Chapter 43: Touch Me

Tan Xueci held his breath, unwilling to share the same air with a dead man. He planned to slip away from the bed the moment He Xunye wasn’t paying attention.

Miss you? In your dreams.

He wasn’t crazy enough to miss a malevolent spirit. He only wished for He Xunye to be exorcised and locked away forever in Leifeng Pagoda.

“Xiao Xue didn’t want to see me,” the ghost whispered. His eyes were blood-red, and his large, icy hand cradled Tan Xueci’s cheek, kneading it like a small piece of dough, though the movement was slow and suggestive. “You should have given my spirit tablet to Yu Qingxu. Then I wouldn’t have been able to come find you for at least ten days or half a month.”

Only ten days or half a month?

Tan Xueci bit his lip, the crimson flesh sinking under his teeth. He really had been cheated; Yu Qingxu was as useless as they came. At least the monk hadn’t charged him any money.

“Look at me.” The ghost seemed dissatisfied that Tan Xueci was looking away. He clamped his hand around Tan Xueci’s jaw, forcing his face back to meet his own. His thumb brushed over Tan Xueci’s cheek.

Tan Xueci broke out in goosebumps and wanted to scream, but even if he did, no one would help him. Who would believe that He Xunye was actually dead—a malevolent spirit crawled back from hell?

He worried that if He Xunye were truly vulnerable and Yu Qingxu actually managed to kill him, what would happen? He didn’t want to give himself to He Xunye, but he hadn’t intended to kill him either.

Even though he was a dead man, if he truly vanished, who would replace him as a husband?

If only He Xunye could be my husband without me actually having to be with him, Tan Xueci thought, his long lashes drooping as he pursed his lips sullenly.

“Why aren’t you speaking?” the ghost asked, his dark, thick eyes lifting and his lips curling. “What did you give him?”

Tan Xueci had been fumbling to escape, but before he could move, He Xunye grabbed his shoulders and pinned him down.

In an instant, Tan Xueci’s scalp felt tight. The sensation of a man leaning over and pressing down on him was incredibly eerie, especially one so much larger and stronger. He was completely obscured by He Xunye; looking over the man’s broad back, one wouldn’t even be able to see Tan Xueci.

His pale face flushed deep red. He bit his lip, refusing to make a sound, trying to curl up on his side. But the ghost’s pale, bony hand reached out without warning and squeezed his neck.

“Ugh…” Tan Xueci froze, not daring to move further. His eyes went wide, staring at He Xunye in terror.

The ghost didn’t apply much pressure; he just rubbed the soft neck as if playing with a favorite doll. But the doll didn’t feel loved; he only felt hair-raising horror, as if he were being watched by something frigid and utterly greedy. He felt as though his clothes were being stripped away by the ghost’s gaze alone.

The village was cold, and Tan Xueci was wearing a thick white sweater, but every time He Xunye looked at him, he felt naked and exposed.

“Little Sheep,” the ghost’s voice was tender. “Speak.”

It felt as if He Xunye would strangle him if he didn’t open his mouth.

A ghost’s voice was usually low and blurred, carrying a chill, but He Xunye’s voice must have been beautiful when he was alive. Even as a malevolent spirit, it wasn’t sharp like others.

When He Xunye called him “Little Sheep” with that low, smiling tone, even though his hands were as cold as ice, Tan Xueci felt the skin where he was being touched growing hotter.

His face was beet red as he was pinned down. His slender waist slipped from beneath the hem of his sweater, revealing a pair of snowy dimples on his lower back.

The ghost’s icy breath suddenly grew heavy.

Tan Xueci had no experience with this. Though he knew He Xunye wanted him, he had never faced a man’s desire like this before. He didn’t understand the danger in those eyes.

He was still secretly resentful of his own name. He felt cursed by it—why was he “Xueci” (Snowy Mercy)? Why was he being soft-hearted toward a ghost?

Years ago, an old monk had given him the character “Ci” (Mercy). Back then, Gao Ying and Tan Chongchuan thought the monk was a master and that their family would be safe, so they treated him okay for a few days. They weren’t as kind as they used to be, but at least they let him eat with them and didn’t lock the attic door.

But within days, Gao Ying had shoved his head into a bathtub, and Tan Chongchuan had nearly kicked him to death.

Shortly after Gao Ying was discharged from the hospital, Tan Chongchuan had Auntie Zhang take him to the psychiatric department. The doctor diagnosed him with severe schizophrenia and said he needed immediate hospitalization.

