Chapter Sixteen: Two Unlucky Souls

“Cheng Che, are you alright?” Zhang Qinglin asked with concern.

Cheng Che moved his swollen cheeks, spat a mouthful of blood to the side, and said, “It’s nothing, this is just a scratch. Dammit, just wait—I’ll pay them back a hundred times over. What a godforsaken place this is.”

As they moved closer under the bright lights, they saw two massive iron gates ahead. Behind the gates, at least three large dogs were barking furiously at them from the other side. Zhang Qinglin glanced around; the surroundings were pitch black, with only a few distant points of light.

With a loud clang, the iron gates were pulled open from within. Four or five men stood at the entrance.

“Hm? You’re with Boss Xiao? Coming so late, is there something you need?” the man in the middle grunted, bare-chested with a jacket draped over his shoulders.

“Master Wu, Boss Xiao sent me to deliver a message. It’s not convenient to say it here. Please take these two inside first,” said the crew-cut man standing behind Zhang Qinglin.

Two men sauntered over, grabbed Zhang Qinglin and Cheng Che, and led them inside. As they walked further in, a woman drying her hair emerged from a room in the center.

The light was too dim to make out her features, but it felt as if her gaze was fixed on the two of them.

Zhang Qinglin and Cheng Che were thrown into a dark room at the far right of the compound. The men who tossed them inside muttered a few curses in the local dialect, locked the door, and vanished.

Zhang Qinglin struggled to his feet. The room was shrouded in darkness, with only a narrow glass window high up near the ceiling. Luckily, some light from the floodlights outside managed to seep in.

They were lying on a pile of straw. Zhang Qinglin sat up, the air thick with the musty, sour stench of mildew and the dust of straw.

“Seems like things are moving. Let’s just wait for news,” Zhang Qinglin said.

Cheng Che looked at him, bewildered, brushing the straw from his head. As his gaze shifted to the long glass window, the floodlight outside suddenly snapped off, plunging the room into complete darkness. In the pitch black, the two stared wide-eyed at each other.

A terrifying rustling came from the corner, the straw shifting with a sinister shiver.

A chill ran down their spines. Zhang Qinglin thought he even heard a ghastly, chilling laugh.

“Heh heh… heh heh…”

His face paled a little. The old tales of the Yellow Dao Immortal that his grandmother used to tell him came to mind, filling him with unease. If some evil spirit really showed up and bewitched him, what would he do?

The sound crept closer. Cheng Che, panicked, grabbed a handful of straw and threw it toward the noise.

Zhang Qinglin reached out and patted Cheng Che on the shoulder, making him jump. Zhang Qinglin reassured him quietly, “What are you afraid of? Don’t tell me you actually believe in ghosts?”

“Ah! Ah… Old Zhang, you know I’m afraid of the dark,” Cheng Che stammered, trembling as Zhang Qinglin patted him.

“Don’t worry, there are two of us here. Are we really scared of it? You’re getting more timid by the day… I’m going to check it out.” Zhang Qinglin hunched down and began to inch forward through the darkness.

“Hey! Old Zhang, Old Zhang… waaah…” Cheng Che followed, but suddenly leapt back, feeling as if he had touched a cold ankle, while the eerie laugh hissed right by his ear.

“Hee hee… hee hee hee…” The laughter changed tone.

Zhang Qinglin spun around to see a twisted, grotesque human shape looming before him.

Does the world truly have ghosts? That question had been asked countless times. Scientists claim that what people call ghosts are just hallucinations caused by the mind and the environment.

So the horrors people imagine are just that—imagination. Though he didn’t believe in ghosts, Zhang Qinglin knew there were still many strange incidents science couldn’t explain.

He stared coldly at the figure writhing before him.

Suddenly, it vanished.

This time of year, the dampness in the air was thick. Such clammy, chilly places accumulated excess yin energy, making anyone feel uncomfortable.

Zhang Qinglin’s hand brushed the straw beneath him—damp and clammy. He lifted it to his nose and sniffed a rank, peculiar odor. Shifting to the right, he found the cool concrete floor, with some dry straw nearby.

At that moment, Cheng Che’s voice called from the darkness, “Old Zhang, where are you? Say something…”

“Hee hee hee… Granny… heh heh… heh heh heh…” Suddenly, the terrifying laugh rang out again.

Cheng Che’s shout seemed to draw the figure closer. The sounds of breathing and sinister laughter spun around him, sending him into a panic. “Damn it, I’ve never done anything bad! Ghosts and monsters, stay away from me! Get out, get out…”

Zhang Qinglin, meanwhile, was piling up some dry straw, oblivious to the ghostly sounds, only hearing Cheng Che cursing and shouting.

“Look at you, such a coward.” Zhang Qinglin pulled Uncle Jiang’s lighter from his pocket, twisted off a tuft of straw, and lit it, setting it on the pile he’d built.

With a whoosh, the room was instantly aglow.

Cheng Che’s eyes went wide, beads of sweat running down his face as he crawled over to Zhang Qinglin.

The instant the light flared, the twisted figure vanished without a trace.

Zhang Qinglin continued feeding straw to the fire, examining the room. There was only one window, one door, and the rest of the walls sealed tight.

A few steps ahead, several waist-high piles of straw loomed. The room was quite spacious, clearly meant for storing straw. Yet it was odd—there was no ventilation. Why store straw here?

Then Zhang Qinglin noticed a pair of eyes peering at them from within the straw piles.

“How did you get fire?” Cheng Che scrambled to his side, sitting upright, eyeing Zhang Qinglin’s blank face, his hollow gaze fixed ahead.

Suddenly, Zhang Qinglin put a finger to his lips. “Shh. Don’t make a sound.” His sharp eyes never left the straw piles.

Cheng Che was so frightened by this gesture that he shrank back, not daring to utter a word.

Suddenly, Zhang Qinglin sprang up, circled around the flames, and lunged at the center pile of straw. With one swift motion, he yanked out a trembling figure crouched inside and shoved him toward the fire.

“Who are you, and why are you pretending to be a ghost?” Zhang Qinglin dusted off his hands and barked.

He waved Cheng Che over, signaling him to see for himself that there were no monsters here—only humans behind it all.

The person on the ground, covered in straw, hugged his head, sobbing and laughing, “Granny… Granny… bad people… hee hee hee…”

Zhang Qinglin paused, a sense of familiarity in that voice.

Cheng Che was shocked to see a living person dragged from the straw pile. So there really was someone hiding in here? Now the tables had turned.

He strode over, no longer looking nearly as terrified as before, grabbed the person’s hair, clenched his fist, and shouted, “Trying to scare me by pretending to be a ghost? See if I don’t beat you to a pulp!”

“Cheng Che, stop!” Zhang Qinglin grabbed Cheng Che’s arm just as he was about to strike.

Cheng Che glared at him. “What? He tried to scare me, and I can’t hit him?”

Zhang Qinglin crouched down, supporting the shivering person, and by the firelight saw his face clearly. He exclaimed, “Da Zhuang!”

“Da Zhuang?!” Cheng Che echoed in astonishment.