Chapter 27: Chaste and Faithful Man

The evil spirit finished speaking and his figure gradually faded. He Wuling furrowed his brows and shouted, “Wait!”

He hadn’t even had the chance to say anything. Was this unfilial beast so impatient to leave? Who was he off to torment now?

“I am a traditional man who follows the Three Obediences and Four Virtues; I only speak to my wife,” a bone-chillingly cold voice rang out. “If you want to find me, you should get my wife’s permission first.”

“Xiao Ci hasn’t allowed me to speak to you yet.”

“You are far too lacking in rules.”

This time, without waiting for He Wuling to open his mouth, the evil spirit completely vanished into the rainy night, successfully defending his “chastity.”

He Wuling: “…”

The dead thing is actually setting up a memorial arch for his own virtue.

He Wuling was so angry his heart ached. He had the butler help him sit down to take some medicine. Looking at the incense altar used to summon the ghost, he said irritably, “Take it away! Take it all away!”

When He Xunye returned to the room, Tan Xueci was already asleep, clutching his little sheep plushie and lying prone on the bed. His sleeping posture was quite poor; his bottom was poked up messily, and tucked under his cheek was the piece of paper where Little Snow Baby had been written and a little snowman had been drawn.

His little wife gripped that paper tightly in his hand, his cheeks flushed pink, as if clutching a comforting security blanket.

Because he had never been loved by anyone, he couldn’t even distinguish between a ghost’s greedy malice and genuine affection. He had so easily lost his heart to an evil spirit.

The ghost’s icy fingertip slipped into his mouth, stirring mercilessly a few times and bringing out a bit of saliva. Tan Xueci’s lips became damp and translucent, revealing the tip of his rosy tongue.

The ghost’s gaze paused.

Why did Baby stick his tongue out? It’s so red; it looks like it really wants to be licked.

Since Baby wanted it, there was nothing for it. Although it was a “difficult” task, the ghost could only help him lick it.

As the tip of Tan Xueci’s exposed tongue was licked by something cold and slippery, he seemed a bit uncomfortable. He turned his face in his sleep and smacked his lips, swallowing the ghost’s cold saliva along with it.

The ghost’s gloomy, deep eyes, sunken into the damp night, seemed to flicker. He truly did find Tan Xueci pitiful quite often.

He had never even had a proper kiss, yet his tongue had been licked all over by a specter, and he even had to obediently swallow the specter’s spit. Perhaps if the ghost did something even more excessive, it wouldn’t be discovered.

Or even if he did discover it, he wouldn’t dare move or refuse; he would just obediently part his lips when his tongue was being licked.

“Baby,” the ghost’s eyes seemed to harbor dark, ghostly fires. The corners of his mouth couldn’t help but lift as he whispered with malice and interest, “Are you really asleep?”

If he were to completely draw out Tan Xueci’s red, soft tongue, licking it from beginning to end and grinding their lips and tongues together, would Tan Xueci still remain as unresponsive as he was now?

Since Baby likes being licked so much, will he eventually start proactively licking me too?

Most of Tan Xueci’s face was buried under the blanket; only his flickering eyelashes were visible, and his breathing was steady and long.

In the dead of night, all was silent. The ghost’s voice was gone, but it was best if he didn’t open his eyes and just slept until dawn. Otherwise, he would see the ghost’s handsome, pale face—laden with the heavy aura of death—pressed almost against the tip of his nose.

That would shatter this peaceful night.

Tan Xueci slept fitfully, feeling as though something had crawled into his blanket in the middle of the night. However, his body felt so heavy he couldn’t get up. The next morning, when he opened his eyes, he froze for a second before suddenly snapping awake, his pale face flushing as he hugged the blanket and kicked out wildly.

There had been something ice-cold in his bed.

Tan Xueci kicked a few times before the sensation vanished. He didn’t dare sleep anymore and quickly got up to get dressed for the film set.

He felt the feng shui of the He family was far too poor. He had run into ghosts before, but never one that crawled into people’s blankets.

How scandalous.

Tan Xueci muttered a few words and headed out. Just as he arrived at the set, he received a call from his father. Tan father asked coldly, “I told you to come home, why aren’t you back yet? What are you dallying for?”

Tan Shangli was getting married in three days. Tan Xueci explained helplessly, “Father, I am still at the film set these few days.”

“I’ve seen that set of yours, people keep dying, how unlucky,” Tan father’s tone was unfriendly. “When you come back, ask the He family for a talisman or something. Don’t bring the smell of death back home.”

His tone was full of loathing as usual. He already felt Tan Xueci was unlucky, let alone now that his film set had seen deaths.

