Chapter Eight: Encountering Wang Feiyang Again

The words echoed through the headset, relentlessly hammering at my eardrums—sharp and hoarse—while the old woman on the screen seemed as if she might crawl out at any moment. I let out a terrified scream and collapsed onto the floor. My commotion must have been loud enough to attract the attention of the people outside, including the internet café manager, because soon a crowd burst into my cubicle, staring at me as if I were a fool.

The manager, who knew me from my frequent visits, was the first to rush in and ask what had happened. I glanced back at the computer screen; it only showed the game, no trace of the old woman's face. Relieved, I told them it was nothing, just a nightmare.

Sparse laughter drifted from around me. I could clearly hear someone calling me an idiot. Normally, my temper would have flared at such insults, but now I felt nothing at all.

I left the cubicle, parched, and decided to buy a bottle of mineral water to soothe my throat. As I reached into my pocket for money, my fingers brushed against something soft and pliable. Pulling it out, I was startled—it was the yellow cloth bundle that Zuo Daoyin had given me yesterday to deliver to the old woman at the Chen family’s funeral shop. I was certain I had handed it over; how had it returned to my pocket?

Instinctively, I opened the bundle. My fingers felt sticky, and when I looked closely, I recoiled in horror and threw it to the ground. Inside the yellow cloth was a lock of hair, drenched in fresh blood.

Lost and shaken, I fled the internet café, feeling my pockets as I ran, terrified that the bundle I had discarded might somehow find its way back to me. It was midday, and though the sun hung in the sky, I shivered with cold.

I suddenly felt utterly lost. On the street where I'd lived nearly twenty years, everything seemed foreign. After all the recent upheavals, I no longer knew where to turn. I dared not return to the coffin shop, and my grandfather was nowhere to be found. Though I refused to believe he was dead, a strange sorrow gnawed at my heart.

I wandered aimlessly until I found myself at the site of the old grain station on White Street. It used to serve villagers from miles around, with a large courtyard outside. After the government abolished the grain policy, the courtyard had become deserted.

Now, the courtyard was surrounded by people, police had cordoned off the area with warning tape. Seeing the scene, my heart sank—could another massacre like the Wang family’s have occurred?

I moved closer, unable to squeeze through the dense crowd, so I asked a neighbor what had happened. He smiled at me and said, “Just here to see something strange. Yesterday, Old Wang’s family—seven people—died. Master Zuo forbade anyone from touching the bodies. Now, at high noon, he’s setting up his altar to invoke the sun’s fire and burn the corpses.”

Such public rituals would never be allowed elsewhere, but White Street was different. Nearly half the residents made their living from funeral rites, and every family had encountered something uncanny; so everyone held a cautious respect for the supernatural. Even the local police, after Master Zuo declared no one could move the bodies, dared not interfere, simply stationing guards at the Wang family’s home.

Last night, Zuo Daoyin announced he’d burn the bodies at noon, likely fearing they might turn into corpse fiends. He chose midday for the ritual.

I assumed Wang Feiyang, the Wang family’s surviving member, would be present. I owed him a debt—if I hadn’t asked him to make the seven paper coffins, perhaps his family wouldn’t have suffered such a tragedy. We had always got along, but after last night, he’d become my enemy. Remembering the hatred in his eyes when he tried to kill me, I felt wretched.

I forced my way through the crowd and saw seven bodies laid out in the center of the courtyard, with an altar before them. Zuo Daoyin stood at the altar, preparing for the ritual.

To my surprise, Wang Feiyang was nowhere to be seen. He should have been here today, yet he hadn’t appeared. Puzzled, I searched the crowd, but even as the bodies were placed atop kindling, I still couldn’t find him. Meanwhile, Zuo Daoyin began the ritual, burning the corpses.

When the seven bodies were ignited with the sun’s fire, I suddenly felt a hand clamp down on my shoulder, pulling me out of the crowd.

Turning abruptly, I saw a man in a black hoodie, hood pulled low to obscure his face. Despite his disguise, I recognized him instantly—it was Wang Feiyang.

Before I could call out, he covered my mouth and shook his head, then turned and walked away. Without hesitation, I followed him, and soon we left the grain station behind.

He walked quickly, saying nothing, and finally stopped in a deserted alley. My nerves were taut; after all, Wang Feiyang had tried to kill me last night, and now he’d brought me to this empty alley. Who knew what he might do?

But I didn’t run. I'd already lost my sense of purpose, resigned to fate. In fact, Wang Feiyang’s presence steadied me a little—I almost hoped he would kill me, so I’d no longer suffer this unknown fear and torment.

Wang Feiyang kept his back to me, standing silently for several seconds before slowly pulling his hood down. Only then did I notice he’d shaved his head.

He’d always had a cold, sharp look, but with his new shaved head, he seemed even more formidable and mature. Wang Feiyang had transformed completely; he was like a different person. He used to be quiet, not cold, but now he was like a block of ice—no warmth radiated from him, much like the Death God Bu Jingyun from “Storm Riders,” whose tears never fell.

After experiencing such devastation, his change was hardly surprising.

“Aren’t you going to see your family off one last time?” I asked, uneasy as I looked at his frozen expression.

“Will it bring them back?” he replied.

His answer left me speechless, so I changed the subject, asking why he’d brought me here.

“Revenge.”

I instinctively recoiled, thinking he meant to kill me. Instead, he told me to follow him—he wanted us to find the truth together, uncover the real culprit, and avenge his family.

I breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed Wang Feiyang had worked through much overnight; he realized I wasn’t the mastermind behind these events, and killing me would solve nothing. What mattered was uncovering the circumstances and holding the true perpetrator accountable.

“Come with me.”

With that, Wang Feiyang disappeared down the alley. He walked so fast I had to jog to keep up. To my surprise, he took me to Zuo Daoyin’s house.

I hurriedly asked what we were doing there, why we’d come to Zuo Daoyin’s home. Wang Feiyang didn’t answer. He climbed over the courtyard wall and called back, “Zuo Daoyin is busy performing the ritual at the grain station and won’t be back for a while. We need to meet someone before he returns.”

“Who are we meeting?” I asked, puzzled, as I followed him over the wall.

Wang Feiyang said nothing more, striding directly into Zuo Daoyin’s house—and then, astonishingly, heading straight up to the attic.