C17 Engagement

I asked her why she was helping me, but she remained silent. Then she inquired if I remembered the red paper. I confirmed that I did. "Was it you who wrote it?" I asked. She smiled and playfully asked, "If I had written it, would you marry me?"

My heart skipped a beat. "You must be joking," I said. "Humans and ghosts walk different paths. Besides, you're just a kid." As I spoke, I couldn't understand why my face felt so hot. I gestured for her to stop teasing and then asked if Wang Tao and that man were going to fight.

She blinked curiously at me. "Why are you staring?" I asked. "Brother, are you feeling hot?" she questioned. "I'm not hot," I replied, puzzled. "Then why is your face red?" she pressed. A wave of unease washed over me; her piercing gaze seemed too knowing. Clearing my throat, I insisted, "Just answer my question!"

She grinned and declared, "Wang Tao must be dead."

I was stunned. Dead? According to the girl, the other 'Wang Tao' had actually locked me in the storage room to save my life. He had sidelined me to focus on dealing with the real Wang Tao, who, unexpectedly, was not to be underestimated—he had killed his cat spirit. And just before, he had somehow disrupted the second-floor surveillance, likely to keep me from witnessing his actions.

The girl chuckled, "Brother, I noticed that man took a pair of scissors. I bet he snipped some control wire, which is why your monitor can't show the second-floor scene."

I felt a twinge of surprise. This girl was alarmingly clever, her intelligence almost frightening. And when she spoke of Wang Tao's certain death, there was no hint of emotion in her demeanor, as if death was a foregone conclusion. I realized that if she had any intention of harming me, she could easily find a myriad of ways to do so.

For the following days, I avoided going up to the second floor. Each time I approached the stairwell, a battle between curiosity and fear kept me lingering, torn. I was desperate to know what had become of Wang Tao. Despite his past actions against me, I couldn't shake the feeling that he had his reasons, that he was fighting for his life. And from that day forward, Wang Tao's phone number just led to a dead line.

After Wu Yi returned to work, he seemed to sink deeper into depression. He used to occasionally strike up a conversation, but now he would sit motionless in front of the surveillance monitors until the following morning.

One day, I got a call from Wu Yi inviting me to meet a highly respected individual. We met up, and he drove us in his Santana straight to Little Phoenix Street. After parking, we navigated through several old alleys until we reached a residential house. Upon arrival, I quipped that the house looked quite old and could fetch a handsome sum if sold, perhaps a hundred thousand or more.

Wu Yi just shook his head without a word. Inside, I discovered that Wu Yi had brought me to meet his cousin.

The house was quaint, with two stories that weren't particularly spacious, adorned with an ancient charm. We were received by Wu Yi's uncle and aunt, who were exceedingly courteous, though their faces bore signs of weariness. After exchanging pleasantries, Wu Yi mentioned he wanted to introduce me to his cousin upstairs. He explained that his cousin was frail and not up for entertaining guests, but we proceeded to enter.

The second floor exuded an even more rustic aura. It was there I understood the pervasive gloom on the faces of Wu Yi's uncle, aunt, and the rest of the household. Wu Yi's cousin lay in a small room, dimly lit. Being accustomed to the dimness of the Ghost Building, the lighting didn't faze me. Sensing our presence, Wu Yi's cousin weakly lifted his arm from the bed and coughed twice before inquiring who was there.

"It's me, brother. I've brought Lee Fan to see you," Wu Yi replied.

Hearing this, I was taken aback. His cousin wanted to see me? I had never met the man, so why would he request my presence? Perhaps Wu Yi had shared some details about me with him. It seemed plausible, especially since Wu Yi had described his cousin as a formidable itinerant practitioner, far surpassing any local shaman or fortune teller. The idea of someone possessing life-extending powers seemed like fiction to me, but now, faced with the individual who had helped Cripple Zhou's mother, I couldn't help but feel a sense of awe.

Wu Yi said, "You two chat—I'll step out for a bit."

Curious, I asked Wu Yi what was up. He gave my shoulder a reassuring pat and explained, "My brother has something to discuss with you. It might just help with what you're dealing with right now."

Wu Yi's cousin, Ninth Faang, slowly sat up with a deliberate grace that caught my eye. It was almost unbelievable. Most people either get up quickly or use their arms for support, but Ninth Faang rose as if guided by unseen hands. I couldn't help but suspect he had mastered some secret martial art or perhaps his body was just that flexible.

