Chapter 66: Night of Flight

Except for Yu He, whose expression grew deeply solemn, the others didn’t fully comprehend. The director blankly scratched his balding, grey hair and asked, “How do you piece it together?”

Tan Xueci’s pale jaw tightened as he suddenly turned his head to look at He Xunye, a heavy weight pressing down on his chest like a massive stone.

“My death has nothing to do with this,” the fierce ghost replied, still holding his wife closely. Meeting Tan Xueci’s tense, wide eyes, he knew exactly what the youth was thinking and curled his lips into a slight smile. “It’s Xiao An.”

He Xunye had a purely Yang horoscope to begin with; if anyone wanted to use him for a Life Substitution, killing him alone would have been more than enough. There was absolutely no need to involve so many people.

The fierce ghost lifted his head, his gaze shifting away from Tan Xueci’s face. When he looked at the others, his eyes turned cold, deep, and filled with a high-and-mighty disdain; he was hardly the type to fall by the hands of such people.

Previously, the Xiao family had commissioned him to handle some affairs, during which he had examined Xiao An’s cosmic alignment. Only one element within Xiao An’s eight characters belonged to Yang. By combining his own horoscope with those of the other victims, they could meticulously piece together a purely Yang destiny capable of bringing someone back from the dead.

“Xiao An should have died the night of the car crash,” the fierce ghost explained, his dark eyes brooding like a plunge into an endless, dense night. “His parents wanted to perform a Life Substitution for him, which required finding several individuals with perfectly matching horoscopes.”

The conditions for a Life Substitution were exceptionally harsh and could not be carried out at random. They had to locate one person who had a prior entanglement with the deceased in each of the six cosmic directions—East, South, West, North, Up, Down, and Center—and calculate their precise astrological charts before taking action.

“Since Xiao An’s legs were crushed, they severed the corresponding victim’s legs,” the fierce ghost lifted his eyelids. Although he was describing an incredibly cruel and bloody affair, his tone remained detached, a faint, ambiguous smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Since Xiao An’s heart was crushed, they gouged out the corresponding victim’s heart… In the end, they pieced together a physical body, and in doing so, they pieced together a destiny.”

Furthermore, the “Center” among the six directions referred to searching within one’s own household. It meant that to save one person, they had to slaughter a member of their own family.

Consequently, although the method for a Life Substitution existed, this was the first time even He Xunye had witnessed someone actually executing it. After all, ordinary people lacked the means to murder seven people in succession while evading the watchful eyes of the police. Nor could they bring themselves to lay hands on their own flesh and blood to save another; most would ultimately give up.

Presumably, no one in the Xiao family was willing to die for Xiao An. Dr. Li was the Xiao family’s personal physician, so they devised a way to use him to fill the quota, counting him loosely as a member of the household.

The director, who was already in his sixties and reaching retirement age, was hearing such a horrifying tale for the very first time. Moreover, he constantly felt as though something was amiss.

The director scratched his head again.

Wait a minute?!

Whose death? He Xunye said he died?

A wave of dizziness washed over the director. He lifted his head to look at He Xunye. The atmosphere in the ward felt so heavy that even the lights seemed to dim into a dark gloom, leaving only the endless, cold, and vast night outside reflecting upon the fierce ghost’s form.

Sensing the director’s gaze, the fierce ghost slowly turned his head toward him. His deathly pale face and dark, lifeless eyes crinkled into a smile, his lips curling up as his hands continuously dripped thick, viscous, dark-red blood. Beneath his feet, there was no human shadow—only a mass of ghostly silhouettes, writhing like black water.

A ghost!

The director’s vision went dark, and he nearly fainted on the spot. After searching for ghosts all night long, he never imagined that a ghost was standing right beside him.

“Wait,” Yu He spoke up, utterly perplexed. “Has the Life Substitution ritual already been completed? I just saw Xiao An a few days ago.”

He was absolutely certain that the Xiao An he met back then was not a ghost.

The fierce ghost lifted his blood-drenched hand. By all accounts, he should no longer be practicing divination. Even living fortune-tellers suffered from the five misfortunes and three deficiencies; peering into the secrets of heaven always demanded a heavy price, let alone for a ghost. He should not be calculating human fates, nor should he be peering into celestial destinies.

He Xunye tightened his grip around Tan Xueci’s waist. The bloody crimson hue in his eyes had completely receded, leaving his pitch-black pupils dark and damp, yet he cast a divination regardless.

“No,” He Xunye opened his eyes after a brief moment. “Six are dead, and they are still missing one last person. Xiao An is likely a walking corpse right now.”

A walking corpse was no different from a dead body, except it remained entirely unaware of its own demise and continued to live its life just like a living person.

The Xiao family had turned to gods and Buddhas in their desperation to save their child, and someone eventually enlightened them on the method of Life Substitution. The Xiao family was a prominent, reputable household in the capital. Although they loved their son dearly, they couldn’t help but hesitate at the thought of bearing seven human lives on their backs just to save him. Unless they were absolutely certain the person possessed genuine, supernatural capabilities, what would they do if they murdered everyone and still failed to bring their child back?

