Chapter 25: Senior Sister Mo

A funeral couplet is meant to mourn the deceased, usually displayed during funerals or memorials. Its purpose is to express grief, highlight the deceased’s achievements and virtues, and reflect on their impact on the living. Typically, it is written on white silk and hung on either side of a wreath.

But this particular couplet was completely different. It didn’t mention virtues, achievements, or the sorrow of descendants. It focused entirely on grief and tragedy, and, in a strange inversion, was written on red cloth in the format of a Spring Festival couplet. The result was extremely unnatural.

Xiaoqing solemnly pasted the couplet on the blank white wall and handed me the horizontal scroll. “Help me put this at the top. You’re a bit taller than me.”

“Xiaoqing, what are you doing? There’s nothing here,” I asked nervously. Sticking a funeral couplet on a completely empty wall in this deserted corridor seemed utterly eerie. I couldn’t help but wonder if Xiaoqing herself had been possessed by some sinister force.

“Don’t worry, just follow my instructions. This is the only way to see the real Paranormal Investigation Club. At first, I was scared just like you, but you’ll get used to it. Only in such a hidden place can we protect you from the Painted Skin Ghost,” Xiaoqing reassured me.

Her explanation calmed me slightly, though the act still felt creepy. What exactly was the “real” Paranormal Investigation Club, and why did it require such a bizarre ritual to enter?

I had no choice. Standing on tiptoe, I placed the horizontal scroll above the couplet. My alignment wasn’t perfect, but it landed exactly in the center—perhaps even if I had used a ruler or ladder, this would have been the result.

“Done. What next?” I asked, noticing Xiaoqing now take out a square red paper. Normally, this would be the “Fu” character placed at the center of a door, sometimes upside-down to symbolize that “good fortune has arrived.”

But this paper bore a “double happiness” character , typically used for weddings. There was no wedding here, and placing in a location already decorated with two somber funeral couplets was bizarre. It made no sense whatsoever.

When Xiaoqing placed the character at the center of the couplet, I suddenly saw black mist seeping from the wall—eerily similar to the malevolent aura I had noticed yesterday.

The black mist vaguely formed the shape of a door. Xiaoqing pushed forward, and the door opened. She turned to me and said, “Come in. This is the real Paranormal Investigation Club.”

The moment I stepped through this impossible door, a chill ran through me, reminiscent of the ghostly presence I had felt at school last night. It was as if I had stepped from the world of the living into the underworld.

Inside, I finally saw the club’s full interior. The room was spacious but had no windows and no lights, only a few candles on the tables and floor providing dim illumination.

On the black floor was a pentagram, surrounded by various mystical tools emanating faint spiritual energy: a rotating six-arts divination disc, pendulums swaying in glass cases, and a crystal ball with flowing mist inside.

Against the walls were other items that sent shivers down my spine—human skulls, Japanese dolls, red paper wedding garments, and more. Each artifact made my skin crawl.

No wonder Xiaoqing had said this was the “real” club—it was not a place for ordinary students to see, and its origin might not even be entirely legitimate.

In the center of the room sat a calm young woman with long black hair. She was of average height and appearance, but her aura was remarkable. Wearing black-rimmed glasses, she was absorbed in a book, marking passages with a pencil.

“Senior Mo, I’ve brought her. This is my childhood friend, Luo Xiao. After the Painted Skin Ghost attacked, he became… Xia Yubing,” Xiaoqing introduced.

I was surprised—I recognized the club leader. She was Mo Qingyan, a third-year student council officer, who had once come to our class to talk about the school anniversary events.

Mo Qingyan closed her book, adjusted her glasses, and looked at me. Light seemed to shimmer off her lenses. I didn’t know what to say, so I stood still, letting her examine me.

After a moment, she frowned. “Strange… very strange.”

“What’s strange?” I asked, unable to hide my curiosity.

“You’re still human, at least from my perspective,” Mo Qingyan said bluntly.

“Of course I’m human! I’m not dead, so I can’t be a ghost,” I started to argue, but my confidence wavered. Mo Qingyan didn’t speak lightly—she wouldn’t say something without basis.

“Being alive doesn’t necessarily make you human. Many who survive attacks by spirits become infused with ghostly energy or cursed, turning into monsters. Especially you…”

She paused, then continued, “Especially since you wore the skin of a Painted Skin Ghost, transforming into a girl. Do you think any human could do that?”

Sweat dripped down my back. Xiaoqing quickly spoke for me: “Senior Mo, don’t scare him. Not everyone who is attacked by a ghost becomes a monster. Some people retain their sanity and humanity even after partially absorbing ghostly energy, right?”

“Yes. At first, I thought that might be the case. Some people survive ghost attacks, absorbing a portion of the spirit’s power—scholars call them ‘ghouls.’ I assumed you were a ghoul,” Mo Qingyan explained.

“Xiaoqing said you survived wearing the Painted Skin Ghost’s skin and could see demons and spirits. That sounded like a ghoul’s story. But…”

“I’ve researched countless records and legends about Painted Skin Ghosts. There is not a single documented case of a human donning a ghost’s skin and merging with it. Nor has any ghoul ever emerged from such an incident.”

Mo Qingyan closed the book she had been reading. Its cover depicted a malicious spirit drawing on a human skin with an eyebrow pencil. The book’s title: “Collected Painted Skin Cases.”

Beside her desk were more books, all related to Painted Skin Ghosts. Clearly, after Xiaoqing and Mo Qingyan discussed my situation, she had thoroughly consulted all references.

Her methodical approach gave me some confidence—at least she didn’t speak recklessly but relied on research before answering.

“No way… not a single case? Could it be that no one discovered it, or it just wasn’t recorded?” Xiaoqing asked anxiously.

“It’s unlikely. Several records mention destroying Painted Skin Ghosts and seizing their skins. Attempts were made, but no one could wear the skin to impersonate another person, let alone merge with it,” Mo Qingyan replied.