Chapter 28
The nightmare had shaken Song Jingmo badly. He immediately tried to wake Xie Zhang, to check on him.
But he wasn’t in the bedroom. He was in the living room.
His shadow filled the space, engulfing Xie Zhang, who sat on the sofa, only his head visible, his expression a mixture of amusement, indulgence, and a hint of… being slightly overwhelmed by the sudden, protective embrace.
What was going on?
Could shadows… sleepwalk?
A shadow tendril wavered uncertainly, then Song Jingmo noticed the person sitting opposite Xie Zhang.
Dressed in a white coat, his face both familiar and unfamiliar, it was the same doctor from his dream, the one who had prescribed the medication.
Song-shadow bristled, his edges sharp and menacing.
Xie Zhang, struggling free from the shadow’s embrace, hugged the prickly ball, saying softly: “Momo, this is the… master… I mentioned yesterday.”
Song Jingmo: “?”
He suddenly understood why his brother had sent this “master” away.
A self-respecting spiritualist wouldn’t wear a white coat.
The master, with his youthful face and white hair, observed them for a long moment, then smiled, saying: “It’s been a while. You’ve both changed quite a bit.”
Song-shadow’s bristles softened, a tendril curling into a question mark.
He stared at the master, his memories slowly resurfacing.
He remembered an incident from seven years ago.
After visiting a wishing tree with Xie Zhang, he’d impulsively bought two overpriced red strings from a street vendor, regretting the extravagant purchase for weeks.
But somehow, he’d gradually forgotten about the vendor, only the red strings, worn by him and Xie Zhang, remaining as a memento.
Until…
Until the day of the accident.
Song Jingmo quickly checked Xie Zhang’s wrist.
It was bare.
Xie Zhang also looked at his wrist, then said softly: “The day of your… accident, the string suddenly broke. I couldn’t tie it back together, no matter how hard I tried. I was worried about losing it, so I put it away.”
Song Jingmo’s shadow tendril wrapped around Xie Zhang’s wrist, nuzzling against his pulse.
How could it not be tied back together? he wondered. Even if you couldn’t tie a knot, you could melt the ends together…
Hearing Xie Zhang’s words, the master spoke: “A broken string represents a broken connection. It protected you once; it cannot be mended.”
Xie Zhang looked at him.
Song Jingmo gathered his sprawling shadow, returning it to Xie Zhang’s side, forming a roughly human-shaped outline.
The remaining shadow formed a chibi figure, sitting neatly in Xie Zhang’s lap.
Still shaken by the nightmare, he held both of Xie Zhang’s hands, his tiny shadow hands resting on Xie Zhang’s thumbs, seeking comfort.
He looked at the master, who had been watching him quietly.
Song Jingmo poked Xie Zhang’s palm with a shadow tendril.
—How long has he been staring at me?
Xie Zhang gently squeezed his arm with his thumb.
—The whole time.
Song Jingmo’s heart sank.
He rested his head on Xie Zhang’s intertwined fingers.
The master said sincerely: “Young Master Song, you’re the least… ghostly… ghost I’ve ever encountered.”
Song Jingmo wasn’t sure if that was a compliment. Was being a ghost without any “ghostly aura” a good thing?
He nuzzled Xie Zhang’s fingers.
Not sure, let’s see what else he says.
Xie Zhang, however, focused on the important question: “But Momo’s body is still alive. Does that mean his soul simply… left his body?”
He’d learned the term “soul leaving the body” during his late-night internet research, desperately searching for answers in supernatural stories.
This was his biggest concern.
But he’d also noticed the shadow’s unusual behavior. No matter how he called out, Song-shadow, either asleep or in a trance, had thrashed and rolled around the villa all night.
Xie Zhang had tried everything to wake him, finally resorting to holding the shadow like a pillow, soothing and comforting it.
So, when the master arrived that morning, Xie Zhang had opened the door, his body covered in the black, jelly-like shadow.
And as soon as the master stepped inside, Song Jingmo, as if startled, had filled the living room with his shadow, engulfing Xie Zhang, his shadow tendrils pointing menacingly at the master.
Xie Zhang had been worried, but the master had simply said that Song Jingmo’s dreams were significant, gifts from his subconscious, and it was good for him to experience them.
So they’d waited patiently for him to wake up.
Hearing Xie Zhang’s question, the master, seemingly struggling to define the situation, chose his words carefully: “If it weren’t for those red strings, Young Master Song wouldn’t have survived.”
Song Jingmo, remembering his dream, clung to Xie Zhang’s fingers.
“It was about to rain. I was in a hurry to get home for dinner and wasn’t planning on selling those red strings to Young Master Song.”