To prove his capabilities, that person had temporarily pieced together Xiao An’s mangled, shattered corpse, turning him into a walking corpse to present to the Xiao family.

“f*ck,” Yu He suddenly recalled something and snarled in fury. “Could it be that Daoist Fan who told the Xiao family?! Was he afraid someone would discover he was practicing black magic, which is why he came here to catch the ghost?”

Dr. Li’s ghost still appeared to possess some lucidity. If they managed to capture him first, they might very well uncover the truth.

He Xunye did not deny it.

Dr. Li’s suicide was likely because he recognized Daoist Fan as the very person who had collaborated with the Xiao family to murder him. He was dead, but he still left behind aging parents, a lover, and a child in the living world. Daoist Fan’s sudden arrival served as an implicit threat: if he refused to scatter his own soul and remain completely silent, his surviving family would suffer the consequences.

With a dark expression, Yu He fell silent. In ordinary cases of Life Substitution, people would at most seek a single individual to swap fates with; if it failed, they wouldn’t dare try again. Compared to treating patients, capturing that Daoist Fan was far more critical.

Without wasting another moment, Yu He estimated the direction of the escape and pursued him out of the hospital.

“How utterly despicable,” the director’s face turned black with rage, and he couldn’t help but spit in disgust. “That bastard actually demanded 300,000 from me. Fortunately, I only transferred a deposit of 100,000, telling him the remainder would be paid once the ghost was caught.”

If he possessed even a shred of conscience, having already driven someone to their death, he should at least perform a ritual to cross them over for reincarnation. Even a ghost knew to protect its own family and willingly embraced death; this man was worse than a beast.

“Indeed,” He Xunye unexpectedly agreed, lifting his cold, dark eyes. The depths of his gaze were murky and thick, his words dripping with unreserved irony. “Coercion, bribery, temptation… humans truly are that despicable.”

The sky was beginning to brighten by this time, and the cold, dim light of dawn filtered through the windows, marking the start of a new day.

They parted ways there. The director hurried off to check if any medical staff or patients had been injured during the night. Furthermore, since Wang Yong and Xiao Man’s father appeared completely physically exhausted and mentally broken, and the incident had occurred within his hospital, he felt a responsibility to see to their care.

Lu Qi and Jin Chen both sported heavy dark circles under their eyes, their hearts a chaotic swirl of complex emotions. Exhausted and drained, they desired nothing more than to return home and sleep.

Tan Xueci and He Xunye took the Disease Ghost and the kitten ghost, preparing to head to Qilian Temple first to hand them over.

They hailed a vehicle. On the road to Qilian Temple, Tan Xueci’s pale, delicate face looked completely drained of energy. He clung tightly to He Xunye’s arm without uttering a word, occasionally reaching out to touch He Xunye’s hand.

By the time they left the hospital, He Xunye’s hands had mostly returned to normal. Having slain numerous spirits the night before, the ghostly energy surging within him was too volatile to easily maintain a fully human appearance. Tan Xueci originally wanted to ask what had happened to his fingernails, but He Xunye showed no intention of explaining.

Tan Xueci raised the privacy partition and drew all the sunshades across the back seats, plunging the cabin into darkness. It grew so dim they could barely discern each other’s faces, which he figured might feel more comfortable for a ghost.

He Xunye didn’t speak a word after entering the car. He simply looped an arm around the youth’s waist, burying his face in Tan Xueci’s neck, refusing to leave his shoulder. He closed his eyes to rest, appearing somewhat weary.

Tan Xueci lowered his head and gently poked He Xunye’s eyelashes. The ghost possessed beautifully shaped eyes, framed by thick, long lashes, though they weren’t quite as curled as his own and looked decidedly frosty. Since He Xunye chose to remain silent, he didn’t press for answers; he knew that the moment he spoke, He Xunye would rise to comfort and coax him despite his exhaustion.

Tan Xueci dutifully acted as a small, compliant cushion, allowing the man to hold him tightly by the waist. Unaware that malicious spirits had no need for sleep, he assumed He Xunye had drifted off and didn’t dare breathe too loudly.

However, He Xunye seemed to have a rather poor sleeping habit—his hands always craved something to squeeze. At home during the night, he would routinely place his large hand over the youth’s rear, kneading it a few times like a lump of dough from time to time. When Tan Xueci timidly asked why he kept kneading him, He Xunye would lower his gaze and murmur, “I’m afraid to sleep alone. I feel insecure and want to make sure Xiao Mie is still here.”

Tan Xueci: “…”

Tan Xueci felt that a sense of security shouldn’t need to be verified via his rear. Yet, seeing He Xunye’s pale face and his unblinking peach-blossom eyes looking at him from under the covers—like a stray ghost he had taken in—always left him in a bit of a daze. He Xunye truly did seem quite pitiful. Thus, he stopped objecting and simply instructed He Xunye in a gentle tone that he wasn’t allowed to squeeze too many times, and absolutely could not insert his fingers. He Xunye was always very obedient, dutifully keeping his fingers out every single time; he really was a good-natured ghost.

Tan Xueci had assumed this quirk was confined to their home, but he never expected the ghost to be the exact same way outside. Even now, with both hands wrapped around his waist, He Xunye would occasionally give him a gentle squeeze.

