Chapter 7: Nightmare

The heavy iron gate of the detention center swung open, and the police car drove in. With Chi Yun handling the process, the formalities were completed swiftly, and as a legal aid lawyer, I found myself in a partitioned room, facing He Xiaobing, whose hands were shackled to the interrogation chair.

He Xiaobing’s face was deathly pale, his gaze unfocused, his unshaven beard darkening his cheeks. At a single glance, I sensed something amiss—a faint aura of death lingered about him. He was alive, so why did he carry the scent of the dead?

“He Xiaobing.” I called his name in a commanding tone, meant to soothe restless spirits.

He Xiaobing shuddered, his eyes dazed as he looked at me.

I rose from my seat, leaned across the table, and whispered into his ear, “Do you remember your daughter, He Wenjing?”

His eyes flickered with recognition, but he remained silent, staring at me with an intensity that bordered on desperation.

I sat back, glanced at the surveillance camera.

“Turn it off,” Chi Yun said from the monitoring room.

When the power light on the camera blinked out, I took out the necklace and placed it on the table.

At its sight, He Xiaobing seemed to want to speak, his mouth emitting guttural sounds, but he could not form a single word.

Suddenly, He Wenjing’s spirit drifted out of the necklace, and the temperature in the room dropped by several degrees. Even the prison guards outside sensed something was wrong, opening the observation window for a quick look, but seeing nothing amiss, closed it again.

“Wooo… wooo…” He Wenjing circled He Xiaobing, weeping bitterly, two streams of blood tears trickling from her ghostly eyes.

At this moment, He Xiaobing went mad, banging his head violently against the table.

Two guards rushed in at the commotion, restraining him and announcing the end of the visitation.

After being injected with a sedative, He Xiaobing was led away. He Wenjing tried to follow, but I stopped her: “Your father is not in mortal danger. You are a ghost now; approaching him will only put him at risk.”

“Zhang Hanshan, Zhang Hanshan…” He Wenjing began to cry out this name in bitter hatred, her ghostly form growing more menacing.

I sighed, unable to bear the sight, and gently patted her shoulder. “Now that I am involved in this karma, I will see the truth uncovered.”

He Wenjing looked at me, her appearance softening, then drifted back into the necklace.

Upon leaving the detention center, Chi Yun personally drove me out.

After a short distance, Chi Yun turned onto a small road, parking beneath a large tree.

“Give me the thing,” she demanded, extending her hand and staring at me coldly.

I put away my glasses, slipped them into my suit pocket, and shrugged. “I don’t have it.”

“You dare play games with me?” Chi Yun twisted my arm, pressing my face against the passenger window.

“Wait, wait, Director Chi, you know that night you were the one who chose the place! How could I possibly get—it, right?” I protested loudly.

Chi Yun considered it, but quickly grew angry. “Still, you’re messing with me.”

My arm felt on the verge of breaking, and seeing she had no intention to let go—her grip neither gentle nor precise—in desperation, I turned and bit her hand.

As Chi Yun cried out in pain and withdrew her hand, I twisted free from her other grasp and threw myself at her.

But I had underestimated her strength. She countered, gripping my throat.

My eyes bulged, and with no other options, I squeezed her chest, hard.

Chi Yun let out a soft moan, her hand loosening from my throat.

Sensing an opportunity, I began unbuttoning her uniform.

Soon, the car beneath the tree began to rock rhythmically.

I hadn’t even finished buckling my belt before Chi Yun kicked me out of the car, then sped away without a word.

“This repressed woman, once dressed, pretends not to know me.” I muttered as I tidied my clothes, but realized I wasn’t much better myself, so I let it go.

The detention center was on the outskirts, far from any village or shop. I walked to the main road, waving my hand for ages before catching a farm tricycle headed into the city. The biting wind chilled me for half an hour in the trailer, and when I finally got off, my body was numb.

Returning home, I rushed to take a hot shower, gradually thawing out.

