Metaphysics’ Public Enemy 87

Chapter 87:

Childhood – He Had a Painful Childhood

With the light on, the man turned towards it like a sunflower, his hunched posture straightening, his eyes fixed on the bulb, his body still. Zuo He pulled him up, and he didn’t resist, his mouth open slightly, his gaze unfocused, the light more effective than any medicine.

He didn’t seem foolish, not now, at least.

He reached for his glasses on the nightstand, putting them on, his hair falling across his forehead like the tentacles of a squid, his face still pale and tense, as if he might expel a cloud of ink at any moment.

Zuo He, maintaining a polite smile, offered him a bowl of talisman water.

The man almost gagged. “What is this? It smells terrible!” he exclaimed, his voice stronger now, despite spitting out most of the liquid.

The man, twenty-seven years old, Hu Boyuan, worked in a big city in the province. After working overtime during the Spring Festival, his company had given him a month’s leave. With no place to stay in the city, he had returned to his hometown.

This wasn’t his first misfortune. He had been born under a dark star.

Everyone in the neighborhood knew his father, Hu Tian, wasn’t a good man, a wife-beater. He had been four years old then, his mother hospitalized, his grandmother taking him away.

He hadn’t seen his mother since. His parents’ marriage had ended, his custody granted to his father.

Hu Tian hadn’t stopped drinking, his violence now directed at his son.

Hu Boyuan still trembled at the memory, pointing at the closet. “I used to hide in there. I couldn’t lock the door, he would break it down, the beatings worse if I tried to hide. I knew there was no escape, but it felt safe inside.”

He remembered the shadow in the gap beneath the door, the tall, menacing figure pulling him out of his hiding place.

He hated the smell of alcohol.

Hu Tian couldn’t afford to drink every day, but whenever the scent of alcohol filled the living room, he knew the night would bring pain.

“He would always turn off the lights first,” he said, his voice trembling.

Hu Tian would be drunk, his face flushed, but his blows were calculated, never injuring his son’s face or head, only his back and shoulders, his fists and feet a relentless assault, then forcing him to go to school the next day, his injuries hidden beneath his clothes.

The bruises would fade, leaving no scars.

His mother had wanted to take him away, his grandfather visiting twice, but Hu Tian had refused.

He had no toys, only a small yellow dog for company.

Its name was Da Bao.

He remembered the dog barking at Hu Tian, its small body lunging at him, its teeth sinking into his arm, the dog also a victim of his father’s rage, but it had never left his side.

He had a painful childhood.

Until he turned ten.

Da Bao had died that year.

He had watched, hidden in the closet, as his father beat the dog to death, then left, leaving him alone with the body, his cries echoing through the empty apartment, a neighbor hearing him, calling the police.

He didn’t remember what happened next. He had cried himself to sleep, waking up in his mother’s arms, her embrace warm and comforting, her tears falling on his face.

He had slept soundly, soothed by her presence, his voice silenced by grief, the memory of Da Bao’s death a heavy burden.

His mother had taken him away, telling him he didn’t have to be afraid anymore.

Because Hu Tian was dead.

He had died a week later, a drunken accident, drowning in the bathtub, his head submerged in the water, his son finally free, returning to his mother, the memories of his childhood fading, replaced by a fragile peace.

“Do you still want to die?” Jiang Wan asked him.

Hu Boyuan, embarrassed, lowered his head. “Am I being haunted, or am I losing my mind?”

“Your father’s spirit is likely still attached to this apartment. A wicked man in life, a vengeful ghost in death,” she said. “How long have you been back?”

“Two months,” he said, then his eyes widened, and he slapped his forehead. “I’ve overstayed my leave! I didn’t inform my company! I’m doomed!”

“Two months, and you’re still alive?” Jiang Wan said. “That ghost is surprisingly weak.”

“It tried to make him commit suicide, but he was saved,” Zuo He said. “A vengeful ghost wouldn’t save him. Who saved him?”

“I didn’t see anyone, but it must have been Da Bao!” he exclaimed, his voice a mix of joy and sorrow. “My dog, it must be protecting me!”

Zuo He frowned. “We’ll have to verify that. But I’ll capture the ghost first.”

“Forcing it out might disturb other spirits attached to this place,” he said, considering his options. “I’ll have to use a specific method.”

“Give me a few minutes.”

He went to the bathroom, taking out a razor blade and cutting his finger, drawing an array on the tiles with his blood, then placing his wooden sword by the door.

Hu Boyuan watched nervously from the living room. The water in the bathtub stirred, swirling around, and Zuo He dipped his bleeding finger into the water, his voice low and rhythmic, chanting the summoning spell.

“Can he do it alone?” Hu Boyuan asked. “Aren’t you going to help him?”

“It’s just a minor earthbound spirit, nothing to be afraid of,” Jiang Wan chuckled. “He’s a Southern Daoist, he knows what he’s doing.”

Zuo He’s movements were precise and focused, the water in the bathtub turning black, a cold wind swirling through the bathroom, contained within its walls, the wooden sword a barrier.

Hu Boyuan heard a roar, a chilling sound, so real it made his legs tremble.

Zuo He, using his blood as a conduit, bound the ghost with a red string, then, with a swift movement, pulled it from the water, its struggles futile, trapping it in a small pouch.

He secured the pouch, the wind dying down, then picked up his sword and emerged from the bathroom.

Zuo He, already carrying one ghost, handed the pouch to Jiang Wan.