The kneading left Tan Xueci’s face flushed a deep crimson, his entire body trembling slightly. Thinking He Xunye had woken up, he looked down, only to find the ghost still fast asleep, forcing him to sit up straight and rigid once more.

He was still cradling the kitten ghost in his arms. He Xunye had slapped a talisman onto the Disease Ghost, shrinking it down to roughly the size of a cat before locking it inside a carrier placed by their feet. When they boarded, the driver had simply assumed it was another white cat they were bringing along. The driver couldn’t help but sigh inwardly: Every cat has its own destiny; some get cradled lovingly in arms, while others are relegated to the floor.

The fortunate little kitten ghost nestled in Tan Xueci’s arms extended a paw to swat at He Xunye’s chest. Tan Xueci was just about to catch its paw to prevent it from striking his ghost when a tiny head suddenly popped out from the breast pocket of He Xunye’s suit jacket. The kitten ghost’s paw struck true, landing squarely on the tiny head and bopping it right back into the pocket like a game of Whac-A-Mole. From within the fabric, Tan Xueci caught a soft, pitiful “wer” sob.

Dazed, Tan Xueci reached into the ghost’s chest to investigate. The intrusion caused He Xunye’s entire body to stiffen. He instinctively wanted to open his eyes, but his eyelashes merely fluttered before he buried himself even deeper into Tan Xueci’s neck. Completely lacking any sense of boundaries, Tan Xueci groped around aggressively inside He Xunye’s jacket until his fingers wrapped around a cloth doll.

The doll possessed long, pitch-black hair, and its lips were stitched with red thread into a blood-red gash. Appearing suddenly within the dim confines of the car, it felt as though the scene had abruptly cut to a horror film capable of cursing someone to death on sight.

Tan Xueci fell into a brief silence, a sudden wave of embarrassment washing over him; he felt his actions had been rather unseemly.

The cloth doll affectionately wrapped its tiny arms around Tan Xueci’s wrist, flattening its small body completely against the youth’s palm. Despite having nothing but a pair of black bead eyes, Tan Xueci could somehow sense it was casting a smug, sidelong glance at the kitten ghost. Perhaps the battle for succession was always thus; it clearly viewed itself as the primary heir.

Sensing the blatant provocation, the kitten ghost arched its back, its fur standing completely on end as it hissed and yowled furiously at the doll.

Cradling the doll with utmost care, Tan Xueci experienced a strange sensation, as if the little object were an extension of his own body.

“Grandma Zhang left that for you,” the fierce ghost, who had been buried in his wife’s neck looking entirely dead to the world, finally spoke up. Seeing his wife’s attention thoroughly stolen by a few small playthings, his eyes turned brooding. “It can shield you from a major catastrophe, effectively serving as a second life.”

The cloth doll let out another smug, tiny “wer”.

Tan Xueci had never expected to receive such an incredible treasure. Fearing he might misplace it if he kept it himself, he tucked it back onto He Xunye’s person, repeatedly instructing and imploring the ghost to take excellent care of it.

When they arrived at Qilian Temple, a young monk was already waiting outside to receive them. The night before, the ghostly energy hovering over the capital had practically blanketed the entire sky, alarming numerous figures within the occult world. Qilian Temple had undoubtedly sensed it as well.

By the time they finally returned home, Tan Xueci was utterly exhausted. He collapsed onto the bed alongside He Xunye, and the two slept heavily, losing all track of time.

He had no idea how long he had been asleep. When he finally opened his eyes, darkness had fallen once more, and locking eyes with He Xunye’s eerie, deathly pale face in the pitch black gave him quite a fright. Why on earth was this dead thing staring at him instead of sleeping? He remained entirely unaware that He Xunye watched him like this every single night; otherwise, he would have started clamoring for a divorce all over again.

Tan Xueci had scenes to shoot tonight. Still slightly dazed from sleep, he allowed He Xunye to hoist him up and dress him. He Xunye even slipped his shoes onto his feet, leaving the youth responsible for nothing more than lifting his legs. He Xunye wrapped a scarf around his neck, tying it into a neat bow. Having caught up on his rest, a faint, healthy pink dusted Tan Xueci’s fair complexion. Wrapped up snugly and looking thoroughly adorable, he was caught and thoroughly kissed on the lips by He Xunye before being ushered into Lu Qi’s car.

Heh.

Lu Qi sneered inwardly. At his big age, he clings to a wife nearly ten years his junior, constantly catching him to sneak kisses. He figured He Xunye must have had his skin peeled off when he died—otherwise, how could he be so completely shameless?

Still feeling somewhat uneasy, Tan Xueci instructed He Xunye to head to Qilian Temple to check on things, as the ghost wouldn’t be accompanying him to the set tonight.

Upon arriving at the filming location, he happened to spot Lan Ke, the young lover Xiao An kept—who also happened to play the second male lead in their production. Lan Ke possessed a slender, melancholic look. He seemed deeply infatuated with Xiao An, frequently staring quietly at the man’s retreating figure.

Tan Xueci pursed his lips. He Xunye had stated that his own death was entirely unrelated to the Xiao family’s Life Substitution. Since six people were currently dead and they were still missing one, could Lan Ke be the final piece?

