Metaphysics’ Public Enemy 86

Chapter 86:

Haunted – Or Rather, People Causing Trouble

After the New Year, Zhou Xianzhi disappeared, taking Xiao Bai and the mirror with him, summoned by an old acquaintance, an aging Daoist likely performing rituals at funerals, simple, safe jobs to support himself.

The Southern sect provided for Yu Lin, and Chen Henian didn’t have to worry about food or shelter, ignoring exorcism requests, only accompanying Jiang Wan on a visit to the Tianyin sect to check on the Jiang descendants.

They were adjusting well, no longer a cause for concern, but Zuo He’s training required him to leave, and with him gone, the villa would be empty, no one skilled in cooking.

As he packed his bag, sharpening his wooden sword, preparing to leave, Chen Henian put down his fruit plate.

“A long trip? Where to?” he asked.

“Huangdong Province,” Zuo He replied.

“You too?”

“Not with Uncle-Master,” Zuo He said quickly. “I met someone while buying groceries earlier. He said his relative is being haunted, gave me two thousand yuan and an address, begged me to help.”

With no jobs coming in, it was a timely offer. He had accepted. “I want to leave soon. Do you want to come along?”

Chen Henian considered it, then nodded. “Sure.”

“I’ll contact my sect, ask them to send a car to take us to the train station,” Zuo He said, efficient as always. “Do you need to bring anything?”

Chen Henian shook his head.

“Then we’ll leave in half an hour,” Zuo He said, leaving the villa.

A few minutes later, a black car arrived.

The snow had melted, the March sun warm and comforting.

Chen Henian stepped outside, Yu Lin’s umbrella shielding him from the sun. He remembered the two cars that had followed them during their New Year’s Eve dinner.

Zuo He, worried they would freeze, had sent two bowls of dumplings, the Southern sect’s surveillance gradually decreasing, now only a single car, a convenient chauffeur.

As long as the ghost king didn’t eat anyone, they were willing to accommodate him. The address Zuo He had been given was in Huaxi City, Huangdong Province, a remote county town.

Lao Wang, a Huaxi native, had made his fortune as a landlord, then opened a hotel, the local authorities cracking down on illegal activities, making his business a safer bet.

But his new hotel, open for only a month, had been plagued by misfortune. A fight had broken out, a man killed, his body discovered the next day by the cleaning staff.

The room, now tainted by death, had become undesirable, its price reduced to that of an hourly rate, but the next guest had been found unconscious, rushed to the hospital, Lao Wang paying the medical bills and compensation.

He had locked the room, its door sealed, a haunted room, his business declining, only three guests today.

Two men and a woman, the taller man so tall he almost grazed the chandelier in the lobby, their clothes strange and theatrical, like performers in a religious ceremony, their long hair a stark contrast to the usual short, cropped styles, though at least they hadn’t dyed it.

“How many rooms?” Lao Wang asked, his head lowered.

“One,” they replied.

“Identification,” he said, and the taller man, his posture straight and imposing, handed him his ID card.

Lao Wang examined it, his brow furrowed. The ID was valid. “What’s your relationship?” he asked.

“Brothers,” the man replied.

“I’m the eldest,” he continued, his voice confident, a backpack slung over his shoulder, a wooden sword visible.

“This is my second brother.”

“And my younger sister.”

The other two, their expressions strange, almost disdainful, seemed unfriendly.

Lao Wang looked at the eldest brother, his voice filled with doubt. “You don’t look related.”

The man smiled. “I’m adopted.”

A complicated family. Lao Wang didn’t pry further, placing a key on the counter. “Upstairs, turn right, room 2120. And no funny business in my hotel.”

“We don’t want that room,” the second brother said, placing a newspaper on the counter, Lao Wang assuming he was trying to haggle, then the man pointed at an article about the death in the hotel. “We want the haunted room.”

Lao Wang was taken aback. “What are you kids up to? People die in that room! If you want to play games, go somewhere else, don’t cause trouble for me. What do you think you are, Daoists?”

