Record of Spirits and Ghosts Chapter Seven: The Vanished Reporter (May the Mountains and Rivers Remain Unscathed)

The moment Jiang Li hung up the phone, Fei Ling was still in a daze. Before this mission, she recalled that Jiang Li had mentioned his task was related to online fiction authors. She had intended to share details about her own assignment but hadn’t had the chance before the mission began. Clearly, Jiang Li’s abrupt end to the call meant he had received some reliable information.

This horror story consisted of five independent yet interconnected parts, each written by one of five master authors. The first of these was a well-known mystery writer. While Jiang Li listened to him recount his tale, he did not hear any mention of scenes similar to what Fei Ling had experienced.

After Jiang Li left, the strange man from the bathroom was all but forgotten. When the man opened the stall door, his whole body trembled violently. He convulsed, struggling for breath, as if invisible hands tightened around his throat. Within a minute, he collapsed, his chest still.

A business card slipped from his suit pocket as he fell. Only then did Jiang Li remember the man and return to the restroom. The place was silent, and since the hallway to the left of the grand hall led only to the bathrooms, anyone entering or leaving would have been noticed. When Jiang Li had returned to his seat, he hadn’t seen anyone go in or out, so the man must still be inside.

Jiang Li opened each stall door, but the second stall, where the man had been, was empty. The conclusion was obvious: the man had been attacked by a spirit. Jiang Li picked up the business card at his feet. The man’s name was Shang Wen, a reporter for a small newspaper in Zhengxin City.

Finding nothing more, Jiang Li returned to his seat. He had barely sat down when the second master author took the stage: Black, also known as Black Fire, one of Jiang Li’s two favorite writers. Black wore a formal black suit. Though not particularly handsome, much like Mars, he possessed the unique charm of a mature man.

Though seated in the back rows, Jiang Li could easily see the nervousness on Black’s face. To Jiang Li’s knowledge, Mars was a bit older than Black—at thirty, already living the life of a man who soaks goji berries in his thermos. Jiang Li hadn’t looked up Black’s age, but he had once mentioned dating, so he must be between twenty-six and thirty, still quite young. Seeing him today confirmed Jiang Li’s guesses.

Black was an introvert, famous in the supernatural fiction community, but had never participated in any online fiction events. This was his first true public appearance. Interestingly, several reporters had become well-known simply for capturing his photograph. Though online fiction authors tend to be low-key, their influence is not to be underestimated.

Black stepped up to the microphone and adjusted his clothing, taking a deep breath to steady himself. Many readers in the audience held banners or light signs for their idols. Looking out at the crowd, Black saw the two most popular figures were Mars and himself. He glanced at the audience, then peeked backstage at Mars, suddenly struck by an idea to ease his tension.

He leaned close to the microphone, glanced backstage once more, and quietly said, “Before I introduce myself, I have something important to announce. There won’t be a new chapter of ‘The Evil God’ today.”

A smug smile spread across Black’s face as he flashed a victory sign at Mars backstage. The audience erupted in laughter; only Mars’s longtime fans caught the joke. Some readers looked puzzled, turning to their neighbors for an explanation.

Backstage, Mars had felt a sense of foreboding when Black first glanced his way. Covering his face, Mars muttered, “I knew it, I just knew he’d mention me… After all, I’m notorious for my slow update speed.”

Black turned to Mars again, grinning mischievously. Mars silently mouthed a response, which Black instantly read: “So what if I’m slow? My old fans still love it—doesn’t that just get under your skin?”

Mars gave a sly, wry smile, and Black answered with a silent retort of his own: “Who isn’t the same? Look at yourself when you laugh…” Though he didn’t say it out loud, he knew Mars would understand exactly what he meant.

“Before I begin my story,” Black said, “allow me to introduce myself. I am Black, an ordinary author on a certain website.” Backstage, Mars cursed under his breath, “You’re the creepy one when you laugh, you jerk.”

With introductions complete, Black began his story. It was composed of several parts, the main plot concerning a group of people who encountered supernatural events on a late-night bus. Each author’s tale stood alone, yet all were intricately connected.

Black’s segment revealed the core of the story. Thirty years ago, in the early nineties, a murder occurred. Even after three decades, the truth remained unknown. The murdered woman became a spirit, never learning who her killer was. Her unresolved hatred fixated on the 444 night bus, the last memory from her mortal life.

Suddenly, the air raid siren sounded. All readers, fans, and staff in attendance rose to their feet, and the authors rushed to the stage, declaring in unison, “We honor the departed and salute the heroes. May our nation know peace and safety.”

Everyone observed a moment of silence for the heroes who fell during the great wars and epidemics, mourning those who had journeyed beyond.

End of chapter—honor the departed, salute the heroes. May the mountains and rivers endure, and the familiar landscapes remain.