Song Qian shot to her feet. She reached out to grab Ji Wuxin, but when she whipped her head around, no one else was there beside her. The entire carriage held only her and the old lady cradling her head.
The old lady shuffled slowly away from the window seat, her body bent double, nearly folded in half. She held her head up high with her arms to meet Song Qian’s eyes.
“Little girl, I’d like to borrow something from you.”
Song Qian tumbled back into her seat, her fingers digging into the blue upholstery. She didn’t dare respond right away. In the days since, she’d picked up some knowledge on these matters. Sometimes in dreams, you absolutely couldn’t agree to whatever a stranger asked, or you might wake up as someone—or something—else.
“You’re so young. How about lending this old lady twenty years of your life?” The old lady’s eyes were half-lidded, her lips twisted in a smile that was both eerie and unnatural.
Life borrowing!?
As the old lady took one shambling step after another toward her, Song Qian squeezed her eyes shut and shrank away. “Stay back! Stay back…”
Lin Qing almost leaped out of his skin as Song Qian burrowed straight into his lap, but he was pinned in the corner with no room to escape.
Ji Wuxin’s glare from across the way promised to devour him alive.
“Let go of your hand!”
Lin Qing tilted his head back, tears threatening. He wanted nothing more than to let go.
“Sensen? Sensen!?” Song Fu woke with a start from the seat opposite. Seeing Song Qian with her eyes clenched shut and sweat beading on her forehead, he couldn’t help worrying.
“Is she having a nightmare?”
Lin Qing jolted to his senses. He fished a sheet of talisman paper from his pocket, crumpled it up, and shoved it into Song Qian’s mouth. Propping her chin, he made her swallow it down.
He held the position while unscrewing a bottle of mineral water with his free hand. He poured some onto the table, dipped his fingers in it, slid them through a few times, then slapped the water onto the center of Song Qian’s forehead.
Song Qian gradually quieted. Lin Qing eased her back into her original seat, then turned to rummage through his bag for something.
Ji Wuxin stirred. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, Song Qian was huddled in what had been Lin Qing’s spot, sobbing softly to herself. She’d curled into a tight ball, too scared to look up.
The sight twisted something in Ji Wuxin’s chest. She wasn’t there to protect her.
She started to step over for a hug, but her eyes narrowed. She snatched at thin air and hurled whatever she’d grabbed to the floor. A huddled, ball-like figure slammed down hard.
The old lady, trying to flee, let out a piercing wail. It scraped like fingernails on a glassy floor, setting everyone’s teeth on edge.
Ji Wuxin brought her foot down hard, her voice cold and laced with menace. “That was you scaring her?”
The old lady clutched her head tight, trying to turtle it into her chest like some kind of grotesque tortoise. Ji Wuxin wasn’t having it. The instant she ducked, Ji Wuxin wrenched both arms back with a sickening series of cracks that made scalps crawl.
“Was it you?”
The old lady’s arms now jutted out behind her in an impossible angle. They’d be shattered for any human, but for a ghost, it was nothing—a mere roll of the shoulders to pop back into place. Still, this woman was so vicious that the old lady didn’t dare try any tricks.
“I… I just wanted to play with her a little.”
Song Qian had lifted her head at some point and was staring over. At those words, she forgot about her tears, jabbed a finger at the old lady, and unloaded every curse she knew. Finally, she spat, “She tried to borrow my life!”
“Borrow life?” Ji Wuxin repeated, adopting a profound, otherworldly air like some reclusive sage.
After a moment’s thought, confirming she had no idea what it meant, she ground her heel in harder and snarled through gritted teeth, “You dare try to borrow her life?”
Not knowing the details, she’d just take it at face value.
In that instant, Ji Wuxin’s stature soared in Song Qian’s eyes.
“Spares me, please! We’re all ghosts here—have a little mercy!” The old lady squeezed out a pair of tears.
After a scare like that, Song Qian wasn’t about to let her off easy. She opened her mouth to speak, but a sharp stab in her middle finger yanked her back to reality.
