Ye Wenxin handed me a blank sheet of paper: “If you’re tired, use this to wipe your sweat.” I smiled and said I was fine, then took the kitchen knife, gripping it firmly as I placed the leather shoes on the chopping board.
After searching for a while, I finally spotted the cutting board, which was faintly covered in mold. When I brought the rusty knife down, the board—probably unused for too long—shattered into pieces from the rot.
“Good heavens.”
“I didn’t mean to,” I quickly apologized. Ye Wenxin rested her chin on her hand, seemingly lost in thought. It turned out her left eye had fallen out, and she was in the process of reattaching it.
My back was drenched in sweat.
Once Ye Wenxin had her eye back in place:
“Seems like this eye isn’t much use anymore. Time for a replacement,” she muttered before walking out without another word. “Call us in when the braised trotters are ready. I’m going out to dance for a bit.”
I instinctively closed my eyes. *Replacing an eye? Is that a threat?*
And wait—weren’t we supposed to be tasting *Professor Ye’s* cooking? Why am *I* the one being tested? Who knows what these ghosts even see when they look at a pair of leather shoes.
After an exhausting effort, I finally managed to chop the pile of shoe soles into chunks, filling a small basin. I pretended to rinse them under the faucet—though no water came out—but made sure to go through the motions.
Next, I grabbed a pot and pretended to boil the “trotters,” skimming off the “blood foam” before setting them aside. Then came the soy sauce—I poured it in haphazardly, letting it simmer before tossing in some dog fur, rags, and even a few rocks and grass clippings.
After another round of simmering, I deemed it “done” and ladled the concoction into a broken basin.
“Uh, Professor Ye, the braised trotters are ready,” I called out. Ye Wenxin, still mid-dance, replied, “Danan, you’re quite efficient. Let me take a look.”
She took a whiff and immediately gave a thumbs-up.
“Not bad—smells delicious! Seems you’ve got some culinary talent. Let’s serve it up,” she praised.
Trailing behind her, I carried the basin of “trotters” out and set it on the floor. The old professors inhaled the aroma and showered me with compliments:
“Seems the young man has quite the skill. Stay and cook for us. We’ll pay you 10,000 a month.”
One of them even reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. I glanced at it—currency from the *Bank of the Underworld*.
“What do you say? Care to reconsider? Stay and be our chef,” another old man chimed in.
Their enthusiasm was eerily similar to when they’d insisted I stay for dinner earlier—now laced with something far more menacing.
“Professors, if you’re short a cook, I can send one over tonight. Guaranteed to be a thousand times better than me,” I stammered, wiping sweat from my brow.
Ye Wenxin intervened: “Enough chatter—let’s eat. Smells alone don’t make a dish. If it tastes mediocre, then it’s all show and no substance.”
That eased my nerves slightly.
*If they actually enjoy this, I’ll kneel before them.*
Ye Wenxin took the first bite, chewed, then spat it out—yet she wore a radiant smile and gave a thumbs-up.
“Delicious! I’ve eaten for decades, and never anything this good.”
*Lady, cut the act. Do you think I can’t see through this?*
The two old professors followed suit, each grabbing a piece, blowing on it dramatically as if scalding hot, taking a bite, spitting it out, and then showering me with praise.
“Never tasted anything like this! Professor Ye, looks like you’re out of a job.”
*Seriously? I could’ve served them a plate of dog crap, and they’d still rave about it.* I forced a smile and bowed. “You flatter me. Clearly, you need a proper chef. I’ll arrange for one.”
“What’s the matter? Think our offer’s too low? 10,000 a month is generous,” one professor snapped.
I nearly burst into tears. The old man’s performance was Oscar-worthy—his “burned mouth” act was *too* convincing.
“Not at all,” I muttered, finally realizing I was dealing with a bunch of ghostly con artists. If they decided to keep me here, I was screwed. *Thanks for nothing, useless compass and jade ruler.*
Ye Wenxin frowned. “Then what *do* you want? Back in our day, 30 a month was a fortune. Now we’re offering 10,000, and you’re still ungrateful. Greedy much?”