Considering Xiao An was practically a dead ghost himself by now, Tan Xueci recalled how he used to think he had never met anyone whose rear had been compromised by a male ghost. To his surprise, he had now encountered exactly such a person, which made him feel a strange sense of shared plight with Lan Ke. Furthermore, if Lan Ke were to die, his parents would likely weep with devastating grief; Tan Xueci truly despised these people who had both parents intact.

Their movie was titled The Spider, so named because the entire narrative commenced with a single spider. The scene Tan Xueci was scheduled to shoot tonight was precisely this opening sequence.

He portrayed the third male lead—or rather, the twin brothers, Yan Chengzhang and Yan Chengzhao. Their birth mother had been murdered by enemies, and the twins were subsequently framed for using witchcraft to exact revenge on the Empress following their mother’s demise, resulting in their confinement to the Cold Palace. On a winter night amidst a heavy snowfall, the two young children huddled tightly together. On such a freezing evening, a spider materialized in the corner of the Cold Palace, terrifying Yan Chengzhao into instantly seeking refuge in his older brother’s arms.

Since this scene depicted the character’s childhood, a child actor was brought in to perform the bulk of it. Tan Xueci’s primary task was merely to shoot a few close-ups with a grave expression, which would later be spliced into the flashback sequence, followed by a few snippets of Yan Chengzhang taking medicine while ill.

Having completed his makeup and styling, Tan Xueci wrapped up his shoot in less than an hour. The second male lead didn’t have many scenes tonight either. As Tan Xueci was leaving the dressing room, he crossed paths with Lan Ke, who offered him a very polite smile.

After a brief internal struggle, Tan Xueci seized a moment when no one was paying attention to slip a talisman into Lan Ke’s hand. Unsure of how to explain it, he stammered, “It hasn’t been very safe lately. I requested this from a Daoist temple.” In truth, it was one of the talismans Yu He had given him.

Lan Ke startled, clearly not expecting Tan Xueci to offer him such an item. However, he quickly recovered, extending a hand to accept it before carefully tucking it into his bag. Maintaining his impeccable etiquette, he voiced his gratitude softly: “Thank you, Teacher Tan. I will be sure to keep it on my person.”

Tan Xueci blushed slightly, feeling as though he had successfully mastered yet another human social grace. Seeing Lan Ke accept the token, he turned around to head toward the parking lot, only to receive a sudden phone call from Jin Chen.

Jin Chen remained somewhat preoccupied with the matter of the Disease Ghost; after all, the fate of that elderly couple had been far too tragic and violent. He knew he would likely never forget it for the rest of his life, and wanted to check in on how Tan Xueci and the others were holding up. With Lan Ke still standing close by, it wasn’t a convenient time to speak openly, so Tan Xueci cut him off, saying, “I’ll call you back in a bit.”

“My apologies, Teacher Tan,” Lan Ke spoke up, having seemingly caught the voice from the receiver. His steps halted, a somewhat obscure look flashing across his gaunt face, though he still asked hesitantly, “Were you speaking with Jin Chen?”

Tan Xueci looked at Lan Ke, deducing that he likely knew Jin Chen, but chose not to comment and merely offered a fake smile. Recognizing the hint, Lan Ke tactfully refrained from pressing further.

As Tan Xueci walked toward the parking lot, he did a quick search on Lan Ke. To his surprise, he discovered that Lan Ke had actually belonged to the exact same boy band as Jin Chen previously. In fact, he was one of the teammates who had drugged Jin Chen and sent him off to accompany those wealthy, older men. Not long after Jin Chen left the group, Lan Ke had also parted ways with the band. He had dabbled in acting during his idol days, and had now transitioned fully into a professional actor.

To think someone who appeared so soft and frail on the surface actually possessed two entirely different faces.

Tan Xueci’s delicate face fell instantly. Turning on his heel, he marched right back.

Seeing Tan Xueci return, Lan Ke assumed the youth had something more to say to him. Instead, Tan Xueci snatched back the talisman he had just handed over and walked away without uttering a single word.

How utterly shameless, taking it the moment it was offered.

Had Lu Qi been present to witness this, he would have undoubtedly clutched his head and screamed like an old macaque. If captured on camera, the entertainment headlines the next morning would surely accuse Tan Xueci of bullying a fellow actor on set. Fortunately, Lan Ke appeared to possess an exceptionally mild temperament; despite having his bag rummaged through by Tan Xueci, he showed no signs of anger, standing quietly in place for a brief moment before taking his leave.

*

Tan Xueci spent the next few days filming with the crew. Given the unrest unfolding outside, He Xunye strictly forbade him from staying in hotels. Since the filming location happened to be quite close to the He residence, Tan Xueci returned home to sleep every night during this period.

The agonizing, heart-wrenching wails from the hospital ward that night continuously echoed in his ears, causing him to eat a full bowl of rice less over the past few days.

The fierce ghost’s eyes, dark as deep water, fixed upon him. He suddenly spoke: “Do you wish to save them?”

