Chapter 25: Han Zongnan’s Love Between Human and Ghost

Buddhism speaks of three thousand great worlds—perhaps the underworld truly exists. Is that where Xie Lingyu is headed?

And where should I go? What about you? Philosophers say our entire lives are a journey toward death.

Xie Lingyu’s joke-like words rippled like water and soon settled into silence.

I returned to my place, smashed the ghost spirit stone with a hammer, and ground it into black powder. On the way back, I bought high-quality rice paper, a brush, and ink. First, I practiced with the ink, drawing two sheets before using the ghost spirit stone powder. The ink wasn’t great, so I diluted it with water and mixed in the powdered spirit stone.

I drew one “Jiachen Yigong Talisman” and one “Donglingzi Ghost-Catching Talisman.”

The “Donglingzi Ghost-Catching Talisman” had a row of teeth encircling it, with eight evenly distributed flying knives in the middle. The design was ancient and starkly different from the flashy yellow talismans seen in movies and TV shows.

My heart wavered—I wasn’t sure if they’d work. If my grandfather and Donglingzi were just messing around, then I’d been played.

As I pondered how to use them, the sound of hammering nails came from outside again. *Ting, ting, ting…* The rhythm was brisk, the movements practiced.

Who the hell was hammering nails at this hour? Little Rascal, the dog, barked frantically from the floor, his tail stiff with alertness. My own hairs stood on end—whoever was nailing must either be a freak or someone abused by their wife. Seriously, hammering nails in the middle of the night? Were they just killing time?

After hesitating, I stood by the door and shouted, “Who the hell is hammering nails at this hour? Let people sleep!” The corridor was eerily silent. The hammering stopped abruptly.

With the two ghost-catching talismans ready, I gathered some bamboo leaves, eggs, and red thread to carry with me. I packed the jade ruler, leashed the little black dog, and stepped out, locking the door behind me.

As I descended the stairs, I felt something following above me. I looked up—nothing but a chilling draft.

Little Rascal kept barking all the way. Outside, the streetlight flickered, and a single petal drifted down, landing right on the tip of my nose—a carnation petal, fragrant and precise.

I glanced back—nothing. *Damn it, if I find out who’s messing with me, they’re dead.*

Leaving the neighborhood, I spotted a figure in the darkness wearing a hat, standing under a plane tree, watching me. I yelled, “Chong Laowu! You’ve got some nerve! Don’t you dare run!”

But when I rushed forward, Chong Laowu was gone. The spot where he’d stood was littered with cigarette butts. Maybe I’d been mistaken—Chong Laowu raised insects and wouldn’t smoke, since many bugs hate the smell. So who was it? A peeping thief?

At the supermarket, I bought eggs and a bundle of red thread, stuffing them into a bag. I figured the university probably had bamboo, so leaves would be easy to gather.

Back at Bai Meng’s flower shop, I found Shen Yihu waiting for me inside. His sudden visit was unexpected—I wasn’t sure what he wanted.

Xie Lingyu smiled. “I called him. You two can go together tonight—it’ll be safer.”

I chuckled. “Officer Shen, didn’t expect we’d be partners again.”

Shen Yihu grimaced. “Just my luck.”

Before leaving, I grabbed two blocks of floral foam, stuffed them into my bag, and led Little Rascal and Shen Yihu to my Wuling van.

Noticing a recycling shop still open, I asked Shen Yihu to help me sell the scrap paper in the back. Grumbling, he carried the load while muttering, “Didn’t think you’d stoop to selling trash.”

I grinned. “It’s called ‘hard work pays off.’”

Buying at six cents per kilo and selling at nine, I made a tidy three-cent profit. Not bad.

At the university, the security guard stopped us again. Shen Yihu impatiently flashed his police badge, and we were let in. He’d been lounging in the passenger seat but suddenly stiffened. “You’re here about Bai Yu’s case?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

Shen Yihu cursed. “You should’ve said so earlier! I thought you were here for something else. Bai Yu’s case—I know it inside out. It was the first case I worked on as a rookie cop. A decapitation, and her head was never found. We threw everything at it—manpower, resources—but not a single lead. It’s been cold for years.”

I admitted, “To be honest, Bai Yu might be back.”

Sweat dripped down Shen Yihu’s forehead. “Damn. Should we call for backup?”

“Not yet. Let’s find out where she is first.”

That night, the campus was nearly empty—holiday break and light rain thickened the air with damp earth. It felt stifling, like a storm was brewing.

Driving around aimlessly, Little Rascal showed no signs of unease. Then I slammed the brakes—Shen Yihu, not wearing a seatbelt, nearly hit the windshield.

“You trying to kill me?” he snapped.

A black umbrella, black clothes, a bouquet of red roses—Han Zongnan drifted like a ghost through the campus night. Shen Yihu and I gaped. Little Rascal, aside from nearly faceplanting when the car stopped, seemed fine.

Had Han Zongnan been rejected? Was that why he looked so desolate?

I opened the car door, and Shen Yihu followed. Just then, my phone rang—startling me and Little Rascal.

Shen Yihu sighed. “Stay calm. We haven’t even seen Bai Yu yet—don’t let a phone call scare you to death.”

It was Meng Xiaoyu, asking why I wasn’t back yet—was I fooling around? Shen Yihu handed me the phone, and I quickly explained I was working a case. She hung up. *Classic henpecked husband.*

“Let’s follow him,” I said. “See what he’s up to.”