She tossed it to Hu Boyuan. “Hold onto your father,” she said.

Hu Boyuan was too stunned to speak.

One ghost captured, but the room’s yin energy hadn’t dissipated, but intensified.

The two ghosts must have been in some kind of equilibrium, balancing each other’s presence.

“What’s that?” Hu Boyuan suddenly pointed down the hallway leading to the bedrooms.

Zuo He turned, seeing a shadowy figure, tall and human-shaped, its movements slow and hesitant, then it vanished.

A human spirit, not a dog.

“That wasn’t Da Bao?” Hu Boyuan was confused. “Who was that?”

“Has anyone else died in this apartment?” Zuo He asked.

Hu Boyuan shook his head. “No, it’s been mine since my father died. It was the same when I came back.”

“Perhaps it was someone from long ago,” Zuo He said. “Regardless, a wandering spirit should be guided to the underworld.”

“Let’s make a bet,” Jiang Wan said. “Without using any tools or questioning the ghost directly, whoever identifies it first wins. After we resolve this, the winner decides where we go next, north or south.”

They agreed, and Jiang Wan turned to Chen Henian. “No cheating,” she said, pointing at Yu Lin.

“Do I need to cheat to win against you?” he retorted.

Zuo He left first, believing that any recorded death would leave a trace, official records, or neighbors’ memories, a simple task.

Chen Henian remained in the apartment, asking Hu Boyuan to boil some water and buy instant noodles, a simple lunch.

After eating, he wandered through the apartment, his footsteps echoing in the empty rooms.

He stood where the ghost had appeared, opening the door to a small bedroom filled with clutter, Yu Lin’s hand brushing away the dust from the doorframe.

He smiled, leaving the room, seeing Jiang Wan and Hu Boyuan sitting on the sofa, then, as he walked towards them, Yu Lin’s hand caught his, the coldness spreading through him, a familiar touch.

“I know where its body is buried,” Yu Lin’s voice echoed in his mind.

“There’s nothing in this world I can’t find. Do you want to see it?”

“Of course,” Chen Henian replied instantly, then paused. “But isn’t that cheating?”

“No,” Yu Lin said. “Finding it is my skill, only the incompetent resort to cheating. We share a bed, our fates intertwined, how can we be considered separate?”

“You’re right,” Chen Henian smiled, pleased. “That’s how it should be.”

Yu Lin stood behind him, his face shadowed, but his lips curved into a smile.

Chen Henian called Hu Boyuan, handing him a shovel, and they left through the back door, Yu Lin leading them to a small hill, a patch of woods, a spot with no tombstone, just ordinary grass.

Hu Boyuan dug, the shovel striking something hard, a coffin unearthed.

It was a small coffin. He gasped, his memory stirring. “Wait, that’s Da Bao’s grave! I remember now!”

“He loved persimmons, this used to be a persimmon orchard.” He smiled, then his face fell, his voice filled with sadness. “Are you mistaken? Why are you digging up Da Bao’s grave? He was such a good dog, so pitiful.”

He wanted to rebury the coffin, unwilling to disturb his beloved dog’s rest.

“Mistaken?” Jiang Wan scoffed, pushing him aside, lifting the coffin lid.

Hu Boyuan’s anger vanished as he looked inside.

Only bones remained.

A human skull, about fifty centimeters in length, a child’s skull.

“That’s not right,” he stammered, his eyes wide with confusion. “I remember burying Da Bao here. Mother was in a hurry, we buried him and left. Did someone dig up his grave? Did they…”

“Hu Boyuan,” Chen Henian’s voice, cold and sharp, interrupted him.

“What?” He flinched, his voice trembling.

Chen Henian’s next words were even more terrifying.

“There was no dog,” he said, his gaze piercing, like a needle.

“You didn’t have a dog, you had a brother.”

“Impossible!” Hu Boyuan denied it instantly. “If I had a brother, I would remember!”

“You had a brother,” Chen Henian repeated, his voice calm and indifferent. “I searched the entire apartment. It’s been abandoned for years, but the furniture is still there. Don’t you find that strange? There’s no sign of a dog ever living there. And your abusive father, would he have tolerated a dog for so long?”

“No… that’s not right,” Hu Boyuan shook his head, his voice rising. “Why wouldn’t he? I know better than you!”

“What do you remember?” Chen Henian asked. “What color was your bed when you were ten?”

Hu Boyuan hesitated, his lips moving, then he sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I don’t remember.”

“It was blue,” Chen Henian said. “The spare bedroom has a crib large enough for two children, two sets of clothes and shoes, every style in duplicate.”

Hu Boyuan’s eyes widened, but he didn’t argue.

“You never entered that room, but the answer was always there,” Chen Henian continued. “You had a twin brother, killed by your father.”

“Are you joking?” A strange, bitter laugh escaped his lips. “I don’t have a twin.” His voice turned hostile, his anger rising.

“Then why are you crying?” Chen Henian asked, his expression unchanged.

Hu Boyuan froze, his smile vanishing, his eyes clouding over, tears streaming down his face.

Chen Henian took out a piece of paper, a torn scrap, and handed it to him. A name was written on it.

Hu Boyang.

Hu Boyuan’s trembling hand took the paper, his vision blurred by tears.

“I tore this from a notebook,” Chen Henian said. “Was he your older brother, or your younger brother?”

“No…”

Hu Boyuan’s voice was choked with sobs, his body shaking.