Tan Xueci sat with a small meatball stuffed in his mouth. He did want to save them, but his stubborn pride made it impossible to admit out loud. He was supposed to be a sinister, cackling arch-villain—how could he harbor thoughts of saving people? That would completely ruin his character concept.

He Xunye held the bowl, gently pinching the youth’s cheek to help him chew and swallow the small meatball. He then fed him another spoonful of rice, stating, “It’s not entirely out of the question. I’ll seek out Yu He and track down the culprits alongside him. However, it’s far too dangerous, so I cannot bring you along.”

“Then you…” Tan Xueci’s large, innocent eyes lifted hesitantly, staring intently at He Xunye’s face. Whether they saved anyone or not, he just didn’t want his husband getting killed.

He Xunye’s dark red lips curved upward. This time, he didn’t indulge in his usual teasing remarks about how much his precious Xiao Mie cared for him. Instead, he simply reached out to ruffle the youth’s hair, his tone carrying a deeply reassuring weight: “Rest assured.”

Tan Xueci felt as though He Xunye had cast a spell on him; the moment he heard those words, his heart settled completely back into his chest. That Daoist Fan was, after all, in his seventies or eighties and possessed a fair amount of spiritual cultivation—at the very least, he was highly adept at hiding. Furthermore, a Life Substitution didn’t strictly require those specific seven individuals; those seven unfortunates had simply been selected because their horoscopes happened to fit. Hunting for the remaining targets was no different from searching for a needle in a haystack.

Once they finished dinner, He Xunye carried Tan Xueci to the bathroom for a wash. He then wrapped his thoroughly clean, naked wife in a bath towel, placed him onto the bed, and leaned down to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“Xiao Mie,” He Xunye patted his rear, handing him a black card along with a standard bank card as he offered a series of anxious instructions. “You mustn’t eat things at random while at home, understood? If there’s anything you want, just buy it yourself. It doesn’t matter if you can’t figure out the prices; these two cards are more than enough for you to swipe. Should you feel physically unwell at any point, go find the butler. Even if he’s fast asleep, you can pound on his door. If he dares to raise his voice at you, just report him to your husband. My Xiao Mie can take excellent care of himself, right?”

“I know, I know.” Tucked beneath the bath towel, Tan Xueci listened properly at first, but He Xunye was simply too long-winded. Twisting his rear, he attempted to turn over, his small feet kicking continuously at He Xunye out of sheer annoyance.

He Xunye caught his shoulders and flipped him right back over, as though he were flipping a lamb-stuffed pastry. The fierce ghost’s eyes were pitch-black and filled with tenderness as he pressed another kiss onto the youth’s lips, which had been sucked a bright red. His voice carried a raspy edge as he added, “If you ever encounter a truly major crisis, go find Elder Sister.”

Tan Xueci tugged at the ghost’s necktie with both hands, wrapping it around his fingers to play with it, his eyes blinking wide in confusion. Wasn’t his elder sister suffering from a mental illness? However, fearing He Xunye would launch into another lengthy speech, he refrained from asking and turned his body away, presenting his rear to He Xunye.

He could feel He Xunye staring at him for a long moment, as though deeply reluctant to leave him unsupervised. Then, through the bath towel, the ghost planted a firm kiss right on his small rear.

Tan Xueci nearly exploded from the shock. A jolt of electric numbness surged straight up his spine, prompting him to thrash his legs and kick wildly. He kept kicking until he was completely worn out and panting, his delicate face flushed scarlet and his dark hair damp with sweat against his cheeks. When he finally turned his head around, he found the window standing wide open—the dead ghost had long since vanished without a trace.

An instant wave of annoyance washed over Tan Xueci, and he huffed, kicking his leg out. He had been telling He Xunye to leave just a moment ago, but now that the ghost had actually departed, he found it thoroughly irritating.

After lounging on the bed for a short while, he gathered his stuffed lamb and climbed out of bed, leaning over the windowsill to peer outside. The night wind blew in gusts, offering a view of nothing but the old He ancestral estate silent under the shroud of darkness, save for a few lonely, scattered lights by the entrance.

Initially, he had planned to pull an all-nighter playing video games or watching master streamers once He Xunye left. Yet, after lying flat on the bed and playing Whac-A-Mole for a few rounds, he found it completely uninteresting. It dawned on him that perhaps he only enjoyed playing Whac-A-Mole while nestled in He Xunye’s arms—because whenever he managed to bop a tiny mole, He Xunye would always praise him, saying his little Xue was truly incredible.

*

He Xunye remained gone for two or three days without a single word. Tan Xueci found himself constantly wandering over to the front entrance to wait, his chin, which had filled out with a bit of soft flesh, buried deep within his scarf. He resembled nothing so much as a tiny snowman standing guard at the He family gates.

The butler frequently strolled past him with his hands tucked behind his back, covertly checking if the soft flesh on the youth’s face had diminished—desperate to avoid having his neck throttled once more.

It wasn’t until the night of the third day, while Tan Xueci was sprawling idly on the bed, that he suddenly received a video call from He Xunye. He accepted it instantly, bringing his face exceptionally close to the screen, and noted that He Xunye appeared to be stationed deep within some remote mountain forest.

