Kuang Feifan was quite vexed. After all, he’d faced down malevolent spirits and fought zombies; yet now, with Feng Ping present, he’d been relegated to the role of bait to lure out a ghost. It was like the ancient tales of fox spirits meeting scholars at midnight, only this time, Kuang Feifan was the one waiting in the dark for a wicked ghost.

Of course, backing out now was impossible. He had also realized why Feng Ping had been so evasive earlier: the goal was clearly to ensure Kuang Feifan willingly came to help.

Following Feng Ping’s instructions, Kuang Feifan lay down directly on the floor beside the bed. Feng Ping, meanwhile, sat in a lounge chair tucked into the corner of the living room, switching on a nearby floor lamp, looking terribly serious.

The room settled into silence. Kuang Feifan glanced at his watch; it was just past ten. By his old nature, he could easily endure solitude, but his recent experiences had subtly changed him. When left alone, he always felt a nagging sense of unease.

After shifting a few times, he finally got up from the floor and peeked around the bedroom doorway. He saw Feng Ping sitting there in the corner with a stern face, and Kuang Feifan initially considered not disturbing his apparent deep thought. Then, he caught sight of Feng Ping’s eyes darting around furtively. He realized that Feng Ping, too, was probably quite bored right now.

It was generally the case: waiting for a ghost to manifest was a routine, albeit unavoidable, task for Feng Ping. Only when the entity actually appeared did any real tension arise.

“Master Feng, about how late do the ghosts usually show up?” Kuang Feifan asked, a touch of teasing in his tone.

“Hmm…” Feng Ping let out a languid hum, turned to look at Kuang Feifan, pondered for a moment, and then replied, “Any time.”

Kuang Feifan was quite dissatisfied with this half-dead attitude and decisively walked out of the bedroom.

Feng Ping frowned but offered no objection, merely pointing with a finger toward another empty lounge chair beside him.

“Didn’t you say strange phenomena often occur? Why is it so quiet now?” Kuang Feifan asked after settling in.

Feng Ping rubbed between his eyebrows with one finger and said faintly, “It’s related to the talismans I’ve set up. The spirit hiding in the house can no longer appear arbitrarily; it can only move in the direction I’ve indicated. But if they break free from these constraints, it will be a significantly troublesome situation.”

Saying this, he glanced at Kuang Feifan, his eyes assessing the man’s hands.

“You have something in your hand,” he stated.

Kuang Feifan paused slightly, perhaps Feng Ping had casually noticed the prayer beads on his wrist. He smiled. “Just a string of beads I’m wearing.”

Feng Ping held out his hand. “May I see them?”

Kuang Feifan hesitated for a beat, then slipped the beads off his wrist and handed them over.

Taking them, Feng Ping’s gaze sharpened, and his expression shifted to one of considerable surprise. He held the beads up to the light and asked, “Do you know what these are?”

Kuang Feifan chuckled. “Bai Ru gave them to me for protection. I never asked about their origin.”

Feng Ping shook his head gently, a hint of profound wonder in his voice. “These are authentic human bone mala. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen such pure ones. There are too many fakes on the market, and I can sense an extremely potent spiritual energy contained within them.”

“Hu—human bones?” Kuang Feifan started, genuinely shocked.

He had never asked Bai Ru about the material or history of these beads, and she had never offered an explanation. This was the first time he learned that the string he wore was called human bone mala.

Human bone, naturally, meant the actual bones of a person.

Seeing his sudden change in complexion, Feng Ping smiled faintly and explained, “It’s nothing to fear. Human bone mala can be considered unique ritual implements of Vajrayana Buddhism; they are quite powerful, especially if the beads are made from the bones of highly accomplished Lamas, in which case they are truly extraordinary.”

He enthusiastically launched into an explanation of the origins of human bone mala for Kuang Feifan, appearing utterly captivated by the string in his hands.

“Ahem… ahem…” Kuang Feifan coughed twice while Feng Ping paused, extending his hand to take the beads back.

Feng Ping hesitated briefly before handing the beads back. Then he advised, “Put them on, but it’s best not to use them tonight…”

“What?” Kuang Feifan exclaimed.

Feng Ping shrugged. “Or rather, don’t use them unless absolutely necessary. If you utilize these correctly, they can directly scatter a ghost’s soul; it’s a bit too aggressive.”

Kuang Feifan rolled his eyes, feeling somewhat helpless. “I don’t feel capable of that much power right now. The ghosts are dealing with me; I don’t think I’ve ever scattered one myself.”

“That’s normal, because you’re too ordinary,” Feng Ping stated with an air of obvious truth.

Noticing the displeasure clouding Kuang Feifan’s face, Feng Ping quickly added, “Actually, it’s also related to your current physical condition.”

Still, Feng Ping’s words irritated Kuang Feifan. If the human bone mala was as powerful as Feng Ping claimed, why did it feel like merely a piece of jewelry to him, perhaps offering minimal protection or helping ward off minor evil? After all, he had previously used the beads to confront and subdue several terrifying evil spirits. Had that all been sheer dumb luck?

Feng Ping realized he’d spoken carelessly and wisely clamped his mouth shut, deciding not to continue the discussion about the beads.

After a long moment, Kuang Feifan sighed, fastened the beads back onto his wrist, and said, “Fine. Tonight I won’t be spitting blood onto the beads, since biting my tongue is always rather painful.”

Feng Ping offered a dry chuckle, avoiding the topic entirely, and quickly changed the subject. “Right. Why don’t you go back to the bedside and just do as we agreed if anything unusual happens?”

Kuang Feifan grunted and stood up.

Noticing Kuang Feifan still seemed a bit disgruntled, Feng Ping manufactured a topic. “Uh, do you still remember what to do?”

Kuang Feifan shot him a sidelong glance. “If I feel the ghost targeting me, I stay as still as possible. If the ghost tries to attack, I try to dodge, then lure it toward the gap in the red string near the balcony.”

As he spoke, he glanced again at the balcony and the main entrance. Near the breaks in the red string barriers, several small, rough human figures molded from baked earth—barely qualifying as mud dolls—were placed.

He recalled asking Feng Ping about two of these dolls when they were taken out of a yellow paper packet earlier. Feng Ping had explained that they allowed a ghost to possess them, and importantly, the clay used to fire the dolls was mixed with soil from a century-old grave.

Lying back down by the bed, Kuang Feifan let out a long, drawn-out sigh. He didn’t truly dwell on Feng Ping’s words; he would focus on performing his duty as the “medium.”

As silence descended upon the room once more, Kuang Feifan surprisingly began to feel drowsy, his eyelids growing heavy. Just then, he sensed waves of intense cold.

The bedroom floor was covered in thick carpet, and he was wrapped in a heavy blanket. Under normal circumstances, he shouldn’t feel cold, but now Kuang Feifan clearly felt a chilling draft passing through the blanket onto his skin. The carpet beneath him had lost its warm, soft feel, becoming cold and damp instead.

It seemed… they had arrived…