APR 43

On the night of the Ghost Festival, Quanjiao Bridge spanning the urban river became unusually lively. Beneath the overpass, many people had brought braziers and were crouched by the riverbank burning joss paper for departed loved ones. Meanwhile, numerous fortune-telling stalls lined the shore, where fortune-tellers sat before their Eight Diagrams cloths awaiting clients, occasionally interspersed with several sorceresses specializing in Petty Person Beating rituals.

The place had thoroughly transformed into a superstitious haunt buzzing with occult activities.

An inconspicuous Mazda parked by the bridge entrance. Zhong Su emerged from the car, one hand resting on the roof as he leaned down to tell Xiao Lao Dao, “No need to wait for me. Head home first – I’ll grab a taxi back when I’m done here.”

Xiao Lao Dao watched the swirling smoke beneath the bridge, where flickering flames overlapped with shifting shadows, creating an eerie atmosphere as if countless ghosts had indeed passed through the Gates of Hell into the human realm.

Shrinking his neck nervously, he nodded repeatedly. “Then I’ll be off. Call me if you can’t find a taxi – I’ll come pick you up.”

“Mm.”

Watching Xiao Lao Dao’s car disappear down the road, Zhong Su dialed Da Xiong while descending the steps beneath the bridge. “Hey, I’m at Quanjiao Bridge. Where are you…”

Before finishing his sentence, Zhong Su’s peripheral vision caught a burly figure crouching beside a brazier not far away.

“Never mind, I see you.” Zhong Su closed his phone and approached.

Da Xiong had his back turned to Zhong Su. From behind, his build resembled a fluffy black bear, yet he was meticulously separating individual sheets of white joss paper with surprising delicacy. The paper appeared tiny and fragile in his large palms, like children’s play slips that would tear at the slightest pull.

“What are you still fiddling with? I’m here.”

Zhong Su stopped by the brazier and patted Da Xiong’s back before leaning down. “Why come all the way out here? You could burn these on any street corner – more convenient and less trouble.”

The dark-skinned man looked up from his task, momentarily dazed at seeing Zhong Su materialize through the smoke. The address “Xiao Zhong Ge” caught in his throat.

@Jinjiang Literature City

The next instant, he grew irritated by the other’s comment, rolling his eyes dramatically. “What do you youngsters know? Xiao Zhong Ge left us through water, so we must burn paper by the water’s edge for him to receive the joss money.”

He slapped the stack of painstakingly separated white papers into Zhong Su’s hand. “Don’t just stand there – help burn these. Knowing so many people still care about him would make Xiao Zhong Ge happy down below.”

Most gang affiliates believed in karmic retribution and spirits, with Da Xiong belonging to the more superstitious faction. Ever since Zhong Su’s accident, he insisted on burning joss paper by water for him annually.

Initially, many former comrades had joined the memorial, but as years passed, the old gang brothers gradually dispersed. This year, he could only summon Zhong Su’s lover – the current Xiao Zhong Ge – for support.

Zhong Su held a cigarette between his lips as he lazily shook the stack of joss paper, glancing around. “Where’s Chen Huan? Isn’t he coming to burn paper?”

He’d assumed he’d find Chen Huan here, and had rather looked forward to seeing the man’s face darken from the choking smoke – an amusing thought.

Da Xiong, ever straightforward, poked at the ashes in the brazier with fire tongs. “Brother Chen doesn’t bother with these symbolic gestures. He doesn’t approve of our…”

“The young one said there’s no need for this since Xiao Zhong Ge is already gone. But I thought, what if the Underworld really exists? Xiao Zhong Ge has no family, no one to make offerings to him. What if he’s all alone down there, living poorly?”

“I received so much care from him, I can’t live with myself if I don’t do something. You feel the same, right?”

Zhong Su was startled by Da Xiong’s last question, asking: “What?”

Da Xiong: “I said, you also received many favors from Xiao Zhong Ge, right?”

Zhong Su awkwardly rubbed his brow and vaguely replied: “Ah, I, well, sort of.”

Joss Paper was tossed into the fire one after another, like butterflies bathing in flames. A gust of wind blew up some pale gray ashes, brushing against Da Xiong’s face as they flew toward the sky.

Da Xiong watched the leaping flames intently and earnestly, murmuring softly: “Xiao Zhong Ge, I don’t know how expensive things are down there, so tonight I’ll burn a few million for you first. If it’s not enough, send me a dream and I’ll burn a few more bundles for you.”

Zhong Su felt awkward hearing this, but seeing Da Xiong’s sincere murmuring, he also felt somewhat moved. It’s better to have someone remembering you than to die insignificantly.

He simply crouched down and started burning paper for himself, adding Gold and Silver Ingots into the fire basin while instructing: “Zhong Su, you must live well. Your brothers from the past still miss you very much.” Then he added: “They’re just too stubborn to recognize you now.”

The curling smoke seemed to twist into a thread, swaying gently with the wind under the night sky, reaching straight upward. A low-key luxury car silently parked by the bridge.