Tan Xueci stayed in that hospital for nearly half a year. He was tied to a small bed in a room with a tiny window.

Occasionally, a doctor would come in and connect his body to an electric current—the kind that felt like needles stabbing the skin but wasn’t lethal. Even his face hurt from the shocks. Cold sweat poured down him, and his lashes clumped together. He was so thin that his snowy ribs stuck out, his body drenched in sweat.

That was Xie Yun’s teacher.

“Not enough, increase it,” the teacher had told Xie Yun. “Record his physical data.”

Xie Yun agreed. Tan Xueci remembered hearing Xie Yun ask him, “Xiao Ci, do you want to go home? Do you hate them?”

He didn’t understand why they suddenly hated him. He kept thinking that maybe one day they would like him again. Mommy used to be so good to him. When he was sick as a child, she would hold him all night. He thought if she knew where he was, she would come to take him home immediately.

He turned his head away, unwilling to acknowledge Xie Yun, tears streaming down his pale cheeks. His whole body ached, and his beautiful eyes grew dull.

Xie Yun saw his lips moving and leaned in to hear him whimpering for his “Mommy.”

Since then, Tan Xueci’s life—already like that of a small mouse—had added a bi-annual session of electroconvulsive therapy. He felt the old monk must have secretly cursed him.

Tan Xueci’s heart felt green with regret. He should have given the tablet to Yu Qingxu. Then he wouldn’t be getting his neck squeezed by this man-ghost right now.

He had given Yu Qingxu the paper where He Xunye had written “Xiao Xue Baby” and drawn a snowman. He had even stingily picked off the words and the drawing first, handing Yu Qingxu a mangled, wrinkled scrap of paper.

Yu Qingxu had thought he was being provocative, but upon sensing the lingering aura of both Tan Xueci and the spirit on the paper, he had just glanced at him and said nothing more.

“How can my baby be so stupid?” the ghost laughed softly, pinching Tan Xueci’s soft cheek into a “chicken beak” shape before leaning down to kiss him.

He pulled that scrap of paper from under the pillow—he had taken it back from Yu Qingxu. His wife’s things belonged with him.

Tan Xueci had clutched that paper to sleep for days, rubbing his face against it. The paper carried a faint scent.

Seeing the paper, Tan Xueci felt a sudden wave of guilt. His lashes trembled, and his dark eyes darted around uneasily. He thought He Xunye was going to settle the score.

So many people hate me already; one more doesn’t matter.

He just didn’t know if He Xunye would hit him or scold him. His eyes reddened. If He Xunye hit him, he wouldn’t be “good” to him anymore—though they weren’t exactly on good terms to begin with.

For some reason, though he was used to being slapped by Tan Chongchuan and the others, the thought of He Xunye hitting him made him want to jump into the Yan River and drown. He had promised to be his husband, and a husband shouldn’t hit him.

Tan Xueci wiped a tear. He was indeed bad—he had called a Taoist and fed the ghost glutinous rice—but he only allowed himself to be mean to He Xunye; he didn’t allow He Xunye to be mean to him.

He Xunye cradled his wife’s face, wiping away the tears. Then he reached out and casually patted his wife’s bottom. His dark eyes curved. “If I could be killed so easily by that old man, how could I be Xiao Xue’s husband?”

Tan Xueci’s mind was wandering. He felt unwell and wanted his medication; his legs moved restlessly.

He didn’t quite understand He Xunye’s words at first, just staring at him blankly from the ghost’s embrace.

“You have to find a very powerful husband, right?” The ghost poked his cheek and smiled. “Xiao Xue is so smart. How can my baby be so smart? Let hubby have a kiss, okay?”

He was showing his true colors now.

Tan Xueci didn’t understand. He pressed his hands against He Xunye’s chest, annoyed at being poked. But He Xunye hadn’t hit him or even scolded him. It was as if no matter what he did, He Xunye would find an excuse for him. Even when he couldn’t, he would just say, “It doesn’t matter what Xiao Xue does to me.”

He was like a “love-brain” who gets slapped and then tells people, “You don’t understand, he’s usually very good to me.”

Tan Xueci knew He Xunye was coaxing him, but he couldn’t resist such flattery. He soon began to puff up with pride.

Exactly! If I’m being haunted, why can’t I find a Taoist? If He Xunye gets captured, it’s because he’s useless. What does it have to do with me?

Tan Xueci was the kind of child who, even if he went to school, wouldn’t have had good grades. He could only think of one thing at a time.

