Chapter 35:
Ghost Festival Night:
Chen Henian Didn’t Push It Away, Nor Did He…
The air in the room was clear, Li Qinqin’s ghostly presence gone. She was no longer of this world. Her soul, freed by her mother’s grief and her own love, had finally moved on. Ghosts lingered because their hearts, though dead, still beat with longing.
Doctors and nurses rushed into the room, their masked faces conveying urgency, pulling Li Guimei away from her daughter’s lifeless body, performing CPR, their efforts futile, the room filled with the sounds of medical equipment and a mother’s cries. Two figures slipped away unnoticed.
It was Ghost Festival, a cold day even under the bright sun. Chen Henian, his sunglasses hiding his eyes, walked out of the hospital, his long hair swaying, the ends curling upwards. He carried his suitcase in one hand, the other smoothing his hair, his expression unreadable, his unseen eyes seemingly cold and indifferent.
Only two of them had entered the hospital, but he heard footsteps behind him, the street deserted, the soft padding of at least five pairs of feet, walking on tiptoe.
He returned to his shop, the ghosts from the hospital trailing behind him. He ignored them. The pale-faced ghosts, hiding in his shadow, emerged as he opened the shop door.
“Close the door behind you, and wipe your feet. Don’t make a mess,” he said, carrying his suitcase upstairs.
As the ghosts followed, a hand almost pierced their heads.
“Oops—” Jiang Wan stood at the entrance, her arms spread wide, her gaze fixed on the shop’s sign, a playful smile on her lips. “I think this shop needs a new name.”
“Instead of ‘Are You Dead?’, it should be ‘Looking for Death?'”
She enunciated each word slowly, her voice carrying, though no one else was around. She turned to the ghosts, her question directed at them.
“Don’t you agree?”
The ghosts, startled, froze, unsure if she could see them. If she could, why wasn’t she afraid? Why hadn’t she said anything before?
“Are you looking for death?” Her gaze swept over them.
A sudden gust of wind—
The ghosts outside the shop recoiled in terror, a large, menacing figure appearing before them. A ghost, capable of devouring them! They scattered, hiding in the shadows.
Jiang Wan, her task completed, picked her ear, flicking the wax away, then entered the shop.
Even in broad daylight, the shop was cool, the door closed.
She sat down, her legs crossed, as Chen Henian came downstairs.
“Tonight won’t be peaceful,” she said. “The ghosts released from the underworld, those with families will receive offerings, but the others will wander, seeking sustenance. And you, with your constitution, will attract them like moths to a flame. Those old Daoists will use this opportunity to find you.”
“Solution,” Chen Henian said.
“There is a way,” Jiang Wan replied. “Ghosts fear stronger ghosts. If a powerful ghost guards this place, the lesser spirits will stay away.”
“But my Elder Sister is a Black Wraith. If she stays out too long, her malevolence will attract attention. So… you need your ghost to guard this place.”
The mirror ghost emerged, its painted face grinning.
“Not this one,” Jiang Wan said immediately.
The mirror ghost’s smile faltered.
“The more powerful one, its aura is what we need. Have it stay by your bed tonight, close to you,” she instructed.
Chen Henian nodded, but the mirror ghost was indignant. “Little girl, you’re quite arrogant!”
“Behave yourself,” Chen Henian warned it.
He knew the mirror ghost was no match for the Black Wraith. It would just hide in the mirror, a cowardly act that would reflect poorly on him.
The mirror ghost was surprised. “I’m not behaving?”
“You can eat any ghost that tries to enter this shop tonight,” Chen Henian said.
“You promise?”
“Yes.”
The mirror ghost grinned, appeased by the offer. “That’s more like it.” It floated over to the counter, lying down.
Chen Henian went upstairs. After a while, Jiang Wan, seeing no sign of him, asked the mirror ghost, “What’s he doing up there?”
“Sleeping,” the ghost replied.
“Sleeping?”
“Go wake him up if you want to die,” the mirror ghost said. Chen Henian wasn’t a morning person.
“Fine…” Jiang Wan, restless, continued talking to the ghost. “So, what kind of ghost are you? You’re… not bad, somewhat unique, I haven’t seen your kind before.”
The mirror ghost bristled at her words, its hair standing on end. “Little girl, I’m decades older than you.”
Jiang Wan chuckled. “Age is just a number. You’re already dead. I still have a long life ahead of me.”
She had a point, but the mirror ghost didn’t like it, its face turning red with anger.
“What’s your master’s name?” she asked. “Do you know his birth date?”
The mirror ghost scoffed inwardly. “Master! That brat is not my master!” It wanted to slam its fists on the table. “Centuries of cultivation, and a mere child calls himself my master?”
It turned its back, refusing to answer, its mouth clamped shut as it heard Chen Henian’s footsteps.
Chen Henian appeared at the top of the stairs. “Finished?”
The mirror ghost vanished instantly.
“Not yet,” Jiang Wan said.
“It doesn’t know much about me,” Chen Henian came downstairs. “No need to waste time with it.”
“I was just curious,” she said. “You weren’t sleeping after all. I was just about to ask you something.”
“I won’t tell you,” he replied.
“Fine.” Jiang Wan still smiled. “Can I at least have a room? I’m working for you, I need a place to rest.”
