Song Xiyin’s face darkened as she looked down at Yu Nian from above. “Let’s see who’s faster—your talisman or my legs!” she snapped.
The moment she spoke, the sea of white funeral pennants in the room rustled and whipped upward, sending clouds of dust scattering. Bound to a chair at the side, He Zhiping coughed twice, opened his eyes in confusion—and saw precisely that.
The frail, helpless Song Xiyin now moved like a mischievous monkey—scaling beams, leaping along rafters—so fast she left afterimages. A sly, wicked smile split her face, and from her throat came those rasping, villainous chuckles that belonged to no living person.
He Zhiping gaped. His understanding of the world felt as if it were cracking open.
Yu Nian watched the red aura pouring off Song Xiyin and, fingers already counting through a ritual, his expression tightened. No wonder this ghost had swaggered so openly—she was an old spirit, dead for six decades.
Quietly to Feng Chengyuan, Yu Nian said, “I have four red candles in my bag. Light them and place one in each corner of the room, then stick three incense sticks into the censer on the altar.”
When the instructions were clear, Yu Nian stepped back, planted his toes, and sprang to Song Xiyin’s side.
Before the possessed woman could react, two yellow talismans slammed against her ears like twin hammers. The impact detonated inside her head—dizzying, thunderous. Feng Chengyuan struck the last red candle alight as Yu Nian dropped into the center of the room. His face went solemn. He made a hand seal with one motion; a sinuous, golden symbol flashed like a dragon and shot toward the possessed Song Xiyin.
His voice resonated low and steady through the chamber: “By the true law, dispel the dark and banish the unclean. Nurture the living, assist the righteous. Any petty spirit that dares to show itself—before my eyes the Five Peaks shall fall. Haste, haste—by the law’s decree!”
Song Xiyin couldn’t dodge. The talisman struck her square on the back; her body flickered and then collapsed uncontrollably onto the sofa.
Yu Nian pounced, two red sticks poised. He pinched down hard on Song’s middle fingers; there was a sharp crack. Song Xiyin went limp as if deflated. She blinked, dazed. “What’s happening to me?” she muttered.
An invisible force tore the spirit from inside her. The ghost stumbled out, lost balance, and fell to the floor.
The three incense sticks in the censer flared and burned with unnatural speed. Their smoke thickened as if it had substance, rising and compacting into a mound that pressed down on the ghost, holding her fast.
She thrashed and spat venom at Yu Nian. “You merciless little priest! We had no grievance—no reason for this. I never harmed anyone. Why meddle in my affairs?”
Yu Nian’s eyes were cold. “You attached yourself to Qin Hao many times, wrecking his luck and trying to harm Song Xiyin. That isn’t harmless.”
The ghost’s face tightened. Then, as if thinking of a rebuttal, she huffed, half-defensive, half-flattered: “I never meant to hurt Qin Hao. I only did it because I liked him.” She paused, a hint of shy pride in her tone. “He’d even use his own blood to shield his girlfriend. I’ve never seen a man so devoted.”
Song Xiyin had been afraid of the ghost; now she gaped. “What did you say?”
Yu Nian’s eyes sharpened at the ghost’s words. He picked up the blood-stained talisman again and read the two names written in the center. Everything clicked into place. “So the thing Qin Hao was offering was a love gu,” he said softly.
He Zhiping, still half-surprised, blurted, “Isn’t a ‘love gu’ some kind of Miao ritual? Why would he feed that to anything?”
Yu Nian explained matter-of-factly. “There’s an old folk belief—people give personal tokens to their partners to ward off misfortune. Some girls will tuck a lock of hair for their boyfriends to carry. Lovers will even make blood pendants—vials of blood sealed into charms—to wear for each other.”
He let the image hang. “Those practices are dangerous. They can sour your own luck and attract calamity. Qin Hao’s talisman functioned like a blood pendant: it was meant to shield Song Xiyin, yes, but also to bind her heart.”
Feng Chengyuan frowned. “If the talisman was for protection, how did it lure this ghost?”
Yu Nian’s voice took on the patient tone of someone telling an obvious truth. “The old say everyone carries three fires. These aren’t literal flames but your spirit flames—your aura, vitality, and charisma. A malicious spirit seeking to harm someone first eats away at that light. That’s why people haunted by ghosts are listless, withered in spirit. Normally the dead and the living keep to their sides; unless you provoke them, they leave you be.
“But Qin Hao bled himself to empower the talisman, he exposed his spirit to the ghostly realm. By offering his own essence to the charm, he put himself on their map. Of course a ghost would come.”
Understanding dawned on He Zhiping’s face. The carrot had tumbled straight into the rabbit hole—who could blame the rabbit?
Song Xiyin’s complexion went from green to white as Yu Nian spoke. She trembled and glared at the ghost—only to see the specter staring at Qin Hao with open, yearning eyes.
Song Xiyin’s face blackened. Summoning courage, she snapped, “Humans and ghosts are different. Besides… Qin Hao already has a girlfriend!”
The ghost’s gaze slid over like silk. Song Xiyin backed toward Yu Nian, spine prickling.
The ghost flipped her hair and purred, all coy menace and honeyed confidence, “So what if he has a girlfriend? I’m not jealous. I’m very open-minded—three people can live together. I’m not here to break you up. I’m here to join you.”
Song Xiyin: ?!?!?
She burst into indignant laughter. “Are you insane? Don’t you understand that ghosts and humans can’t be together? Your love is one-sided!”
The ghost flushed—if ghosts could flush—with a fury that rippled her form. “Nonsense! How am I any worse than you? Qin Hao will love me!”
Blood burned hot in Song Xiyin. She lunged to shake Qin Hao awake.
His eyes opened slowly, dull and vacant. He answered nothing, as if a stupor had claimed him.
“Yu Nian, what’s wrong with him?” she cried, panicked and aching.
“He’s been possessed for too long. His spirit’s been eaten. We need to call his soul back.” Yu Nian moved to Qin Hao’s side, peeled the yellow talisman from his forehead, and checked the time—the hour had turned to midnight. He set his jaw and began a low, precise incantation, fingers tracing the seals: “Sky pure, earth clear, noble spirits heed—summon the five wraith hosts, at the hour call the lost soul to return. Scatter the three souls and seven spirits, relieve the pain; no medicine can save. By the decree of the Old Patriarch of Yin Mountain—haste, haste, by the law’s command.”
His voice fell like a chisel. Qin Hao made a small, plaintive sound. Then, from outside the room, a chill, white light slid in.
At first Song Xiyin thought it was moonlight. When the glow crossed the threshold into the room, it took shape—Qin Hao, pale as milk, semi-transparent. His gaze was fixed and unfocused, as though he could not see anyone else.
Song Xiyin opened her mouth to call to him, but Yu Nian put a gentle hand on her arm. “Don’t make a sound.”
They all held their breath. The translucent Qin Hao circled the room once, then—without hesitation—rushed straight for his own body.