Chapter Twenty-Six: A Chance Encounter with Beauty

The expression on that young man’s face at that moment was one I’d seen countless times before, etched into every client’s features. After all, this might well be the greatest shock to his worldview since birth.

“Oh, come on! You’ve run into a seductive ghost. Just moments ago, you were smug about your supposed romantic luck.” Old Liao shot him a contemptuous glance. “Go if you want, or stay behind—if you do, you’ll just wait for that female ghost to drain every ounce of your vitality.”

The boy suddenly panicked. “No, please, brother, explain yourself! I’ll go with you, alright? I’ll go, just let me come with you.”

From our brief conversation on the way, we learned that this university student’s name was Wang Zihao. His family ran a business, and he’d been pampered since childhood, treated like a young master. Unlike other spoiled rich kids, he didn’t have an overbearing attitude; he got along well with poorer students. In his own words, money was the least interesting thing, he wasn’t fond of it, but he loved the feeling of others depending on his wealth. To put it bluntly, he was vain and terribly immature.

His only fault, really, was his fondness for nightlife. Old Liao said society wasn’t what it used to be, especially the circles university students ran in. Now, campuses were surrounded by internet cafés, bars, hotels, and KTVs. Many people from all walks of life flocked to university towns for fun, making the crowd a mix of all sorts. Naturally, this led to plenty of trouble—drug abuse, casual hook-ups, one-night stands, and even lowlifes offering loans and “sponsorships” to students.

Old Liao often lamented: Today’s students face the ugliest realities of society with the purest hearts. The unlucky ones suffer the torment of addiction and online loans; the lucky ones, after years of indulgence and material excess, end up with distorted values.

Of course, neither Old Liao nor I could claim to be paragons of virtue, and we had no interest in wasting our energy lecturing kids. But in such an environment, it was easy for “ghostly affairs” to sprout.

Soon, we arrived at the tattoo shop. Wang Zihao’s mood had clearly calmed. “You know, I still don’t really believe in ghosts and such.”

Old Liao took out a pack of Red Pagoda Mountain cigarettes, lit one, and said, “You don’t have to believe. But she’s right there in your mouth. Next time you cross the street, no one might be around to save you.”

“That can’t be, surely the girl blocked me. Lots of people go out for a night of fun, then get on with their lives the next day—no strings attached.”

“You’re imagining things. A beautiful girl gets the short end of the stick with you and doesn’t ask you to take responsibility? Why?”

“Maybe because I’m handsome and rich...”

“Get out of here! If you die out there, don’t expect us to save you.”

Seeing Wang Zihao still had the spirit to banter with Old Liao, I made up my mind. I raised his hand and asked, “Do you remember what the girl you spent that night with looked like?”

Wang Zihao tried hard to recall, then shook his head in confusion.

“That’s what I thought. Want to see what she really looks like?” My face was strange as I picked up the thickest tattoo needle and asked.

“Yeah, can I see?” Seeing him nod, I grabbed his hand, pricked his finger with the thick needle, and watched as blood seeped out. I brought over a jar of black ink, grabbed a piece of cowhide parchment from the tattoo bed, and, using that thick needle, etched a pattern—a single eye.

Old Liao stared for a moment, then suddenly understood, “A cow’s eye?”

I didn’t answer, only nodded silently, then handed Wang Zihao the parchment with the eye inked in blood and black ink. I motioned for him to face the mirror and open his mouth.

Wang Zihao, dubious, pressed the parchment against his right eye and opened his mouth as wide as he could. After a moment, he seemed to see something horrifying, threw down the parchment, and collapsed onto the floor. “Ah! Ah! There’s a ghost! There’s a female ghost in my mouth! She... she was just smiling at me!”

Old Liao and I took turns with the parchment, making Wang Zihao open his mouth for us to observe. There she was, dressed in red, a mocking smile on her face, her long, pale fingers devoid of all color. Upon closer inspection, the female ghost wore a traditional embroidered wedding dress, holding a red veil, looking eerily strange. On her feet were narrow silk shoes, intricately carved and still blood-red. But her eyes—just two red holes, set off by the upturned corners of her mouth—were terrifying.

“Brother Xu, your cow-eye spirit technique is impressive,” Old Liao said.

I scratched my head, embarrassed. Actually, the method was described briefly in some reference books. This Yin-Yang tattooing borrowed the power of totems. The art had been passed down for ages, but in our generation, only the tattooing aspect remained; in ancient times, it likely had far greater, more mysterious uses. It was like the bronze figures unearthed at Sanxingdui, the secret patterns engraved on the bronze serpent fading quietly into history.

Wang Zihao trembled, sitting on the ground. “What... what’s going on? Why is she in my mouth?”

“Now, tell us everything that happened that night. Leave nothing out,” Old Liao said, staring him in the eye, each word deliberate.

“O-okay, it happened like this...”

As it turned out, Wang Zihao, with his handsome looks and substantial wealth, was popular around the university town—not just with the girls, but even bar owners would reach out to him. He always spent generously, was adept at stirring up a lively atmosphere, and any event he attended was sure to be a hit.

Last weekend, Wang Zihao left the internet café as usual to join the night’s bar activities. He walked confidently to the bar’s back door and saw a stunning beauty—her hair dyed wine-red, clad in a red sequin mini-dress—leaning on the railing, quietly crying. Her looks and figure were exquisite, and Wang Zihao, a veteran of romance, felt a surge of pity and hurried over to ask what was wrong.

It turned out she'd just broken up with a cheating boyfriend. Wang Zihao comforted her and invited her to his party. The bar was filled with music, wild dancing, and hormones; a crowd of young people twisted their still-immature bodies with abandon. Under the influence of premium liquor, Wang Zihao gradually lost consciousness, his mind filled only with the image of the red-dressed beauty helping him into a hotel room, the shedding clothes, the soft sensations.

The next day, the girl vanished. Wang Zihao felt a pang of disappointment but didn’t dwell on it, carrying on with his usual eating, drinking, and fun with his roommates. One night after returning from the internet café, exhausted, he climbed into bed without even changing his clothes. Half-asleep, he heard someone call, “Young master, let your servant help you undress.” He jerked awake to find his shirt buttons being undone one by one, and, terrified, he jumped up, grabbed a glass of plain water from the desk, and drained it.

“When did I pour this water? Why does it taste so metallic?” he wondered, but fatigue overtook him and he soon fell back asleep. From that night on, his roommates often said they'd see him get up in the middle of the night, as if sleepwalking, giggling at the mirror and meticulously straightening his clothes. Sometimes he’d fall asleep in class, muttering nonsense about “embroidered wedding dresses, red lanterns.” Today, he was possessed again, nearly hit by our car.

Old Liao slapped his thigh, draped a sinister arm around Wang Zihao’s neck, and muttered, “Kid, you’re in luck. That female ghost has picked you—she’s given you a ghostly marriage!”