“Almost,” the eldest brother said, smiling. “I’ll get my license next year.”

Lao Wang, annoyed, waved them away. “No, you can’t stay there, leave.”

The second brother took out a wad of cash. “Three hundred yuan, for one night.”

Lao Wang stared at the money, his voice a grumble. “That room is haunted, people lose their minds in there.”

“Are you idiots?” He looked at them, a sudden chill in the air, the cigarette in his mouth extinguishing, a cold hand appearing on the second brother’s shoulder.

His eyes widened, the hand vanishing, his face pale.

The younger sister, seeing his reaction, chuckled. “What’s wrong, Boss? Are you scared?”

Lao Wang, regaining his composure, slammed his hand on the counter. “Five hundred, take it or leave it,” she said, smiling sweetly.

He couldn’t refuse such a generous offer. He smiled, rubbing his forehead. “No questions asked, as long as you don’t die in there. And don’t blame me if anything happens!”

The eldest brother nodded, the second brother, his face sullen, handing over the money. Lao Wang took the cash, retrieving the key to the haunted room.

The three of them went upstairs.

The hotel wasn’t fancy, its furnishings cheap and worn, the air thick with cigarette smoke, the dim, yellow lighting casting long shadows, the sound of mahjong tiles clattering from below, the haunted room at the end of the fourth-floor corridor, no elevator.

Chen Henian had seen the newspaper article, a convenient coincidence. The owner, in his thick local accent, had warned them to seal the windows and closets, to be asleep by midnight.

Useless advice, such precautions had no effect on ghosts.

The key had a small “fu” character attached to it, a blessing. The room, its recent tragedy still lingering, had three burnt incense sticks stuck in the door frame.

Chen Henian entered, glancing around, choosing the bed further from the bathroom, Zuo He placing their belongings on the coffee table, spreading their blankets on the beds.

“Was there a photo in the newspaper?” Chen Henian asked, lying on the bed, his head resting on Yu Lin’s arm. “Where did he die?”

Zuo He recalled the article. “His head hit the sink, impaled by a nail.” He walked over to the sink, its surface clean. “The body wasn’t moved, he was facing the mirror.”

Mirrors could trap souls. “His spirit is likely trapped in the mirror, unable to move on, destined to become a vengeful ghost,” he said.

He drew a spirit-releasing talisman, placing it on the mirror, then, finding a heavy object, smashed the mirror, the shards scattering across the floor, the ghost now free to move on, to be reincarnated.

He pressed his palms together, chanting a blessing. “May you be reborn soon, and find peace in your next life.”

“What if it doesn’t want to move on?” Jiang Wan asked.

Chen Henian chuckled. “Then Zuo He has a job, doesn’t he?”

“Cause and effect,” Zuo He said. “If it seeks revenge, it will be punished.”

“Suit yourself, I’m going to sleep,” Chen Henian said, taking off his jacket, turning over, his head resting on Yu Lin’s shoulder.

Yu Lin pulled the blankets over him, his fingers gently combing his hair, his lips brushing against his forehead.

It was a double room, two beds and a sofa.

Chen Henian and Jiang Wan each took a bed, Zuo He, his training unfinished, taking the sofa. They took turns in the bathroom, then turned off the lights, the room dark, the windows boarded up, a perfect environment for a ghost.

The clock in the lobby struck twelve, the owner dozing behind the counter, when the tap in Chen Henian’s bathroom turned on, blood flowing from the faucet, seeping onto the floor.

An eye opened in the shattered mirror on the floor, its gaze, reflected in the shards, darting around, then upwards.

It had been hungry for a week, the scent from the bed intoxicating, its fangs dripping with anticipation.

It saw only darkness, the human forms pale shapes, their scent a red thread, a tangled web, its tongue emerging from the mirror, followed by its shattered head, its body small and grotesque.

It locked onto its target, crawling across the floor, its head bobbing, its hand reaching for the bedsheet, then slowly standing, its gaze fixed on the sleeping man.