Steam filled the bathroom as I wiped the condensation from the mirror, gazing at my reflection.

“Huh.”

Whether illusion or not, I thought I saw the Eye of the Underworld Dragon at my chest blink.

Suddenly, a strange energy emanated from the Eye, merging directly into my body.

In that instant, I felt the faint stream of energy within me grow thicker, from a barely perceptible thread to the width of a chopstick, swirling in my dantian.

This energy was called spiritual power; to perform the techniques of the Great Netherworld Yin-Yang Arts, I must rely on spiritual power.

With my current strength, I now qualified as a novice Yin-Yang Master.

Excitement gave way to confusion. Where did this spiritual power, born from the breath of the Eye of the Underworld Dragon, come from?

Then I noticed that the thread connecting He Wenjing's spirit had grown much thicker.

It dawned on me: He Wenjing had two obsessions, her father and the man named Zhang Hanshan.

Taking her to see her father had fulfilled one of her obsessions.

Thus, this was what the Yin arts called “Yin Virtue.”

I was elated; helping ghosts sever their earthly attachments and resolve their karmas could directly convert Yin Virtue into spiritual power.

A surge of motivation filled me—I wanted to rush out immediately and seek out Zhang Hanshan.

But I restrained myself. With no clues, it would be pointless, and besides, I had to go to the hospital soon.

…

At eight o’clock that night, in the luxurious suite at Linjiang First People’s Hospital, Xu Baoguo lay in bed watching the news. After several days of rest, his wounds had improved, though his complexion remained poor.

The room was overflowing with flowers, fruit, and gifts. As a leading figure in Linjiang’s business community, Xu Baoguo’s connections were vast. When trouble struck, business partners and countless dependents flocked in, and every day a small truck was needed to haul away the lavish gifts and bouquets.

As he watched, his eyelids grew heavy as if weighed down by lead. He struggled desperately to keep himself awake; he knew that as soon as he slept, the nightmares would return.

But his struggle was futile, and his eyes closed.

The lights in the ward flickered a few times before extinguishing completely. Only the television remained on, but its image began to stutter and distort.

Suddenly, Xu Baoguo, eyes closed, snapped them open. His sclera rolled up, and black threads wriggled inside, like countless worms crawling and twisting.

A raspy sound came from his throat, his face stiff, but his lips curled into a strange, eerie smile.

His hands slowly rose, then seized his own throat.

In a pitch-black grove, Xu Baoguo was running frantically, chased by a blur of white from behind, accompanied by piercing, unsettling laughter.

Bang!

He tripped over something and fell to the ground.

A noose slipped around his neck, hoisting him into the air.

He struggled desperately, but it was useless; his breath grew more and more labored.

Heeeheeeheee… The white shadow appeared before him—a hideous hanging ghost, its long tongue quivering in grotesque laughter.

Xu Baoguo’s despair peaked, the rope tightening around his neck, his own tongue protruding.

Just then, the rope snapped, and he plummeted downward.

Xu Baoguo’s body jolted, his eyes flew open, and he gasped for air.

The ward was dark, save for the television, which flickered with static.

It was a dream! Xu Baoguo wiped his sweat-soaked brow, relieved.

“Hui Xiang, Hui Xiang…” he called his wife’s name.

But no one answered.

Thud, thud, thud… From the small room in the suite came a sound, eerily clear in the midnight silence.

Xu Baoguo struggled to move, getting out of bed and shuffling to the small room’s door.

The door was ajar, a dim light spilling through.

Xu Baoguo pushed it open, and the sight before him made his face contort in terror, his scalp tingling, as if plunged into an icy abyss.

His daughter, Xu Bao’er, hair disheveled and wielding a sharp knife, her expression twisted with rage, was repeatedly stabbing his wife, who lay motionless in a pool of blood.

Blood flowed everywhere, his wife’s eyes wide open, unable to rest in peace.

Thud, thud…

At that moment, Xu Bao’er looked up, then rushed at him, knife raised, plunging toward his throat.