The driver, Shou Hou, turned back and addressed the person in the back seat: “Chen Ge, we’re here. Da Xiong’s subordinates said he’s right under this Quanjiao Bridge.”

Chen Huan closed his phone, casually looked up, and scanned the smoky mess under the overpass: “We’ve been searching for so long without any explanation, he doesn’t answer calls either. What is Da Xiong doing in a place like this, making me come all the way here to find him?”

“Well…” Shou Hou scratched his face and spoke hesitantly: “Chen Ge, today is the Ghost Festival. I think… Da Xiong probably came here to pay respects to Xiao Zhong Ge.”

Chen Huan: “Pay respects to Su Er?”

He turned his head again, carefully examining the location. The rolling river shimmered with ripples under the dim streetlights, resembling an endless ocean. The reason Da Xiong specifically chose this place was obvious enough.

Shou Hou knew Chen Huan never liked people doing this kind of thing. Carefully observing his expression, he cleverly phrased his words: “You know how Da Xiong is – stubborn and superstitious. He’s always remembered Xiao Zhong Ge’s kindness all these years, so sometimes during festivals he comes here.”

Privately, Shou Hou actually wanted to burn paper with Da Xiong too, but compared to commemorating Xiao Zhong Ge, he preferred to follow Chen Huan’s orders. So ever since Chen Huan said not to, he hadn’t joined Da Xiong in doing this anymore.

After listening, Chen Huan nodded expressionlessly: “I see.”

He got out of the car, shielded his lighter with his hand to light a cigarette, and walked down the steps one by one. Under the dim streetlights, he could see the particularly conspicuous figure of Da Xiong with another person in the distance. The two of them, one large and one small, were crouched by the riverside like two birds, their heads bobbing slightly as they murmured to each other.

Muttering something in a low voice.

X……

Chen Huan’s movements paused slightly as he recognized the fair-skinned, handsome young man as Zhong Su.

He thought indifferently that he had already warned the other party not to get involved in Su Er’s affairs, but it seemed his warning hadn’t worked.

Just then, a muttering sorceress suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Her face was covered in wrinkles, her turbid old eyes like severe cataracts—pale and cloudy. She panickedly blocked Chen Huan’s path, shouting: “Cursed energy clings to you, cursed energy clings! Young man, there’s something unclean following you—that water ghost has returned! He crawled back from the water! He died unwilling and wants to drag a substitute to descend into the Eighteen Levels of Hell with him!”

As she spoke, she suddenly gasped sharply, as if seeing some terrifying vision on Chen Huan’s body, trembling all over like she was sifting chaff.

Shou Hou, who was following behind Chen Huan, saw this and immediately stepped forward to block her, his tone still restrained: “Granny, how can there be any ghosts in this world? We understand your old eyes are failing, but you can’t just say such things recklessly.”

Shou Hou was good at keeping up appearances and quick-witted. After being cleaned up and staying by Chen Huan’s side, he usually spoke quite amiably in daily life, rarely getting into conflicts, appearing like a very ordinary person.

While speaking, he deftly pulled out a few banknotes and stuffed them over, wanting to send the sorceress away: “We don’t need fortune-telling. I have some money here, take it and leave, don’t disturb us.”

Though his words were polite, Shou Hou’s push carried an undeniable force, shoving and driving the sorceress toward the other side of the riverbank.

Chen Huan hadn’t intended to pay attention to such a madwoman, but hearing her mention the term “water ghost,” he stopped with some interest: “Shou Hou, let her speak. I want to ask her a few questions.”

“Ah… yes.” Shou Hou stepped back.

Chen Huan slightly bent down, glancing at the short old woman, his deep black eyes full of amusement, and asked: “Oh, you say there’s a water ghost on me? Then tell me more, what does that water ghost look like?”

How would the sorceress know what the water ghost looked like? She had only rushed out because Chen Huan was dressed brightly and handsomely, looking like a wealthy person easy to cheat, using such alarmist words to frighten him, trying to scare him into paying her to ward off disaster.

But since she had already spoken and the other party took the bait, even if she didn’t know, she had to keep making things up.

The sorceress swallowed a mouthful of saliva, clutched the talisman on her chest, and put on a chanting demeanor: “That water ghost is very young, his face swollen like a bloated steamed bun, bluish-gray… bloody corpse fluid continuously flowing from his mouth and eyes, crying and asking you… asking you why, why…”

…xit!

Just as the words “didn’t save him” fell, Chen Huan’s gaze happened to turn toward Zhong Su, seeing Zhong Su throw a large handful of joss paper into the fire basin. The orange-red flames suddenly burned brighter, illuminating the young man’s handsome profile with exceptional clarity.

From Chen Huan’s perspective, the young man looked exactly like the deceased Zhong Su. In a daze, it even gave people the illusion of the dead coming back to life.

Chen Huan lowered his head, his voice devoid of any fear, instead carrying a certain burning hope: “Granny, I actually wish that person would really come back to demand my life.”