For instance, as he was thinking bad things about He Xunye, he failed to notice his soft backside was now in the ghost’s palm. He even received a few light swats.

When he finally reacted, he nearly screamed. He felt as though his bottom must be red. He shoved He Xunye away, jumped off the bed, and ran.

However, before he could reach the door, the ghost grabbed his waist and pinned him against the wood. Their lips and tongues met, blocking his protest. Before he could push back, he heard footsteps approaching outside. The ghost cupped his face and, while kissing him, slowly melted into his body.

Tan Xueci blankly wiped his lips, looking around in a panic.

Where did he go?

He really seemed to be inside him.

“Xiao Ci,” Qin Shuyao walked in. Seeing Tan Xueci spinning around alone, she asked, “What are you doing?”

Qin Shuyao had trouble sleeping, and the heated bed was too hot. She couldn’t sleep, so while the stream was off, she had gone out for a cigarette. She had run into Xiao Cai and played cat’s cradle with her for a bit. Upon entering, she found Tan Xueci acting strange.

“No…” Tan Xueci stammered. “Nothing.”

Qin Shuyao walked toward him. On the wall behind him was a faded map. She smiled and asked, “Hey, where is Yanxia Village located?”

Tan Xueci turned around, his palms sweating. There were so many words on the map, and he didn’t recognize them. He didn’t know which “Yan” it was.

He panicked. It’s over. Qin Shuyao is going to find out I’m a little fool.

He stared at the map blankly, his beautiful eyes moist. His face was thin, making him look much younger than his actual age. He looked like a helpless, pitiful child.

“Alright,” Qin Shuyao’s gaze softened. She reached out and patted his head. Her palm was warm as she smiled. “If you can’t find it, don’t worry about it. It’s not that important.”

Tan Xueci was confused. As she left, he suddenly heard a voice: “Stupid.”

Something is talking in my head!

He remembered He Xunye was still inside him, but he couldn’t dig him out. He could only whisper: “Hus… hubby, come out, please.”

“Why?” the ghost’s voice echoed in his mind.

Tan Xueci called him “hubby” several times with tears in his eyes before He Xunye finally appeared before him.

The ghost embraced him, resting his chin on Tan Xueci’s head. His icy voice sighed: “It’s very warm inside Xiao Xue.”

His tone was strange. Tan Xueci felt it wasn’t a “good” thing. He stiffened and looked up. “What do you mean?”

He Xunye didn’t answer. Instead, he took Tan Xueci’s hand and pulled him close, whispering hoarsely: “Baby, touch me.”

Touch what?

Tan Xueci blankly followed the other’s lead and pressed his hand down. His mind went instantly white.

He saw the suppressed, dark expression on the ghost’s handsome face. The man let out a cold, raspy, low gasp—unabashed. To Tan Xueci, it sounded scandalous.

“…” Tan Xueci yanked his hand away, his face turning a shade of red that looked like it might drip blood. He turned and ran. He crouched on the steps, frantically washing his hands with rainwater until his palms were raw and red.

He almost scrubbed a layer of skin off. When he turned around, he saw the sheep pen. Several lambs were bleating, trying to gnaw on some thick, large corn cobs hanging outside.

Tan Xueci stood up abruptly, his beautiful face grave and solemn, and threw those dirty corn cobs aside.

Just as he finished, the other guests began to wake up. It was raining too hard to film outside, so they stayed indoors, helping Uncle Zhang with paper crafts.

By the time Tan Xueci dawdled back in, He Xunye had already made a palm-sized paper effigy. it looked lifelike.

The older generation’s paper crafts emphasized realism. It was said that the more lifelike they were, the better they would serve the deceased in the underworld. The mass-produced paper cars from factories often ended up as just scraps of paper in the afterlife.

Uncle Zhang had never seen a young person with such skill and couldn’t help but stare curiously.

[My god, that’s a bit creepy.] [I feel like that paper effigy is watching me…]

He Xunye’s paper crafts carried a ghostly aura. They just lacked eyes; if he painted the eyes, they would come to life, just like the ones from the wedding procession.

The other guests crowded around to look, but Tan Xueci stayed far away, afraid of catching some “evil energy.”

He avoided He Xunye all afternoon. After dinner, it was his and He Xunye’s turn to wash the dishes. He carried the water basin outside and crouched under the eaves to scrub, still ignoring He Xunye.

