The Player 09

At that very moment, a woman appeared on the opposite path, holding a child in each hand and carrying two bundles on her back. She stared at him with confusion in her eyes: "Guangyao?"

Zhang Guangyao halted in his tracks, looking at the woman across from him, then turning to the woman he had been leading by the hand. The two looked identical! Not just that—even the children were the same height and bore the same resemblance!

"You—you!" Zhang Guangyao gasped in shock, shaking off the hand he had been holding. "Who are you?"

The widow opposite him grew frantic. "Come here! She's fake! She must be some kind of monster in disguise!"

At her words, Zhang Guangyao stumbled forward in panic, only to hear the widow behind him say, "She’s the monster! Guangyao, think about it—we just walked up together, yet she was already here!"

Zhang Guangyao’s eyes widened. That was true—how could this widow have been in the woods already? He thought he had figured out who was real.

But then the widow across from him spoke again. "Didn’t you ask me to meet you in the woods? You said the village entrance was too exposed."

Zhang Guangyao turned back. That was also true—the widow who had followed him up had been waiting at the village entrance. Was she the fake one?

"I have children with me—how could I dare enter the woods alone?" the first widow argued.

The second widow refused to back down. "Do I not have children? Do you even need to think about what would happen if we were caught?"

Zhang Guangyao clutched his head. Who was the real one? And why was there another widow here at all?

"Dad!" All four children spoke at once, glaring at each other defiantly.

The noise nearly drove Zhang Guangyao mad. He suddenly reached behind his back and pulled out a hatchet. "Shut the hell up, all of you!"

"I don’t care which one of you is real—get the hell away from me!"

One widow paled in horror. "Guangyao, why are you carrying a hatchet? Do you mean to—?"

The other widow caught on as well. "You... Zhang Guangyao, are you trying to kill me?"

"Zhang Guangyao, you were the one who killed Huang Shuren. You set the fire. I only held him—I didn’t do anything."

"Zhang Guangyao, these are your children. What are you planning now—to kill them too?"

"Zhang Guangyao..." A hoarse male voice called out. He looked up and saw a familiar figure. "I thought you were my friend. You have a cruel heart."

"No, I—I didn’t... Get away from me!" Zhang Guangyao swung the hatchet wildly, but Huang Shuren’s figure slowly faded. Instead, the two widows stared at him in shock. "Guangyao? What’s wrong with you? Why are waving that knife around?"

As they spoke, they and the four children closed in around him. Zhang Guangyao felt a chill run through him.

"You’re all ghosts! Ghosts!" He completely lost his mind, slashing wildly with the hatchet.

"Guangyao? I’ve been looking for you—what are you doing here?" A voice called out as someone jogged toward him, reaching out to help him up. He looked up—another widow! Without hesitation, Zhang Guangyao swung the hatchet. The widow never expected her lover to attack her. Unprepared, she collapsed, clutching her face and screaming in agony. The two children ran over, their faces twisted in terror.

"Still trying to trick me!" Zhang Guangyao was beyond reason. He staggered to his feet, pointing the bloodied hatchet at the widow. "Huang Shuren, you were useless in life, and you’re a useless ghost in death!" With that, he charged again.

The villagers on night patrol had already heard the commotion on the mountain. Fearing trouble, they gathered others to investigate.

When they arrived, they found Zhang Guangyao sitting in a pool of blood, gripping his hatchet, while the widow and her children lay motionless.

Miraculously, the widow survived—though she had lost a lot of blood and bore a gruesome gash across her face. The children fared worse: the elder had a hand severed, while the younger was left with a crippled leg.

Zhang Guangyao was hauled to the town and thrown into prison. Since no one had died, he was sentenced only to imprisonment.

Wei Xiaohua eyed the burly Huang Shuren. "Calling you a bodhisattva isn’t far off. He went mad trying to kill his own wife and children, yet you still stepped in to stop him."

Huang Shuren glanced back at her. "Who’s to say this wasn’t their revenge?"

Bai Jingtian patted Wei Xiaohua’s shoulder. "Ah, you’re still young."

Yu Zhaodi did the same. "Ah, you’re still young."

Even a passing water ghost gave her a pat, though it said nothing.

"What? What does that mean?" Wei Xiaohua jumped in frustration, feeling thoroughly patronized.

Half a month later, a merchant caravan made its way along the mountain path.

"Keep it up! The town’s just ahead!" the leader called out.

The group remained silent—not out of reluctance to speak, but because merchants had a rule when traveling at night: talk as little as possible. If someone called your name, never turn around, and never answer.

After all, who would be calling your name on a deserted road?

"Wang Sanyuan!" An old man’s voice rang out from behind.

Wang Sanyuan nearly answered on instinct, but his uncle kicked him before he could speak.

"Shut up and walk faster!" Wang Sanyuan didn’t fully understand, but his uncle’s panicked expression told him something was wrong.

The entire caravan quickened their pace.

"Li Yuanji!" A woman’s voice, sultry and alluring.

But Li Yuanji kept his head down, sweat trickling down his forehead.

Suddenly, the leader, Old Liu, stopped.

Wang Sanyuan was confused. "Why are we stopping?" He was terrified—whatever was behind them was still following.

Old Liu pointed at a tree by the roadside. Tied to it was a white cloth strip.

"We’ve hit a ghost wall," Old Liu said, tension creeping into his voice.

He had encountered ghostly callings and ghost walls before, but never both at once.

"That damned thing is trying to trap us here," an older merchant sighed. "Any boys in the back? We need some urine."

Fear hung thick in the air. Wang Sanyuan raised a trembling hand. "Me."

"Good! Come here." The leader beckoned him forward. As Wang Sanyuan hurried ahead, his uncle’s voice suddenly called from behind. "Wang Sanyuan!"

Thinking his uncle had something to say, Wang Sanyuan instinctively turned. "Huh?"

What he saw instead was his uncle’s horrified expression and the panic of the others.

A tall, gaunt shadow emerged from the rear of the caravan, its elongated arms reaching for him. The moment it seized him, Wang Sanyuan felt himself being dragged backward. Looking back, he saw his own body collapse to the ground as his uncle rushed forward, cradling him and shouting his name.

"I’m done for," Wang Sanyuan resigned himself.

"Ding-a-ling." A bell chimed. Everyone’s attention snapped toward the sound—even the mountain ghost dragging Wang Sanyuan’s spirit froze.