I pressed against my bleeding wound and quickly made it downstairs, hastily getting into the Wuling van. Only after getting in did I pull the dagger from my arm. Sweat drenched my body once again. Tightening the wound with a cloth, I barely managed to drive away from Weiyang Hotel. The two security guards sighed in relief as they watched me leave.
They definitely didn’t dare to tackle a man holding an axe—they just wanted me gone as soon as possible.
With one hand injured, gripping the steering wheel and shifting gears was unsafe. I pulled over and called Jun-ge again, but still no answer. A faint unease settled in my heart. Next, I called Shen Yihu, who said he was tied up with a major case and couldn’t come, suggesting I contact Meng Xiaoyu instead.
About half an hour later, Gao Mo arrived in a taxi, dressed in casual sportswear, looking fresh and charming. She frowned at the sight of my blood-soaked arm and the wound on my forehead. “A skinny guy like you still picks fights?”
I forced a bitter smile. “No choice.”
Gao Mo chuckled. “I get it. In martial arts novels, they call this ‘no man is an island.’ That line belongs to Yan Shisan, from Gu Long’s works.” She then told me to move to the passenger seat. Spotting the fire axe beside me, she teased, “Wow, you even brought an axe. Didn’t get noticed by the cops?”
“I had no choice,” I said. “A Japanese Onmyōji sent some spirits after me. The axe was for self-defense.”
Gao Mo scoffed. “Just say Japanese. No need for ‘Fusang people.’”
Gao Mo usually drove luxury cars, so it took her a while to get the Wuling moving. She stopped at a pharmacy to buy gauze and Yunnan Baiyao, then picked up bottled water at a nearby supermarket. After some effort, she said, “Don’t cry—I’ll patch you up.”
Her fingers worked deftly, quickly cleaning the wound. “It’s deep,” she muttered. After disinfecting it with alcohol, she sprayed on Yunnan Baiyao and wrapped it tightly with white gauze.
Nearly half an hour later, she finished.
“Gao Mo, thank you,” I said. Alone, she was much more relaxed than when she was with Meng Xiaoyu. Today, she wasn’t even wearing glasses, her hair tied up, looking quite attractive. “No problem,” she said. “Where do you live? I’ll take you back.”
“Chuhan Avenue,” I replied.
Back at Bai Meng’s flower shop, I didn’t go inside. Jun-ge’s auto repair shop was already locked up tight. Standing at the door, I called out, “Jun-ge, it’s done!”
No response after several shouts.
Gao Mo said, “Maybe they don’t want to deal with you. After all, you’re from… another world.”
I stayed silent, thinking about how Jun-ge hadn’t even finished teaching me the martial arts moves he promised.
Gao Mo dropped me off and left, suggesting I go to the hospital if my fever spiked at night and to take some anti-inflammatory meds.
“I’ll treat you to dinner sometime,” I said.
She laughed. “Sure, but I’ll bring my boyfriend.”
I smiled wryly. “Gao Mo, forget what your boss said about setting us up. I won’t ask you out alone. Bring as many friends as you want—it’s my way of repaying you.”
She burst out laughing. “You saw through me. I don’t have a boyfriend, but I do have a crush. So if you ever try to pursue me, I’ll reject you—just so you know.”
That was Gao Mo—rejecting you before you even made a move. I knew my place and didn’t push further. She hailed a taxi and left.
Walking back to my apartment, I wondered if anyone would miss me. At the door, my dog, Jianjian, was the first to smell me, licking me excitedly. With one arm bandaged, I could only pick him up with the other. “Good boy, were you well-behaved?”
He Mao, the cat, lazily glanced at me, meowed twice, then went back to her meditative state. Xie Lingyu stepped out and said, “There’s food in the kitchen. Take a shower, get some sleep, and it’ll all be over.”
“Got it,” I said.
After showering, I tossed my bloodied clothes into the trash. Sitting down to eat, I realized that while Xie Lingyu couldn’t satisfy certain needs (not that I’d dare ask), she sure knew how to cook. The dishes were delicious, and after the past few days’ exhaustion, I needed the nourishment.
Later, Xie Lingyu said, “I’m opening the shop. Rest at home—broken bones take time to heal. If you’re broke, I’ll cover you. You can pay me back later.”
Her words were sweet—except for that last part.
“Okay,” I said.
