He Xiaomao pounced like a spectral sorcerer, knocking Bai Yu to the ground and clawing wildly, leaving Bai Yu’s face and body disfigured. I landed hard, my bones aching from the impact. I picked up the seven ghost-teardrops from the ground and tucked them into my pouch. Ghost-teardrops are rare spiritual objects—they’ll surely prove useful in the future.
Time was running out for Han Zongnan. I didn’t want to disturb them. Taking the ghost-teardrops away might take the sorrow with them. But who would take away the tears I shed? Heh, I’ve never even shed tears, have I?
Han Zongnan and Bai Yu exchanged their final words—I didn’t catch a single sentence.
He Xiaomao moved with savage ferocity, its claws razor-sharp and brimming with spiritual power. The black-clad Bai Yu couldn’t withstand it and was shredded by He Xiaomao, dissolving into a swirling mass of yin energy. The little cat meowed loudly, baring its sharp teeth as the yin energy drifted down the corridor and vanished.
Scarface was already gone. He was a murderer—we couldn’t let him escape. Catching him would bring some justice for Bai Yu’s death and the decade of suffering.
He Xiaomao nimbly leaped onto my shoulder. I hurried downstairs, sparing one last glance at Han Zongnan in the hallway—I couldn’t bear to look any longer.
Another pitch-black night. Insects chirped in the trees, and Scarface was nowhere to be seen.
The black cat carried a glowing jade ruler on its back. Hah, the little cat came prepared—my heart settled just a little.
Descending another floor, I spotted a woman emerging from the men’s restroom through a side door. She held a black plastic bag, her skin smooth as jade.
The black cat let out an eerie cry.
I shouted, “Stop! Who are you? Why are you here?”
The woman’s smile was twisted and unnatural. When she grinned, the unmistakable bulge of an Adam’s apple peeked from her neck.
Shit. It’s a man.
“Are you Scarface?” I asked.
The woman set the black bag down and asked in a sickly tone, “Do you think I’m beautiful?” The voice was unmistakably male—Scarface’s voice.
“Beautiful? Never seen anything as disgusting as you. You’re like a damn demon. Are you alone?” I spat. A man with an ugly soul, dressing as a woman—was he a lunatic, an idiot, or both?
Scarface laughed bitterly. “I had a bright future once. I was a young doctor, eager to practice what I’d learned. But everything was ruined—all because of one small mistake. I was exiled to this decrepit school clinic, wasting the rest of my life, and my face was ruined. Then, on that night, Bai Yu came. Someone told me that a woman’s skin might restore mine, so I killed her.”
I cursed, “A woman’s skin? Who fed you that sick idea? You’re a damn monster for believing that.”
Scarface pulled a long electric baton from the black bag, flicking the switch. It crackled menacingly—one strong jolt could knock a man unconscious instantly.
He Xiaomao meowed sharply.
The sound was piercing—I didn’t know why it was crying out. Scarface stepped forward slowly. I instinctively clutched the cat tighter. “What are you doing?”
Scarface grinned. “I want to see if my knife skills are still sharp—if I can still peel a person’s skin clean off.”
My stomach churned. From his words, I pieced it all together. After a medical accident, he was demoted to the school clinic. The victim’s family had him beaten, disfiguring his face. Desperate to restore it, he made Bai Yu—who came for treatment on April 30th—his victim, slicing her skin off with his scalpel.
“How the hell can someone else’s skin become yours?” I demanded.
Scarface smirked. “Might as well tell you. The skin from a woman’s buttocks, processed through nineteen steps, can be made into a mask. Then you buy a special kind of worm—it chews through the wounds, absorbs the mask’s nutrients, and grows into new skin.”
My Adam’s apple bobbed involuntarily. Worm magic again. “Did it work? Did the guy who sold you the worms go by ‘Worm Fifth’?”
Beneath his beautiful skin, Scarface’s eyes widened in shock. “You know him? Is that his name? I only saw him once—wearing a straw hat, mysterious as hell.”
I scoffed. “Oh, I know him. He wants to skin me alive, and next time I see him, I’ll return the favor.”
He Xiaomao’s fur bristled as it stared at the crackling baton in Scarface’s hand, trembling violently, its cries growing shriller.
Scarface sneered, “Stupid bitch. I’ll skin your cat next—make some shoe polish out of its hide.”
The cat’s screeching intensified. Cold sweat trickled down my back as Scarface and I locked eyes.
His hands trembled slightly.
I felt something—something’s eyes had opened. And it had something to do with He Xiaomao’s piercing cries.
There’s an old folk belief: never let a fifth-born cat near a corpse. The fifth-born cat—and the sixth-born dog—are said to be envoys of the underworld, sent by the Black and White Impermanence. They carry overwhelming yin energy, dangerous to the living.
If such a cat or dog howls three times beside a resentful corpse, it triggers a resurrection. He Xiaomao, brimming with yin energy, had been raised by Xie Lingyu and my grandfather Long Youshui, which tempered its darkness. But in this desperate moment, its cries carried an overwhelming psychic force.
The swirling yin energy in the air suddenly funneled into a window. I knew for sure—something had awakened.
Scarface, guilty and frantic, didn’t waste time on me. He grabbed the black bag and bolted.
A wall exploded as two formaldehyde-soaked corpses burst through. Naked, pale, hairless—the dim lighting spared me the worst details.