Shen Yihu nodded silently.

I added, “Those roses he’s holding? I sold them to him.”

Shen Yihu glared. “Nothing good ever happens around you.”

I laughed. “Takes one to know one.”

Our camaraderie had deepened after surviving the Huang family incident. Some bonds between men don’t need words.

He was the stoic type, while I’d grown a bit eccentric after reading my ancestor’s books. Together, we made an odd pair—but it added spice to our youth.

Han Zongnan wandered aimlessly, roses clutched in his hands, oblivious to our presence. Shen Yihu, a trained cop, was an expert at tailing suspects. I held Little Rascal tight to keep him from barking.

Han Zongnan circled endlessly until Shen Yihu finally snapped. “This is ridiculous. Is he looking for a person or a ghost?”

I muttered, “Maybe he really *is* looking for a ghost.”

Eventually, Han Zongnan sat on a bench, closed his umbrella, and set the roses beside him. After a moment’s daze, he began plucking petals one by one, scattering them like drops of blood.

When only one rose remained, Little Rascal tensed to bark—but I clamped his muzzle shut, leaving just his nostrils free.

Then—Bai Yu.

I’d seen photos of her on the university forum, but the real person was far more striking. Her white dress glowed like a lantern in the night. The campus was deserted—no one else could’ve witnessed this but Shen Yihu, Little Rascal, and me.

My hands trembled. She was only the second ghost I’d encountered after Xie Lingyu.

*Ten years as a wandering spirit—how hard that must’ve been.*

But why was she holding Han Zongnan’s hand? I decided to hold off on the talismans—I needed to understand what was happening.

Shen Yihu, noticing my tension, pulled out an eye-drop bottle. He dabbed two drops on his fingers and rubbed them over his eyelids. “Let’s see if ox tears work.”

Oxen are special creatures—gentle, hardworking. Their tears are said to reveal the unseen: spirits, monsters, ghosts. An ox only cries once—just before slaughter, mourning life itself.

Shen Yihu nudged me. “That’s Bai Yu, right? Even prettier in person.”

I nodded. “But why is Han Zongnan—a living man—meeting her? And giving her roses?”

Han Zongnan’s entire being radiated adoration. From desolation to euphoria—even a dog could tell he’d fallen for Bai Yu.

Shen Yihu sighed. “Let’s keep watching.”

Bai Yu smiled. “Are these roses for me? Then why destroy them?”

Tears welled in Han Zongnan’s eyes. “Without love, even the most beautiful flower is meaningless. What’s the point of keeping them?”

Bai Yu feigned annoyance. “But now I’m here. Where will you find me flowers? Lucky there’s still one left.”

This was, without a doubt, the most poignant love story I’d ever witnessed. Among all the ghosts I’d met, none had a romance that transcended boundaries like this. The greatest barrier in love isn’t distance—it’s life and death. The living have chances; the dead have none.

I didn’t act that night. For some reason, Bai Yu seemed to genuinely crave love. I’d wait for the right moment to subdue her—but first, I needed the full story.

By the time Shen Yihu and I called it a night, it was past 1 a.m. Han Zongnan and Bai Yu sat on that bench, talking—pure as clouds.

The next day, while restocking flowers, I asked the nursery owner, Yu Fan, “Do you have white spider lilies?”

He shook his head firmly. “We sell spider lilies—plenty of lovelorn fools buy them. They bloom in July or August. But in all my years, I’ve never seen a white one.”

I shrugged. “If you ever find any, let me know. I’ll pay any price.”

After restocking, I tailed Han Zongnan alone. His face had grown paler, and he wore a thin sweater despite the weather.

In feng shui, humans are yang—ghosts, yin. Normally, the two can interact, but Bai Yu’s yin energy was too strong. Even a young man like Han Zongnan couldn’t withstand it—hence his exhaustion, dizziness, and worst of all, the risk of yang depletion leading to sudden death. Ghost stories often speak of men drained by female spirits.

At 6 p.m., Han Zongnan bought a fruit knife from a supermarket—small enough to hide in his pocket.

*This might end badly.* Had Bai Yu enchanted him? Turned him into her puppet?

But then he helped an old lady cross the street—like a modern-day Lei Feng. His mind was still his own.

Unless the knife was just for peeling apples?

His smile at the old lady’s thanks was strained.

By 7 p.m., he was clutching his stomach at the university clinic, insisting on an overnight IV.

The clinic wasn’t like regular hospitals—serious cases were transferred out. Few died there.

I lurked outside, sensing no ghosts nearby. The scar-faced doctor spotted me. “You feeling unwell?”

I lied. “Just needed the restroom.”

He pointed. “Over there. Light’s iffy.”

The flickering bathroom light revealed no foul smell—but then I saw it. Blood.

Crimson streaks oozed down the wall.

I fell backward—lately, falling had become a habit. The blood spread unnaturally fast, like something from a horror movie.

Shen Yihu, without ox tears, wouldn’t have seen it.

Above the blood—a ghost who’d wandered ten years.

Bai Yu.

Dressed in black.

I played it cool. “Damn floor’s slippery.”

Sweat dripped as I stood. Bai Yu crawled down the wall, now just inches from my face.

This was it.

I fumbled for the “Jiachen Yigong Talisman”—now soaked in urine and disinfectant. Would it still work?

“Get back!” I yelled, slapping the talisman forward.

Then I bolted from the bathroom, certain she was chasing me.