Negotiation was hopeless. I’d been too accommodating.
“Professor Ye, a word?” I pulled her aside, hoping reason might prevail.
“What is it? Need a raise? Name your price,” she said, clearly thinking she had me cornered.
“Tell you what—I’ll burn you some spirit money and send over a few *real* chefs. Deal?” I was ready to bolt.
“Burned offerings go to the underworld. We’re stuck *here*. The underworld doesn’t do inter-realm deliveries, you know. So, Danan, just accept your fate and stay,” she countered.
Seeing my hesitation, she sighed. “Fine, I’ll be honest. None of us can cook. And it’s not even for us—it’s for a *monster*. Every time we serve it, it hates the food, and we suffer. But today, when you showed up… we knew our torment was over.”
*Well, that’s a lot to unpack.*
So Ye Wenxin wasn’t eating it herself—she’d just been acting earlier.
Suddenly, a strange noise echoed from the fourth floor.
Ye Wenxin scrambled to gather the spat-out “trotters,” dumping them back into the basin before rushing it to the fifth-floor hallway. The old professors huddled fearfully by the door, as if awaiting royalty.
*What the hell? These con-artist ghosts are terrified now?*
Little Rascal whimpered but stayed silent.
I crouched low, waiting. Soon, a grotesquely bloated figure lumbered into view—its most striking feature being an absurdly long, thin neck. It dwarfed any hungry ghost I’d seen, with bulging, orange-sized eyes swaying with each step.
*Is this the mother of all hungry ghosts? Those giant footprints from earlier—were they hers?*
I held my breath. The legendary *Preta Matriarch* stood before me—taller than the Buddhist texts described, easily two meters, her distended belly swaying.
So *this* was who Ye Wenxin’s crew had been cooking for.
The basin of “trotters” sat by the door. The matriarch plunged in, but her narrow neck made eating slow. As she gnawed on a shoe sole, a swarm of tiny hungry ghosts scrambled over, devouring the “feast.”
Ye Wenxin stood her ground, but the professors trembled like leaves.
Once finished, the matriarch nodded—apparently *loving* the shoe stew. *Unbelievable.*
Ye Wenxin pointed at me. “*He* made it. Keep him as your chef.”
I glared at the matriarch just as a few of her brood scaled my shoulders, trying to possess me. But that wasn’t my biggest worry—the alcohol-soaked jar in the room still held the charred remains of her offspring.
If she realized *I’d* roasted her kids, she’d either eat me alive or hitch a ride in my body. *If that happens, I’ll be ‘Hungry Ghost Xiaoqi’—and my grocery bills will bankrupt me.*
I bowed deeply, inching backward.
Then—my dormant jade ruler began to glow. Worse, a draft carried the jar’s scent straight to the matriarch.
A tiny ghost wriggled into my arm.
I rolled away, snatching the ruler and compass—the latter spinning wildly.
*Squeak…* A sound like a rat’s cry.
I yanked the ghost out of my arm and hurled it to the ground, likely crippling it.
“Mother of mercy, I’ve never seen an uglier ghost,” Mo Bai muttered.
The matriarch, slowed by her bulk, lurched forward.
I dove into Room 502. Ye Wenxin and the professors barricaded themselves in the bedroom, dousing ghosts in alcohol and torching them. The ruler’s glow intensified, forcing the remaining brood to retreat behind their mother.
Given her size, the matriarch probably fed on more than just trash—likely devouring wandering spirits too, hence her terrifying aura.
Yet she seemed sluggish, unfazed by her children’s deaths. After polishing off the last shoe sole, she even let out a satisfied belch.
Ye Wenxin warned, “Once she’s full, she’ll speed up.”
The final chunk of sole slithered down her neck, her grotesque form shifting from pitch-black to a lurid crimson—still hideous.
*Red ghosts and zombies are the worst.*
“Who the hell spawned this abomination?” I gulped. This thing wasn’t natural. Gripping the ruler, I focused—its blue light flaring brighter.
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