Scarface’s escape was blocked.
I stroked He Xiaomao—its desperate cries had awakened the preserved corpses. “Damn, little cat, you’re amazing.” My trembling hand betrayed my fear. The reanimated corpses emerging from the storage room were terrifying.
It took me a moment to notice—the skin on their buttocks was missing. Jesus… Couldn’t they at least wear pants?
Seeing them corner Scarface eased my nerves slightly. Newly resurrected corpses are simple-minded. The scent on Scarface must’ve triggered something—they wouldn’t attack me yet.
Among the eighteen types of zombies, the “shade corpse” is the most basic. Freshly dead, their nails and hair keep growing. The strongest zombies can unleash a “Dragon-Subduing Palm,” while shade corpses? They sneeze eighteen times.
Shade corpses come in two types: dry and wet. Many, like me, first reading the term think, “Wait, ‘cute corpses’?” Nope. Bad eyesight is dangerous.
I patted He Xiaomao’s head. “Let me explain, in case you don’t get it. Dry shade corpses usually come from deserts—like the ‘Little River Princess’ unearthed in 2004, still smiling. Egyptian mummies? Same deal. Dig ‘em up, and their nails have grown crazy long.”
The cat meowed twice. I quickly covered its mouth. “Shh, no more.”
“And wet shade corpses?” Shen Yihu walked in, carrying a basket of eggs and red thread. “Found you,” he said.
I smirked. “Easy. Wet shade corpses look like they did in life. If a pregnant woman becomes one, the baby keeps growing inside—born as a ghost infant. Maybe we’ll run into one someday.”
Damn, I jinxed it. Later, we did meet a ghost infant…
Clearly, Scarface had preserved his later victims in formaldehyde. While it prevented decay, it also set the stage for shade corpses. He Xiaomao’s frenzied wailing—being fifth-born—had awakened them.
Besides the cat’s supernatural power, the two formaldehyde corpses were the type to die with grievances unavenged.
Shen Yihu cursed. “Holy hell, this is insane.”
The two shade corpses acted normally—their nails growing rapidly. The yin energy from Bai Yu’s shredded form became their first breath of unlife.
Shen Yihu eyed the “beauty” before us. “Need help? Can’t let a pretty lady suffer. Where’s your chivalry?”
Just then, the shade corpse slashed—Scarface’s face-mask fluttered to the ground.
Shen Yihu recoiled. “Fuck! Scared the hell out of me. It’s a man dressed as a woman? Hustling on the streets?”
I sighed. “Almost got scammed. He’s Bai Yu’s killer—karma’s a bitch. Let’s smoke and watch.”
Shen Yihu grumbled. “Damn waste of a cigarette.” I smirked. “Sometimes, acting cool is necessary.”
Trapped between the two shade corpses, Scarface screamed, “Help! Help!”
The corpses, freshly awakened, seemed confused—like newborns. They found Scarface amusing at first, but Bai Yu’s lingering resentment told them he was no good.
His feminine disguise—skin, clothes—was torn away.
Shen Yihu lit a cigarette, exhaling smoke.
I lit mine. “This ties back to Worm Fifth. The doc said he bought worms from a guy in a straw hat, but ten years ago, Worm Fifth would’ve been a teenager. How’d they connect?”
Shen Yihu laughed. “Never judge a book. Worm Fifth is fifty-four this year.”
I spat. “Fifty-four? He looks younger than me. Maybe I should buy some worms—seems like a fountain of youth.”
Shen Yihu pointed at Scarface. “You wanna end up like him? Half-man, half-freak?”
I shook my head violently. “Hell no. I’ll stick with my rugged, thick-skinned look.”
The shade corpses moved stiffly, their bodies gradually adjusting. Their faces filled out, their missing buttock skin regrew. Scarface’s electric baton sparked uselessly—completely ineffective. The corpses studied his exposed face, then grabbed an arm and a leg each.
Scarface howled—he was about to be torn apart.
Shen Yihu crushed his cigarette. “Xiao Qi, he’s getting shredded.” I glanced at the basket—red thread, eggs, nails, flower mud—everything we needed was there.
I grinned. “Wanna call your wife? Tell her you’re out getting a massage tonight?”
Shen Yihu glared. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Give it here.” I snatched his phone. The first contact: Meng Xiaoyu.
“Hello? When are you coming home?” Meng Xiaoyu’s sleepy voice came through.
“Hey, sis. It’s Xiao Qi… Officer Shen took me out for a massage. He’s not coming home. Sleep tight.” I tossed the phone back.
Meng Xiaoyu’s furious screech blasted through the speaker. “I swear to god, Shen Yihu—a massage?! Don’t you dare come back!”
Shen Yihu sighed, keeping it on speaker. Nokia’s legendary volume filled the air.
“Bro, nice technique. These shade corpses got skills,” I called.
“Shade corpses?! Why not just call ‘em zombies?! Stage names now?! Stay the hell away from me!”
I grabbed five eggs. “Here, have an egg!”
The red thread coiled in my hand. Shade corpses, freshly formed, hadn’t absorbed much energy yet—their full strength wasn’t unleashed. Egg yolks had a slight corrosive effect, and Nokia’s legendary speaker rage didn’t hurt.
I rolled on the ground, looping the thread around one shade corpse’s legs, trapping it.
The other, seeing me attack, dragged Scarface toward the exit…
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