Song Qian blinked awake, and Song Fu released the finger he’d been pinching. He chuckled. “There you go. See? Told you my trick works.”
Lin Qing shot a glance at Ji Wuxin, whose face had gone stormy. She stared right back.
“You let a ghost get away.”
Song Qian nodded toward the corner where the old lady had been. Now there was nothing—no sign she’d ever sat there.
Lin Qing’s expression hardened. He raised his right hand and began pinching his fingers in a rapid calculation, looking for all the world like a street-corner fortune-teller.
Song Fu watched the gesture with open curiosity. “You really know all this stuff?”
The young couple nearby had taken notice by then. The guy snorted. “What is this, the Middle Ages? Still peddling that superstitious nonsense.”
The two girls across from him weren’t buying it. “You don’t have to believe, but a little respect doesn’t hurt, does it?”
Song Fu’s face darkened at the words, his tone pointed. “Some things, you really do have to believe.”
The guy rolled his eyes at them all, yanked out his phone, and fired up a game. “Unreal. Can’t even take a trip without running into a bunch of old fogeys. If there’s a ghost, tell it to come find me. We’ll chat.”
The words hung too bold in the air. His girlfriend frowned and shoved his shoulder.
He flipped to a cheeky grin and planted a kiss on her. “Babe, don’t worry. I’ve got yang energy for days. I’ll keep you safe.”
Lin Qing’s pinching stopped. His face turned grave. “The ghost qi hasn’t dispersed. She’ll be back.”
Song Qian’s voice pitched up. “Again!?”
The first time, the ghost had zeroed in on her. If it came back and succeeded…
“Everyone stay sharp. She’ll probably target the young ones.” Lin Qing spoke softly, but the couple and the two girls overheard. The girls edged closer to him; his earnest demeanor was hard to dismiss.
It was just past eight in the evening. The night stretched long ahead.
At Ji Wuxin’s insistence, Song Qian and Lin Qing swapped seats, with Ji Wuxin planted squarely between them.
“Beer, sodas, mineral water, peanuts, melon seeds, eight-treasure porridge! Make way, legs in—can’t get through!”
The attendant’s call drew nearer. Song Qian scrolled through articles on her phone, tales of bizarre encounters and strange folk.
“You like this stuff? I could tell you some stories.” Ji Wuxin leaned against her shoulder, watching page after page fly by. She’d heard countless tales from ghosts about their human lives—old ghosts, young ones, all of them. Way more gripping than anything online.
“Nah. Talking to yourself would look weird.”
Lin Qing unpacked a bizarre assortment from his bag: finished talismans, blank talisman paper, a compass, a small peachwood sword, and more. Everyone heading to the bathroom did a double-take; a few even stopped to ask questions.
Song Fu’s eyes were growing heavy with fatigue. Without Song Qian’s occasional chats to keep him going, he’d have face-planted on the table by now.
The night deepened.
The guy pocketed his phone, shook out his aching hand, yawned wide, and headed for the toilet. His girlfriend glanced nervously toward Lin Qing, half-reaching to call him back. Then she hesitated—maybe she was just being superstitious. With all these people around, what could go wrong? She pulled her hand back.
The moment he was gone, Song Qian spotted the woman in the black trench coat again, deeper in the carriage. She hadn’t budged, her prayer beads turning in steady rhythm, oblivious to the world around her.
The bolder of the two girls sidled up and whispered, “Master, could you… spare us a couple of those talismans?”
Lin Qing blinked, baffled at the request. They weren’t worth much anyway.
Assuming he wanted payment, the girl flushed. “We can pay if you need…”
“But…” Lin Qing started to say he didn’t charge.
“Those scraps aren’t worth the paper in the bathroom trash.”
Bathroom trash… where people wiped their…
Lin Qing’s face burned crimson. He whipped toward the voice—the woman in the black trench coat.
“You don’t understand, so keep quiet. I’m not asking for money.”
The woman eased her eyes open. Her prayer beads halted on the one in the middle, cracked and rough unlike the smooth rest.