He waited for Tan Xueci to obediently agree, but an eerie voice came through the receiver: “You’re next.”

Tan Father: ???

He froze for a moment, thinking he had misheard. When he reacted, he was furious. “What did you say?!”

He always said Tan Xueci had mental problems. Even at home, he would occasionally sprout crazy words. But because Tan Xueci was like this every so often, no one thought there was an issue; at most, they thought he was having an episode. When you’re a psychiatric patient, everything you do is seen through that lens, making it “reasonable.”

“Father,” Tan Xueci tapped the microphone and asked in a dazed, obedient voice, “What is it?”

Tan Father hung up the phone.

Tan Xueci’s little face also fell. He didn’t actually want to go back. His eldest brother was getting married for the third time. The first wife was supposedly a childhood sweetheart, but they didn’t have a child after three years.

Mother Tan always wanted another child. Since she couldn’t give birth anymore, she wanted Tan Shangli or Tan Yanning to provide one.

the Tan family didn’t allow a daughter-in-law who couldn’t conceive.

Thus, Tan Shangli was forced to divorce. He remarried within a year, but still had no child, resulting in another divorce.

This time, he was marrying the daughter of a business partner—another arranged marriage.

Tan Xueci didn’t think further on it. He put down his phone and waited to film.

The crew had finally managed to continue shooting, but the director He Biansheng’s expression was very ugly. A post on a paranormal forum was specifically discussing their crew, claiming more strange things would happen.

[They were brave enough to film at Jiahe Private Academy. That school already has so many urban legends—like seeing a white school bus at the gate at night.]

[It’s probably because of that dismemberment case a few years ago. A girl at Jiahe Private was dismembered. They only found one leg at the school back then; supposedly the rest of the body hasn’t been found to this day.]

[I heard that after she died, several more people died in that school successively. They say it was seven. Don’t know if it’s true, but the next year Yulong Hotpot nearby exploded and seven people died. That was on the news. A curse, it’s definitely a curse. I bet this film crew will lose seven people too!]

He Biansheng panted heavily, his eyes red as he stared at the post. They had already lost one actor and one investor. The remaining people were the lead actors, the third male lead, himself, and the assistant director. Wasn’t this cursing them to die?!

The assistant director tried to look on the bright side. “Director He, look at it this way—our crew is famous now. Isn’t that good?”

“Bullshit!” He Biansheng roared. “Can you have some ambition?! When other crews go out, they have big investments and famous actors. Us? Hey, our actors run into ghosts. Does that sound right?!”

Damn, the director is completely livid.

The assistant director didn’t dare speak further and scurried away.

He Biansheng looked at the set with a gloomy face. He had the crew help stick up hundreds of talismans, then he picked up a basin of dark, murky liquid and called the actors over. “Everyone knows we’ve had a lot of trouble lately. We wrap in a month. For everyone’s sake, let’s drive away the evil.”

“Director He,” an extra asked curiously, “what’s in that basin?”

He Biansheng said, “Black dog blood.”

In many places, black dog blood is smeared on doors or foreheads to ward off evil. In He Biansheng’s hometown, the custom was to splash a circle of it around a person to keep specters out.

“I won’t need it,” Wen Yaochuan raised his hand and waved it. “When I was filming before, a priest from Mount Lao drew an exorcism charm on my palm. I’m not afraid of these things.”

The other actors looked at each other. Those who believed sought peace of mind; those who didn’t didn’t dare defy the director.

In the end, they all lined up.

When it was Tan Xueci’s turn, the director splashed a ladle of black blood onto his shoes. Tan Xueci didn’t have time to dodge; the thick, dark blood flowed down his shoes to the soles. His trousers were also splattered. It didn’t feel like warding off evil; it felt like driving him away as if he were the bad luck.

He Biansheng paused but didn’t apologize. His triangular eyes were sharp and gloomy. “You have a heavy evil aura. Splashing more won’t hurt.”

He hadn’t splashed Tan Xueci on purpose, but to put it bluntly, he truly felt the ghosts in the crew were drawn there by him.

He knew Tan Xueci was a child of the Tan family; he’d heard he was locked up precisely because he was too “unlucky” and affected their business.

He Biansheng lowered his eyelids coldly. If someone hadn’t insisted on Tan Xueci being in the cast, he wouldn’t have invited this trouble. Splashing him by mistake might even have a better effect.

He stared at the black blood on Tan Xueci and frowned. “We’re about to start filming. Go clean up.”

Black dog blood became thick and cold after a while. Tan Xueci’s feet felt very uncomfortable, so he could only lower his head and go change.

“Xiao Ci,” Wen Yaochuan followed and handed him a towel. His obsidian earring glinted coldly under the lights. His young, arrogant face was full of concern. “Are you okay?”

