Chapter 12: Disobedient

Zhai Fang clutched the umbrella handle, trembling with rage. But since he had snatched the umbrella himself, he looked like the unreasonable one if he insulted Tan Xueci—especially with Wen Yaochuan present. He didn’t want to leave a bad impression on the superstar.

He wiped the cold, sticky black blood from his face, trying his best to stay calm. However, his voice still carried a sharp edge of fury as he snapped at Tan Xueci, “You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”

Tan Xueci was stunned. The umbrella had been perfectly fine when he carried it back just now.

Zhai Fang’s manager was terrified and rushed over with his own umbrella to shield him.

“Wait,” Wen Yaochuan spoke up before Tan Xueci could say a word. He walked over and glanced at the remaining half of the black handle in Zhai Fang’s hand. His expression grew solemn. “That’s not black blood. It’s paper pulp. This is a paper umbrella used for the dead.”

Zhai Fang let go instantly, throwing the handle far away.

“Xiao Ci,” Wen Yaochuan turned to Tan Xueci, “did you encounter anyone on your way back?”

Tan Xueci’s mind went blank. Had he met a person? Or… a ghost?

The male ghost had given him an umbrella.

Zhai Fang didn’t believe in spirits. In this day and age, he considered feudal superstitions a joke. But it was nearly 10:00 PM; the students had all moved out, and the massive private school felt dark and oppressive. Only the building used by the crew remained lit. The storm was heavy and damp, and occasional flashes of lightning made him feel as though something was about to leap out from behind him at any moment.

“Brother Wen,” Zhai Fang took a towel from his manager and wiped his face, shivering. “You actually know about this stuff?”

Wen Yaochuan pushed back his damp hair. The rain was so heavy that he had been splashed while looking at the umbrella. He hummed thoughtfully. “I know a little. I filmed a movie about Taoist priests once and learned a few things from the consultants and Feng Shui masters. I don’t know much more, but you should wash that off immediately.”

Even without being told, Zhai Fang planned to shower; the sludge felt so cold it made his bones ache. He bid them a hurried goodbye and left, surrounded by his staff.

Once Zhai Fang was gone, Wen Yaochuan looked at Tan Xueci and asked curiously, “Xiao Ci, do you have the ‘Yin-Yang Eye’?”

Tan Xueci lifted his lashes, looked at him, and said flatly, “No.”

He thought Wen Yaochuan was a lunatic.

Wen Yaochuan: “…”

As a seasoned actor, Wen Yaochuan sensed what the boy was thinking and let out a short laugh. He pointed at him and said seriously, “You should be careful these next few days. You accepted a gift from a spirit. It will come looking for you.”

Meng Zhi was already shaken by Zhai Fang’s blackened face; Wen Yaochuan’s words moved her to tears. The assistant director was also trembling, letting out a forced laugh. “Te-te-teacher Wen, surely it’s not that mystical.”

Wen Yaochuan shook his head, looking profound.

When the director arrived, they finished the night scenes and prepared to return to the hotel. Wen Yaochuan told Xueci to dispose of the handle. Tan Xueci used a thick layer of tissue to pick up the wet, sticky thing and tossed it into the trash.

As he walked out, a cold spray of rain brushed his cheek.

“…So bad.”

Tan Xueci thought he heard someone scolding him, but the low, faintly laughing voice vanished into the rain. He turned and saw nothing.

Lu Xi was absent, so Tan Xueci caught a ride back with the stagehands. In the car, he used voice search to look up the Yulong Hotpot fire.

The fire occurred three years ago, killing seven and injuring eleven. The news article included a photo of the owner—it was the same old man who had warned him to go home.

A chill raced up Xueci’s spine. He slammed his phone screen off.

I really did see a ghost.

Was the photo a hallucination? Or was I still stuck in a delusion?

The staff nearby were laughing and chatting. The car was dark, and their faces looked like black voids. Tan Xueci shrank toward the window, then stiffened—what if a face appeared on the glass? He huddled in the middle of the seat and messaged his manager.

Tan Xueci: Brother Lu, I want to go to the hospital tomorrow. Lu Xi: Okay. My plane lands at noon. Meet me at the entrance in the afternoon. I’ll go with you.

Back at the hotel, Tan Xueci showered like a ghost and drifted to bed. He suddenly remembered he hadn’t offered incense to his dead husband. He sat up, lit the incense, and then collapsed onto the sofa with his lamb plushie.

He fell asleep instantly. In the darkness, pale, deathly fingers reached out to pry the wet lamb ear from his mouth. The entity wiped the saliva onto his red, damp lips.

“Disobedient…” a cold voice whispered in the dark. “Always trying to run away…”

The next day, Tan Xueci learned Zhai Fang was too sick to get out of bed. Since they had scenes together, Xueci was allowed to leave early. He went to the psychiatric ward of the First People’s Hospital.

Before Lu Xi arrived, Xueci saw Zhai Fang and his manager in the parking lot. He didn’t care and headed inside. Soon, Lu Xi arrived, and they took the elevator up.

“I’ll wait outside,” Lu Xi said.

Tan Xueci knocked on the door of Dr. Xie Yun. Xie Yun had been treating him since he was five.

“Xiao Ci, you said your condition worsened. What happened?” Xie Yun asked kindly.

Tan Xueci remembered his first “encounter” at age three—a thumping sound on the stairs and a rolling red head under his mother’s bed. His mother had been terrified, but the servants found nothing. Since then, he had lived in fear of the “thump, thump, thump” sound.

As Xueci explained his recent week, a sound came from behind him.

Thump, thump, thump.

Something bounced on the floor. Xueci whipped his head around.

“Sorry,” Xie Yun said. “I knocked over the anatomical model. Did it scare you?” The model’s head had fallen off.

Xie Yun gave him a blanket to make him feel safe. As Xueci continued his story about the man with the umbrella, the doctor interrupted.

“You lied,” Xie Yun said.

Tan Xueci looked down, wondering if his family had told the doctor about the ghost marriage.

“Do you know how I know?” Xie Yun asked warmly. “Because I saw it.”

Tan Xueci looked up and nearly died. The room was dark. Xie Yun’s face was covered in writhing eyeballs like black tumors. One even grew inside his open mouth. “Because I saw everything!”

Tan Xueci bolted. He ran into a massive, freezing room filled with metal lockers.

Thump, thump, thump…

Suddenly, hundreds of lockers began to rattle as if heads were banging against the doors from the inside.

He stumbled out into a hallway. A nurse shouted, “No running in the morgue!”

The morgue? How? He had taken the elevator to the 17th floor.

He tried calling Lu Xi, but it wouldn’t go through. He ran to the elevator. The display showed B1. He pressed 17.

When he reached the 17th floor, he saw Lu Xi waiting for him. Lu Xi, exhausted from a 3:00 AM shoot, had fallen asleep in a chair.

“Brother Lu, let’s go. I don’t want to see the doctor anymore,” Xueci sobbed.

Lu Xi, thinking it was just an episode, tried to lead him back in. “Don’t be scared, it’s all fake…”

Lu Xi stopped. He opened the door and saw the doctor’s face—covered in a thousand moving eyes—pressed against theirs.

“Holy… run!!!” Lu Xi screamed.

They ran from the 17th floor to the parking garage. Lu Xi shoved Xueci into the back seat and sped away. As they reached the city lights, Lu Xi calmed down. “What the hell was that thing?”

Tan Xueci looked at Lu Xi. A cold realization hit him. No one else is supposed to see these things. Why did Lu Xi see it?

Then, his phone vibrated. He covered the screen, but he had already seen the name.

The call was from Lu Xi.