Chapter 53: Filth

Tan Xueci’s damp eyelashes fluttered, appearing not to fully grasp what He Xunye meant. The moonlight filtering through the gaps in the blanket illuminated the mottled tear tracks on his face, making them glisten.

“A husband is meant to be used,” the evil spirit repeated, practically hovering over him. Its cold, ghostly tongue licked his cheek, an action that felt inexplicably tender despite its nature.

Then, its rosy lips curled into a smile that abandoned all humanity. In a low, ethereal murmur, it pressed a kiss against Tan Xueci’s lips and said, “I can kill everyone you hate.”

A spirit that harms the living accumulates a heavy debt of karma. If it kills too many, its ultimate end is to be scattered—shattered beyond the reach of reincarnation.

But for Tan Xueci, perhaps that wasn’t a bad thing.

If everyone he loathed died, and the ghost haunting him vanished from the world, his life would only get better. He might become a superstar, adored by millions, standing high on a pedestal like a pristine moon, far above any filth. No one would ever know the history of the moon being entangled by demons.

The spirit thought: I am loath to leave Tan Xueci, but I am willing to grant my wife’s every wish.

Tan Xueci blinked. The air inside the blanket was thin, making his head spin. Before he could speak, his vision went black. When he opened his eyes again, he saw a massive lotus pond. The pond was filled with blood-red lotuses, and the water itself was as crimson as fresh gore.

In the center of every lotus was a pale, severed human head with eyes tightly shut: Father Tan, Mother Tan, Tan Shangli, Tan Yanning, He Wuling, Zhang Chengfa, Yu He, Qin Shuyao…

It wasn’t just the people he hated; it was everyone he had ever met.

Among them, He Sui’s head was the most conspicuous. It looked as if it had been hacked to pieces; rotting flesh sloughed off his shattered face, and his lips had been sliced away, exposing blood-red gums.

Tan Xueci’s pupils vibrated with shock. He watched, uncontrolled, as He Sui’s bloody gums began to move.

It looked as if he were saying, I’m sorry.

The lotus, a symbol of purity in Buddhism, had been twisted by this evil spirit into a bloody tool for mass slaughter, arranged in a morbidly “artistic” display.

Tan Xueci stared at the pond of severed-head lotuses, cold sweat pouring down his spine. The sheets beneath him were soaked, and his fingernails dug deep into the ghost’s arm.

“It hurts,” the spirit said. It started to sigh but remembered Xueci had forbidden it, so it shut its mouth.

It didn’t stop him from digging his nails in. Instead, it buried its head in the crook of Xueci’s neck, letting the boy hold it as if his embrace could lessen the pain.

Only then did Tan Xueci realize he could move again. He let out a slow breath, his stiff muscles relaxing as the bloody vision vanished. He realized his fingertips were damp; he had actually drawn blood from He Xunye’s arm.

“Xiao Xue,” the ghost murmured, its lips brushing his earlobe while its arm pulled him close. “It hurts so much.”

Tan Xueci prided himself on being a ruthless villain with no conscience—the type to laugh jie jie jie while watching others die. But having a male ghost cry out in pain while huddled in his arms sparked a sudden pang of guilt.

He guiltily stroked He Xunye’s arm.

Yu He had mentioned that He Xunye lived at Qilian Temple for seven or eight years. Heaven only knew what he had studied there to end up this perverted. Tan Xueci had the strange feeling that he was raising a ghost; He Xunye grew stronger by the day, and now he was offering to commit murder.

Xueci truly wanted them dead, but the thought of so many people lying bloodied at his feet filled him with an indescribable, overwhelming sense of loneliness. His body trembled. It wasn’t that he was soft-hearted; he was simply human, and the sight of his own kind’s demise was naturally terrifying.

Tan Xueci suddenly remembered a time when he went to see Dr. Xie Yun. With Xueci’s permission, Xie Yun had looked through his phone to see his recent activity and found he spent a lot of time scrolling through videos.

Xie Yun smiled, his eyes behind his silver-rimmed glasses appearing quite gentle. “Xiao Ci, you’re watching ‘Relationship Masters’? Don’t tell me Old Man Wang shared these with you?”

Tan Xueci’s face flushed with embarrassment. Old Man Wang was his neighbor in the hospital ward, a devotee of relationship advice shows who shared them with everyone. Only Tan Xueci had become genuinely obsessed.

“Hmm?” Xie Yun chuckled. As he scrolled further, his gaze paused. “This doesn’t seem right. The one you’ve watched the most is… Black Cat Detective?”

In Tan Xueci’s history, he had watched Black Cat Detective exactly 1,857 times. Specifically, he watched only one episode: the one where the female mantis eats her groom on their wedding night.

In the cartoon, the Black Cat Detective asks the female mantis, “Did you eat the groom?” She replies, “Yes, I ate him, because I love him so much.”

He Sui had accompanied Xueci to the hospital that day. Xie Yun looked through the clinic window and saw He Sui outside, pacing back and forth with his hands in his pockets.

Xie Yun looked back at Xueci’s pressed lips and the faint, burning hatred in his eyes. Seeing the boy’s cold, stubborn face, the doctor ultimately said nothing.

Tan Xueci’s plan had been perfect: he would marry He Sui, and if things went poorly, he would eat him. Then, he would become a ghost. They say ghosts who have harmed others are the most ferocious. If all else failed, he’d eat He Sui’s whole family to ensure he became a powerful vengeful spirit.