“Understand? How many in this line even do? What does ‘understand’ even mean? Kid, didn’t your master teach you not to flaunt your tricks in public?”
The barrage left Lin Qing speechless. He stared at the items spread on the table, cheeks aflame, and hastily packed them away.
He had to admit it—he’d been showing off, just to prove to that smug guy that ghosts were nothing to scoff at.
Lin Qing straightened up, cupped his hands, and bowed deeply to the woman. “Senior, you are correct.”
The woman nodded and closed her eyes again. The prayer beads in her hand resumed their steady rotation, though this time words spilled continuously from her lips.
After bumping into a senior on his way out of the car and getting a scolding, Lin Qing’s mood sank low.
A moment later, the male student came back from the restroom. Spotting the pristine table in front of Lin Qing, he sneered. “Yo, couldn’t keep up the act, huh?”
His girlfriend had witnessed the whole ordeal. She tugged at his arm, urging him to hold his tongue.
The guy fell silent but clucked his tongue repeatedly, shaking his head as he shot Lin Qing a disdainful smirk.
Pretending to be what? In the end, hadn’t he packed it all away? Some street hustler, and he even had a girlfriend that pretty.
Everyone except the guy who’d hit the bathroom stayed wide awake. Song Fu was so exhausted he stood bolt upright in place like a soldier at attention, which cracked Song Qian up more than once.
Ji Wuxin always stepped in front of her with clear displeasure. “That funny to you?”
“Don’t sleep.” His girlfriend watched him slump over and looked ready to burst into tears.
“Babe, quit fussing. I’m wiped out.” He grabbed her hand to keep her still, leaned against her shoulder, and drifted into a heavy sleep.
Pleading, the girl glanced at the woman in the black trench coat seated beside her. Getting no response, she turned toward Lin Qing.
“Master…”
Lin Qing knew better than to meddle when someone so much more skilled was around. He sat frozen, not daring to twitch.
Across from them, the two girls inched deeper into their seats as the guy dozed off, leaving half their space empty.
The train car fell into an unnatural hush. Even the snoring had ceased. Everyone sensed something was wrong. They exchanged wide-eyed looks of terror—misery loved company, after all.
The two girls opposite trembled like leaves in a gale, clinging to each other with eyes squeezed so tight not even a sliver of light could slip through.
The guy who’d been sleeping suddenly convulsed. The hand clutching his girlfriend’s went slack, flailing wildly in front of him instead. Indistinct moans escaped his lips, but the tears leaking from the corner of his eye spoke volumes about the nightmare gripping him.
Lin Qing hesitated and shot a glance at the woman.
“Do what you’re supposed to,” she said. “Don’t mind me.”
Lin Qing wasted no time. He rummaged in his cloth bag and slapped a freshly drawn talisman paper onto the guy’s chest. His hands flew through the Mystic Seal, suspending a small peachwood sword right in front of it. He placed the compass squarely before him, all in one seamless motion.
“Six Wu and Six Ji, evil ghosts halt themselves. Six Geng and Six Xin, evil ghosts rend themselves apart. Six Ren and Six Gui, evil ghosts shatter to nothing!”
The guy’s body kept jerking, but his thrashing arms gradually lowered, crossing defensively over his chest in a desperate bid for protection.
Lin Qing frowned. The guy’s hands were blocking the talisman.
“He’s—he’s laughing!” Song Fu blurted out, jabbing a finger at him.
Song Qian peered over. Sure enough, a creepy, smug grin twisted the guy’s face, as if he were mocking Lin Qing’s futile efforts.
In the next instant, those guarding arms slammed down. The talisman ripped free from his chest!
He raised his hand, fingers splayed wide. The crumpled paper fluttered to Lin Qing’s feet. Lin Qing’s face drained of color as he clenched the compass; that balled-up talisman felt like his own dignity, trampled underfoot.
“Pay attention and learn.”
The woman who’d been watching spoke up. She pivoted and stepped into the aisle in a single fluid motion. Her legs were strikingly long, making Lin Qing seem downright average beside her.
