"The old well's moss locks crimson sleeves, embroidered shoes half-damp reveal bony feet, white candles weep in the empty hall, rouge centipedes crawl beneath the bridal veil~"
A mournful opera tune suddenly echoed through the air.
Butcher Zheng, who had mustered his courage, now felt his hair stand on end. If it had been that wretched Xiulian, he wouldn’t have been afraid—but Xiulian couldn’t sing opera.
Had he provoked something else?
The lights in the room abruptly went out. Gritting his teeth, Butcher Zheng roared, "What kind of ghost dares mess with your grandpa?!" He charged inside, brandishing his butcher knife, only to find the spot where the red-clad woman had been sitting now empty.
He searched around but found nothing. Butcher Zheng was dumbfounded—had he drunk too much?
He relit the oil lamp, and as soon as the flame flickered to life, he saw a pair of feet right in front of him. His gaze traveled upward to a woman with disheveled hair, her head hanging low as she stared back at him—her eyes entirely white, devoid of pupils.
"Ah!" Butcher Zheng fell onto his backside, terrified. But he quickly steadied himself, reaching for his knife. "I’ll chop you dead!"
As the blade swung, the woman vanished.
Then, sobbing came from the side. Slowly turning his head, he saw, in the dim light, a woman in a dark blue jacket sitting with her back to him. She clutched a comb, weeping as she ran it through her hair before a bronze mirror. With each stroke, clumps of hair and flesh fell to the floor.
Butcher Zheng pointed his knife at her. "Y-you—who are you?! I’ve done nothing to you!"
The woman suddenly paused, as if receiving a new command, and began to laugh—a laugh that chilled the soul.
A gust of wind burst through, flinging open every window in the room.
Butcher Zheng’s last shred of courage shattered. He curled up under the table, clutching his head and begging for mercy.
Hidden in the shadows, Yu Zhaodi pouted. "Boss, do I not get to make an entrance?"
Fang Zhiyi waved her off. "You’ll go next time."
They came and left swiftly. Butcher Zheng’s screams drew the neighbors, who pushed open the door to find him cowering like a piglet beneath the table, flinching at every outstretched hand.
Soon, Yu Zhaodi got her moment. Her eerie entrance sent Xiulian’s father—fresh from smoking opium—collapsing to the ground in terror. Meanwhile, the hanged ghost visited Xiulian’s home, joining her in frightening her mother.
Fang Zhiyi led the ghosts toward Wang Village. Along the way, they saw Xiulian laughing and crying. Fang Zhiyi reassured her, "We can’t kill him yet. You’ll understand later."
Xiulian shook her head. "I just feel like I wasn’t truly alive before. Now that I’m dead, I’m finally living."
"What kind of ghostly philosophy is that?" Fang Zhiyi muttered.
"Bai Jingtian, Wang Village is yours. And take the main attraction with you!" Fang Zhiyi shoved the drowned ghost into Bai Jingtian’s hands.
"Boss, where are you going?"
"Where am I going? I’m going to find a future for all of you! Damn it, what kind of question is that?" Fang Zhiyi grumbled as he left with a few presentable-looking ghosts.
"Sometimes, the boss really doesn’t seem like an opera singer. So crude," Bai Jingtian sighed, watching him go.
The drowned ghost tilted its head at him. "Mama."
"I’m not your mama."
"Mama." It pointed at him.
Bai Jingtian finally understood. "You’re the one who’s a mama!"
"Bai Jingtian, who are you calling a mama?" a female ghost snapped.
"Alright, alright, my bad. I talk too much."
Fang Zhiyi arrived with Xiulian and the others at a ritual site.
A vicious ghost had been lurking here—first feeding on resentment, then killing to consume life force. The local clan leader had summoned monks to suppress it.
They arrived just in time. The ghost broke free from the monks’ reincarnation array and was chasing a man, nearly upon him. It lunged, eager to feast—after this meal, it would slaughter every monk here.
But instead of grabbing the man, it collided with another icy figure.
The ghost looked up into the painted face of an opera-singer-turned-ghost.
"Thirteen Guardians on duty! Clear the area!" Xiulian shouted on Fang Zhiyi’s orders. The chaotic scene fell silent as people scrambled back, peering cautiously from a distance.
"More ghosts?!" a senior monk gasped. One was trouble enough—now a whole group?
Fang Zhiyi turned. "Monk, watch your words. The Thirteen Guardians hunt evil ghosts!"
The monk gaped. A ghost that could speak? Claiming to hunt other ghosts?
Before he could process it, Fang Zhiyi struck. With practiced ease, the ghosts swarmed the evil spirit, pinning it down as Fang Zhiyi dispersed it into nothingness.
"You fools! Helping the living? Without life force, you’ll fade too! Hahahaha!"
Its dying words made the restraining ghosts hesitate.
Only after it vanished completely did Fang Zhiyi turn back, offering a theatrical bow. "The Thirteen Guardians have fulfilled their duty." Then he levitated, leading the ghosts away.
The crowd stood stunned.
"Was that a god?"
"That was a ghost! Didn’t you hear the master say they’re vicious spirits?"
"Even if they’re ghosts, they’re good ones!"
"Wait—I remember now! A town nearby had rumors of these Thirteen Guardians killing evil ghosts!"
"That’s why the name sounded familiar!"
"Damn, are they really divine?"
Ma Xiuyun had been overwhelmed lately. Reports of ghost sightings in multiple places sent her and He Wei rushing from one location to another. If they didn’t go, no one would seek their help—and without fame, her father’s disdain for her grew daily.
Yet each time they arrived, they found nothing but terrified witnesses.
"Something’s off," He Wei muttered, counting on his fingers.
"What is it?" Ma Xiuyun asked.
"According to them, there were hanged ghosts, drowned ghosts, headless ghosts... Impossible. How could so many gather?"
Ma Xiuyun guessed, "Maybe fear made them imagine things."
"And one witness described a ghost crawling on all fours, belly-up? What?" He Wei frowned.
Ma Xiuyun bit her lip. "Something feels different, like the world’s shifted."
Meanwhile, the ghosts stood outside an herbal shop.
"Go on, Jingtian," Yu Zhaodi cheered.
Bai Jingtian waved, about to speak, when a kick landed on his backside. "This isn’t an exam—get moving!"