Chapter Forty-Seven: Confronting the Ghost

Chapter Forty-Seven

The two of them reached an agreement.

Liu Yizhen sensibly took a step back, and Zhao Fusheng, understanding the gravity of the situation, was unwilling to upset the current balance among the vengeful spirits, so she did not force her way into the temple. Both sides breathed a sigh of relief.

With Liu Yizhen watching her, half-guarded and half-wary, Zhao Fusheng advanced cautiously, stepping up to the knee-high threshold of the Scholar’s Temple and peered inside.

Within the main hall, a profound stillness reigned, shrouded in utter darkness.

In the gloom, it felt as if a malice was ‘watching’ her, making her tremble involuntarily and instinctively want to retreat.

Suppressing the unsettling feeling of being spied upon, Zhao Fusheng forced herself to keep looking—after a long while, her eyes adjusted, and she could just make out faint, blurry shapes in the darkness.

At the far end of the hall, as expected, there was a shrine mounted on the wall, set several feet off the ground, floating in midair.

Inside the niche sat a ‘deity statue,’ cross-legged atop the altar, its body entwined several times by strange, twisted objects. A strong, fetid stench filled the air.

In the darkness, the ‘statue’ stared at her with a chilling, sinister gaze.

The vengeful ghost’s face loomed in and out of the shadows, its pale, gray-white eyes brimming with ill intent, malice pressing in with a scent of blood and violence, making her sense the most terrifying intent to kill.

Zhao Fusheng confirmed the ghost’s whereabouts and silently drew back several steps.

Only after she retreated into the circle of ghost-lantern light did the spine-chilling sensation of being stalked by the specter finally dissipate.

“I’ve seen enough,” she said, fighting off the bone-deep chill.

Liu Yizhen was silent for a moment, then asked, “What do you intend to do next?”

“I plan to act tonight,” she replied after a brief pause, decisively.

“So soon?” Though Liu Yizhen had gleaned some insight into her temperament from their previous conversations, he was still startled by her resolve.

“This ghost has already reached the malevolent tier—”

“It doesn’t matter. You can dodge the first day, but not the fifteenth. Dragging this out will only lead to more deaths,” she said. She had already figured out the ghost’s methods and rules for killing. Further observation would just waste time and allow the ghost to grow stronger with every life it claimed.

“I don’t want to delay any longer. Tonight, either it dies, or I do!”

Hearing this, Liu Yizhen, though still doubtful of her chances, merely nodded noncommittally.

“In that case, I have other matters to attend to. I’ll wish you success in advance.”

Zhao Fusheng smiled faintly.

She could glean no more clues from Liu Yizhen. He might know more secrets, but judging by his expression, he was reluctant to share them.

With the ghostly calamity in Beggar’s Alley progressing to this point, Zhao Fusheng had already gathered enough information to analyze the situation. What followed would be her confrontation with the ghost.

This wasn’t her first time facing such a spirit.

She had suppressed the resurrected corpses of the Zhao couple herself, but at that time, the couple had only just awakened, different from this worshipped, malevolent ghost in Beggar’s Alley.

But now she had no room to retreat.

No longer in the mood to wander, Zhao Fusheng withdrew to the house she had previously concealed herself in.

The house next door bore the marks of the ghost’s comings and goings; the door, melted by the ghost’s presence, could not keep inside the horror within.

Blood was splattered everywhere, the stench so strong it stung the eyes.

Though Zhao Fusheng knew she would have to deal with ghosts in the future, and that such scenes of carnage were inevitable, this was not the moment.

She thought for a moment, then decisively abandoned her plan to use this room, turning her attention to the adjacent house instead.

The houses in Beggar’s Alley were built closely, and the partitions between their walls were not solid.

Most of the lower walls were made from bamboo fences daubed with clay, while the upper parts were separated only by woven bamboo screens—just enough to block sight.

Such walls could hardly withstand a hard blow.

The ghost toured the alley every night, killing by the ‘house’ as a unit. If she dug through the partitions, and ran back and forth between two houses when the ghost came, would that count as escaping the ‘one house’ rule?