He Xunye let out a low chuckle. Due to Tan Xueci standing far too close, the screen captured nothing but half of his delicate face squished flat against the lens. Realizing this didn’t look particularly flattering, Tan Xueci calmly and sluggishly backed away. He couldn’t help but wonder how on earth a dead ghost managed to secure a cellular signal in such an uninhabited wilderness.

“Baby,” He Xunye looked down at the screen, offering a gentle suggestion. “Could you tilt the camera down a bit lower?”

Assuming his face still looked bizarre through the lens, Tan Xueci hurriedly shifted himself further down.

He Xunye possessed a strikingly handsome bone structure; no matter how he was filmed, his face never looked unsightly. Moreover, he was highly adept at finding the perfect angles. Beneath the silent, heavy shroud of the night sky, those peach-blossom eyes were more than capable of making one’s heart flutter.

Any other person might have blushed, their heart racing as they averted their gaze out of sheer shyness. Tan Xueci, however, remained kneeling on the bed with his rear turned up, his heart filled with nothing but an intense desire to win. He couldn’t comprehend why He Xunye managed to look so incredibly attractive on camera; he merely resolved that he must not allow himself to be outdone or look ugly.

He Xunye had long since grown accustomed to throwing flirtatious glances at a blind man. He suspecting that even if he stripped entirely naked and lay down before Tan Xueci, the youth would simply assume he was bragging about his muscles being larger than his own.

Suppressing a sigh, He Xunye reached out to tap Tan Xueci’s cheek through the screen. “Baby, a little lower, please?”

This time, however, Tan Xueci refused to fall for it. With a swift movement, he clutched the collar of his pajamas shut, the tips of his ears flushing slightly red as he let out a huff to expose him. “I know exactly what you’re doing. You just want to see my chest.” He certainly wasn’t going to let him.

“…” The amusement in He Xunye’s dark eyes was fleeting as he voiced his mock astonishment. “Is that the kind of person I am in little Xue’s eyes?”

A few meters away, Yu He rolled his eyes so hard they nearly left his head.

Tan Xueci burrowed deeper into his blankets, his beautiful face slumping as he felt thoroughly dissatisfied with He Xunye. Relationship experts had stated that if a man lost the desire to share things with you, he was undoubtedly fooling around outside. He Xunye hadn’t sent him a single message in days, as though he had dropped dead somewhere out there, without even providing a photograph.

Tan Xueci grumbled internally for a long while. Reluctant to state his grievance directly—lest it make him appear far too clingy and not nearly villainous enough—he muttered a complaint after a long pause: “You haven’t even sent me any photos…” Yet here he was, demanding to see his chest.

The more Tan Xueci ruminated on it, the angrier he became, and he promptly disconnected the video call. However, his phone chimed the very next second, signaling an incoming message.

Opening the chat, Tan Xueci instantly clutched his face with both hands, only daring to peek through the narrow gaps between his fingers.

He Xunye had sent him a photograph. Beneath the night sky, the man’s neck appeared pale and slender, the veins distinct, and the curve of his Adam’s apple possessed a cold, rigid contour that looked notably pronounced. Further down, his collarbones were as starkly white as cold jade, resembling a slightly raised mountain ridge, with deep shadows pooling within the hollows. He Xunye had even unbuttoned several buttons of his shirt, leaving the definition of his chest muscles enveloped in deep shadow—exuding a chilled, desolate sensuality exposed unreservedly before Tan Xueci.

Tan Xueci: “…”

He was completely unhinged!

He had merely wanted He Xunye to send him a few pictures of the scenery. He was going to report He Xunye to his school for sexual harassment.

He Xunye remained entirely unbothered, deliberately typing out a response.

He Xunye: What’s wrong, baby? You don’t like it?

Tan Xueci covered his face, his burning, scarlet cheeks visible through his fingers, refusing to reply.

Yet He Xunye continued to bombard him with notifications.

He Xunye: If baby doesn’t like this style, I have others. He Xunye: [Photo] He Xunye: [Photo] He Xunye: [Photo] … x10

He sent image after image without pause, as if determined to continue indefinitely until Tan Xueci finally offered a response.

He Xunye: Baby, I miss you. Speak to me some more. He Xunye: Baby, where is my little Mie? He Xunye: Baby, do you miss me? He Xunye: Please think of me. …

Clutching his phone, Tan Xueci’s fair, flushed face was illuminated by the bright glow of the screen. Previously, he had always been the one sending messages to others only to be ignored; this was the very first time someone had sent him such a vast volume of messages.

Finally, he begrudgingly typed out a single line to He Xunye.

Tan Xueci: I don’t!

With that, he flopped down to go to sleep.

Before settling into bed, Tan Xueci gathered He Xunye’s spirit tablet from the bedside and placed it right next to his pillow. Staring at the characters forming He Xunye’s name, the ghost’s face inexplicably materialized in his mind, leaving him somewhat entranced.

Suddenly, his phone chimed once more.

As though spying on him from some hidden vantage point, that dead ghost abruptly sent another casual, teasing line.

He Xunye: Have you started missing me now?

Tan Xueci: “…”

In an instant, the column of Tan Xueci’s ears flushed a deep, blood-red hue.

Tan Xueci: Go away, go away, go away.

