“You’re finally here.”
Song Qian looked over and realized it was someone she knew—the Paranormal Team member Lin Qing, whose authenticity she still doubted.
Lin Qing spotted Song Qian in the Book Depository and froze for a moment before smiling and nodding at her.
“Did you call her over?” Jiang Yi muttered low in his throat, keeping his head down.
Unlike Jiang Yi’s furtive manner, Lin Qing was completely open about it, not bothering to lower his voice. “No.”
Jiang Yi shot him a glare. Couldn’t he whisper? This was supposed to be private!
Lin Qing ignored him and turned to Song Qian instead. “Find a spot to hide in a bit and stay quiet. That thing has a real grudge against pretty girls.”
“That thing?”
Jiang Yi flashed a fake smile beside her, wiggling his fingers nimbly in front of Song Qian’s face. “A little A-Piao.”
Song Qian: “…”
Lin Qing: “…”
“Alright, let’s get ready. You and Old Wu go check if anyone else is around.” With that, Lin Qing grabbed the back of Jiang Yi’s collar and shoved him into the aisle.
Jiang Yi snorted, then strolled off with his hands clasped behind his back like some arrogant young master, Old Wu floating alongside him.
Watching from the side, Song Qian noticed how different Jiang Yi became once Lin Qing showed up. In front of her, he was taciturn and sullen, barely saying a word. But around Lin Qing, he turned into a lively teenager.
Lin Qing caught the surprise in Song Qian’s eyes. As he rummaged in his bag for his gear, he explained, “We’re neighbors. We’ve been buddies since we were kids.”
Song Qian nodded and quietly cleared a nook in the bundled stack of books to hide in. From her vantage point, she had a decent view of Lin Qing’s actions—though her nearsightedness meant she could only make out the basics.
Back pressed to the wall, books piled in front of her, Song Qian was safe for the moment.
Lin Qing set out his items in front of himself, then closed his eyes and began chanting softly.
Song Qian had never witnessed anything like this. Her overwhelming curiosity shoved her fear down deep, and her head poked out just a little without her realizing.
The clock hand slipped past seven, and the campus bell rang out—the distinctive chime for evening classes, reminding students with late lectures to head in.
“Ding-a-ling… ding-a-ling…”
Song Qian’s hair stood on end. Every fine hair on her exposed arms bristled in alert.
Mommy, what kind of school bell was that? It sounded just like a woman humming!
“Ding-a-ling… ding-a-ling…”
The ringing cut off abruptly. Then…
“Classmate, time for class. You’ll be late if you don’t hurry.” The woman’s voice faded, but to Song Qian, it whispered tenderly right by her ear.
Her palms grew slick with sweat. Song Qian rubbed them on her knees.
In that instant, dark red liquid seeped from the aged walls of the Book Depository. A thick, vomit-inducing stench of blood assaulted her nose. Even after barely eating that evening, her stomach churned violently.
The liquid spread rapidly, soon covering the entire floor. Yellowed books stained dark, and some splashed onto Song Qian’s calves, soaking her shoes and socks through.
These shoes were toast.
Song Qian pinched her nose, face flushing red as she fought the urge to hurl.
Blood kept oozing from all four walls. Lin Qing’s eyes snapped open. He flung copper coins from his palm with pinpoint accuracy—one to each corner of the Book Depository. The last shot straight up to the old ceiling fan overhead.
The move seemed to infuriate the A-Piao. The blood surged fiercer, climbing to Song Qian’s knees in seconds.
The Book Depository’s door stood open, yet the blood roiled only inside this room, alive and contained.
Lin Qing pressed his palms together, executed a flurry of gestures, and bellowed, “Disperse!”
Huddled in her corner, Song Qian felt like she was in a sci-fi flick. The churning, boiling blood receded like an ebbing tide at Lin Qing’s command, vanishing clean without a trace.
Master!!!
Song Qian screamed in her mind.
“Creak… creak creak…”
Rusted metal groaned and scraped through the Book Depository. Song Qian traced the sound upward to the decrepit ceiling fan.
A woman in a long red dress crouched on the swaying blades, blood dripping steadily from her skirt.
Song Qian’s breath hitched.
The woman’s jet-black eyes locked onto her. Her expressionless face twisted into a savage snarl, lips splitting bloody from the strain.
Lin Qing clearly hadn’t expected the female ghost to perch up there, spying on everyone below.
“You’re so pretty.” The female ghost stared at Song Qian, reaching out to stroke the air as if caressing her face. Then she clenched her fist and lunged, jealousy and hatred contorting her features.
“Why do you get such a beautiful face! Why!!”
Song Qian flattened her back against the wall and slammed her eyes shut a second before the ghost pounced.
Prosperity, democracy, civility, harmony—prosperity, democracy, civility, harmony…
She threw up her arms to shield her head, already plotting how to haggle with Meng Po over skipping the cilantro in Meng Po’s Soup after she died.
There had to be a Meng Po, right?
After what felt like forever with no pain or scratches, Song Qian started doubting herself. Did ghost claws not hurt?
She lowered her arms and pried one eye open to check her surroundings.