Her life hanging in the balance, and though she had not tested this theory, Zhao Fusheng decided to act without delay.

She picked up the carrying pole propped against the door and weighed it in her hands. Useless for barring the door—ghosts paid no heed to such defenses.

But smashing walls, now that was another matter.

Ever since she had gained command over ghosts, Zhao Fusheng was far stronger than her original self. With her mind made up, she wasted no time, swinging the pole hard against the neighboring wall.

Bang—

With a crash and a shower of earth and pebbles, the whole house shook.

A terrified, despairing scream came from the next room.

Zhao Fusheng hadn’t realized there was someone not only in the left house, but also in the right.

After a few more strikes, she broke a large hole through the wall.

Dust billowed, revealing broken bamboo slats. She stuck her head through and saw a terrified survivor cowering in the corner.

“Sorry,” she grinned, baring her teeth. “I need this room. Go next door and find another spot.”

After enduring two nights of terror at the ghost’s murderous knocking, she knew what this sound would mean to any survivor.

But the survivor was more composed than she expected—once assured she was human, he let out a deep sigh of relief.

The sharp smell of urine filled the air. After a long moment, the survivor, half-paralyzed with fright, mustered his strength, silently opened the door, and fled.

Zhao Fusheng resumed her task, hacking away until there was a hole large enough for a person to pass through between the two houses.

Then she set traps, cleared away any obstacles, sand, or debris that might hinder her escape, trying countless possible escape routes.

Only after all this did she allow herself some rest.

Time passed quickly. By the time the evening’s alms bell sounded, she was ready.

Clang, clang, clang—

Liu Yizhen struck the bell, but Zhao Fusheng stayed inside, not going out for today’s rations.

The ghost chose its victims according to the list made during alms distribution, but not always the first name on the list—sometimes it was random.

Her name was already entered. All she had to do was wait for the ghost to appear and try to intercept it.

Her life was on the line tonight.

If she lost, a meal wouldn’t matter; if she won, she’d save her appetite for the soup promised by the old woman.

Though she was ready for the confrontation, as the time drew near, Zhao Fusheng’s nerves tightened bit by bit.

Outside, the bell stopped, the footsteps of the crowd faded, and everyone returned to their places.

She used this time to check her preparations.

Her previous experience with the resurrected Zhao couple had confirmed Fan Bisi’s claim: brute human strength was useless against ghosts—only the power of a ghost could fight another ghost.

But the price for using ghostly power was steep; she only had one chance, and had to be cautious.

So she had prepared wooden sticks, sharp stakes, and set up a few small traps, hoping to slow the ghost down.

Her ghost-skin lantern was spread out, oil ready inside.

She tested her fire starter in advance; it worked, so she could light a flame.

After checking everything, she tried to calm herself and waited for the hours to pass.

On the street, the sound of running feet gradually faded.

In their place came the repeated sounds of doors being shut and barred, until all was silent.

Soon after, the familiar oppressive feeling returned. Black mist filled the air, and a bone-chilling cold enveloped Beggar’s Alley.

In the utter stillness, Liu Yizhen sat leaning against a black coffin in the Scholar’s Temple, watching as a rustling sound finally came from the altar.

The vengeful ghost, waking upon the altar, slowly stepped down, crawling along the table to the floor.

With a tap-tap of footsteps, it left the temple, embarking on another night’s hunt.

...

Inside the dilapidated house, Zhao Fusheng listened intently for any noise. When she heard footsteps coming from the temple’s direction, she knew—the ghost was near.

There was no hiding from what was coming.

She had seen with her own eyes that the door could not withstand the ghost’s assault.

With that in mind, she simply flung the door wide open with a bang.

The sound echoed down the long street, making everyone’s breathing hitch.

In the swirling mist, she could just make out the ghost’s shadow gliding forth.

Her heart pounded, but she remained calm, watching as the ghost appeared before her.

It was the same cold, terrifying figure, prowling the street, searching for its next victim.

It did not turn toward her, even though she had opened the door and peered out—apparently, the ghost had its own rules for choosing victims.