He Mao left with Xie Lingyu, while Jianjian stayed by my bed. Despite my exhaustion, I couldn’t sleep. I booted up my desktop, typing one-handed as I logged into QQ. Out of habit, I clicked on Ji Qianqian’s profile, filled with photos of her and her daughter, Xiaoxiao. The sight of the two angels made my heart ache. I was about to shut down and read my *Plum Blossom Numerology* books when—
A message popped up.
**Ji Qianqian:** *Are you there? Give me your contact info.*
I started typing, then hesitated. She was married with a child—what was the point? I deleted the words, shut down the computer, and lay in bed, wondering why fate had brought her back into my life.
The pain in my arm gradually dulled, and I fell asleep. Xie Lingyu returned later without waking me. For the next four or five days, I stayed home—eating, sleeping, and reading. At one point, I called Professor Yao Baobao with a few questions, also asking about progress on deciphering the text on the bronze jar. He said he was still researching and planned to visit the National Library in Beijing soon.
My wound healed faster than usual. The Dream River group hadn’t bothered me again, and I started to relax.
Then, one night, a rapid hammering sound jolted me from my reading. Jianjian barked twice. I grabbed my jade ruler, prepared two *Donglingzi Ghost-Trapping Talismans* with ink made from spirit stones, and tucked them into Jianjian’s mouth before quietly stepping outside.
This time, I was smarter—no shouting, no creaking doors. Though my movements were slightly stiff, I remained agile. Following the sound—
*Bang. Bang. Bang.*
—I found a child, barely a meter tall, struggling to hammer a painting onto the wall. His tiny hands could barely grip the hammer, so he had to rest after every few strikes. Not wanting to startle him, I lit a cigarette.
The boy’s eyes glowed red, his teeth sharp like a saw. The painting showed a black sun, a white mother, a black father, a hammer, and scattered nails.
Footsteps echoed from upstairs. The boy tensed, hiding the hammer behind a corner and pressing himself against the door, his crimson eyes burning with hatred. I pretended not to see him.
Voices grew louder—boisterous, nervous. “Why’s the fourth-floor light broken? Damn, it’s creepy. The elevator’s acting up too. Feels like ghosts every time we pass this floor.”
I stood by the door as three or four men climbed upstairs. They glanced at me, probably wondering why I was smoking so boldly outside—wasn’t I afraid of ghosts snatching me for dinner?
Once they passed, the boy resumed hammering.
*White mother, black father—why nail this painting here?*
Two security guards approached, flashlights in hand. “Resident, no smoking in the building. And please, no hammering this late—other residents will complain.”
“I’m not hammering,” I said. “Just smoking.”
The boy slowly walked toward us, his red eyes intensifying. Jianjian trembled with excitement and anxiety.
The guard chuckled. “Come on. Third floor says the hammering’s from above. Fifth floor says it’s from below. Only your apartment’s occupied on the fourth floor. If it’s not you, who is it?”
I flicked my cigarette away. “Move!”
The guards froze. With no choice, I lunged forward and kicked the boy away. The hammer clattered to the ground as the boy slammed into the wall—then vanished into Apartment 403.
The guards, initially thinking I’d gone mad, gaped at the floating hammer. “GHOST! HELP!”
I examined the painting—filled with a child’s anguish. Psychology suggests such imagery holds subconscious trauma. I called Gao Mo, describing the scene.
“If you’re right,” she said, “the boy’s father killed his mother. He witnessed it, repressed the memory, but his subconscious remembers vividly.”
Next, I called Xie Lingyu. “The kid hammering on the fourth floor—you knew?”
“Of course,” she said. “What’s wrong?”
“It might involve a murder.”
She paused. “Be careful. That boy bought flowers on opening day. Don’t hurt him.”
“Got it,” I said.
I turned to the guards. “Open Apartment 403.”
“The owner’s not here. We can’t enter.”
“You wanna die?” I snapped.
The guards exchanged glances. “Bro, you’ve got one arm. Even if there’s a ghost, what can you do?”
“Cut the crap. Call your supervisor. There might be a murder here.”
The guards called the property manager, who arrived in minutes. “The owner installed his own lock. We don’t have a key.”
“Break it down,” I said.
The manager hesitated. “Why should I? You take responsibility.”
“Fine, but hurry!”
After I signed a waiver, we forced the door open. Thick dust coated the handle, but inside, the air smelled of perfume. The floor was spotless. Rows of high-end fragrances—Chanel and others—lined the shelves, along with cosmetics.
In the center of the living room lay a withered carnation.
Tai Sui Yellow Amulet Paper FuLu Taoist Love Talisman Traditional Chinese Spiritual Charm Attracting Love Protecting Marriage