After a couple of harsh coughs and deep breaths, it was clear his illness was serious. With him not speaking, I took the initiative. "I work with Wu Yi. My name is Lee Fan. Wu Yi mentioned you before."

He nodded, and after a long pause, his raspy voice broke the silence. Without the quiet of the room, his words would have been lost: "You can call me Ninth Brother. My last name is Fang, but everyone just calls me Ninth Faang."

"Ninth Brother, what did you want to talk to me about? This is our first meeting, right?"

Ninth Faang acknowledged with a sound. That's when I noticed the tea cabinet near his hand begin to move on its own, stopping within his reach. He lifted a cup from the cabinet, took a sip, then set it down. I blinked in disbelief.

Ninth Faang's face was lined with wrinkles, and even through the bed's canopy, his aged appearance was evident. It struck me that his parents hadn't aged nearly as much. It must be some incurable disease that had brought him to this state. Wu Yi had told me that after Ninth Faang had extended Cripple Zhou's mother's life, he'd been plagued by misfortune, and eventually, disaster struck...

I used to dismiss the idea of karma and reincarnation, but if Wu Yi's account held any truth, it seemed that no matter how clever a person might be, they cannot dodge the retribution of the divine.

Ninth Faang said, "This is the first time we've met, but I've heard about you from others. That's why I invited you over to my place. Sorry if I startled you."

His voice weakened further, as if he was straining to keep the conversation going.

I suggested, "Brother Jiu, if you're not feeling well, you should rest. I can visit another time."

He shook his head, insisting he was fine, and that he only had a couple of things to say.

As Ninth Faang reached for his teacup, I could see it was a struggle for him. I was about to assist him when, to my astonishment, the teacup levitated and moved to his lips on its own.

After a sip, he spoke with a hint of detachment, "Her name is Xiao Ling, my wife."

A sense of unease washed over me. I wondered if there were others in the room—no, other ghosts besides Ninth Faang and me?

He shared, "My experience is similar to yours, with one difference: I was bound by a hell wedding from a young age. At seventeen, I married my wife. She has been a great help to me. Without her, I wouldn't have survived the incident with Cripple Zhou."

I was simultaneously terrified and intrigued. Could there actually be people married to ghosts in this world?

Then, I recalled the blind old lady from my rural hometown who would walk horses. She always carried a basket filled with fruits and incense, claiming they were her late husband's favorites. Before showing these offerings to others, she would light incense and present the fruits. Could it be that it wasn't her but her deceased husband who was the true medium?

Swallowing hard, I couldn't bring myself to look at him again, as the chilling presence in the room was overwhelming.

Ninth Faang went on, "Rather than a Ghost Building, the East City Ghost Building is more of an enigma. Many colleagues have tried to unravel its mysteries, but none have succeeded."

"What's an enigma?" I asked.

He explained, "In our profession, there are travelers, fortune-tellers, those who commune with shadows, and those who pursue spiritual cultivation. Some even delve into the more esoteric, like summoning spirits. Many believe the Ghost Building's curse stems from lingering malevolent spirits and unresolved grudges. Over time, numerous people have attempted to resolve it, but none have prevailed, and some have even perished. Eventually, it became apparent that the building's malevolence was not just due to its hauntings but also its location. I recall a Feng Shui Master explaining that ancient emperors would bury their tombs on Dragon Veins within Dragon Caves to bless their descendants with prosperity. But as eras change, these Dragon Veins can become cursed grounds, bringing misfortune to their lineage. The Ghost Building is ancient, and its site seems intertwined with Feng Shui's Dragon Veins. Consequently, its inhabitants, whether alive or dead, cannot escape its grasp. Even in death, their souls struggle to find reincarnation."

Ninth Faang cleared his throat with a dry cough. "The so-called singularity," he explained, "is that unsolvable mystery that nobody can crack."

"My brother has been obsessed with unraveling the enigma of the Ghost Building," Ninth Faang continued. "No matter how much I try to dissuade him, he just won't listen."

I nodded in understanding.

"That's about all I have to share," Ninth Faang concluded. "I hope it's of some help to you."

Truth be told, I had been restless for a while. Once he finally settled down to rest, I seized the opportunity to stand and take my leave. Stepping out of the room, I felt a sense of relief, as if parting the clouds to find the sun.

Wu Yi was outside, taking a drag on his cigarette. Noticing my exit, he motioned, "Let's go." Curious, I inquired about our destination. Wu Yi replied, "Ms. Liu called. We need to head back to the office."