Two villagers were chatting as they rode their bicycles. After a few words, they suddenly turned to look around and spotted a black cat crouched on the wall. They immediately fell silent.
Back at the inn, I had just put away the things I’d gathered. After exchanging a few words with Xie Lingyu, I noticed my mute cousin muttering to herself. Though she couldn’t speak, she had basic emotions and trusted me completely—yet I was the one arranging her marriage to someone else.
Xie Lingyu seemed to read my thoughts and said softly, “Can you bear to see her married off?”
“Cousin, I really can’t bear to part with you,” I wailed dramatically, pretending to sob as I moved to embrace the jade corpse. Xie Lingyu grabbed a pillow and smacked me. “Get lost, you pervert!”
I burst out laughing. Truth be told, I did feel a little reluctant. The wedding dress was already prepared—a vibrant red, full of joy. But as I looked at it, for some reason, I was reminded of the idiot wearing red socks and cloth shoes.
Just then, Little Rascal suddenly ran up to me, tugging at my pant leg.
Following him, I spotted a black cat perched on a tree outside, peering through the window at everything happening inside, its dark, unblinking eyes fixed on us.
If not for Little Rascal, I wouldn’t have noticed.
I pushed open the window and shouted. The black cat leaped from the tree and vanished nimbly into the night.
After shooing it away, Xu Jun knocked on my door, inviting me to dinner. I went back inside to change my shoes and brought Little Rascal along. Xie Lingyu said she’d stay behind to look after my “silly cousin.”
“Alright, I’ll be back after dinner. Cousin, don’t wander off,” I said before leaving with Little Rascal.
In the lobby, we ran into Liu Yunxin and Xu Xiaokang. Suddenly, Little Rascal bared his teeth and started growling fiercely at the boy.
Xu Xiaokang gritted his teeth menacingly, his back legs tensed as if ready to pounce.
“Get your dog away! You’re scaring my son! Hurry!” Liu Yunxin’s momentary goodwill toward me vanished instantly.
From the boy’s eyes, I glimpsed countless tiny heads again. I called Little Rascal back, but he kept barking.
Dinner ended awkwardly. I took Little Rascal to a noodle shop instead, ordering a simple meal and giving him half my bowl. The shop owner scowled. “Hey, pal, if the noodles are bad, you don’t have to feed them to your dog!”
I quickly offered him a cigarette with a sheepish grin. “He just lost his wife. Let him have something decent, alright? Sorry, boss.”
The man’s expression softened. “Ah, poor thing. Never seen a dog so heartbroken.” Without another word, he ladled out a bowl of meat broth with a few bones for Little Rascal. “Eat up, little guy. You’ll feel better.”
On the way back, Little Rascal waddled slowly—probably too full to move.
“Next time you see that kid, don’t bark. He’s suffering too,” I told him, though I wasn’t sure he understood.
***
The next day, I used my ID to borrow a laptop with internet access.
I searched for information on the Abe family and found they held significant political influence in Japan. Unfortunately, my lack of Japanese made it hard to dig up details on “Ryu Nagare” or “Abe’s lips.” If I knew the language, I wouldn’t have to rely on subtitled movies.
Next, I pulled up a latitude and longitude tool. On the way to Shangri-La, I’d pondered the meaning of “29-34-110-78.” Master Ye Guyi had been active before the 1950s, but coordinates became common in the 19th century.
The numbers likely pointed to a location. A quick search revealed that “34-110” corresponded to Fenglingdu on the Yellow River—historically known as the Hedong region, the Guo family’s domain.
Was Master Ye hinting at a secret in Hedong? But “29” and “78” were too vague to decode.
Still, I had a strong hunch Fenglingdu held answers. “34-110” had to be the key.
After fiddling with the coordinates, I checked my email. Aside from a few wedding invitations, one stood out—a female classmate’s son’s full-month celebration, complete with a bank account number. She’d once rejected me harshly. Seeing her photo gave me petty satisfaction, but I decided not to hold grudges and transferred 250 yuan as a “generous uncle’s gift.”
Then, I spotted an unexpected email from ten days prior. The message was brief:
**”Want to know Xie Lingyu’s secret? Contact me.”**
The sender’s address was a random string of numbers. I wasn’t tech-savvy enough to trace it.
Hiding from Xie Lingyu, I replied:
**”What’s your price? If none, just tell me. PS: I’m broke, so don’t expect much.”**
After hitting send, I guiltily shut the laptop, afraid she’d catch me.
Who was this person? Could Xie Lingyu be testing me?
***
That night, Xu Jun visited early—just 9 p.m., hours before midnight.
“That old woman’s acting shady. I’m nervous,” he fretted.
“Don’t worry. Stick close to my cousin—she won’t let anything happen. Is your wife coming too?” I probed.
“Yeah, she won’t leave the kid for a second…”
After reassuring him, I sent Xu Jun off and returned inside.
My jade corpse cousin had changed into the red wedding dress, swapping her green robes after much persuasion. With the red veil in place, she sat quietly like a proper bride.
“Beautiful,” I praised.
Xie Lingyu smirked. “Tempted? Forget the spirit medium—why not have your wedding night now?”
I was half-tempted. The jade corpse was attractive, after all.
Just as I considered it—**”Woof! Woof! Woof!”**—Little Rascal’s barking erupted from the bathroom. As usual, he ruined the mood.
Rushing in, I saw a small, pitch-black creature perched on the toilet, baring sharp white teeth.
Its most striking feature was its grotesque neck—thin and elongated, connecting a kumquat-sized head to a potato-shaped body.
My throat tightened. The thing leaped, stretching unnaturally, revealing it wasn’t a physical animal—no mouse or cockroach.
As Little Rascal lunged, the kumquat-potato monster scrambled onto the ceiling, clinging with spindly limbs.
I jumped but couldn’t reach it.
The creature scuttled overhead, screeching. My cousin stormed in, slapped the ceiling, and snatched it down.
“Got you, little pest…”
A ghost-suppressing talisman did nothing. Neither did dunking it in water.
Xie Lingyu smirked. “Aren’t you a smoker?”
Lighting a cigarette, I pressed the ember to its head. The monster writhed but then—**chomp**—it swallowed the burning tip.
“Recognize this thing?” I asked.
After a closer look, Xie Lingyu gasped. “A hungry ghost! Insatiable appetite, tube-like neck—definitely a hungry ghost.”
In Buddhist lore, hungry ghosts are one of the six realms of rebirth. Those reborn here suffer endless hunger—some with huge bellies but tiny mouths, others feasting on filth or lurking near people who spit, waiting to devour the phlegm.
Legend says there are 36 types. And now one was in my bathroom.
Xie Lingyu explained, “During the Republic era, an old man drowned in a latrine. At his funeral, he suddenly sat up, screaming for food. His son bought a whole pig, but the man devoured it in three days. A Taoist priest intervened, exorcising the hungry ghost that had possessed him—one that fed on waste, escaped from the hungry ghost realm, and hid among humans.”
I nodded. This thing was a warning.
Then—**Ding-dong!**—someone knocked.
Tai Sui Yellow Amulet Paper FuLu Taoist Love Talisman Traditional Chinese Spiritual Charm Attracting Love Protecting Marriage