Soon, it chose its target. As it turned toward another part of the alley, Zhao Fusheng raised the ghost-skin lantern and flicked open the lid of the lamp oil with her fingernail.

At that moment, something strange occurred.

The instant the lid was lifted, a nauseating stench poured from the sealed lamp.

Without any spark, the oil ignited with a whoosh.

A sickly green flame flared, and tortured faces seemed to writhe across the lantern’s surface, as if letting out hopeless, agonized screams.

The shrieks drew the ghost’s attention.

The ghost, about to turn away, halted abruptly, its gray-white eyes fixing on Zhao Fusheng. It seemed to change its mind and strode toward her.

The sudden turn of events shocked Zhao Fusheng.

As the ghost approached, a suffocating sense of dread overwhelmed her.

The lantern’s spontaneous flare and the ghost’s reaction had caught her off guard, unsettling her for a moment.

Paper Man Zhang had tricked her!

She had been wary of Paper Man Zhang, but never expected to be tripped up by the lantern.

The supposed ghost-warding lantern from the Demon Suppression Division, and Zhang Chuan’s words, had misled her.

The lantern he gave her was not to ward off ghosts, but to lure them.

Fortunately, she had planned to fight the ghost tonight anyway, and hadn’t pinned all her hopes on the lantern. Had she trusted Zhang’s words completely, she wouldn’t even have known how she died.

The ghost approached rapidly. Cursing Paper Man Zhang inwardly, she was at least glad she’d already taken her revenge and burned down his house—otherwise, she’d be even more aggrieved now.

She tried desperately to blow out the lamp, but the green flame was strange—it only burned fiercer, stinking more with every breath she blew.

The ghost climbed the steps; the closer it drew, the brighter the lantern glowed.

Within the oil, a black wick burned violently, the flame roaring, illuminating the house as if lighting the way for the ghost, making Zhao Fusheng’s presence impossible to miss.

This was Paper Man Zhang’s plan—he wanted the ghost to kill her!

Unable to extinguish the flame, Zhao Fusheng gave up trying.

The cold, fetid air flowed in through the open door as the ghost reached the threshold, its gray-white, slick eyes locking on her.

It did not enter immediately, but paused at the doorway, then raised its hand and knocked on the door.

Knock, knock, knock.

The gesture made Zhao Fusheng pause.

She had observed the ghost for two nights and knew it always knocked before killing.

But the previous victims’ doors had been shut; she hadn’t been sure if the knocking was part of its method or just a prelude before breaking in.

Now, with her door wide open, and the ghost still knocking, it proved that this was indeed a rule it followed before killing.

She hesitated, pole in hand, standing at the back of the room, and called out, “Come in.”

She knew that even if she didn’t say it, the ghost would force its way in next—but after she spoke, the ghost seemed not to hear, knocking twice more before, as if completing a ritual, it stepped inside.

The temperature plummeted the moment it entered.

The ghost’s first step fell into a trap, its body dropping partway and one foot catching in a loop of rope she had prepared. She hurled the lantern aside.

The lantern did not go out; faces twisted in agony flickered across the parchment.

She yanked the straw rope tight and heaved—

Since gaining control of ghosts, her strength had increased many times, but even so, the rope snapped with a crack, unable to restrain the ghost.

That plan failed; she tried another.

She swung the pole down hard on the ghost’s head!

With a rushing hiss, the pole passed straight through—the ghost’s form dissolved into shadow and vanished, her own momentum carrying her off balance.

At that moment, the shadow reformed, once more taking on the ghost’s pale body.

Zhao Fusheng was horrified and darted into the next room.

She had practiced this route countless times during the day; her body remembered every step, and she could slip away in seconds.

But though she was fast, the ghost was faster.

She had just moved when a chilling, fetid wind brushed her, raising goosebumps all over her skin. The ghost’s two blue-and-purple, corpse-white arms appeared out of nowhere, wrapping around her neck.

The icy hands clamped down like molding clay, lifting her bodily off the ground.

(End of Chapter)