Chapter 122: The Old Building

Shi Dake slammed on the brakes abruptly.

“Help me find it? How?” Shi Dake looked at me puzzled, his gaze eventually settling on Little Rascal. “Are you saying the dog can help me find it?”

“No. Wait for me.” I pushed open the car door, chased after them, and blocked the Soul Reaper and Old Li.

The Soul Reaper eyed me suspiciously. Generally, obstructing a Soul Reaper’s path was a serious offense—if they were in a bad mood, they could just take my soul away.

“Old Li, tell me the license plate number,” I shouted.

The Soul Reaper lifted his hat. “Move aside. Don’t think just because you’re holding a compass, I won’t deal with you.”

“Tell me, Old Li,” I repeated.

The Soul Reaper was furious. “The realms of the dead and the living cannot interfere with each other. Whether you find any clues is your problem. Now step aside…”

The Soul Reaper barely moved, but I felt a force push against my chest, shoving me backward.

“It’s a bald man…” The Soul Reaper walked past me, murmuring faintly before quickly entering a Bank of China branch and vanishing. Since ancient times, Soul Reapers and Ghost Kings emerged from banks—seems that legend holds true. Old Li must have followed the Soul Reaper down to the underworld through that bank.

“Bro, who were you talking to just now?” Shi Dake’s jaw nearly dropped as he watched me waving my arms and shouting at thin air.

“Don’t ask. Just trust me. That driver was a bald man,” I said mysteriously. The Soul Reaper probably couldn’t reveal too much, but the small clue was enough.

A red sports car, a bald man—if we asked the taxi drivers to recall their nighttime experiences, someone must have seen him.

“We’ve confirmed that the driver might be a bald man. Everyone, think carefully—have any of you seen this guy at night before?” Shi Dake spoke gravely into the walkie-talkie.

Soon, a hopeful voice crackled through the device.

“Last night on Liberation Third Road, I saw a bald guy acting nervous, driving an Accord to Riverside Bar. Then, about ten minutes later, a red-haired guy in a red sports car arrived and covered it with a black tarp. Could it be him?”

“Head to Riverside Bar,” Shi Dake ordered.

“Should we call the police?” I asked.

Shi Dake shook his head. “No need, we’ve got this.” His voice carried through the endless night, spreading to every corner.

Within twenty minutes, we arrived at Riverside Bar. A long line of taxis was parked outside, and even some day-shift drivers had roused themselves from bed and rushed over.

In the parking area, a car was hidden under a tarp. A driver pulled it back—sure enough, a red sports car.

“No back exit, right?” Shi Dake asked sternly. A burly man nearby replied, “Big Dog and five others have it blocked. Even if the mob boss shows up, we’re not letting anyone through.”

“Let’s go. Grab your wrenches, six men per group.” Shi Dake stopped me. “You stay outside.”

“Nah, bro. I’m worried you’ll kill someone. I’m coming in.” I followed closely behind.

People driven by emotion rarely rely on reason.

The bar wasn’t huge, but it was packed. The moment our group entered, the local thugs noticed. Shi Dake bellowed, “We’re not here to start trouble—just looking for someone.”

The thugs glanced outside at the growing crowd of taxis and realized they were outmatched. They retreated, pulling out their phones to call backup.

Soon, we spotted the bald man in a corner.

“Bro, don’t let these losers ruin your fun. Just throw money at them. Let’s drink—we’ll grab a couple of girls later,” the red-haired guy whispered.

The bald man sneered. “Yeah, just a bunch of broke losers…”

When he saw the crowd approaching, he instinctively turned to flee. But at the back door, a kick to his gut sent him crashing to the ground, howling.

“You dare hit me?” the bald guy snarled.

Shi Dake stepped forward, stomping on his hand. “Was it you who hit-and-ran on North Light Road?”

“No!” the bald man yelped.

“Then why run when you saw us?” Shi Dake hauled him up and dragged him toward the restroom.

“Dake, be careful—don’t land yourself in trouble,” an older driver warned.

“It’s fine.”

Inside the restroom, Shi Dake had already grabbed a beer bottle.

“Big bro, name your price. A million, is that enough?” The bald man, pissing himself in fear, pleaded.

“Take off your pants,” Shi Dake commanded.

Sweat poured down the bald man’s face. Under Shi Dake’s icy glare, he finally surrendered.

