Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Qilin Devours the Ghost

As night fell, the three of us drove to the Lijing Garden residential complex.

Brother Lin carried a weapon on his back, wrapped in plain cloth; by its shape, it appeared to be a knife.

“Carrying a prohibited knife in public—aren’t you afraid the police will catch you?” I muttered.

Liao greeted the security guard with practiced familiarity. The guard, surprised, opened the gate for us. “You again? Heading to Building 44?”

“Heh, we haven’t gotten to the bottom of things yet. Our client still lives inside,” Liao quickly offered the guard a cigarette.

Lighting up, the guard frowned deeply. “I could tell last time—you’re experts. If you can resolve this haunting for good, it’ll bring peace to all of us working here. If anything happens, use this walkie-talkie to call me. I’ll alert the police immediately.”

We nodded and bowed in agreement, though we knew perfectly well that if trouble truly arose, the police wouldn’t be much use.

At the entrance to the building, Liao once again produced his rosewood compass. Just as before, its silver needle spun wildly.

Brother Lin, silent, strode forward and pushed open the door. With a creak, the villa was revealed in full illumination.

“Liu Juan!” Liao called out, summoning his courage.

No reply. Suddenly, a chilling gust swept through, and all the lights within flickered, wavering between brightness and darkness. From the depths of the house, a woman drifted out.

She didn’t walk—she glided, her feet never touching the ground, silent and ethereal.

As the cold wind surged, the flickering lights turned an eerie phosphorescent green. Accompanied by Liu Juan’s apparition, a haunting, sorrowful song echoed through the villa’s hall. I glanced at the walkie-talkie in my hand; only static crackled from its speaker.

The melody, neither ancient nor familiar, was incomprehensible, sung in strange, guttural tones that chilled the heart.

Liao and I felt our spirits falter, our eyes growing vacant under the influence of that spectral song.

Brother Lin stepped forward, swung his weapon from his back, struck it hard against the floor, and gripped the hilt with both hands, shouting, “You petty spirit, stop pretending to be a ghost!”

His actions were commanding—a display of raw authority.

Liu Juan’s movement ceased abruptly. She stood rigid, her shadow on the wall stretching longer and longer, morphing into the hunched silhouette of a yellow weasel demon.

She parted her lips slightly; from the shadow came a sinister cackling, “Hehe, heh-heh-heh.”

Standing behind Brother Lin, I scoffed coldly. “Borrowing a corpse to return the soul, nurturing ghost infants—blaming it all on the Huang family of the Northeast. Aren’t you afraid they’ll shatter your soul?”

The eerie laughter faded, and the shadow shrank, gradually forming into the shape of a woman clad in ancient attire.

“Esteemed sirs, I have committed no crime. Why must you hunt me down?” The ghost’s voice was plaintive, laced with malice.

“Hmph. Haunting this cursed house, stealing bodies, draining vitality, and nurturing ghost children—do you dare claim innocence?” Brother Lin’s voice was imposing, commanding respect.

“I only wish for children. Why don’t you try it yourself?” The ghost, possessing Liu Juan, became alluring, lifting her nightgown to reveal her pale thigh—tempting in every way.

“Obstinate!” Brother Lin tore the cloth covering from his weapon. Beneath it was a crude, broken blade, likely unearthed from a tomb.

The lacquered hilt exuded a sinister aura. Though the blade was fractured, it was deeply unsettling. Liao glanced at it, astonished. “This knife is ancient!”

Brother Lin unsheathed it, and the qilin tattoo on his body seemed to react, glowing with heat. He pulled open his shirt, revealing the tattoo now flushed red, its dragon head and antlers radiating black light, and the qilin’s mouth appeared to pant in excitement.

He slammed the sheath to the floor, leveled the blade, and charged straight at Liu Juan.

Ignoring the ghost’s shrieks, he rushed behind Liu Juan, shoved her away from the wall, and slashed at the neck of the shadow. The shadow dodged nimbly, barely evading the blow.

The ghost giggled, her phantom flitting up the wall, about to speak, when suddenly Brother Lin’s qilin tattoo manifested as a spectral beast. The qilin, energetic and fierce, stomped the floor and leapt, sinking its jaws into the shadow’s neck.

With a gruesome splatter, the head fell, black foul liquid spraying onto Liu Juan and Brother Lin. The qilin didn’t stop, tearing into the shadow and devouring it entirely.

The darkness faded from the wall, leaving only a tiny black spot.

Silence returned to the grand villa, and Liu Juan collapsed, limp.

“Brother Lin, you’re incredible,” Liao exclaimed, dumbfounded, thumbs raised in admiration.

The qilin specter vanished, returning as a tattoo to Brother Lin’s skin.

Was this the power of the ghost embroidery? Today’s events left me secretly amazed.

Liu Juan remained unconscious, so I wandered about the room. Gazing at the black spot left by the ghost’s shadow, I touched it with a finger, almost involuntarily.

A thunderous boom echoed in my mind. Darkness engulfed me, and I lost consciousness. Fragmented images began to piece themselves together. I saw a man with a red string tied around his wrist, speaking toward me in the empty house.

"Died in childbirth, yet clung to her obsession; the ghost body cannot bear children. But lingering here, your wish may be fulfilled. Only, you must help me with something..."

Through the haze, I glimpsed the events that occurred years ago in this house. The ghost had been manipulated, used by someone to harm others.

Scenes flashed through my mind like a comic strip: one resident after another moved in, and without exception, the female hosts became pregnant, the men’s vitality drained. Some women died mysteriously during pregnancy; others vanished after giving birth to ghost infants.

It wasn’t my first time experiencing such strange phenomena—it felt like traveling back in time, witnessing events from a third-person perspective. I called this strange ability synesthesia.

Have you ever experienced this? Sometimes, during certain events, you feel as if the scene, the environment, the people are familiar, as if seen in a dream. My sense of it was particularly strong. As a child, I’d asked my grandfather about it; he only shook his head and muttered, “Nine Shadows United.”

Unconsciously, I awoke from the trance. Liao, Liu Juan, and Brother Lin were sitting on the sofa, staring at me oddly.

“What’s wrong, dreaming of love? Your expression was quite a show!” Liao nudged me with his elbow.

I shoved him aside and looked at Brother Lin, who had reverted to his cold, handsome demeanor. The ancient broken blade was once again wrapped and slung over his back.

I recounted everything I’d just seen.

“You mean the ghost was put here by someone, and the haunted house was created deliberately? What for?” Liao was puzzled.

“To breed ghost children,” Brother Lin replied curtly.

Liao’s face lit up in sudden realization. “Those missing women who gave birth to ghost infants—maybe the ghost children ate them!”

“And those ghost infants?” I asked.

“They may be wandering the city, or perhaps kept by the mysterious mastermind. Sometimes, human cruelty surpasses even ghosts—for some, ghosts are good business,” Liao said solemnly.

So there really are people abusing dark arts!