Tan Xueci shook his head and whispered, “Thank you.”

He was used to being treated this way; he was almost numb to it. He didn’t even think the director was being excessive—perhaps it really was his fault. He drew ghosts to his home, and then to the set.

“The yin energy on you is too heavy,” Wen Yaochuan said solemnly in a low voice. “I can feel it even without ‘yin-yang eyes.’ There’s something unclean around you. If you need, I can introduce you to my master—the priest I met while filming. He might be able to solve this for you.”

…A priest?

Tan Xueci looked up at Wen Yaochuan. Sensing that Tan Xueci didn’t trust him, Wen Yaochuan smirked and said, “No rush. It shouldn’t cause you too much harm for the time being. Message me when you’ve made up your mind.”

He gazed at Tan Xueci’s pale profile and the watery exhaustion and fear in his eyes. Licking his canine tooth, he said, “I’ll wait for you.”

Tan Xueci hadn’t had much contact with priests; he was more familiar with monks. His mother was a Buddhist, and monks often visited their home. She would take A-Yan to perform rites that lasted hours, lit an “everlasting lamp” for him, and even had him worship a statue as a godfather—though it wasn’t exactly a godfather.

Tan Xueci didn’t understand it well, but the point was there was worship. For over ten years, the incense at home had never ceased, day or night.

It was supposedly to ensure A-Yan’s longevity and protection from all evil.

He was hesitant and currently had no plan. Once Wen Yaochuan left, he was about to take off his shoes to wipe his feet when a large, pale hand reached out and gripped his ankle. The person removed his shoe and began to wipe his foot clean, bit by bit.

“Hubby!” Tan Xueci was startled at first, but his eyes brightened once he realized who it was. He called out in a small voice.

He Xunye knelt before him, resting Tan Xueci’s foot on his knee. He picked up a fresh sock and put it on him, smiling like a gentle phantom. “Baby, are your feet cold?”

Tan Xueci felt a bit flustered being held by the foot. With reddening ears, he curled his toes; his snowy toes stepped on He Xunye’s knee like little clam shells, opening and closing occasionally.

He couldn’t be blamed for thinking he was dreaming, because He Xunye appeared every time he was mistreated. The man would always call him “Baby” so gently, as if he would do anything for his happiness. If kindness counted as love, He Xunye surely loved him more than everyone in the world combined.

“Not cold.” Tan Xueci’s snowy toes were curled until they were red, and his eyes were also rimmed with red. He reached out for a hug.

He Xunye pulled him into his arms.

“Hubby,” Tan Xueci huddled in his embrace, the cold arms becoming his sanctuary. He hugged He Xunye and complained in a small voice, “I was bullied again.”

His voice was both sticky and hoarse as he couldn’t help but ask gloomily, “If no one likes me, why was I born?”

It felt as if he were born only to suffer.

The ghost’s dark peach-blossom eyes were deep and murky. He still felt he should devour Tan Xueci.

If Tan Xueci merged with him, he would no longer feel pain—but no one would go to dig up his grave in the middle of the night anymore, either.

Tan Xueci waited for a long time, but He Xunye didn’t speak. He lowered his head in discouragement. Ever since he found out He Xunye was a professor, he had a mysterious respect for him. He was a dummy himself, so he liked people who were good at studying. But if even his professor husband couldn’t answer his question, perhaps he was just meant to suffer.

“Then I will love you,” He Xunye suddenly spoke.

Tan Xueci froze.

The evil spirit looked up, wiped away his tears, and curled his thin, crimson lips. “Doesn’t Xiao Ci want someone to love him? Then I will love you. Hubby will try his best.”

Sadly, specters have no feelings; they only tell lies. He Wuling wasn’t wrong: humans are humans, and ghosts are ghosts. He was merely an evil spirit with overwhelming resentment.

If it weren’t for Tan Xueci, he wouldn’t care at all about the ghosts haunting the set; he would look forward to it becoming a living hell.

But Tan Xueci was his. It was best for him to stay by his side forever—obedient, soft, and clingy like this. In that case, he could fulfill a small wish for his wife.

“Ah?” Tan Xueci asked in confusion, tears hanging from his lashes.

The ghost’s fingers were icy as he caressed the snowy, slender ankle, promising: “I’ll date you.”

Tan Xueci was dazed. Why date? Aren’t we already married?

“Hubby has agreed to date you,” the ghost saw nothing wrong with it. His voice was low and dark, and his gaze lingered stickily on Tan Xueci’s confused, slightly parted red lips. He coaxed, “Shouldn’t Baby give Hubby a reward too?”

For example, proactively giving him his tongue to “eat.”