Chapter Two: Redirecting Calamity Eastward

Chapter Two

The door was pulled open. In the mournful wailing of the strange wind, the flame inside the lantern burned an eerie, pale white. Its light didn’t bring any comfort; on the contrary, it cast an indescribable chill throughout the room.

Yet, this very chill now gave the two brothers, Wujiu and his sibling, a profound sense of reassurance.

Seeing that the lantern’s light had not gone out, relief washed over them. Under the ghastly glow, they managed a nervous smile. But before they could utter a word, a sudden gale swept through.

Amid the howling wind, the lantern—claimed by Paper Man Zhang to be unextinguishable—swayed violently. Then, upon its surface, a bizarre black human face appeared. Twisted by pain and malice, its eyes rolled to glance at the two in the room, and then, with a sharp crack, the shadow exploded.

The moment the black ghostly face shattered, the once-sturdy human-skin lantern burst apart. The tiny flame within, no larger than a peanut, stood no chance against the wind and was snuffed out with a faint pop.

Instantly, darkness engulfed the house.

Their smiles froze, and the brothers felt as if they had been plunged into an icy abyss.

A pair of blood-curdling screams tore through the silence, one after the other.

The moment the light went out, their shelter was gone; the ghost would sense the presence of the two and coil around them, draining their very life force until nothing remained.

Despairing, the two awaited death. The braver elder brother, having lost all will to resist, collapsed to the floor.

What they did not know was that, at the very instant the human-skin lantern was destroyed, the Investiture of the Gods tablet on Zhao Fusheng’s body was reactivated.

As the tablet restarted, the blackened plaque hanging under the eaves outside the residence was as if wiped clean by unseen hands, revealing three hazy characters: Demon Suppression Office.

Thunder crashed all night. The twin brothers within the office, certain of their doom, waited in terror. Yet no further horrors befell them. As dawn broke, the storm faded, and even a crimson glow gathered around the rising sun—a rare promise of fine weather.

The brothers, red-eyed and haggard, sat back to back.

“Brother—” Wujiu called, his voice hoarse from the night’s screams. “Do you think the calamity has passed?”

He turned to his elder sibling as he spoke.

Wujiu’s face was deathly pale, his eyes swollen and bloodshot. His brother fared no better—drenched, disheveled, lips cracked and blistered from a night of fear and hopelessness.

“Perhaps… perhaps it has…” The man nodded, trying to move his legs. After squatting all night, they were numb and stabbed with pain at the slightest movement. Yet, thinking the disaster was over, hope flickered in his eyes. “We can’t stay in the Demon Suppression Office of Wanan County any longer. The nearby ghost domains are growing. The court must have abandoned this place. We need to find a new path—”

As they discussed their next move, a pale hand emerged from the filthy white cloth atop the wooden plank at the center of the room. The shroud was lifted, revealing Zhao Fusheng’s exhausted, ashen face.

She was ghastly pale, her head pounding with sharp pain.

Upon waking, her gaze was confused, fixed on the gaping hole in the ceiling, fragments of last night’s tangled dreams still swirling in her mind.

Zhao Fusheng felt as if she had slept for ages.

She’d been overworked for so long—her mind always taut, never truly at rest. It had been ages since she’d last slept deeply.

Perhaps she was too stressed. Though she slept long and hard, the quality was poor—plagued by bizarre dreams.

In her dream, an accident struck her rented apartment. At the brink of death, her soul traveled to a place called the Han Dynasty, inhabiting the body of a girl with the same name. Her parents sold her cheaply into a place called the Demon Suppression Office.

At first, Zhao Fusheng was delighted—she thought she’d finally escaped hardship, with food and clothing secured.

For reasons unknown, fortune seemed to favor her at first—finding silver coins, receiving food when hungry. But good luck comes with a price. Misfortune soon followed.

Her initial windfalls gave way to injuries—first minor falls, then broken limbs. Her body grew inexplicably cold, and she felt some terrifying presence lurking ever closer.

The two brothers who’d bought her eyed her strangely, often whispering together, casting glances as if she were already dead.

Terrified, Zhao Fusheng found her ailments worsening, her injuries more severe. She lived in constant fear, sleepless, the chill creeping closer to her back.

Often, her shoulders and back felt unbearably heavy, as if some invisible presence clung to her.

In this state of dread, tragedy struck—her parents died in a ghostly calamity.

For some reason, her first thought was of her own mysterious misfortune. The more she dwelled on it, the more frightened she became.

The day her parents’ bodies were brought to Wanan County, she was utterly distraught but ultimately could not escape her fate.

That day, sensing disaster, she had not slept for days. Trembling, she felt an unnatural cold closing in behind her. Instinctively, she turned—

A shadow stood there, silent and still.

Her pupils quivered, but before she could scream, the ghostly figure reached for her.

A black hand pierced through her back, tearing apart her chest and abdomen, ripping through her throat and lungs.

In a flash, Zhao Fusheng was eviscerated—dead.

The last thing she remembered was a grayish ghost hand rending her throat, blood spraying as it appeared before her eyes.

Her pupils contracted. She had been killed by a ghost.

The suffocation and agony of death still lingered in her mind. Only belatedly did she clutch her neck, exhaling the breath trapped in her chest.

