Chapter 33:
School Specter (Part 7):
A Tai Yin Body, a Millennial Cycle…
“Disgusting,” Wang Min spat, her hands in her pockets as she stepped over the damp wood, glancing around the room with disdain. The place was filthy, reeking of the evil spirit’s blood, the cold biting at her skin, yet she smiled calmly. “Incompetent men love to exploit others. When they can’t exploit the living, they turn to ghosts. That Daoist wanted to raise a ghost, how ridiculous. You killed him, where’s his body?”
“Oh…” she noticed the mirror ghost. “You ate him?” She looked at Chen Henian, her eyes curious. “How daring, making a pact with a ghost. And that great ghost, I could feel its presence even from outside.”
Chen Henian didn’t beat around the bush. “Who are you?”
“You’re not happy.” Wang Min, seeing his displeasure, chuckled. “Fine, I tricked you, I apologize. But you’re special, I had to test your abilities before revealing myself.”
“Let’s start over. I’m Jiang Wan,” she said. “That’s my real name. I’m also a practitioner, and I know just as much as you do. Moreover, I’m the first to find you.”
As she spoke, the ghost in the black dress appeared, lunging at Chen Henian. It was far weaker than the evil spirit, its attack predictable. Chen Henian caught it easily, his hand closing around its shadowy form.
“Annoying.” He tightened his grip, crushing the ghost effortlessly, its form turning to dust, scattering across the floor.
“Impressive!” Wang Min, or rather, Jiang Wan, clapped her hands, a wicked smile on her sixteen-year-old face.
Chen Henian, his expression unchanged, asked, “Your surname is Jiang? Like ginger?”
“Indeed,” she nodded. “Have you heard of the Jiang clan?”
“No.”
But he was almost certain she was the person Zhou Xianzhi had foreseen, a woman surnamed Jiang, a rising star. His master’s divination had been accurate.
“That’s even better!” Jiang Wan said excitedly. “But I know about you.” She stepped closer, her eyes far older than her years.
“You’re a Three Yin Hand,” she said, her voice firm. “No, that’s not quite right. You’re the disciple of a Three Yin Hand. Who hasn’t heard of your master’s great name?”
“You’re quite perceptive,” Chen Henian said, a smile playing on his lips. He was intrigued by this Jiang Wan. Many knew of his master, but this was the first time someone had recognized his technique. She possessed genuine skill.
Jiang Wan smiled. “One needs a keen eye in this profession. No wonder you’ve survived to eighteen. The Three Yin Hand took you as his disciple. But I haven’t sensed his presence here. Did he abandon you? Then you’re in trouble. Many are looking for you, seeking to exploit you. You can’t fight them all, no matter how skilled you are at catching ghosts.”
Chen Henian chuckled coldly. “Do you want to try me?”
“Of course not,” Jiang Wan said quickly. “I’m not like them. I don’t need you. I’m on your side.”
“Because I already have a Tai Yin body.”
She snapped her fingers, calling out, “Elder Sister.”
Her shadow grew larger, like a gaping cave, and even before it fully materialized, Chen Henian knew it was a powerful ghost.
“A Black Wraith,” he said, his own shadow expanding slightly, the great ghost within him exuding its aura, a silent warning.
Black Wraiths were the most ferocious of ghosts, their forms frozen at the moment of their death, their bodies pale, their yin energy manifesting as black clouds. This ghost was shrouded in black cloth, its hands and feet covered in dirt, a female figure, not unpleasant to look at, its movements stiff and puppet-like. An ordinary Black Wraith, with its bloodlust, would have attacked him instantly.
But this one remained motionless behind Jiang Wan.
“Ghost control,” Chen Henian realized. The most mysterious sect, even his master knew little about them.
“You guessed right,” Jiang Wan said. “The Jiang clan’s ghost control technique, not widely known, but the most powerful in the world.”
“I wouldn’t have found you without Elder Sister.” She touched the Black Wraith affectionately. “Elder Sister was also a Tai Yin body before she died.”