“Xiao Xue,” the ghost sounded somewhat troubled as he followed him. He spoke gently and considerately: “I drove here in a storm to find you, but you’re ignoring your husband. People will think you’re a ‘scumbag,’ and you’ll lose followers on Weibo.”

“…” What?!

Tan Xueci paused. His beautiful dark eyes went wide. He wrinkled his face and thought about it. He Xunye seemed to have a point, so he stopped trying to chase him away.

“Let me wash them,” the ghost laughed softly, his chest vibrating as he reached out to help.

“I don’t need you,” Tan Xueci quickly shielded the basin. What if the cameraman comes to film and sees me slacking off?

Tan Xueci scrubbed the plates diligently, his thin, pale hands covered in suds. He was being clever—he wanted everyone to see how hard he was working and think He Xunye was bullying him.

The ghost laughed softly again, sitting lazily nearby like a landlord supervising a hardworking laborer-sheep. Tan Xueci felt annoyed again.

As he crouched there scrubbing, his gaze fell right on He Xunye’s waist and below. Tan Xueci froze. He slammed the rag into the water, his ears turning beet red. He snapped: “Are you sick?!”

It had been seven or eight hours. Even though Tan Xueci didn’t usually react to things, he knew this was not normal.

My god, rigor mortis.

He Xunye’s phoenix eyes flicked toward him. His lips were an icy red. His tone betrayed no worry as he said: “It seems I am sick. What should I do? Will Xiao Xue help hubby take a look?”

Tan Xueci wasn’t going to fall for that. He held up a steel wool scrubber and handed it to He Xunye. In a timid, seemingly well-meaning voice, he suggested: “Hubby, why don’t you use this to rub it?”

“Too hard,” the ghost said, looking down. “It hurts.”

“…” And he’s being picky.

What a delicate dead guy.

Tan Xueci’s snowy face was full of “concern” for his sick husband, but his tone was a clenched-teeth hiss: “Hubby can use his hands. Don’t you have hands?”

“Too cold,” the ghost remained fussy. “Uncomfortable.”

You want to be comfortable?!

Tan Xueci’s eyes darted. He leaned over He Xunye’s knees and offered an excited, malicious suggestion: “Hubby, why don’t you go sleep with He Sui instead? Since you’re both interested in men’s backsides. Don’t worry, I don’t mind.”

“Don’t say such disgusting things,” the ghost’s brow furrowed. He shoved a finger into Tan Xueci’s mouth, touching his wet, red throat. His voice was terrifyingly tender: “Otherwise, I’ll take you right here.”

Tan Xueci whimpered and tried to pull away, but another pale ghost-hand appeared from behind him, pinching his cheeks to force his mouth open.

Only after the cold finger had stirred all around his tongue did the ghost withdraw. That finger was covered in Tan Xueci’s saliva.

“I can’t wait to truly become husband and wife with you,” the ghost whispered. Redness swirled in his dark eyes. Seeing Tan Xueci try to run, he stood up and cornered him. The man’s tall silhouette was oppressive in the storm. He said gently: “Xiao Xue, you should give me some sweetness. Otherwise, my patience won’t last much longer.”

Tan Xueci didn’t dare say a word. He didn’t know what “sweetness” He Xunye wanted, so he just nodded and shook his head frantically.

“Xiao Xue,” the ghost took his wife’s hand and kissed the back of it, then reinserted his finger into Tan Xueci’s mouth. He looked at him, his overly red lips curving. “Pick for yourself, okay?”

With He Xunye’s cold finger in his mouth, Tan Xueci’s tongue moved uncontrollably, making the finger even wetter.

His gaze was hazy. What does he mean? He understood “hands”—that was an instinctual thing he knew how to do. But why was He Xunye touching his tongue?

Tan Xueci felt as if He Xunye had stirred his brain as well, making it impossible to think. It must be kissing.

He would definitely choose kissing. Who would want to touch that part of someone with their hands—especially a ghost’s?

Tan Xueci whimpered quickly, signaling He Xunye to pick that one.

“…” The ghost’s smile widened, contrasting with his pale skin like a vengeful spirit fresh from a grave. He asked: “Is Xiao Xue sure? No regrets?”

Tan Xueci felt something was off, but maybe it was just a trick to get him to choose the other option.

When He Xunye withdrew his finger, his tongue was still a bit numb. He nodded quickly. “That one.”

“Alright,” the ghost said, seemingly very considerate of his wife. He smiled at Tan Xueci and made a promise: “Then Xiao Xue should come find me tonight. Or I will come find you.”

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