“It was just a nightmare,” she told herself, though unease lingered. The dream had felt too real.

As clarity returned, she immediately noticed something strange.

Above her was not the whitewashed ceiling of her rented room but several blackened beams, thick with cobwebs.

Most striking was the gaping hole above, a meter wide, through which sunlight slanted, illuminating floating dust.

A sense of dread welled up. She felt the surface beneath her.

It was no cheap bed, but a crude, hard wooden plank.

Zhao Fusheng sat up. Before her eyes lay a bloodstained white cloth. On either side of her were similar boards, each draped with white cloth, two human shapes just visible underneath.

A chilling thought flashed through her mind: Father, mother!

No—these were Zhao Fusheng’s parents. After her death was reported, the Fan brothers of the Demon Suppression Office had arranged for the bodies to be delivered.

Memories surfaced unbidden: because she was tainted by the supernatural, her entire bloodline had fallen victim to ghostly calamities.

Her hand trembled; her face grew even paler.

At that moment, voices drifted in from outside.

Thinking no one else remained in the residence, the two men spoke without lowering their voices.

“Brother,” one called, shifting uneasily. “According to Paper Man Zhang, this ghost trades fate for life. Once ‘it’ latches on, it drains the fortune of the entire family and doesn’t leave until all are dead.”

“The Demon Suppression Office is proof—almost everyone here died because of it. After diverting disaster, the Zhao family perished as well. But we survived the night—does that mean the ordeal is over? Are we finally free?”

Suddenly, a name surfaced in Zhao Fusheng’s mind: Fan Wujiu. A young man’s face flashed before her—one she somehow recognized, as if they’d met before.

As her heart pounded, another voice replied, “Normally, after a ghost kills, unless someone else triggers its rules, we’re free. After all, when the lantern went out last night, nothing happened to us—”

The brothers had a way to discern whether a ghost clung to them, especially as members of the Demon Suppression Office.

The name Fan Bisi surfaced in her mind.

These twins, the Fan brothers, were officials in the Demon Suppression Office. They had bought Zhao Fusheng from her family for five copper coins and brought her here.

The Han Dynasty, the Demon Suppression Office, the Fan brothers, and now the corpses of the Zhao couple…

Zhao Fusheng’s vision darkened. She instinctively looked around.

All she saw was the dilapidated main hall of the Demon Suppression Office. The shadow from her dream was not present, yet she could sense, with chilling intuition, a pair of malevolent eyes watching her every move from the darkness.

The malice washed over her, making her back tingle and her heart shrink.

Outside, the Fan brothers, unaware she was awake, continued their discussion.

“If the evil spirit has left and the curse is lifted, we must leave immediately and seek a new life. The ghost domain is growing, its reach expanding even in broad daylight. Ghosts roam freely. Everyone here is dead already. Staying is certain death. I hear County Magistrate Bao’s Demon Suppression Office is well run, with a bronze general controlling a fierce ghost—we should go there—” Fan Bisi was shrewd, far more cautious than his impulsive brother.

“But we bound our souls by blood oath. If the contract isn’t broken, how can we leave Wanan County…” Fan Wujiu muttered anxiously.

“Idiot,” Fan Bisi snapped. “We just need to find someone to take over as official, and have him strike our names from the register. Problem solved…”

While the brothers plotted, Zhao Fusheng, revived in the main hall, simply could not accept her situation.

“Impossible! Impossible!” she muttered.

How could such madness be real? She had awakened in a corpse, her nightmare come true. She had truly become a nominal official of the Demon Suppression Office in Wanan County under the Han Dynasty.

Without hesitation, she threw off the shroud and leapt from the wooden board, rushing out of the hall.

“We’ll…” Fan Bisi was still speaking when his brother, startled by the commotion, turned around.

In an instant, Fan Wujiu’s expression shifted from relief to terror, as though he’d seen the most frightful thing in the world—his pupils trembled, his limbs went weak, goosebumps crawling up his spine to his scalp.

“Y-you—” Fan Bisi, frowning, was about to speak when Fan Wujiu, on the verge of tears, stammered, “Brother, the corpse—it’s risen—”

“What nonsense are you babbling…” Fan Bisi snapped, but then a familiar voice rang out: “Impossible, impossible… How could this be…”

Barefoot, Zhao Fusheng dashed out of the courtyard, heading for the main gate.

“I…” Fan Bisi watched her flee, mind blank, unable to speak.

Zhao Fusheng paid them no heed. She raced down the long courtyard and out the front gate.

Before her stretched a dirty, ramshackle street. On either side, low thatched huts lined the road. Many shops were shuttered, their facades crumbling. The few that remained open were coffin and paper-mourning shops, with folded paper effigies displayed out front. Not a living soul was to be seen.

The absence of people left the street in a haunting silence.

To Zhao Fusheng, the scene was both foreign and strangely familiar.

Her mind buzzed as she clung to a final hope.

Steeling herself, she looked up at the building.

There, flanking the beams, hung two lanterns—last night’s storm had shattered them, exposing the oil lamps within. The yellow oil dripped through the torn paper, emitting a foul stench.

Beneath the eaves, a black plaque hung. The darkness had faded, revealing the faint outline of three characters.

Zhao Fusheng had never been literate, but she could now discern the writing through the haze:

Demon Suppression Office.