“She’s not lying,” the mirror ghost whispered in Chen Henian’s ear. “That ghost really was a Tai Yin body. That’s why she’s so powerful.”
Chen Henian was surprised. He had asked his master if there were others like him.
His master had said no, that Tai Yin bodies appeared only once in a millennium, their arrival marked by celestial phenomena, no more than three in a thousand years.
“I’ve heard of you for a long time. My clan doesn’t interact with the outside world, but we know what’s happening. Three Tai Yin bodies appeared in this cycle,” Jiang Wan said. “Now, you’re the only one left. Do you know about the ‘Tai Yin Hunt’?”
“Young, old, all the renowned practitioners participated in the hunt for the Tai Yin bodies. The last one died, his body torn apart, not even his bones remained. You’re next. More and more are gathering here, their target the same, plotting to make you the next victim.”
“Oh,” Chen Henian seemed unconcerned.
Jiang Wan leaned closer. “Aren’t you worried?”
“Worried, but I have you now, don’t I?” He smiled, his expression calm, a hint of mischief in his eyes. He reached out and snatched the longevity lock from her neck.
“Having you as a shield is a good deal.” He quickly tossed the lock to the mirror ghost. “Even as a ghost, someone would want you, wouldn’t they? Your situation isn’t much better than mine.”
“You—” Jiang Wan pointed at the mirror ghost. “That’s mine! Spit it out!”
“It’s collateral,” Chen Henian said. “If you want it back, work for me, until I’m satisfied.”
“I was going to cooperate with you anyway.”
“Not cooperation,” Chen Henian corrected. “Exploitation.”
“Fine,” Jiang Wan didn’t seem bothered. “I’ll follow you, I’ll freeload off you.”
“I don’t provide free meals.”
“My clan doesn’t need food,” she said. “I don’t need your food.”
“Good,” Chen Henian was pleased. “You’re hired.”
His expression remained indifferent as he walked past her, leaving the foul-smelling place. But the ghost hadn’t left.
The ghost he had intended to guide, initially hiding, now tugged at his sleeve.
He was impatient. “Go find your mother. You’re a ghost, can’t you float?”
“I need you to deliver a message to her,” Li Qinqin said. “I don’t know why, but I can’t go to the underworld. I keep hearing crying, my mother’s crying. Whenever she cries, the underworld officials release me.”
Chen Henian frowned. “Where’s your mother?”
“Give me an address.”
“A nearby hospital. Technically, I’m dead,” Li Qinqin replied. “But I’m trapped here. Medically, my body is still alive, in the hospital. I can smell the disinfectant.”
“Please, I have to go. My mother can’t keep wasting money on me.”
Poverty was the greatest illness.
Li Qinqin was ordinary, easily lost in a crowd. Her family was poor. Her father had died when she was six, leaving her mother to raise her alone.
As a child, she would sleep in her mother’s cart while she sold noodles on the street, three yuan a bowl. If business was good, they ate. If not, they went hungry. She knew their life was hard, that they had no money. She couldn’t ask for things other children had. Her mother always told her to study hard, that education was the path to a better life, to becoming an official, to escaping poverty.
She didn’t know what an official was, but if she became one, perhaps her mother wouldn’t be chased away, wouldn’t have to hide, wouldn’t have to plead with those wielding sticks, wouldn’t have to pay them money. Her mother was illiterate, looking at pictures in discarded newspapers, marveling at the fashionable people, the kind who appeared in newspapers. If she became educated, she could bring hope to their family.
But Li Qinqin wasn’t a good student. She struggled in class, unable to understand or remember anything. She had gotten into high school by chance, filling a spot left vacant by a sick student. Even attending a vocational school seemed like a distant dream.
She should have been better. She often berated herself for her stupidity, her inability to keep up with others. She was timid in class, afraid to approach her teachers. She envied those who could chat and laugh with them, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it, her courage failing her every time.
I’m such a failure, she thought. Her mother had spent all their savings on her tuition. She was always dirty, not pretty, not good with words. No one wanted to be her friend. She was invisible.
She envied others, their ice cream in the summer, the candied hawthorns sold outside the school, the cute hair clips, the pretty dresses.
