Chapter 8:
The Ghost in the Mirror (Part 1):
Twelve Years Later
The events in Dongpi Village were a distant, sealed memory. Twelve years had passed, and Chen Henian hadn’t returned. Time had faded the images in his mind, even his dreams blurred and fragmented.
He still remembered his grandfather, his voice, and the ghost that had suddenly entered his life.
Chen Henian had grown tall, like bamboo shooting skyward. The only constant was the red string on his finger, the pact between him and the ghost.
As for the nature of the pact, even his master, Zhou Xianzhi, couldn’t decipher it. Some ghosts formed pacts with humans, a symbiotic relationship, but the outcome was invariably either the human killing the ghost or the ghost consuming the human. His master hadn’t discovered the ghost’s origin or its purpose. It had lain dormant within him for a long time. Chen Henian’s life had been difficult. His fate dictated a life far from ordinary.
A Tai Yin fate was rare, and being a reincarnated ghost made him doubly cursed, an extreme of yin. As he grew, this constitution intensified. After eighteen, every day was a trial. Ghosts were drawn to him, driven mad by the desire to devour him. Even humans sought to exploit him, to render his body into corpse oil or medicinal ingredients. In anyone’s hands, he was doomed.
Chen Henian had lived in a small town with Zhou Xianzhi, serving as his disciple and exorcist for twelve years.
It was his birthday a few days ago. Zhou Xianzhi’s gift was a divination. The more skilled a diviner, the fewer times they practiced. Though Zhou Xianzhi kept to himself, he was renowned in the Daoist community.
His divinations were accurate. He told Chen Henian the hexagram indicated a rising dragon, a time of transformation, a meeting of gold and water, revealing the truth. In simpler terms, Chen Henian would meet someone beneficial this year, a woman surnamed Jiang.
Chen Henian wasn’t sure about the good fortune, but being close to him brought misfortune. Only someone with Zhou Xianzhi’s strong fate could withstand it.
…
Chen Henian splashed cold water on his face, droplets clinging to his hair. His hands were still wet when the roar of a car interrupted him. He opened the shop’s rolling shutter. A black car was parked outside.
A man in a checkered shirt emerged, his protruding belly requiring the driver’s assistance.
A gold chain adorned his wrist. A wealthy man.
Chen Henian glanced at him, casually tossing a bag of trash into a bin.
The man approached. “Is this Hongshan Road, number 44, the funeral home?”
He hesitated, his gaze falling on the shop’s sign, “Are You Dead?” His face paled as he looked at Chen Henian.
Chen Henian was tall and slender, forcing the man to look up.
His silence exuded an aura of authority, a worldliness beyond his years. His long, black hair was untamed, the ends curling upwards. He had delicate features, his lips darker than his skin, his eyes more captivating than the amber the man had found in the antique market. This wasn’t what the man had expected.
Chen Henian didn’t wait for the man to finish his appraisal. He turned to lower the shutter. “Not working now, wait.”
“Wait!” The man, realizing he hadn’t denied it, grabbed the shutter. “Hey! Young man! My family is in dire need! We need help!”
Chen Henian replied slowly, “Wait.”
The man panicked, unsure how to respond. He clung to the shutter, preventing it from closing. “Zhou Dali is your master, right?”
Chen Henian raised an eyebrow. “No.”
“No?” The man was stunned. He checked the address again. “This is the only funeral home on this street. Young man, I really need help!”
Seeing Chen Henian’s indifference, he asked, “Then, do you know who Zhou Dali’s disciple is?”
“Me.”
“…”
Skilled individuals were often eccentric. The man, after a moment of silence, swallowed his frustration. At least he had found the right person. “Young man, you’re quite the joker.”
Chen Henian chuckled softly.
Zhou Dasheng, Zhou Dafu, now Zhou Dali… what would be next?
He composed himself. “What did Zhou Dali tell you?”
The man spoke quickly. “Young man, your master accepted our job, but he left before completing it. He gave us this address, saying his skilled disciple could handle it.”
He offered Chen Henian a small package.
Chen Henian didn’t take it, stepping back. “Open it yourself.”
The man, despite his large size, was timid. He hesitated. “Is… is there something dangerous inside?”
Chen Henian replied, “Your hands are dirty.”
The man choked, almost gagging. He ignored his own question, tearing open the envelope and taking out a piece of paper.
Chen Henian instructed, “Unfold it, close your eyes, and don’t look.”
The man closed his eyes.
Chen Henian approached, glancing at the paper.
Scrawled across it were the words: Little Niannian, I’m going on a trip with Little Moneymoney. Left in a hurry, have a big job for you. Back soon.