The man’s long hair was spread across the pillow, and as the ghost leaned closer, its drool almost dripping onto his face, a pair of blood-red eyes suddenly snapped open.

The ghost froze, its excitement turning to terror, its body convulsing, its knees buckling as it scrambled backward.

A minor ghost, its soul still weak, having only tasted a bit of human blood, unaware of the true power within this room, its attempt a foolish mistake.

The man on the bed shifted, turning over, and the oppressive presence that had pinned the ghost down seemed to retreat, its fear overriding its hunger, its gaze shifting to the other bed.

The woman slept soundly, one leg exposed, and the ghost reached out, wanting to grab her leg, to pull her under the bed.

But its excited whispers had awakened her. Her eyes still closed, her hand emerged from beneath the blankets, a sword, its blade gleaming, the sound of a thousand ghostly voices, a chilling war cry, sending the ghost scrambling, its fear overwhelming it, its form retreating to the shadows behind the sofa.

It clutched its head, its foot bumping against something soft, the fabric of someone’s clothes.

The person on the sofa sat up.

“Restless, aren’t you?” a soft voice, a chilling sound, sending shivers down its spine, a wave of human energy, its world turning black.

Zuo He, a small pouch filled with talismans in his hand, lay back down, the ghost trapped within the pouch, its struggles and its cries silenced, the room quiet, only the sound of their breathing.

Chen Henian was the last to wake, Zuo He having already bought breakfast. They checked out, refreshed and energized, eating their breakfast at a nearby cafe.

Zuo He, while eating, confirmed the address, then returned to meet them, their destination a rundown apartment building in a quiet neighborhood, its streets deserted.

The client’s door was a metal gate.

“Did you knock?” Chen Henian asked.

Zuo He shook his head. “I haven’t greeted them yet.”

“Then go knock.”

Zuo He walked over, knocking politely, but there was no response.

Jiang Wan yelled through the window. “Is anyone home?”

“Break down the door if no one answers, they might be dead,” Chen Henian said.

Yu Lin, standing beside him under the eaves, his umbrella closed, took Chen Henian’s hand, his voice a low murmur. “Someone’s inside, still alive.” He looked at him, his eyes questioning. “Do you want me to deal with it?”

Chen Henian shook his head immediately. “This is Zuo He’s job, let him handle it. If we interfere, Grandmaster Yongjian will be displeased.” He turned to Jiang Wan. “There’s someone inside, knock harder!”

Jiang Wan pounded on the gate, and finally, it opened, a man emerging, his face hidden by his unkempt hair, his skin pale, his chin covered in stubble, his appearance disheveled.

He tilted his head, his eyes dark and unfocused. “Who are you looking for?” he asked, his voice weak.

“Your face is dark, a bad omen, you’re being haunted,” Zuo He said, stepping forward. “Your relative paid me to help you. I’ll catch the ghost.”

“Relative?” the man asked. “Who?”

“He didn’t give me his name, but he gave me your address. You’re still alive, I arrived just in time,” Zuo He replied.

The man seemed to lose interest, turning away. “Come in, do as you please,” he said, walking back inside, his footsteps slow and unsteady, disappearing into a bedroom. The apartment was spacious, but neglected, like it hadn’t been lived in for years, a thick layer of dust covering the television in the living room.

Jiang Wan opened the windows, waving her hand to disperse the musty odor, the coffee table littered with empty bread wrappers and crumbs, the apartment seemingly occupied only by the man.

Chen Henian wrinkled his nose at the dusty sofa, and Yu Lin sat down, his black mist enveloping the cushions, creating a clean space for Chen Henian to lie down, his head resting on Yu Lin’s lap, eating green grapes he had bought from a street vendor.

“What’s your plan?” he asked Zuo He, his voice casual.

“Catch the ghost,” Zuo He replied, taking out a talisman and sticking it to the bedroom door with glutinous rice. It fell off a moment later.

“Why do you think that happened?” Chen Henian asked, watching him.

