Chapter 58: The Little Rascal Seizes the Body

On Sun Junliu’s shoulder stood a small, thin ghost, its entire body a fiery red. Its teeth were tiny and densely packed.

Sun Junliu herself mirrored the ghost’s condition. When the ghost grinned, she grinned too, her expression eerie as she stared at me, her eyes brimming with the triumph of victory.

I got up from the ground and glanced at the ghost beside her—it had already taken control of Sun Junliu.

She had probably bought the *Bianhua* flowers to send the ghost away, but in the end, it never left.

I cursed, “Little rascal, don’t get cocky. If you’ve got the guts, come out here, and I’ll finish you off. Don’t mess with me!” My shouting was loud enough to attract the night-shift nurse, who asked why I was yelling so late at night. “Did she hurt you?”

I said, “No, she’s just gone mad.” With a sharp *smack*, I slapped a talisman onto the glass. Sun Junliu screeched and backed away, staring at me…

I quickly ran out of the hospital, replaying the events in my mind. Why had Sun Junliu claimed she succeeded? I thumped my head hard, but no answer came.

Outside the hospital, taxis were scarce at this hour. Just then, Shi Dake happened to drive by after circling the block. “Hop in,” he called. “I’ll take you home.”

Distracted, I got in and asked curiously, “Master, why’d you come back?” Shi Dake chuckled. “Business is slow at night. Figured you’d be heading home soon, so I swung around to pick you up.”

I asked, “Got a smoke?” Shi Dake handed me a cigarette and took a big gulp from his glass, which was half-filled with tea leaves.

“Bro,” he said, “you got the guts for this? Mind if I turn on the radio for some ‘Midnight Ghost Stories’?”

Despite my worries, I couldn’t help but laugh. This was the first time someone had invited me to listen to ghost stories at midnight—especially in a taxi, on a deserted city street. “Go ahead,” I said.

The cigarette glowed on and off as the taxi sped down the empty road.

The radio host lowered his voice, eerie background music playing: *”In a quiet graveyard, a hand suddenly emerged from a grave… a hand…”* Shi Dake’s car jerked. “You think it’s a man’s or a woman’s hand?”

I grinned. “Maybe a *ladyboy’s* hand.”

The host continued, *”The hand looked beautiful, its skin glowing.”* Shi Dake laughed. “Definitely a woman’s.” The host’s voice dropped further. *”Two hands gripped the coffin’s edge as a figure rose. Its face was pale, with a full beard.”*

I burst out laughing. “Called it!”

Shi Dake cursed. “Seriously? A Thai ghost story?”

The host feigned dread. *”Perhaps our listeners have guessed—this is a Thai ghost story. The figure crawled out, giggling, ‘I’m back. I’m back!’”*

I snorted. “What’s so great about coming back?”

Shi Dake, embarrassed, insisted the stories were usually scarier. “Must be a fluke. Let’s keep listening.”

*”The figure took two steps, adjusting its 10,000-baht silicone chest, swaying its hips.”*

Shi Dake groaned. “Did the host go to Thailand? A resurrected *ladyboy* going back to work? Might as well throw in some comedy skits.”

I was laughing too hard to stay serious. “Master, maybe switch to a music station? Too many jokes tonight.”

Shi Dake insisted on listening a bit longer.

*”The figure’s eyes rolled, cackling as two little ghosts popped out from its shoulders, chanting, ‘Finally back… time to take revenge on the plastic surgeon.’ That’s all for tonight. Tune in tomorrow to uncover the *ladyboy’s* shocking past!”*

Shi Dake scoffed. “Lame. Ghosts reviving *ladyboys*? Not scary at all.”

We arrived, and I stepped out, relieved.

Sun Junliu had likely been hit by a car that night, her body seized by the ghost she’d raised. Her schizophrenia made sense now.

Her cry of “success” hadn’t been her own—it was the ghost’s.

Shi Dake yelled, “Don’t forget tomorrow’s episode! Let’s see what that *ladyboy*’s hiding!”

I waved. “Sure thing.”

Back home, Xie Lingyu’s door was still open. I knocked, asking how she planned to deal with the Flying Centipede. She smirked. “Tomorrow, I’ll hire ten tough guys to stand outside Weiyang Hotel, accusing him of skipping out on payment. Let’s see him squirm.”

I facepalmed. “Xie, just go to bed.”

The next day, the sun blazed as Jiangcheng’s temperature soared past 30°C.

I called Shen Yihu, asking when Sun Junliu’s psychiatric evaluation was. “Ten o’clock,” he said. “Why?”

I warned him, “Last night was Ma Shuangxi’s ghost-returning night. I saw a ghost on Sun Junliu. This case isn’t what we thought.”

Shen Yihu paused. “The chief’s already decided. The case stays closed. She’ll be sent to the asylum.”

I laughed. “Fine, but if we don’t act, today’s experts might lose their souls.”

Ten minutes later, Shen Yihu called back, telling me to get ready—he’d pick me up soon.

I grabbed Xiao Hei and my jade ruler, heading out.

Xie Lingyu was still plotting against the Flying Centipede. But after checking, she found no local actors—they were all in Hengdian. The plan was shelved.

At the gate, the new security guard limped past, complaining to Xu Guangsheng.

“Last night, I kept feeling someone… touching me. Woke up with pain down there. Maybe too much instant noodles?”

I almost told him the truth—two vengeful ghosts, stripped of malice but still mischievous, had found an outlet…

In Shen Yihu’s car, we reached the hospital’s neurology department.

Two experts—plump Qi Shuang and skinny Xia Yutian—had arrived. Their job: determine if Sun Junliu was faking insanity. If not, she’d be institutionalized.

Shen Yihu admitted the chief had already decided. This was just a formality.

The tests covered cognition, emotion, and behavior.

Two burly officers led Sun Junliu into a room. She was a shadow of her former self—sallow, lifeless, her once-vibrant body now dull.

Qi Shuang asked, “Miss Sun, if a tree has eight apples and two bananas, how many oranges are there?”

Sun Junliu just giggled.

Qi Shuang declared, “Can’t even do basic math. Cognitive impairment.”

Next: “Give a monkey three peaches and two oranges. How many pears will it eat?”

Sun Junliu ignored him, breaking into song: *”Five-starred Red Flag, how bright you shine…”* Her voice was hoarse but trained—a music major, Shen Yihu told me.

Qi Shuang shrugged. “No emotional response. No normal human feelings.”

Xia Yutian stepped up for the behavior test. He slapped Sun Junliu twice. She laughed.

Then, his bony hands groped her chest.

I punched the wall. “Disgusting.”

Xia Yutian smirked. “Doesn’t even react. Clearly insane.”

Sun Junliu suddenly looked up, baring her teeth. “Enjoying yourself?”

With a flick, the two officers were thrown aside.

She lunged, biting off Xia Yutian’s ear…