The master glanced at the chibi shadow nestled in Xie Zhang’s hand.
Song Jingmo, remembering his forceful purchase, looked away, whistling nervously.
Back then, they’d been traveling together, Xie Zhang still a stoic, emotionally unavailable man. Although Song Jingmo had been actively pursuing him, his feelings hadn’t been reciprocated yet.
Song Jingmo, influenced by his reading habits, had a healthy respect for the supernatural.
He wasn’t particularly religious, but he wasn’t a strict materialist either.
He was a pragmatist. When he wanted something, or when he needed a bit of luck, he’d visit a temple or shrine, in addition to his own efforts.
It had been a temple dedicated to the god of marriage and love. Song Jingmo had prayed fervently, asking for the god’s blessing in winning over Xie Zhang, promising a generous offering in return.
Then he’d seen the red strings.
For some reason, he’d desperately wanted them, stopping the vendor as he was packing up, paying an exorbitant price for two simple strings.
He’d kept them in his pocket for days, planning to confess his feelings if all else failed, then, unexpectedly, Xie Zhang had confessed first.
So the red string had naturally ended up on Xie Zhang’s wrist.
Of course, he hadn’t told Xie Zhang how much he’d paid for them.
He didn’t want to seem foolish.
Newly in love, he’d been very conscious of his image, especially since Xie Zhang seemed so serious and traditional, and Song Jingmo valued his reputation.
“Those red strings weren’t meant for you. Young Master Song forced that connection.”
“But you wore them for years, imbuing them with your energy, giving them a… spirit. That’s why they protected you from death.”
The master remembered Song Jingmo clearly. After all, it wasn’t every day he encountered someone willing to pay such an exorbitant price for two simple strings.
“I sold those strings; it’s my responsibility to… handle the aftermath. I’m a man of my word.”
He smiled, his ageless face seemingly gentle, but his eyes were cold and distant.
【If it’s after-sales service, why did you charge my mother such an outrageous price?】
The AI voice echoed from Xie Zhang’s phone, a shadow tendril tapping the screen.
The master, a shrewd businessman disguised as a spiritualist, replied calmly: “For Young Master Song, it’s after-sales service. For your mother, it’s a new transaction.”
“One is recognizing value, the other is seeking help in a crisis. The price is naturally different.”
Song Jingmo: “…”
Touché.
He kicked Xie Zhang’s leg.
This guy was playing both sides, taking advantage of the situation!
Seriously, was this master for real?!
Xie Zhang, his fingers gently catching Song-shadow’s foot, said calmly: “If you can help Momo return to his body, restore his health, I’ll gladly pay any price.”
The master, getting straight to the point: “There are two methods. One is quick, simple, and convenient; the other is slow and complex.”
Xie Zhang waited for him to continue.
“The first method is, as a new transaction, to simply retrieve his soul and return it to his body. He’ll wake up.”
“But he has died once. There’s always a price for cheating death.”
“His soul is tainted with yin energy. If he wakes up, he’ll be very weak, and he won’t live past thirty.”
Xie Zhang’s grip on Song-shadow tightened.
Song Jingmo, however, wasn’t particularly bothered.
He was supposed to have died in the accident. Both his current state and the possibility of waking up as a vegetative patient were borrowed time.
Those 52,000 yuan had been well spent.
“I offered this method to your mother, but before she could decide, your brother sent me away.”
The master said this casually, taking a sip of water.
“But business is business. Seeing Young Master Song reminded me of the red strings. And since his soul wasn’t with his body, I decided to find him, to see what he wanted.”
After all, that 52,000 yuan had helped him out of a tight spot seven years ago.
“Your brother actually did me a favor. Your mother had locked me in the house, and I couldn’t use force on ordinary people. I was trying to decide whether to climb the wall or pick the lock, all while drawing protection charms for your mother, under duress.”
“We spiritualists avoid making enemies; it’s bad for business.”
Song Jingmo thought he heard the master mutter: “…Normal people want charms for general protection and prosperity, but your mother wanted the smallest possible charm; it was a nightmare to draw…”
Song Jingmo: “…”
Too much information. He remained silent.
He wondered if his brother would face his parents’ wrath for sending the master away, and if the master knew his carefully drawn charm was now sewn into someone’s underwear.
He scratched his head, then tugged on his ear.
Best not to mention it.
Xie Zhang took a deep breath to control his emotions, then asked, his voice strained: “And the second method?”
“The second method is… after-sales service.”
The master placed his glass on the table.
“The connection formed by the red strings was forced. If you can mend the broken strings, then the connection will truly be yours.”
