Chapter 12:
The Ghost in the Mirror (Part 5):
A Ghost’s Likes and Dislikes
It was a broad, cold hand, like the pincer of a giant crab, its rough knuckles exuding black qi. Undeniably grotesque, its form immense, capable of blotting out the sky if it so wished.
The shadow loomed, threatening to consume him. Chen Henian, turning slightly, saw a glimpse of white bone. The ghost within him had awakened. But why? And what did it want?
Benevolent souls didn’t linger in the human world. Ghosts remained due to hatred, obsession, or forced circumstance. None offered help out of kindness. This was Chen Henian’s firm belief.
He had a pact with this ghost, its contents known only to those involved. Zhou Xianzhi had tried to help him remember, but to no avail. At six, the ghost had saved his life. For twelve years, he hadn’t known what it wanted in return.
If it wanted his life now, his master would be burning joss paper for him in the underworld.
The shadow enveloped him. He saw the outline of a face.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
The ghost shifted, both hands now on him. It didn’t reply. Chen Henian didn’t dare gamble, punching the ghost’s abdomen. His fist passed right through.
This ghost was different. Its true form resided elsewhere. The part inhabiting him was intangible. He grasped nothing.
The ghost pinned him down, flipping him over, his hair spilling across the bed, mingling with the ghost’s black strands.
He saw the ghost’s face. Its breath was cold, its features indistinct. Its eyes were black voids, its face smooth, no scars or decay, no eyebrows or nose, its mouth a thin slit. Like a human skin mask, not unpleasant compared to other ghosts he had encountered. “Grotesque” was the word that came to mind. A deep red line circled its neck, just below the jaw.
A ghost that had its throat slit.
Chen Henian reached for his yin compass, considering pressing the central Bagua against the ghost’s face, when the ghost spoke.
“N-No… no…”
Chen Henian was taken aback. “You can talk?”
“No… what?”
The ghost’s weight pressed down on him, its arms on either side of him, its human form fully materialized, its bare chest and muscular torso, its broad shoulders and knees pinning him to the bed.
The ghost was naked. If not for the black particles obscuring its lower body, Chen Henian would have called the police for indecent exposure.
“Speak,” Chen Henian glared at it, irritated. He was being pinned down by a ghost, though not so tightly as to restrict his breathing.
Ghosts had no heartbeat. Otherwise, he would have heard it beneath that broad chest. Despite the ghost’s impressive physique, Chen Henian had no interest in anything carnal.
“Like… dislike…” the ghost stammered.
Its voice was raspy and drawn out, like a plucked string, starting and stopping abruptly.
“Dislike?” Chen Henian raised an eyebrow, staring at it. He had never heard a ghost express dislike before. Not all ghosts craved flesh.
Despite its words, the ghost pressed closer, the red string on his finger tightening. Annoyed, Chen Henian asked, “Then why are you on top of me?”
“Get off!”
At eighteen, Chen Henian was fully developed, tall and well-built, his six-foot frame honed by years of training with Zhou Xianzhi, his muscles more defined than most boys his age, his physique a blend of strength and elegance.
But the ghost was much larger. In an instant, his shirt buttons were undone, the ghost’s hand covering his abdomen, its touch leaving red marks on his defined abs.
“Dislike,” the ghost repeated, its vocabulary seemingly limited to those three letters. Chen Henian was speechless. Did it intend to disembowel him because it disliked him? He hadn’t complained about the food. Was it that picky?
The ghost’s touch sent shivers down his spine, its hand icy cold. Chen Henian’s face darkened. He grabbed the ghost’s arm, his hand too small to fully encircle it, but he held on tight.
The ghost tilted its head, looking at him.
Chen Henian’s voice was cold. “Get off me, or…”
Or what? A good question. He had many ways to deal with a ghost, his master even more. But the pact between them complicated matters. If it was a life-death pact, then his efforts would only lead to his own demise.
He scoffed.