She didn’t hold back. She wrenched the offending arm clean out of its socket. Song Qian wondered if it was on purpose—the woman had subdued him effortlessly without needing to mangle his limb.
No compass. No peachwood sword. She simply slammed her beaded bracelet against his chest and drove a fist into it. Then she scooped up the crumpled talisman and shoved it unceremoniously into his mouth.
She jerked his head back sharply. His throat bobbed as he swallowed.
The guy went limp.
“There. All done.”
She turned back, plucked a jet-black prayer bead from her bracelet, and handed it to Lin Qing. “Hold on to this.”
Lin Qing knew it trapped the Life-Borrowing Ghost. He tucked it away in a small box without delay.
Song Qian got her first clear look at the woman’s face. Stunning, without question. That unapproachable aura only heightened her enigma. But what truly captivated Song Qian was the woman’s left eye—pure white, devoid of any iris or pupil.
“Little girl, it’s rude to stare.” The woman glanced at Song Qian, then at the scowling Ji Wuxin beside her. A faint smile tugged at her lips. “Now that’s interesting.”
“She can see me too?” Ji Wuxin sounded stunned. Lately, everyone seemed able to spot her.
The woman was clearly a powerhouse who could see ghosts. Song Qian yanked Ji Wuxin behind her just in case she mistook her for one and tried to banish her.
“Senior, if I may ask your name?” Lin Qing was politeness incarnate. By now, he knew he’d crossed paths with a genuine master.
The woman waved him off. “No need. If fate brings us together again, you’ll know then.”
She’d barely settled back into her seat when the guy snapped awake. He slumped against the chair, heaving for breath. He reached to wipe the sweat beading on his forehead, only to find his right arm wouldn’t budge—searing pain lanced through it at the slightest movement. His chest throbbed like he’d taken a barrage of punches.
“Babe! Babe!” He whipped his head around, searching for his girlfriend in a panic.
“I—I just had this dream…”
She clutched his good hand, her face a mask of unease. “That wasn’t a dream.”
He gaped, eyes darting to the two girls huddled together across from him. He scanned the others. The superstitious kid he’d ridiculed earlier still clutched his compass and peachwood sword. The downcast guy dodged his gaze. It all added up to one horrifying truth: he’d really seen a ghost.
He could still picture it—the old hag leering at him, begging to borrow his life. Those bony, skeletal claws had clamped down with inhuman strength. He’d struggled in vain until, for no reason he could fathom, she’d let out a piercing shriek and vanished.
He gulped, chills racing down his spine. No way was he owning up to it. He yanked his hand free from his girlfriend’s grasp. “Just a nightmare, that’s all. Nothing to get worked up over. Beats me what you all were so scared of.”
The two girls across from him shot him dirty looks. Some people—couldn’t even say thanks and still had to run their mouths.
Lin Qing let it slide this time. He stowed his gear and reclaimed his seat.
Things settled back to normal. Snores filled the air once more. No one humored the guy’s sporadic attempts to save face, not even his girlfriend, who turned her head away and ignored him.
As faint light crept into the sky, the woman in the black trench coat and the two tourist girls disembarked. She handed them each a couple of prayer beads and vanished into the distance, her slender silhouette growing faint.
Lin Qing murmured to himself, “Wonder if we’ll cross paths again. She’s something else.”
Song Qian passed him a bread roll. “Chin up. You did great yourself.”
“Thanks.”
A few more hours on the train brought them to Shuiwei Town station. Cabs idled right outside, ready to ferry passengers home for the right price.
Song Qian and Song Fu hailed one together since they were from the same village. Traveling light, they piled in and headed out promptly.
Their driver was a gregarious fellow in his forties or fifties.
“You all headed to Weishui Village?”
“Heard about that big fuss there lately?”
“What fuss?”
“Word is, they fished a female corpse out of your village’s Sacred Well. After that, folks started dropping sick left and right for no reason. True? That why you’re heading back?”