I was baffled—why the pants?

“Turn around,” Shi Dake ordered. The bald man was now sobbing. “Damn, it’s just some poor bastard I hit. Is this necessary?”

“Listen carefully. Whether someone’s poor or stupid, they’re still human—and they can wreck you just the same. I won’t cripple or kill you. Turn yourself in.” With that final warning, Shi Dake shoved the beer bottle forward.

A scream. The bald man collapsed, his confidence shattered, wailing in regret that his father had ever brought him into this world.

“The cops are waiting outside. Go.” Shi Dake walked out without looking back.

“Let’s go.” I pulled Shi Dake out of the bar.

Reporters and police cars had gathered outside, all blocked by taxis. Moments later, the bald man was helped out by two men, his face pale, limping, traces of blood visible on his backside.

What happened after, I don’t know. At least Xiao Ming would get more child support. Whether the bald man would serve time was another matter.

I wander the edges of the mortal world—I shouldn’t meddle so much…

By the time I got home, dawn was near. After a chaotic night, I could finally rest.

I woke at noon. Xie Lingyu had made fried rice—delicious. After eating, I took out the old lady’s layered shoe soles, washed them, and left them to dry.

I called Xu Jun. “Everything’s ready. We can start tomorrow or the day after. When’s a good time to check out the old building?”

Xu Jun said he could come right away.

“Great. If it’s convenient, bring two bags of rice,” I said quietly.

“Need oil or veggies? I’ve got olive oil from the Mediterranean—good for health.”

“Haha, not for eating. Just plain white rice, nothing else.” I hung up.

Xie Lingyu, seeing me head out, asked me to buy tomatoes, eggs, and potatoes for dinner—scrambled eggs with tomatoes and spicy-sour shredded potatoes.

I nodded eagerly. Those were two of my favorite dishes, especially the potatoes—perfectly cooked, evenly spiced, more satisfying than any delicacy. With Xie Lingyu’s skills, it’d be amazing.

“Look at you, so easily pleased,” Xie Lingyu teased.

…

Autumn had arrived, but midday was still scorching.

I met Xu Jun and asked if Xu Xiaokang had shown any changes lately. He shook his head. “About the same, maybe a little better.”

“Born on the fifteenth of July—tougher to raise. But once he’s grown, he’ll be fine. When he marries, find him a sturdy girl—good temper, fiery. Northeastern or Hunanese would do,” I reassured him.

Xu Jun sighed. “I just want him to live a healthy life. I’ll endure any hardship for that. Marriage is too far off to worry about. What if he doesn’t even…”

The car stopped by the roadside.

“Here we are,” Xu Jun said.

From the main road, a brick-paved path stretched ahead, weeds sprouting between the cracks—long untrodden.

Two peach trees stood by the path, three black sparrows perched on them, chirping.

Following Xu Jun, we soon reached an abandoned old dormitory—once faculty housing for my alma mater, left derelict for years.

Rumors said that in the 60s and 70s, strange things happened here. Professors were persecuted by students. Some elderly foreign literature scholars, unable to bear the humiliation, cursed their students as “bastards, beasts, devoid of humanity—no civilized nation would tolerate students striking teachers, disrespecting knowledge and morality.”

The students they once admired most slapped them hardest, spat on them with the most fervor.

“The Great Leader said rebellion is justified! You reactionaries! We’d rather have socialist weeds than capitalist sprouts! All you teach is foreign decadence!”

“The helmsman guides the ship… You monsters, submit to the people’s re-education!”

In the end, the old professors, humiliated and beaten, hanged themselves in their dorm rooms with mosquito nets. Afterward, eerie occurrences became frequent, and few dared to live here.

By the 21st century, everyone had moved out, waiting for demolition and new construction. But funding issues stalled the project—maybe this year, it’d be sold to developers.

This old building wasn’t far from Xu Xiaokang’s school.

He and his friends had sneaked in once—and that’s when things went wrong.

Xu Jun and I each carried a bag of rice as we ascended.

I’d deliberately chosen noon, when the sun was strongest. Both of us were strong, yang-energy men—less to fear.

But abandoned buildings, devoid of human presence, still unsettled the mind.

Standing in the sunlight, staring into the shadowy hallways—dark, oppressive—occasional stray cats darting like phantoms—it was enough to make anyone’s skin crawl.