But he had left himself an “out.” If he ate He Sui and didn’t turn into a ghost but got caught by the police instead, he would show them the video. He would put on a pale, panicked face, eyes brimming with tears, and tell the police he was just a poor, mentally ill person who had been locked up for a decade. He loved He Sui so much that he thought he needed to eat him, just like in the video.

He figured he wouldn’t die or go to prison; the worst that could happen was being sent back to the mental hospital. He’d been there before. He wasn’t afraid.

Tan Xueci realized he was probably being punished for his wicked thoughts—the universe had literally given him a dead husband.

The evil spirit stayed buried in its wife’s neck for a while, receiving no comfort. Realizing Xueci was spacing out, it lifted its dark, crimson eyes. It gripped Xueci’s neck and whispered, “Baby, don’t you want to use me?”

“…”

Tan Xueci always felt He Xunye spoke strangely. Anything that came out of that ghost’s mouth made his ears burn.

“Why?” the ghost asked, eyes downcast. Its long lashes cast gloomy shadows, but its over-red lips were curled upward. It applied slight pressure to Xueci’s slender neck, feeling the warmth of living blood. “Didn’t Baby use me already? I thought you liked it.”

Under the blanket, it seized Xueci’s hand and forced it onto the very “item” that had been “used.”

Xueci’s palm felt like it had been scorched. His pale face turned a deep, burning red, and his brain buzzed. He almost snapped the thing in half out of sheer reflex before jerking his hand away.

Better not reward these dead perverts. He suddenly understood Jin Chen’s homophobia; anyone would be terrified by this.

“Xiao Mie,” the spirit laughed, leaning on Xueci’s shoulder. He had only been in his twenties when he died; huddling under the covers with a lover, his messy black hair brushing his brow, he almost looked like a youth.

His deep, peach-blossom eyes fixed on Xueci like a soul-stealing phantom. “Why not face the truth? You were clearly comfortable, yet no matter how I coaxed you last night, you wouldn’t make a sound.”

Only when he truly couldn’t take it would Xueci let out a few muffled whimpers.

“…” Xueci’s face was boiling. He tried to crawl out from under the covers, but He Xunye’s arm fished him back. Finally, in a fit of shame and anger, he barked, “Why don’t you make a sound?!”

The ghost’s eyelids lifted, a smirk on its thin lips. “You want to hear me?”

Tan Xueci was about to snap back when He Xunye pulled him into a tight, chest-to-chest embrace. Caught off guard by the sudden closeness, Xueci heard a low, raspy groan vibrate from the ghost’s throat right next to his ear.

The man’s voice was naturally cool, but muffled under the blanket, it became magnetic and suggestive, grinding against Xueci’s ears.

That single sound made half of Xueci’s body go numb. His ears turned beet red. Mentally, he was revolted, but a certain part of him defied its owner’s will.

The dead man continued to make those unmentionable, intermittent noises. Ghosts don’t sweat, but the thin layer of sweat on Xueci’s back rubbed against the man’s skin. The ghost’s muscle-bound frame felt tense and hard. Those dark eyes shimmered with a hidden current as he leaned in to whisper a raspy praise: “Xiao Xue is so good.”

It was as if Tan Xueci were the one “taking” him.

The absurdity of the moment was beyond words. Half a year ago, Xueci could never have imagined he’d be under a blanket with a male ghost who was… making those noises.

“Go to hell!” Xueci covered his face, his eyes damp with humiliation. He glared at He Xunye’s smiling face. “Just go die!”

How could something be this shameless? He could have visited every nightclub in the city and hired every male model available, and they wouldn’t collectively equal the sheer “energy” of this one dead man. He had wondered how He Xunye died; now he knew—he probably died of being too thirsty.

Tan Xueci threw the blanket off. If he stayed under there any longer, he’d suffocate. He Xunye sat up with him, finally noticing Xueci’s “physical reaction.”

A look of mild surprise crossed the ghost’s handsome face. He reached out to flick it. “Why is Xiao Xue pointing that at me? So naughty.”

Tan Xueci’s mind went blank. After a momentary flash of white light, his face turned a bloody red. He delivered a stinging slap to He Xunye’s face, grabbed his jacket, and scrambled off the bed in a panic.

Outside, the director and several staff members were sitting in the courtyard under a small eaves light, unable to sleep. The director’s messages to the company went unanswered, and the staff’s messages to their families vanished into the void.

They even tried calling the police. Though the supernatural events seemed hard to explain, the attack on Zhang Chengfa was a legitimate reason to call. However, the line was met with a dead, heavy silence. No one answered.

The director hung up and threw his phone aside, breaking out in a cold sweat.

“What do we do, Director?” the cameraman asked miserably. “Are we… are we really haunted?”

The director grimaced. “How should I know?!”

Just then, a sharp CRACK echoed through the silent night, sending everyone in the courtyard to their feet.

“Thunder?” the cameraman shivered. “But it’s not raining.”

The director turned and came face-to-face with a gloomy, pale face in the dark. He and the cameraman clung to each other before realizing it was just Tan Xueci.

Xueci was holding a small basin, his beautiful eyes dark and brooding as if he were going to get water. He filled the basin at the courtyard tap, but instead of going back inside, he walked stiffly toward the sheep pen. He crouched down in the pen, face collapsed in a scowl, and began scrubbing and rinsing.

It was too dark to see exactly what he was washing, but he was scrubbing a small piece of fabric with a murderous, vengeful intensity.

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