Several times Zhu Hui’s hand had skimmed the ends of Chen Zi’s hair. Each brush felt like ice; Chen Zi’s heart thudded so hard he feared an attack. Still, Zhu Hui kept circling the room, tireless and unnerving.
After ten minutes she seemed to lose patience. She stood silently for a moment, then called his name in a low, unreal whisper, “Chen Zi.”
The sound was thin but had an odd pull to it. Chen Zi’s lips twitched and, without thinking, he answered, “Huh?”
A mist flickered between them and their eyes met. A strange smile crept across Zhu Hui’s face as she enunciated each syllable with unnatural precision: “Found… you….”
She lunged, grabbing his throat with a grip like iron. Blood rushed to his head; the world dimmed. He felt himself going under. Reflex took over—he fumbled for the yellow talisman.
There was a deafening “bang.” A blade of golden light exploded outward and slammed Zhu Hui back against the wall. Chen Zi clutched his neck and hacked for air, staring in disbelief at the talisman in his hand. It could really hit that hard?
For a heartbeat Zhu Hui looked dazed, then the smile returned and she charged again, as if pain meant nothing. Over and over she came at him.
Panic surged in Chen Zi. The talisman’s light held—but not forever. Cracks spidered across its glow.
Zhu Hui sneered, ready to strike. A lazy yawn cut through the tension from the doorway.
She turned. Yu Nian leaned against the doorframe as if she had been waiting a long time, smiling with a calm that made the room colder. “About time,” she said.
Zhu Hui cocked her head and sprang forward—only to be fasterly intercepted. Yu Nian slipped aside, planted a boot against the porcelain body’s knees and sent it crashing to the floor. A pair of yellow talismans flew; a shrill, pained howl ripped through the air as a streak of crimson light burst from Zhu Hui’s chest and slunk around the corner of the parlor, vanishing into the house.
Chen Zi stumbled forward and helped Zhu Hui up. His voice trembled. “Master, it got away!”
Yu Nian remained unruffled. “Not yet.” She walked into the living room. Chen Zi’s apartment was a traditional duplex; the living room opened to a second-floor corridor. Yu Nian’s gaze swept the space and caught a small, hunched shadow slip into a bedroom at the far end of the upstairs hall.
She took out the little gourd she kept between her fingers and murmured a few quiet words. The gourd swelled in her palm until it looked almost ordinary-size again. She smiled; light threaded her brows as she fed qi into the vessel and drifted toward the closed door.
The porcelain thing held its injured arm and listened. It had been a burial companion once, left in the earth and steeped in years until it learned to cultivate—then it learned darker things. It had meant only to suck Chen Zi’s life-essence and move on. It had not expected to run into a master like Yu Nian.
A cool, measured voice came from beyond the door—Zhu Hui’s voice, sing-song and mocking, which made the creature’s blood run cold.
“Little porcelain doll, where are you? Playing hide-and-seek with me?” The voice tinkled. “You better hide well—I'm coming to get you.” “Don’t bother hiding. I can see you.”
The porcelain thing bristled: those were its lines. It had used them a thousand times. But Yu Nian’s voice was worse. Some spell must have been woven into it; the sound swelled and reverberated through the house like surround sound, bleeding into every corner. Even with its hands clamped over its ears, the creature could hear the laughter threaded into Yu Nian’s words.
For the first time in a thousand years the thing understood what fear felt like.
Footsteps grew closer. The bedroom door clicked as someone turned the knob. Yu Nian didn’t walk in. She stood at the threshold, her eyes darker than the night itself, staring down at the porcelain thing, which dared not move.
After a long beat she sighed with mock regret. “Not here. What a pity.” Then she left.
Relief flared in the creature—this little master was all show, just a pretty bluff. It began to rise. Warm pressure prodded its back.
It turned stiffly and saw Yu Nian looming over it, one finger extended and smiling down like a cat about to toy with a mouse. Her voice was soft, almost intimate, yet her words were the same, punctuated: “Found… you….”
The porcelain thing wanted to bolt but Yu Nian’s boot came down and pinned it to the floor. She raised the gourd, chanted, and a pure gold light poured from its mouth. The suction was visceral, like the world being erased. The creature’s soul felt itself drawn toward the gourd; it screamed, clawing at the air. “Master—please! I know I was wrong!”
For a moment Yu Nian’s hand froze. Then she lowered herself and watched it sobbing, fascinated rather than cruel.
Chen Zi, mustering his courage, joined her side. Memories of how he had cherished this cursed little doll with reverence made his face burn with shame. He asked in a small voice, “Master, what is this thing? A ceramic can become a spirit?”
Yu Nian explained, calm and clinical: “Hollow objects collect yin easily. Items shaped like humans—dolls, figurines—are especially prone to forming souls. Once they have a consciousness, if they feed on human essence, they become malicious.”
She looked at Chen Zi, then handed the trembling porcelain figure back to him. “Do you want it?”
Chen Zi nearly fainted. Want it? Had he gone mad? He shook his head so hard his chin jutted. “Please—handle it as you see fit.”
Yu Nian took it without ceremony and instructed Chen Zi, “You’ve displaced a lot of negative qi in this place. For a while the bad luck won’t vanish on its own. Replace that cabinet where you keep antiques. Swap in brighter furniture. Air the place out.”
“I’ll do it,” Chen Zi blurted. “I’ll do everything you say. I’ll—” He fumbled for a promise. “I’ll do good, try to accumulate merit.”
Yu Nian examined Zhu Hui’s pulse and said lightly, “You were possessed by that spirit, but you’re fine now. Your fortune is good—don’t keep belittling yourself. The future is yours.”
Zhu Hui bowed stiffly in thanks.
Yu Nian gathered all the objects tainted with yin and carried them away. Later she buried them on the back slope of Qingxin Temple. As she set a stick of incense aflame, Chen Zi thought he heard a faint laugh on the wind. The chill that had settled over him vanished as if a door had closed.
When the dust settled, Chen Zi and Zhu Hui had a long, quiet conversation. They decided to give each other space. Zhu Hui moved to work for Feng Chengyuan’s company, trying to rebuild her life around herself. She was earnest and kind; friends came more easily to her. By the time she returned to Qingxin Temple to pay respects, people noticed something different in her—her smile was freer, her posture steadier.
She smiled more, she grew confident, and after the divorce she even found someone who fit her. Wedding invitations arrived like punctuation marks on a new life.
Chen Zi, by contrast, drifted for a long time after they split. He came to realize it wasn’t Zhu Hui who needed him—he who couldn’t live without her. He tried to reach out, visited a few times, but exchanges between them were empty. By the time Zhu Hui remarried and her face was bright again, he knew it was too late. Despair swallowed him. He sold his apartment and went abroad to clear his head; friends and family heard little from him afterwards.
But those are stories for later.
A few days later, on the night of the Ghost Festival, the sky a low, ink-black wash, Chen Xian drove Feng Chengyuan back from a business trip in City A, ferrying him toward the company headquarters.