Xie Zhang remained silent.
The red string had broken suddenly. He hadn’t even received news of Song Jingmo’s accident yet. He’d tried everything to mend it, but it had been impossible.
So this “mending” the master spoke of couldn’t be simple.
“Ghosts are formed from human souls. After Young Master Song’s accident, his soul was about to become a ghost, but the remaining power of the red strings drew him back to you.”
“There’s a boundary between life and death, between humans and ghosts.”
The master smiled, his expression suddenly filled with a strange, almost divine compassion.
“Every ghost that lingers in the human world is driven by either hatred or love.”
“Hatred turns a lost soul into a vengeful spirit, while love gives flesh and blood to a soul.”
Song Jingmo, listening intently, looked up, meeting the master’s gaze.
For a moment, he felt as if he was being pulled out of Xie Zhang’s shadow, and he instinctively clung to his fingers.
Then, he let go, his lips tightening, his gaze meeting the master’s.
He felt as if those sharp, indifferent eyes could see through his shadow form, see the real him.
“Just like you’ve been doing, Mr. Xie, using your shadow to shield him from yin energy, to nourish his soul.”
“Young Master Song’s soul is growing stronger. Within a year, if he gains enough strength, if the red strings are mended, he can return to his body.”
“And a nourished soul, protected by a talisman, won’t suffer any ill effects.”
The master smiled, looking away from the chibi shadow.
“How do we… nourish…”
Before Xie Zhang could finish, a shadow tendril covered his mouth, and the AI voice echoed from his phone:
【What’s the price? If it doesn’t work within a year, what does Xie Zhang have to pay?】
Song Jingmo’s face was grim.
“I said it’s after-sales service. There’s no price.”
The master smiled, his words cryptic.
“If it doesn’t work, things will simply return to normal. There’s no penalty.”
“As for the method… I’ve only ever sold one pair of those red strings, so I haven’t actually seen a ghost regain their physical form.”
“But you should have some idea of how Young Master Song’s transformation occurred, Mr. Xie.”
…
As the master was leaving, Song Jingmo pushed Xie Zhang onto the sofa and went to see him off.
The chibi shadow stood politely by the shoe cabinet.
The master, sensing his presence, smiled and asked: “What do you want to ask? One question…”
The shadow dragged a checkbook from upstairs, quickly writing a check and handing it to him with a shadow tendril.
The master, amused, took the check.
“Alright, what does the boss want to ask?” Seeing the shadow reaching for the phone, he smiled. “I can hear you.”
Song Jingmo, who had been typing diligently: “?”
Annoying!
But never mind. Business first.
“I…” His voice, slightly rusty from disuse, was hesitant. “I want to know, what do you mean by ‘return to normal’? Will Xie Zhang… will he be alright?”
“I mean, I’m a ghost… I… I won’t harm him, will I?”
His tiny hands twisted together anxiously.
The master said gently: “Haven’t you already seen it?”
What?
Song Jingmo was stunned.
“The red strings were forced, the connection was forced. You’ve already seen the natural course of events.”
The master’s image blurred. Song Jingmo blinked, trying to focus, but he couldn’t, only the master’s voice remaining clear.
“His lifespan… was only meant to last until your thirtieth birthday.”
When Song Jingmo’s vision cleared, Xie Zhang was standing before him, holding him gently in his hand, his brow furrowed with concern.
Song Jingmo suddenly remembered something. He zipped upstairs, opened Xie Zhang’s computer, and replayed the security footage from the living room.
The master in the video wore a traditional black robe, not a white coat.
“Momo? What’s wrong?”
Xie Zhang, following him into the study, caught his shadow tendril, stroking it gently.
Song Jingmo couldn’t speak.
He remembered the Xie Zhang from his nightmare, and his shadow tendril tightened around Xie Zhang’s wrist.
That’s why it’s one year… one year.
Seeing the black teardrops rolling down Song-shadow’s face, Xie Zhang panicked, trying to comfort him.
But the more he tried to soothe him, the harder Song Jingmo cried.
The chibi shadow huddled in his hand, his sobs silent, his grief and despair overwhelming him.
He hugged Xie Zhang’s index finger, his tiny feet kicking his ring finger.
Xie Zhang, even more distraught, kissed the shadow in his hand.
With each kiss, Song Jingmo felt a wave of warmth, a comforting heat that sent shivers through him.
He reached out, his tiny shadow hand caressing Xie Zhang’s face, his tears falling silently, merging with the shadow beneath him.
—But he was already twenty-nine.
Song Jingmo was already twenty-nine years old.