He fired off several frantic “scram” emojis, tossed his phone aside, gave the spirit tablet a small kick, and ceased paying He Xunye any further attention.

He Xunye had instructed him to seek out his elder sister in the event of a major crisis, but given that the He estate possessed flawless Feng Shui alignments, it was widely considered the safest location in the entire capital. Tan Xueci didn’t anticipate encountering any significant trouble.

Until one night, while he was brushing his teeth, he suddenly noticed that the reflection in the mirror was raising the exact opposite hand. Within the glass, “Tan Xueci” stared back with dark, brooding eyes, toothbrush in hand, watching him with a chilling smile.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Tan Xueci threw his toothbrush down, spun around, and fled. He bolted straight for He Pinglan’s quarters.

He arrived in a frantic rush, but before he could even knock, He Pinglan threw the door open, appearing as though she had been expecting him all along.

“Come inside,” He Pinglan instructed, her eyes fixed upon him.

Tan Xueci instinctively flinched, feeling as though he were stepping directly into a female ghost’s lair. However, with a malicious spirit pursuing him from behind, he had no choice but to step through the threshold. He Pinglan promptly closed the door behind him.

Only then did he realize that He Pinglan stood slightly taller than him. The members of the He family possessed excellent genetics; though He Pinglan was forty-one years old this year, she appeared to be in her early thirties. Aside from He Xunye, who was an eccentric old bachelor incapable of securing a wife, the rest of the He family had married exceptionally early. Had He Pinglan’s child survived, they would have been roughly the same age as Tan Xueci today.

No lights were permitted within He Pinglan’s room. Atop her desk sat a single lotus-shaped Buddhist lamp crafted from blue jade, supplemented by several burning candles. The walls were completely plastered from top to bottom with talismans—easily numbering in the thousands.

Tan Xueci laced his fingers together anxiously, lowering himself with utmost care onto the seat opposite He Pinglan. He noticed that her bedside also featured a shrine dedicated to some deity nailed to a crucifix, which looked remarkably like Jesus.

Tan Xueci: “…”

Presumably, she prayed to whichever deity was available. If they proved useful, they were revered as gods; if not, they were discarded.

He Pinglan’s room matched He Xunye’s in size, but the curtains were drawn tight. Beneath the hazy glow of the candlelight, the atmosphere felt dim and unsettling. The desks and cabinets were crowded with black spirit tablets of various shapes and sizes, numbering at least a hundred. There was also an abundance of timber scraps and carving tools scattered about; it appeared these tablets were entirely handcrafted by He Pinglan herself.

She confined herself to this room every single day, crafting spirit tablets for her entire family.

Cursing them all to death.

Her two detestable older brothers were already dead, her obnoxious younger brother was dead, and her wretched husband was dead—leaving only the two old fools of the household still drawing breath. It left her feeling as though she simply hadn’t been working hard enough. Consequently, she had taken to playing videos of male models dancing in the background to cheer herself on while she stayed up late every night, carving tablet after tablet.

Tan Xueci didn’t recognize many characters, but he managed to discern the names of He Wuling and Xu Yuzhu among the spirit tablets. There were even tablets dedicated to He Xunye; He Pinglan had crafted dozens for each of them.

“Do you want one too?” He Pinglan lifted her face, which appeared as pale as a specter’s. “I can craft a matching couple’s set for you.”

Tan Xueci: “…”

There was absolutely no need.

“Why?” Noting his reluctance, He Pinglan suddenly leaned her face extremely close, her nose nearly brushing against his. She possessed a strikingly beautiful face, sharing the same intense, sharp features as He Xunye. Her dark pupils stared down at Tan Xueci with an intense weight. “Do you not like him?”

Tan Xueci: “…”

Tan Xueci felt that communication with any member of the He family was entirely impossible. His refusal of a spirit tablet had absolutely nothing to do with whether he liked He Xunye or not—was it simply mandatory for him to die?

Paying no heed to his resistance, He Pinglan gripped her carving knife. In less than half an hour, she produced a spirit tablet for Tan Xueci that identical to He Xunye’s, placing it directly alongside his brother’s.

Tan Xueci: “…”

Tan Xueci stared blankly at the side-by-side tablets. Who on earth claimed that dying for love was a legend of antiquity?

For a moment, Tan Xueci was completely bewildered, having encountered someone far more naturally malicious than himself for the very first time. Yet, before he could formulate a response, the door to He Pinglan’s room was suddenly struck with a violent, resounding BANG, causing cold sweat to instantly drench his back.

He Pinglan’s elegant face turned dark as night. Pulling Tan Xueci behind her, she lifted both hands to form a series of hand seals, instantly conjuring a violent gale. Her long, black hair and her loose, white nightgown began to whip furiously in the wind. Out of nowhere, dozens of palm-sized paper dolls materialized, lunging toward the entrance and violently hurling the malevolent spirit that had burst through the door right back outside.

The intruder was a fierce ghost with a green face and prominent fangs, its black fingernails extending three inches long. Letting out a ferocious roar, it charged right back inside. Possessing a frame as rigid as steel, although it could be knocked back, it sustained virtually no damage.