No Ghost Gate or Bridge of Helplessness in sight. Just the dingy old Book Depository.
The female ghost that had been lunging at her now lay wheezing feebly at Lin Qing’s feet, head too heavy to lift. Lin Qing stood there, mouth hanging open in shock as he gawked at Song Qian.
“You took it out that quick?” Jiang Yi, who had just returned, stared at the ghost on the floor in disbelief. “Holy…”
The word caught in his throat when his eyes landed on Song Qian.
Only after ages did he choke out the rest: “…dead.”
Song Qian’s poor eyesight blurred their expressions, but her gut screamed something was wrong. She dropped her right arm from her eyes and finally spotted the ghost standing right beside her.
The one from her house.
Ji Wuxin gazed coolly at the ghost on the floor, her voice ice-cold. “How bold.”
The ghost on the ground looked done for, the blood on her red dress crusted dry.
Jiang Yi edged closer to Lin Qing and whispered, “Think we can bag this one?”
Lin Qing didn’t spare him a glance. “Go home, shower, and crash.”
Jiang Yi: “…”
Ji Wuxin caught it and jabbed a finger at the floored ghost. “Bag her first, then crash.”
“Alright, alright, on it.”
~~~
Song Qian had no clue how she made it home. She snapped out of it sitting on the sofa, some sappy melodrama droning on the TV while the house ghost watched, utterly engrossed.
Fragments of the Book Depository ordeal crashed back into her mind, bleaching her face ghostly pale.
“Urp—”
Her churning gut propelled her to the bathroom. She braced over the toilet and retched. With nothing solid inside, only sour bile came up.
She heaved until she was spent. Her peripheral vision caught the water glass nearby; she snatched it to rinse her mouth.
“Thanks.”
“Call me next time something like this happens.” Ji Wuxin even patted her back helpfully.
“Next time!?!” Song Qian’s voice pitched up.
“No, no—never again!” She flailed her hands wildly and lurched unsteadily toward the bedroom.
That night left Song Qian feverish for a full week. She dropped seven or eight pounds, her already slight frame wasting away until her ribs poked visibly at her chest.
Seeing how grave her illness was, Ji Wuxin kept out of sight for those days. What if she accidentally drained the girl’s luck entirely? The weak were prime targets for fate’s whims.
This morning, Song Qian was still huddled under the covers, fever sapping her strength so badly she could barely lift her limbs. Even rolling over took serious consideration.
Drifting in that hazy half-sleep, she registered the doorbell chiming relentlessly, over and over without pause. Frowning, she flung off the blanket draped over her head and dragged herself out of bed with great reluctance.
“Who’s there? Hold on, coming.”
The living room curtains were drawn tight, leaving the space dim even past nine a.m. Song Qian tousled her bird’s-nest hair and shuffled to the door.
“Who is it?”
No answer. The knocking persisted, even speeding up. Sleep fled Song Qian in an instant.
“Who’s there?” she called again. Panic spiked, and she backed away step by step.
Still nothing. The knocking halted abruptly.
Song Qian’s breathing shallowed. She waited ages with no further sound, tension easing from her body bit by bit.
The kitchen lay to her right. Craving a cold drink from the fridge to steady her nerves, she pivoted—and collided with something icy cold.
Instinct screamed it was a ghost’s body.
Song Qian nearly jumped out of her skin, frantically waving her hands and kicking her feet toward that side. “Ahhh, don’t come over! Don’t come over! Go away!!”
Her flailing hand was suddenly seized, and she heard a familiar voice. “What are you doing?”
The tone dripped with disdain—no one but Ji Wuxin could sound like that.
Song Qian lifted her head, peering through the tangled strands of hair hanging in front of her face at that unnaturally pale visage. All the suppressed anguish and suffering of the past few days transformed in an instant into grievance and resentment the moment Ji Wuxin appeared.
She lunged forward and grabbed Ji Wuxin by the collar. Her eyes were red and brimming with crystalline tears that kept welling up, while the throbbing pain in her temples made her voice much louder than usual. “I’m just an ordinary college student! Why did you have to pick on me? Why did you show up in my house? I don’t want to see those things! I’m scared—I’m really, really scared…”
By the end, Song Qian was sobbing uncontrollably. She didn’t dare lay a hand on Ji Wuxin, no matter how furious and dissatisfied she felt. After all, Ji Wuxin was a ghost.
If Ji Wuxin hadn’t been a ghost, maybe Song Qian could have beaten her up to vent her frustration. But she was a ghost—and a powerful one at that.
The more Song Qian thought about it, the more aggrieved she felt. Staring at the vague, ethereal figure before her, she threw herself forward.
Song Qian bit Ji Wuxin.
Ji Wuxin glanced at the person latched onto her shoulder, utterly baffled. What was she doing?
Ji Wuxin felt no pain—not even a hint of an itch.
“I can protect you. You don’t need to be afraid.”
This was the greatest concession Ji Wuxin was willing to make!
“What about the afternoon?” Song Qian remembered that this ghost rarely appeared during the day.
Ji Wuxin pushed her away, her gaze firm and unyielding.
“That won’t work. I need to sleep.”
