand, but sweat still beaded on Li Lan’s brow.

Thunder boomed louder and more frequently—within ten minutes, a torrential rain would surely break.

Five tense minutes passed; nothing stirred beneath the surface. Yet everyone remained taut with anxiety, not daring to relax for a moment.

Mr. Zhao’s group seemed unhurried. Qi Yan, however, was uneasy. He’d seen ghosts before, but a zombie was another matter. Even with so many people present, his throat was parched, and he kept licking his lips.

At such times, time itself seemed to slow.

Li Lan crouched at the shore, hand in the water. Another minute ticked by.

“It’s coming…” His voice was faint, trembling, barely a whisper, yet audible to all.

He sounded the warning, and the others prepared themselves. Yet after several more seconds, nothing happened.

Even Li Lan seemed puzzled, furrowing his brow and lowering his head to stare at his reflection on the water’s surface.

Suddenly—splash!

A pale gray hand burst from the water, splashing Li Lan’s face. He jolted, instinctively dropping back onto his rear and scrambling backward in panic, without hesitation.

The hand had meant to grab his face, but missed.

That was only the beginning. After the arm came a ghastly figure—a pale, naked body, accompanied by a guttural howl. The creature leapt halfway out of the water.

“Gods above… it’s real?!” Qi Yan was startled, his eyes wide.

Sprawled at the shore was a “person,” completely bare, its skin gray-white, its head shrouded in long, wet hair. Every inch of its body was covered in dense scratches; flesh turned outward, yet no red blood flowed.

After emerging, the monster paused for less than two seconds before crawling toward Li Lan, who was still scooting away on his backside. It was almost human in form, moving with surprising agility.

Perhaps Li Lan had encountered too many of these things and built up a resistance—or perhaps he was simply too frightened to scream. Either way, he didn’t cry out, only scrambled to his feet and hurriedly fled from the shore.

Only after the water corpse had fully clambered onto the bank, two feet from the water’s edge, did Mr. Zhao shout, “Net it!”

The three men who had hidden earlier sprang out. Two of them grabbed the black fishing net and flung it wide; at such close range, it covered the creature perfectly.

The sound the water corpse made became shrill, like nails scraping a blackboard.

The net seemed specially prepared; once it enveloped the creature, white vapor surged from its body. The glutinous rice and white powder scattered earlier interacted with the net, and the monster writhed as if branded by hot iron.

The vapor that filled the air was indescribably foul—an overwhelming stench of rot that nauseated everyone.

The three men in camouflage wasted no time, seizing the net’s corners and pulling with all their strength, grappling with the creature inside.

Though the net was large and sturdy, its mesh wasn’t dense enough. The zombie’s slender arm slipped through, grabbing Li Lan’s ankle and yanking him to the ground, refusing to let go.

Despite the white steam burning its body, the group had underestimated the creature’s strength—especially its explosive power when threatened. All three burly men struggled to hold it, their balance thrown off by its wild thrashing.

Li Lan, closest to the monster, kicked desperately but couldn’t break its grip. Without hesitation, he snatched the knife and bent to stab the creature’s wrist.

The skin was not rigid; black water oozed from the wounds. Yet it made no difference—the hand did not release, seemingly impervious to pain.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Mr. Zhao finally fired, three shots into the body. The zombie jerked, but the bullets barely fazed it; the net and powder did the real damage.

Its vitality was astonishing. Despite the struggle, it showed no sign of weakening, its strength immense and out of proportion to its size.

The three men were gradually dragged toward the bank, one of them stepping into muddy water.

Almost simultaneously, another arm shot up from the water, seizing the man’s calf without warning.

“Ah!”

Unlike Li Lan, the man’s leg was pierced through by five fingers. The pain made him release his grip, and he stumbled backward, falling into the water.

Mr. Zhao, Qi Yan, and the observing young man were all taken aback. “There’s another one?!”