"Thirteen Guardians?" The name echoed in Fubao's mind. Do ghosts even have titles?
Fang Zhiyi listened to Huang Youcai's screams in the distance and slowly floated up. "Huang Youcai! In life, you did no good deeds, neglected your filial duties, and were lazy and gluttonous. Now, as a vengeful ghost, you dare to kill the innocent? Thirteen Guardians, heed my command!"
The ghosts were confused. What was this "Thirteen Guardians"? They didn’t realize Fang Zhiyi had made it up on the spot.
Bai Jingtian was the quickest to react. "At your service!"
"For evil spirits—only extermination, no redemption!"
"Yes!" But after answering, Bai Jingtian felt awkward. Beating ghosts was one thing, but killing them? How?
Fang Zhiyi, however, had already anticipated this. During his recent encounters with vengeful spirits, he had discovered a way to completely erase them.
"Hold him down!"
The ghosts scrambled to pin Huang Youcai’s spirit in place, and even the headless ghost hurriedly retrieved its own head.
A flowing sleeve lashed out, and Huang Youcai let out a blood-curdling scream, writhing in unbearable agony before gradually dissipating into nothingness.
The other ghosts stood dumbfounded. They hadn’t expected this opera performer to actually be capable of killing ghosts. Several of them instinctively touched their necks, relieved he had only beaten them up before.
"Let’s go home." Fang Zhiyi waved at Fubao and drifted away with his entourage of ghosts.
After a moment of stunned silence, Fubao, who had just faced death, suddenly dropped to his knees. "This humble one thanks the immortal for saving my life!"
"Boss, he called us immortals?" One ghost blinked, looking down at its own bloodstained body.
"In these times, anyone who helps them is an immortal."
Meanwhile, Little Hei returned with the news Fang Zhiyi had been waiting for.
"What? No underworld? What kind of setting is this?"
Little Hei shrugged. "That’s why there are so many ghost hunters and fortune-tellers. When people die, their souls go straight into reincarnation—that’s how this world works. There’s no underworld or judgment like you mentioned. Those who refuse to move on? Well, that’s you lot."
To its surprise, Fang Zhiyi’s face lit up with excitement.
"Good, very good!"
A grand plan was already forming in his mind. Whether it would work in practice remained to be seen.
Two or three days later, Ma Xiuyun and He Weicai arrived, only to find their services unnecessary—the starving ghost had already been vanquished by the Thirteen Guardians.
"Thirteen Guardians? What nonsense is that?" Ma Xiuyun scoffed.
A nearby villager shoved her. "Show some respect! They’re immortals! They saved my life!"
Ma Xiuyun flushed with anger, but under the townspeople’s hostile glares, she and He Wei had no choice but to slink away.
"Yes, yes, just like that!" Fang Zhiyi clapped in satisfaction before summoning the drowned ghost. "Now, he’s Butcher Zheng—the man who abused you! The one who beat you and starved you!"
Xiulian’s face twisted into something horrifying, her claws outstretched.
"Hold that expression!" Fang Zhiyi stepped back. "He even chopped your corpse into pieces!"
Xiulian erupted. Thick miasma of resentment filled the ruined temple as she lunged at the drowned ghost, punching and kicking wildly.
"Useless." Fang Zhiyi threw up his hands. "Stop!"
Xiulian halted, looking at him with wounded eyes.
"You’re a ghost! A ghost! What are you doing, brawling like a human? Where’s the murderous rage you had when you were about to kill that passerby?"
Xiulian shrank back. "After following you these days, I... kinda forgot..."
"Then remember!"
Fang Zhiyi turned to the others. "What are you all staring at? Think you’ve mastered this already?"
The spectators immediately scattered, each contorting into their most terrifying forms, trying to make their peers shriek in fright.
"Bai Jingtian!"
"Here!"
"What the hell is this?" Fang Zhiyi yanked down the white silk hanging from the rafters in disgust.
Bai Jingtian scratched his head. "You said we needed atmosphere..."
"Atmosphere my ass!" Fang Zhiyi tossed the silk aside, and a long-haired woman with a lolling tongue scrambled to retrieve it, draping it around her neck.
"To scare someone, timing is everything. Then comes your entrance—either sudden or deceptive. Lull them into a false sense of security before you strike. Got it?"
Bai Jingtian nodded.
"Go practice with... uh... Huang Shuren! Yes, him. Don’t come back until he admits you scared him."
Bai Jingtian eyed Huang Shuren’s pitch-black face uneasily. "Boss, he’s way scarier than me."
"Quit whining!" Fang Zhiyi kicked him.
A woman on all fours scuttled past upside-down at breakneck speed. Fang Zhiyi sidestepped, and she shot straight out the door.
"Yu Zhaodi! How many times have I told you? Look where you’re going when you run like that!"
"Does this pose even scare people?" Xiulian whispered.
Fang Zhiyi nodded. He was confident—no ghost had mastered this move yet, but one would in the future. It wasn’t plagiarism, right?
"Wei Xiaohua, smile while you comb your hair—no, wait, crying works too. But can you at least cry properly? Not like some bullied wife! Channel your grief! Think about your brother, the one who got you killed! He’s still living the high life!"
Hands on his hips, Fang Zhiyi surveyed the motley crew and sighed.
"Seven days. You have seven days! Then we test this in the field!"
Word spread among the villagers—the abandoned temple on the mountainside was haunted. Woodcutters passing by reported unearthly shrieks, bone-chilling laughter, and the occasional enraged howl.
Butcher Zheng was planning another marriage. Money was no issue, and Xiulian had been pretty, if dull. Touching his blinded eye, he scowled.
Letting her die so easily had been too merciful.
The old hag next door warned him Xiulian might return as a vengeful ghost. Ridiculous! A butcher afraid of ghosts?
He took a swig of liquor, mentally listing families desperate enough to sell their daughters, when the locked gate swung open.
Butcher Zheng frowned. He’d definitely latched it.
Shaking his head, he went to shut it again. But the moment the bolt clicked into place, the gate burst open violently, slamming against the wall.
"Who the hell’s messing with me?" He grabbed his cleaver and stormed outside.
No one was there.
Cursing, he secured the gate once more—only to spin around and freeze.
A woman in red sat in his chair, her tiny feet dangling midair, swinging gently.
Butcher Zheng’s heart pounded. Fear was natural—who wouldn’t be afraid of a ghost? But his bravado held. "So, Xiulian, you’ve come back, have you?"