—Your esteemed master.
Chen Henian’s face darkened. “Tear it up, throw it in the bin, and wait here. I’ll be right back.”
He returned to the shop, opening the cash register. The usually full drawer was empty. Zhou Xianzhi hadn’t left him a single cent.
He slammed the drawer shut, slapping the table in frustration.
Zhou Xianzhi, such a good master.
Even an exorcist needed to eat. Zhou Xianzhi was clearly pushing him to work. Shortly after, Chen Henian emerged with a suitcase, put on sunglasses, and joined the man in the car.
In the backseat, the man began, “Young man, my family…”
Chen Henian interrupted, “Someone in your family recently died. You haven’t been sleeping well, but your face hasn’t darkened yet. The one being haunted isn’t you, it’s someone else. I’ll see for myself, you don’t need to explain.”
The man was surprised. Chen Henian seemed to know what he was doing.
Chen Henian turned to him. “What did you call me?”
He glanced at the man, his aura intimidating even behind sunglasses.
The man’s face flushed. “Little… Little Master.”
Chen Henian didn’t react, continuing, “Who died?”
“My father.”
Chen Henian asked bluntly, “Did you kill your father, or did someone else in your family?”
“Impossible!” The man exclaimed. “My father died in an accident!”
Seeing the conviction in his eyes, Chen Henian’s suspicion lessened slightly. “What’s your surname?”
“Wang, the one with three dots of water.”
After a moment of silence, Chen Henian simply said, “How boring.”
The man’s house was a small villa in the suburbs, a modern building with cold, white paint. Chen Henian wrinkled his nose as he inhaled. The yin energy was stronger than he expected, the villa reeking of a foul odor.
The smell of death, and the dampness of ghosts.
Before they entered, the sound of crashing objects came from inside. The Wang family had three brothers, only the eldest married. The man with the protruding belly was Wang the eldest.
The youngest brother was throwing things. The middle brother lay listlessly on the sofa. Wang’s wife paced anxiously.
Wang led Chen Henian to a bedroom door, his expression tense, almost pleading. “My son is possessed. He’s locked himself in his room. If anyone touches him, he goes berserk. Little Master, please save my son! He’s going to be killed by that unclean thing!”
Chen Henian opened the door. The sunglasses darkened his vision. A young man sat in the corner by a mirror, his hands moving as if combing his hair, though he had none. He looked like he was possessed by a female ghost.
Chen Henian stepped inside, rapping his knuckles sharply against the wall.
“Hey.”
He called out lazily.
The young man, Wang Jr., stopped, then stood up.
Chen Henian noticed he was wearing a black dress.
He put down his suitcase and switched on the light. The bulb flickered, emitting a buzzing sound.
“Don’t turn on the light! Turn it off—!” Wang’s wife cried out, fearing for her son.
Why not turn on the light? Because the electromagnetic field could agitate ghosts. And that’s precisely what Chen Henian wanted.
With the light on, Wang Jr. spun around, his eyes rolling back, revealing blank, pupil-less orbs. He lunged at Chen Henian, foaming at the mouth.
His limbs moved unnaturally, his bones cracking. Chen Henian stood his ground, taking a copper coin from his pocket and flicking it onto the young man’s forehead.
Wang Jr.’s mouth opened, his head tilted back, frozen, his face twitching. The coin was special, taken from Zhou Xianzhi’s copper coin sword, imbued with incense ash and the essence of a hundred slain ghosts, a potent weapon against evil.
Chen Henian took a red string from his suitcase, pinching Wang Jr.’s jaw, pressing two acupuncture points, and tying the string around his head, securing it at his mouth.
The string tightened against his skin. Chen Henian pulled it back, drawing out a puff of black qi.
The black qi fell to the ground. Chen Henian flicked the string, striking the qi. The ghost shrieked, unharmed, and vanished into the ceiling.
The coin on Wang Jr.’s forehead fell into Chen Henian’s hand. The young man gasped, his eyes returning to their normal color. He swayed, and Chen Henian pushed him, sending him tumbling to the ground, where he vomited.
Just a minor ghost. Chen Henian picked up his suitcase, stepping over the young man. Only then did Wang Sr. dare to approach and help his son up. Those possessed were often weak afterward, but he was conscious now, able to speak.
Wang Sr. asked anxiously, “Is that unclean thing gone? Will it come back to haunt my son?”
Chen Henian nodded.
Wang’s wife’s legs buckled. “What should we do?”
Chen Henian replied, hands clasped behind his back, “Make food.”
The Wang family was stunned. “What kind of food?”
Chen Henian glanced at them indifferently. “I need to eat.”