“A single talisman isn’t enough. I don’t sense any strong resentment, it’s probably an earthbound spirit,” Zuo He said. “Two possibilities: either its body is buried beneath this building, or it died here, a long time ago, its essence merged with the structure. To suppress it, I need to place talismans in the four corners of the apartment.”

“A Four Symbols Array will trap it, but I’d rather capture it.”

“Capture it?” The man, who had been lying motionless on the bed, suddenly spoke.

“What?” Jiang Wan asked. “Are you attached to it?”

“What will you do with it?” the man asked. “It hasn’t harmed anyone, just inconvenienced me. It’s not a crime.”

“He knows the ghost,” Chen Henian said. “Zuo He, make him talk.”

Zuo He nodded, entering the bedroom. “What happened?” he asked the man. “Is this your home? How long have you lived here?”

“Of course it’s my home,” the man sat up, hugging his knees, his chin resting on them. “I’m just tired, tired of living. I want to die, so I tried to kill myself. But it cut the rope when I tried to hang myself, knocked me unconscious when I tried to slit my wrists, hid all my knives.”

His voice was flat, his gaze unfocused. “It ruined my plans, but it was trying to help me.”

“You want to kill yourself?” Jiang Wan said. “That’s easy, just jump into a river. Why do you have to die in your own house?”

The man’s face was a mask of confusion. “Were you always suicidal, or did you only become suicidal after moving in here?” she asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” the man replied.

“It does matter,” Zuo He said seriously. “I respect your wish to die, but we have to determine if it’s your own decision, or if you’re being influenced by the ghost. Has anyone committed suicide in this apartment before?”

The man shook his head.

Jiang Wan stroked her chin thoughtfully. “What if the ghost wants you dead, but also prevents you from dying? Is it schizophrenic?”

“Think carefully,” Chen Henian said, a smile playing on his lips, Yu Lin’s hand in his, the gesture making Jiang Wan cringe, but she didn’t see the change in his eyes, their color mirroring Yu Lin’s, a shared gaze.

He heard his own breathing slowing, black snow falling silently, his world a canvas of red and black, the man’s body entangled in a web of red threads, leading to two distinct sources.

Two ghosts.

But he didn’t care.

“Do you smell that?” he asked, his voice light and playful. “I smell alcohol.”

“Me too,” Jiang Wan said, sniffing the air, pointing towards the bedroom. “It’s strongest in here.”

The man on the bed smelled it too, his eyes widening in terror, his body scrambling beneath the blankets, his hand covering his mouth, silencing his scream.

He remained motionless, his body trembling, and Jiang Wan walked over, pulling the blankets away, her brow furrowed as she looked at his face, red and contorted, his breath held, as if he was trying to suffocate himself. She slapped his hand away. “Are you trying to kill yourself like this?”

He coughed, his body shaking, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his ears deaf to their voices, his mind elsewhere.

“Wait,” Jiang Wan said, her voice sharp.

“Are you killing yourself?”

“Are you trying to kill yourself?”

“Stop,” Zuo He said, her words too direct, pulling her back, waiting for the man to calm down, his voice gentle. “Don’t be afraid,” he said, approaching him. “I promise, the ghost won’t harm you.”

“No…” the man shook his head, his finger pointing behind Zuo He, his voice trembling. “It’s here! It’s right here!”

Jiang Wan and Zuo He turned, seeing only a closet. She opened it, sighing. “There’s nothing here.”

“No! It’s behind you!” The man, his eyes wide with terror, retreated to the corner of the room, his fear genuine.

“Keep an eye on him, I’ll make some talisman water,” Zuo He said, but before he could move, the man lunged at him.

“Look out!” he yelled, seeing a monstrous face behind Zuo He, a wine bottle raised above its head.

Crash—

Chen Henian stood at the doorway, the bedroom light illuminating the room, the chaos vanishing, the man and Zuo He sprawled on the floor. He pointed at the light switch, his voice flat. “The ghost’s presence is weakest here.”