“Two spare rooms on the second floor, western side,” Chen Henian said. “Take your pick.”
Jiang Wan hurried upstairs. There were four rooms on the second floor, but two were locked, protected by an array she couldn’t penetrate. The remaining rooms were small, disappointing. She put down her belongings and returned downstairs, finding Chen Henian writing at the table, preparing offerings.
A Ghost Festival tradition: preparing, writing, and burning offerings. After seven, the streets would be filled with smoke from burning joss paper.
To deceased ancestor Chen…
Jiang Wan looked over his shoulder, noticing that he had only written a surname on each envelope. She couldn’t glean any information from it. “Your surname is Chen? Chen what?”
Chen Henian’s hand paused, his eyes unfocused, a flicker of something in his expression, quickly masked, his emotions hidden beneath a calm surface.
Chen.
He hadn’t heard anyone mention that name in years.
Zhou Xianzhi never called him by his full name.
The surname seemed to have lost its meaning.
“No birth date, no full name, how will the dead receive your offerings?” Jiang Wan commented.
Chen Henian simply hummed, continuing to write. He knew many rituals for the dead, but he didn’t know his family’s names, their birth dates. He hadn’t been able to give his grandfather a proper burial, a disobedient grandson in life and in death.
He burned offerings every year, not for his family, but for his own memories.
Jiang Wan, bored, prepared her own offering, borrowing his pen, writing a single name: her own.
“Burning offerings for yourself?”
“Are you tired of living?”
“Nonsense!” she retorted. “This is for my Elder Sister. We share the same name.” She tossed the offering into the brazier.
Chen Henian ignored her, finishing his writing, then handed her the brazier, instructing her to burn the offerings after seven, while he prepared for the night.
Jiang Wan waited outside, her eyes fixed on the stairs, but Chen Henian didn’t come down.
As dusk settled, the appointed time arrived. She lit the offerings, standing guard with the mirror ghost.
“Where did he go?” she asked.
“He’s really sleeping this time,” the ghost replied.
“Sleeping?” She was puzzled. “So many are looking for him, desperate to find him, and he’s sleeping?”
The mirror ghost chuckled. “Why do you care? Are you worried about him? Or are you also interested in him?”
“Nonsense! Of course not—” A sudden gust of wind, emanating from the shop, cut her off.
The wind was strong, extinguishing the burning offerings. Jiang Wan stood up abruptly, holding her breath. “It’s out.”
It had emerged.
Even her Black Wraith reacted to its presence, a tremor of fear running through her as she looked at the second-floor window, now shrouded in darkness, an aura so powerful it consumed the entire room. She couldn’t see inside, and the mirror ghost didn’t know what was happening either.
Silence… do not disturb it.
Before it appeared, Chen Henian had been lying in bed, examining the red string on his finger, wondering how to summon the ghost, when a shadow engulfed him, blocking the light.
It had come on its own.
He hadn’t expected that.
“I heard you,” the ghost said, its head almost touching the ceiling as it climbed onto the bed, lying down beside him, half its body sinking into the mattress.
Its weight was like a feather.
“Your heart called for me,” the ghost said.
That was close enough to what he had been thinking. “I want your aura to mask my scent, so other ghosts can’t find me,” he said.
The ghost tilted its head, staring at him for a long moment.
Chen Henian, thinking it hadn’t understood, rephrased his request. “Hold me.”
This time, it understood. Its body shifted, forming a protective cocoon around him, only its hand cold against his skin.
It exhaled, its breath warm against his ear. “I want to hear you say my name.”
“Your… name?” Chen Henian hesitated. “Da Hei?”
Its grip tightened at the sound of its name. “Yes.”
“Like,” the ghost said.
It didn’t seem to mind the casual address, despite its age and power.
It held him tightly, its tendrils wrapping around his waist and legs, enveloping him, its essence seeping into his skin.
Chen Henian raised his hand, the red string visible. “Do you remember this?” he asked, referring to their pact.
“A beautiful thing,” the ghost said, looking at the string. “A gift for you.”
That wasn’t the answer he expected. The ghost didn’t seem to know about the pact.
What was the pact between them?
What if neither of them knew? That would be truly strange.
Chen Henian relaxed, getting used to the ghost’s presence.
Its cold hand rested on his shoulder, its breath warm against his ear, a steady rhythm, like a heartbeat. The night was quiet, still and silent, the coolness against his skin soothing, and he closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep.
The ghost’s posture remained unchanged, its eyes open, watching him silently. When his breathing evened out, it reached out, its hand gently caressing his cheek.
Chen Henian didn’t push it away, nor did he stop it.
It remembered.
His tear-filled eyes, beautiful eyes, reddened by anger and grief, the sound of his heart, a mixture of defiance and despair, of courage and sorrow.
He was in pain.
That sound had awakened it from its slumber.
But he had resisted its touch, his small hands pushing against it, trying to tear it apart. He disliked it.
Why?
It didn’t like that. So it could only watch him in his sleep, its actions strange, his heart even stranger.
It didn’t understand humans, its confusion mixed with curiosity. It had seen many facets of Chen Henian.
And he had changed.
“You’re smiling,” the ghost said.
“No tears.”
“More beautiful, more likeable…”