The ghost’s hand lifted from his abdomen. It looked up, its eyes moving, their meaning unreadable. What was it going to do?
The ghost blinked, its expression conveying confusion, bewilderment. Chen Henian couldn’t decipher its thoughts.
As he pondered, the ghost suddenly coiled around him, its body shifting like a serpent, its cold skin against his.
It had some mercy, not crushing his bones. Its hand reached for his face. Chen Henian tried to block it with his elbow, his hands his most potent weapons against ghosts. A gust of wind blew, and the ghost’s hand split into countless thin, tendrils, reaching for his lips.
The touch was surprisingly soft, not breaking the skin.
Chen Henian immediately tried to grab its neck, aiming for its weak point, assuming it was another headless ghost, like the one in the mirror. But the ghost caught his hand, pulling him closer. Chen Henian coughed as the ghost forced something into his mouth, tasteless and odorless, sliding down his throat.
The ghost retracted its hand, touching his abdomen again.
“What did you give me?” Chen Henian frowned, glaring at it. “You damned ghost, ugh—”
The sensation in his throat was strange. He spat, but nothing came out.
He didn’t die. He waited, realizing the only change was the disappearance of the marks left by the mirror ghost. It was the middle of the night, but he felt energized, his fists strong.
It seemed to be… something good.
Tsk…
But he couldn’t take back his words. He frowned as the ghost said, “Like…”
It nuzzled his neck and shoulder, its voice pleased. “Like.”
“Like.”
Chen Henian couldn’t understand this ghost. One moment it disliked him, the next it liked him. Were ghosts even more fickle than humans?
“Little Master! Little Master—!”
He turned his head. His hearing was sharp. Wang’s wife was calling from outside. The hallway lights were on, the light spilling through the crack under the door.
“Can you leave now?” Chen Henian asked.
The ghost nodded, lowering its head, touching Chen Henian’s forehead, then shrinking into a black dot, vanishing back into his body.
He felt an itch on the back of his neck, where a small red mole resided.
The red string on his finger tightened. The ghost had returned. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration.
“Bang, bang, bang—!”
“Little Master, come quickly!” Wang’s wife pounded on the door. “My father-in-law is back!”
The corpse had reappeared?
“Little Master!”
“I’m coming!” Chen Henian called out, buttoning his shirt as he got out of bed.
Wang’s wife looked distraught, her face pale with fear. “Little Master, it didn’t work! Why is he back?”
“Where?” Chen Henian sniffed the air. He couldn’t see or smell anything unusual outside his room. On the contrary, all the yin energy was concentrated inside.
“On the second floor, standing outside the bedroom door.” Wang’s wife covered her mouth, on the verge of tears.
Chen Henian followed her, his long hair swaying. The corpse stood outside the bedroom door, its head banging against the wood, awakening the couple inside. Wang Sr. sat on the bed, gasping for breath, still in shock.
The corpse was unharmed, unaffected by the red string and copper coin. Chen Henian was puzzled. Even if his master had used the copper coins as footrests, they shouldn’t be completely useless.
He removed the coin from the corpse’s forehead. It was intact. The body’s temperature was normal, no trace of yin energy. Just a simple corpse.
Chen Henian pondered.
“Do you have a solution or not?!”
Wang Er and Wang San were also there. Wang Er lost his patience. “If you can’t do anything, give us back the mirror!”
“You might as well start planning your own funeral,” Chen Henian retorted.
“Bastard!” Wang Er cursed. “What nonsense are you spouting?!”
“Don’t say such things in front of Father!” Wang San said, equally angry. “Can you lay my father to rest or not?”
Chen Henian didn’t reply, turning to look at the corpse.
Blood suddenly oozed from the corpse’s feet, pooling on the floor. Wang’s wife screamed.
The blood slowly formed two characters: Retribution.
Chen Henian smiled, bending down to touch the blood. His hand felt nothing, but the others clearly saw the blood on his palm.
He looked at them. “Whose retribution? One of you, or all of you?”
