Chapter 30: Immortal Guidance

So it turned out that, during the Painted Skin Ghost’s attack, the jade pendant had automatically retaliated, accidentally allowing me to consume part of the ghost and become a ghoulized being. It was now a situation of mutual destruction—there was no turning back. Mo Qingyan’s deduction had just been confirmed by the Pen Spirit.

Seeing the pencil stop, Xiaoqing asked, “Xiao-ge, is there still a chance to return to your original identity?”

The inverted middle-aged man made no movement. After a moment of silence, he released the pencil. Did that mean even he didn’t know?

Then the suspended female ghost extended her hand to grasp the pencil. A chill ran through me, sharper than before. Compared to the man’s completely hardened, corpse-like skin, the suspended girl’s skin felt slightly softer.

She dragged the pencil, drawing another circle toward “Yes.” Seeing this, my heart leapt with joy. Xiaoqing’s face brightened too—this meant I really might have a chance to regain my original identity.

But then something strange happened. I suddenly felt a strong upward force on the pencil, as if it wanted to lift it off the paper.

No! I remembered Mo Qingyan’s warning: the pencil must not leave the paper. Was the female ghost trying to possess Xiaoqing?

At that moment, a surge of spiritual power came from Mo Qingyan’s fingers. Her hand remained firmly on the pencil. No matter how hard the ghost tried, the red pencil didn’t budge.

“Pen Spirit, Pen Spirit, please be patient. Don’t play tricks on us,” Mo Qingyan said. The extra force on the pencil instantly disappeared. I realized that my own unintentional pressure had caused the pencil to scribble for a moment.

The female ghost released her grip, apparently giving up on seizing the pencil. Mo Qingyan really did have experience—she must have anticipated the Pen Spirit trying to steal control.

The room quieted. Mo Qingyan looked at me and said, “Your turn.”

“Eh? Me?” I was startled, unprepared and at a loss.

“Yes. The Pen Spirit answers questions in turn. Xiaoqing and I have asked ours; now it’s yours,” she said.

“But I haven’t prepared any questions! What should I ask?” I looked desperately at her for guidance.

“You must ask your own question. Others cannot suggest it. If I voice your question, the order changes. Ask any minor question you like—the key questions are mine,” Mo Qingyan explained.

I hesitated, looking at Xiaoqing and Mo Qingyan’s urging eyes. The two ghosts also started to stir. I had a sense that if I didn’t ask something, trouble would follow.

So I blurted out, “Pen Spirit, can we kill the Painted Skin Ghost?”

The moment I asked, I realized this might have been a bad question. If the answer was “Yes,” fine. But if it answered “No,” should I just give up and wait to die?

Even a “Yes” answer was meaningless—I still didn’t know how to kill the Painted Skin Ghost. I might as well have asked about the weather tomorrow.

Then it happened: the female ghost reached for the red pencil and dragged it toward “No.”

Xiaoqing’s face turned pale. She strained to pull the pencil back, but even with all her strength, she could only slow its movement slightly.

I saw the determination flash in Xiaoqing’s eyes. She seemed willing to break the ritual, even if it meant cursing herself, just to prevent the Pen Spirit from giving a “No” answer.

But it was pointless. If it really was impossible to kill the Painted Skin Ghost, interrupting the ritual would change nothing—I would still die, and Xiaoqing would bear the curse for nothing.

At that moment, Mo Qingyan’s sharp voice cut through the tension: “Stop! I told you—respect the Pen Spirit, but don’t believe it blindly! Don’t fall into misconceptions!”

Respect, of course, meant not disrupting the ritual or being disrespectful. And not believing blindly meant remembering that the Pen Spirit does not actually foresee the future. What it writes is only what the ghosts think or know. Even if the female ghost suggested I couldn’t kill the Painted Skin Ghost, that didn’t mean it was truly impossible.

After all, as Mo Qingyan’s research showed, there are historical records of Painted Skin Ghosts being killed. That means they can be defeated—the female ghost might simply be wrong.

I understood this clearly, and Xiaoqing quickly realized it too. She relaxed, stopping her struggle against the Pen Spirit, though sweat beaded her forehead. She had nearly panicked.

No wonder summoning the Pen Spirit is considered dangerous. Every step carries risk, especially when one’s fate is at stake. Even a small negative sign makes it almost impossible to remain calm.

Suddenly, a turn of events: the inverted man reached for the pencil again, dragging it in another direction. The red pencil began scribbling circles on the paper.

“Don’t panic. There may be multiple Pen Spirits. When they disagree, they may fight for control of the pencil. We just wait,” Mo Qingyan explained.

Two Pen Spirits in conflict? What now? Could another Pen Spirit appear to enforce majority rule?

Just then, I felt a chilling gaze on my back. My limbs suddenly went limp, no longer under my control.

Possession? I thought, remembering one of the known risks of the Pen Spirit ritual. Could a ghost already be inhabiting me?

Then my hand moved—not by my will—guiding the pencil toward “Yes.”

Unlike before, Xiaoqing’s maximum effort couldn’t alter the pencil’s path. Though I felt two opposing forces through my fingers, the pencil unerringly slid to “Yes.”

“Xiao Xiao! Don’t interfere with the Pen Spirit! Bad consequences will follow!” Mo Qingyan shouted. She could feel the unstoppable force through her own fingers.

“I—I didn’t move it! My hand moved on its own! Am I possessed?” I asked in panic.

“Shh! Show respect to the Pen Spirit. It seems a higher spirit wants to guide you. Don’t speak unnecessarily, and don’t resist it,” Mo Qingyan said, eyes shining.

A true higher spirit? I thought. I had only summoned the Pen Spirit. Behind Xiaoqing and Mo Qingyan were horrifying vengeful spirits—I had assumed the same for myself.

Finally, my hand steadied the pencil, drawing a clear circle on “Yes.” I couldn’t resist glancing back, eager to see which higher spirit was guiding me.

But what I saw made my blood run cold: a weasel, standing upright like a human, with blood-red eyes piercing the darkness like laser beams.