Beads of sweat formed on He Pinglan’s forehead, her legs trembling under the strain, yet she steadfastly kept Tan Xueci shielded behind her.

With a sharp CRACK, the window behind He Pinglan and Tan Xueci was shattered by the icy wind. Drool spilled from the green-faced ghost’s jaws as it lunged toward Tan Xueci once more.

“Run!” He Pinglan seized one of the spirit tablets, smashing it squarely over the ghost’s head, before grabbing Tan Xueci and bolting straight for the window.

Before Tan Xueci could even process what was happening, He Pinglan gathered him tightly into her arms to protect his head. Together, they leapt through the shattered window frame, plunging into the darkness below.

Tan Xueci’s mind went entirely blank, wondering why the members of the He family shared such a bizarre fondness for grabbing people and jumping out of buildings. However, He Pinglan’s embrace was exceptionally firm and powerful; he didn’t feel a shred of pain when they hit the ground.

Hrr… The resentment in the green-faced ghost’s eyes flared violently. Thoroughly enraged, it leapt down after them.

He Pinglan hurled several talismans, but her efforts proved entirely futile. She seemed to have twisted her ankle during the fall; cold sweat beaded on her brow, yet she continued to hold Tan Xueci tightly in her arms.

Hearing the frantic, rapid thumping of her heart, Tan Xueci tried to lift his head, only to be firmly pressed back down into her shoulder by her powerful grip.

Despite the sheer violence of the confrontation, it was as though no one in the He household noticed a thing. The entire estate remained as silent as a tomb. More than half an hour passed, yet no one arrived to deliver them.

Tan Xueci’s consciousness gradually grew heavy, the physical strength draining entirely from his body. Abruptly plunging into absolute darkness, his form went completely limp, collapsing entirely into He Pinglan’s embrace.

With that, the green-faced ghost vanished as well.

By the time He Wuling hurried to the scene, he found He Pinglan slumped on the ground, cradling Tan Xueci’s unconscious form. Before he could even utter a word, a surging mass of black fog laden with intense, murderous malice charged directly at him, striking him squarely in the chest and sending him flying through the air.

He Wuling was thrown three meters away. Clutching his chest, he instantly spat out a mouthful of dark blood. The jade amulet of the Ancestral Master that he had worn against his chest for decades split cleanly in two, having shielded him from a fatal blow.

“What manner of creature did you allow inside?” the fierce ghost demanded, his eyes blood-red as he stepped out from the black mist.

“Master!” The butler was frightened out of wits. His legs turning to jelly, he scrambled forward in an attempt to support He Wuling.

Yet before he could draw near, the black mist behind the fierce ghost began to expand violently, as though the pitch-black night sky itself were pouring downward to fuel his ghostly aura. Enveloped in the dark fog, the fierce ghost extended a blood-drenched arm and tore one of He Wuling’s arms clean off.

He Wuling’s face turned deathly pale. His severed limb fell to the ground, the cold-green signet ring of the clan head instantly splattered with blood. His lips trembled violently as he stared fixedly at He Xunye.

The fierce ghost showed no intention of sparing him. Just as he extended his hand once more, an anxious cry suddenly echoed from the direction of the ancestral hall: “Xunye!”

It was Xu Yuzhu, who had caught wind of the disturbance and rushed out from the hall.

“I am asking you,” the fierce ghost cast a single glance at her before snapping his gaze back onto He Wuling, his eyes terrifyingly grim, “what manner of creature did you allow inside?!”

*

Tan Xueci merely experienced a sudden blackout before losing all consciousness. By the time he groggily dragged himself back awake, he discovered he was lying directly in the middle of a street.

The night sky was so thick and ink-black it looked poised to drip dark fluid, and countless tendrils of ghostly energy were visible to the naked eye.

“Run for your lives!” someone suddenly shrieked in absolute panic. Lifting a lantern high, the individual frantically waved to the others. “Run! The ghosts are coming! Hurry to Qilian Temple!”

Instantly, the entire street erupted into a chaotic stampede of refugees. Even those who had already retired for the night hastily threw on clothes and gathered infants from their cradles, stumbling alongside their families as they fled toward Qilian Temple. Only Tan Xueci stood frozen in place, completely bewildered by what was unfolding around him.

“Hey,” an elderly man kindly tugged at his arm. “Child, the ghosts are upon us, what are you doing just standing there?”

What ghosts?

Tan Xueci grew increasingly bewildered. While he could discern a vast amount of ghostly energy, he failed to see any actual spirits.

Left with no alternative, he could only join the frantic crowd, scurrying along after them toward Qilian Temple.

By this hour, the night was deep and the dew heavy. The gates of Qilian Temple stood wide open. The entire night sky was completely obscured by dense, ghostly energy, through which the moon barely managed to cast a few stray beams. The light fell directly upon a youth standing before the temple gates.

The youth wore a snow-white Buddhist robe, his frame tall and slender, appearing to be around seventeen or eighteen years old. His pale, jade-like fingers idly counted a string of Buddhist beads. With long, dark hair cascading down like a waterfall, his eyes remained entirely devoid of emotion as he watched the fleeing masses surge toward him.

Tan Xueci froze.

It was He Xunye—a teenage He Xunye.

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