So she had picked up a beautiful pen, left behind on the stairs.
A pen that wrote in ink, something she had never used before. Ink pens were expensive. She used pencils, so she could erase her mistakes. This pen was different, its pink casing sparkling like fairy dust.
She had hesitated, knowing she shouldn’t take something that wasn’t hers, but she had looked around, then picked it up, her palm sweating as she clutched it, more nervous than when a teacher called on her. She was relieved no one had noticed. She ran back to her desk, her heart pounding, her face flushed.
She hid the pen in her drawer, admiring it secretly, a small, private joy, despite its questionable origins.
She had learned one rule in life: be frugal. She wondered if she would ever use such a beautiful pen. She held it carefully, afraid to take it home. Her mother would consider it stealing. She couldn’t be a thief.
She would just look at it for a while. If the owner came looking for it, she would return it. She would definitely return it.
But she was wrong.
The next day, when she returned to the classroom, all the seats were filled. As she entered, all eyes turned to her.
She had never been the center of attention before. She felt like she was being judged, her palms sweating, her heart pounding. A girl glared at her, her face red with anger.
“Why did you steal my pen?!”
“Li Qinqin! I thought you were a good person, but you’re a thief!”
“I didn’t steal it,” Li Qinqin protested, her voice trembling.
“Then why is it in your drawer?”
“Someone saw you with it yesterday afternoon. We found it in your drawer. It was a birthday gift from my father! How could you steal it?!”
“You don’t have a father, so you want to steal other people’s gifts?”
“Li Qinqin, you’re a thief!”
High school students were easily swayed. Li Qinqin was pushed to the ground, surrounded, their shadows looming over her, like her own shame, hidden and exposed.
She was taken to the principal’s office for the first time, her face burning, her head lowered in shame.
She apologized and returned the pen.
Before, she had been invisible. Now, everyone hated her.
People drew on her desk, kicked her chair. When the lesson was about thieves, she heard them laughing and calling her name. Her world had become noisy, and she could no longer hide.
She was no longer invisible, but a despised rat.
She cried herself to sleep, wanting to transfer to another class, hoping they would forget about her.
She had always believed that hard work and time could overcome any obstacle. But she couldn’t afford a single candy as a child, couldn’t afford new clothes now. She couldn’t transfer classes. The door to a better life was closed to her.
She saw her mother’s awkwardness, her worn clothes, standing before the teachers in their smart coats, discussing her daughter’s future, her potential connections. Her mother had visited the school repeatedly, a long journey each time, but the teachers offered no solutions. Li Qinqin realized she wasn’t meant for this, just like the pen.
“Is that old woman your mother?” a boy sneered when she returned to the classroom. “Does your mother know you’re a thief? Or is she a thief too?”
“My mother is not a thief!” For the first time, she raised her voice, her eyes wide, her face burning with shame. “I’m a thief! But my mother is not! She’s not!”
“Crazy,” the boy said, taken aback.
“I am, I’m crazy, but my mother is not…” Li Qinqin cried, her sobs echoing through the classroom. She remembered her mother’s desperate arguments with customers, her rough hands, her weathered face, her prematurely graying hair, all because of her, her burden.
Mother, I don’t want to see you suffer anymore.
I’m worthless, despised.
Mother, I’m sorry, I can’t say goodbye.
Mother, I love you.
With a thud, Li Qinqin’s body hit the ground, as loud as the firecrackers exploding on the street during New Year.
Screams echoed from the classrooms below.
“Someone jumped!”
“Oh my god! Get a teacher!”
“Who? Who jumped?”
“Li Qinqin! Li Qinqin jumped!”
Panic filled the hallways. Students in the classrooms covered their eyes, complaining, “Why couldn’t she die somewhere else? So disgusting! I won’t be able to sleep tonight! How am I supposed to study for the mock exam tomorrow?”
“Wait, if someone jumped, do we get a day off?”
“I think so?”
A moment of silence, then someone laughed. “Really?!”
“Yes! We get a day off!”
The complaints turned into cheers.
